#sweet asks for septic

[abbotjack]

God I hate to be that person but ughhhhhh I love that jack fic where they find out reader is pregnant and I'm CRAVING a second part to that (if you're u to of course). Like, how it'd be during her pregnancy, him being sweet but also worried and protective. Omg I need more soft jack w a baby on the way!!!!!

The Camouflage Onesie

part two of he begins to notice (read this first!)

content warnings: pregnancy, medical references, nausea/morning sickness, sexual content (explicit but consensual), body image changes, hormonal shifts, domestic intimacy, emotional vulnerability, labor and delivery scene, emotionally intense partner support, and high emotional/physical dependency within a marriage. yeah. pregnancy

word count : 5,735

WEEK 5

The test turned positive on a Sunday. By Monday morning, the entire medicine cabinet had been rearranged like it was a trauma cart.

Your moisturizer had been nudged over to make room for prescription-grade prenatals, a bottle of magnesium, a DHA complex, and—of all things—two individually labeled pill sorters with day-of-the-week dividers. One pink. One clear. Yours and Jack's, apparently.

You found him in the kitchen at 6:42 a.m., already in scrubs. He was calmly cutting the crusts off toast while listening to NPR and making a second cup of coffee for himself.

When he turned, he gave you a long once-over—not in a critical way, but diagnostic. Like he was scanning you for vitals only he could see.

“You’re flushed,” he said. “And your pupils are dilated. You feel dizzy yet?”

You furrowed your brow. “No?”

“Good. You’re hydrating better than I thought.”

You blinked. “Jack, I haven’t even said good morning.”

He walked over and handed you a glass of room-temp water. “I’m loving you with medically sourced precision.”

You stared at the glass. “This isn’t cold.”

“Cold water upsets your stomach. Lukewarm helps with early bloat.”

“Jack.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

He tilted his head. “I’ve watched septic patients stabilize faster than accountants facing a positive Clearblue. I know exactly what this is.”

You pressed your hands to your face and groaned. “You’re not going to hover this much every week, are you?”

Jack leaned down, brushing a kiss over your shoulder. “No. Some weeks I’ll hover more.”

“I made your appointment already,” he said, voice casual. “Friday. Dr. Patel. 3:40.”

You blinked. “You didn’t even ask me.”

“She owes me a favor,” Jack said. “Got her niece into ortho during the peak of the shortage last year. Trust me—she’ll take care of you.”

You frowned, stunned. “How did you even pull that off so fast?”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Sweetheart. I’m an ER doctor. I have connections. I can get my wife seen before the week’s out.”

Your eyes welled up suddenly—caught off guard by how steady he was, how sure. You were still half-floating in disbelief. Jack was already ten steps ahead, clearing the path.

WEEK 6

You learned very quickly that pregnancy was a full-time job—and Jack approached it with quiet precision.

The first time you dry-heaved over the kitchen sink, he didn’t rush in with a solution. He didn’t lecture or hover. He just stepped into the room, leaned against the counter, and waited until you looked up.

“Still thinking about that leftover pasta?” he asked softly.

You made a face. “Don’t say the word pasta.”

He crossed the kitchen, wordless, and pulled open a drawer. Out came a wrapped ginger chew. Then he disappeared down the hall.

When he returned, he had your cardigan in one hand and a bottle of lemon water in the other.

You blinked at him. “What are you doing?”

Jack handed you the water first. “You always run cold when you’re nauseous. But I know you’ll refuse a blanket if you’re flushed.”

You stared.

He draped the cardigan over your shoulders.

“You okay?”

You nodded slowly. “I think so.”

“Okay,” he said. “Let me know when you want toast.”

You half-laughed, half-cried, wiping your eyes on your sleeve. “You don’t have to be this gentle every second.”

Jack leaned in. “I’m not being gentle. I’m being exact. There’s a difference.”

Later that night, you sat curled up on the couch, still wrapped in the cardigan, while Jack quietly swapped your usual diffuser oil with something new.

“Peppermint,” he said when you asked. “Helps with queasiness.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And the bin next to the couch?”

“Let’s call it contingency planning.”

You smirked. “You’re really building systems around me, huh?”

Jack looked at you—soft, certain. “No. I’m building them for you.”

He moved across the room and brushed your hair back off your forehead, thumb pausing at your temple like he could smooth out whatever discomfort lingered there.

“You’re not the patient,” he murmured. “You’re the constant. And I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep the ground steady under your feet.”

You didn’t have a clever reply.

You just pulled him onto the couch beside you and tucked yourself into his chest—grateful beyond words that this was who you got to build a life with.

WEEK 9

Jack was folding laundry on the bed when you walked into the room barefoot, carrying a bowl of cereal and wearing his old college sweatshirt.

You caught his glance. “What?”

He shook his head, smiled a little. “Just thinking you wear my clothes better than I ever did.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. He set a towel down. Reached for your bowl as you sat on the edge of the bed.

“I got it,” you said.

“I know,” he murmured, holding it anyway while you shifted the pillow behind your back. Once you were settled, he handed it back.

You took a bite, then glanced at the basket of half-folded laundry.

“You know that’s mostly my stuff, right?”

Jack looked at the pile. “It’s ours. Who else is gonna fold your seven thousand pairs of fuzzy socks?”

You laughed into your spoon.

He leaned against the dresser and just looked at you for a second. Not in a way that made you self-conscious—just soft. Familiar.

“You’re quieter this week,” he said.

You shrugged. “I’m tired.”

He nodded. “Want to go somewhere this weekend? Just us?”

“Like where?”

“Nowhere big. Just—out of the house. We could rent a cabin. Lay around. Sleep until noon. Let you pretend I’m not watching you nap like it’s my full-time job.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You do that now?”

“Not always. Just when you start snoring like a golden retriever pup.”

“Jack.”

He grinned, walked over, and kissed your temple.

“Alright, no trips. But at least let me cook something tonight. Something warm.”

You sighed. “You already do too much.”

He looked at you seriously then, crouched a little so you were eye-level.

“I don’t keep score,” he said. “I’m your husband. You’re growing our kid. If all I have to do is make dinner and fold socks, I’m getting off easy.”

WEEK 14

By week fourteen, the second trimester hit like an exhale.

You weren’t queasy every morning anymore. Your appetite returned. You could brush your teeth without gagging. And Jack, for the first time in weeks, actually relaxed enough to sit through an entire episode of something without checking on you mid-scene.

You were curled on the couch together—your head in his lap—when he slid his hand beneath your shirt and rested it on the soft curve of your stomach.

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re subtle.”

“I’m consistent.”

You snorted. “You’re clingy.”

His thumb brushed just under your ribs. “I’m memorizing.”

You shifted slightly, tucking your feet closer. “You already know everything about me.”

Jack looked down at you, the corners of his mouth twitching. “I know the before. This part? This is new.”

He went quiet, and you could feel the shift in him—something deeper, more reverent than before.

“I’ve seen pregnancy before,” he said. “But I’ve never… watched it happen to someone I come home to.”

You turned your head to look up at him. “You okay?”

Jack nodded slowly. “I just keep thinking… you’re building someone I haven’t met yet. And I already know I’d give my life for them.”

Your throat tightened. You reached for his hand where it rested on your stomach, lacing your fingers through his.

“We’re doing okay, right?”

Jack bent down, kissed your forehead. “You’re doing better than okay.”

You smiled. “We’re a good team.”

“The best,” he said. “Even if you keep stealing all the pillows.”

You laughed. “You sleep like a corpse. You don’t need them.”

He grinned. “You’re getting cocky now that the nausea’s eased.”

“You’ll miss her when she’s gone.”

“No, I’ll just be glad to have you back.”

You rolled your eyes. “You have me.”

Jack kissed you again. Longer this time.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I do.”

WEEK 15

It started with the baby books.

Not the ones you bought. The ones Jack picked up—three of them, stacked neatly on the nightstand one morning after a grocery run you hadn’t joined him on.

You noticed them after your shower. He was still in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher, humming something that definitely wasn’t in tune. But the titles made you pause.

“‘What to Expect for Dads,’” you read aloud, holding the top one up when he walked in. “You going soft on me?”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Hardly. Just figured if you’re doing the building, I can at least read the manual.”

You smirked, flipping through a page. “You’re the manual.”

“I’m the triage guy. I don’t have maternal instincts. I have protocols.”

You leaned back against the headboard. “You’re being humble, but you’re gonna ace this.”

He shrugged, crossing the room to sit on the edge of the bed. “I just want to know what’s coming. I’ve done newborn shifts. I’ve handed babies to people shaking so hard they could barely hold them. But this? This isn’t a shift. This is us.”

You touched his arm. “You’ve already done more than I can even keep track of.”

Jack looked at you for a long moment. Then placed his hand over yours. “I don’t want to just be useful. I want to be good. For both of you.”

You didn’t know what to say.

So you leaned forward and kissed him—gentle, deep. His hand slid to your stomach as naturally as breathing.

You pulled back just enough to whisper, “You already are.”

That night, when he thought you were asleep, he cracked open the book again.

And stayed up past midnight reading about swaddling, latch cues, and the difference between Braxton Hicks and the real thing.

WEEK 16

Jack stood in the doorway of your office for almost a full minute before saying anything.

You looked up from your laptop, eyebrows raised. “What?”

He didn’t move. Just scanned the room—your desk, the bookshelf, the little armchair in the corner that you never actually used.

Then, finally: “Is our house big enough for this?”

You blinked. “For what?”

He gestured vaguely toward your belly, then the room. “All of it. A baby. Crib. Noise. Diapers. More laundry. Less sleep.”

You smiled gently. “I thought we were turning this room into the nursery.”

“We are,” he said quickly. “I just… I keep running scenarios in my head. And this place felt huge when it was just us.”

You closed your laptop. “Jack.”

He looked at you.

“We’ll figure it out. We already are.”

He crossed the room, leaned against your desk. “I’m not trying to panic.”

“I know.”

“I just keep thinking about how everything’s going to change. I want to make sure we still feel like us once it does.”

You stood and wrapped your arms around his waist, head resting against his chest. “We will. You think too far ahead sometimes.”

“That’s my job,” he murmured.

“And mine is reminding you that it’s okay to not solve everything all at once.”

He kissed the top of your head. “I know. I just want it to be enough.”

WEEK 19

Jack was unusually quiet on the drive to the anatomy scan.

Not anxious. Just focused in a way that told you his brain had been working overtime since the moment he woke up. His hand rested on your thigh at every red light, thumb tracing small circles against the fabric of your leggings.

“You good?” you asked, turning down the radio.

He glanced over, nodded once. “Just running through the checklist in my head.”

You smiled gently. “You’re not at work, babe.”

“I know. But I’ve never seen one of these as a husband.”

You reached over and laced your fingers through his. “You don’t have to be perfect today. You just have to be here.”

He gave you a look. “I am here. That’s the problem. I’m so here I can’t think about anything else.”

The waiting room was dim, quiet, and smelled vaguely like lemon disinfectant. Jack sat beside you, legs spread in his usual posture, one hand on your knee. His thumb tapped once. Then again. Then stopped.

The tech was warm, professional. She dimmed the lights. Asked if you wanted to know the sex. You said yes before Jack could answer.

You held your breath as the screen lit up in shades of blue and gray.

“Everything’s looking healthy,” the tech said. “Strong spine, great heartbeat, long legs.”

Jack tightened his grip on your hand.

“And it looks like you’re having a girl.”

You exhaled all at once. Then laughed. Or maybe cried. It blurred together.

Jack didn’t say anything right away. Just stared at the monitor, jaw tense, eyes glassy.

You turned to look at him. “Jack.”

He blinked. “Yeah.”

“You okay?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I just—” He swallowed. “She’s real.”

The rest of the appointment was a haze—measurements, murmurs of ���good growth,” the gentle swipe of gel off your stomach. Jack didn’t let go of your hand the entire time.

That night, you came out of the bathroom in an old t-shirt and found him standing at the dresser, staring down at something small in his hand.

You stepped closer. “What’s that?”

He held it up without looking—one of the newborn onesies you’d bought weeks ago in a moment of cautious optimism. Light yellow. Soft cotton.

“You think she’ll fit in this?” he asked.

You smiled. “They’re tiny, Jack. That’s kind of the whole point.”

He nodded but didn’t move.

You wrapped your arms around him from behind. “You’re allowed to feel everything. It’s a big day.”

He turned, wrapped his arms around you carefully. “I think I was more afraid of not feeling it.”

You pressed your forehead to his. “You’re allowed to be happy.”

“I am,” he said, voice rough. “I just keep thinking about how I’m going to keep her safe. How I’m going to teach her to breathe through chaos. How I’ll probably mess it up a hundred times.”

“You’re not going to mess it up.”

He looked at you. “You really think that?”

“I married you, didn’t I?”

Jack smiled for real then. “You’ve always been the smarter one.”

You rolled your eyes. “But you’re the one who’s going to end up wrapped around her finger.”

He kissed your temple. “That part was inevitable.”

WEEK 25

Jack convinced you to finally start looking at houses.

You’d been reluctant—emotionally attached to the place you’d built your early marriage in, skeptical about change when everything in your life already felt like it was shifting—but Jack had waited. Quietly. Patiently.

And then one morning, while you were brushing your teeth, he leaned in behind you, kissed your shoulder, and said, “You deserve a bigger closet.”

That was how it started.

Now, you were standing in a half-empty living room with sun pouring through tall windows and a sold sign posted out front.

Jack had just gotten off the phone with your realtor. “It’s official,” he said, sliding his phone into his back pocket. “Inspection cleared. We close in three weeks.”

You blinked. “We really bought a house.”

He walked over, wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, rested his chin on your shoulder. “Correction: we bought your dream closet.”

You laughed. “You think you’re funny.”

“I know I am. Also, there’s a window bench in the nursery. You don’t even have to try to make it Pinterest-worthy.”

You leaned into him, eyes scanning the bare walls. “I can already picture her here.”

Jack pressed a kiss to your neck. “I already do. I see her trying to climb that windowsill. Leaving fingerprints on every square inch of the fridge. Falling asleep on the stairs with a book she couldn’t finish.”

Your throat tightened.

You turned in his arms. “You really love it?”

He looked at you seriously. “I love what it gives you. I love that it lets you breathe. And yeah—I love that it’s ours.”

Later that night, back in your current house, you sat on the floor with your laptop open, scrolling through registry links and bookmarking soft pink paint samples. Jack handed you a cup of tea, then lowered himself on the couch beside you with a quiet grunt.

“Is it weird that I already want to be moved?” you asked.

He shook his head. “No. It’s called nesting. I read about it in that chapter you skipped.”

You shot him a look. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m the one folding swaddles while you build spreadsheets. This is our love language.”

You leaned into him, content. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

WEEK 27

You’d been on your feet all day—organizing documents, boxing up odds and ends, making lists of what needed to be moved and what could be donated. Jack told you to slow down three separate times, each time gentler than the last.

But now, at 8:43 p.m., you were barefoot in the kitchen, half bent over a drawer of mismatched utensils, when he walked in, tossed a dish towel on the counter, and said, “Okay. That’s it.”

You looked up. “What?”

Jack didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. He crossed the room, took the spatula from your hand, and gently nudged you toward a chair. “Sit. Let me take over.”

You blinked at him. “I’m fine.”

“You’re stubborn.”

You folded your arms. “Same thing.”

Jack crouched in front of you, resting his forearms on your knees. “You’ve done enough today. Let me be the husband who makes you sit down and drink something cold while I finish sorting forks from tongs.”

You softened, your fingers drifting to his hair. “I know you’re right. I just feel useless when I’m not doing something.”

“You’re 27 weeks pregnant,” Jack said, voice warm. “You made a person and folded three boxes of bath towels. That’s two more miracles than anyone else managed today.”

You exhaled and leaned back.

Later, when you were curled on the couch with a glass of iced water and your feet propped on a pillow, Jack settled next to you and tugged a blanket over both of you.

“House is gonna feel real soon,” he said.

You nodded. “She’s going to be born there.”

Jack’s arm slid around your shoulders. “We’ll bring her home to that nursery. Hang that weird mobile you picked that I still don’t understand.”

“You said it was ‘avant-garde.’”

“I was being polite.”

You smiled, tired and full. “We’re really doing it, huh?”

“We are.”

You rested your head on his chest. Jack’s hand drifted instinctively to your belly, and stayed there.

“Hey,” you said after a minute. “Thanks for making me sit.”

Jack kissed the top of your head. “Thanks for letting me.”

WEEK 30

You caught him standing in the doorway of the nursery around 9:00 p.m., arms folded, shoulder braced against the frame like he was keeping watch.

The room was nearly done. Diapers in bins. Chair assembled. Books on shelves. But Jack wasn’t looking at any of that. He was staring at the window, like he was imagining the light that would come through it in the early mornings.

You leaned against the opposite side of the doorway, watching him.

“What’s going on in that head?” you asked.

He glanced over at you. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

Jack cracked half a smile but didn’t move. “I keep picturing her. Not just baby-her. Grown-up her.”

You walked toward him. “What version?”

He tilted his head. “Seventeen. Wants to borrow the car. Has someone texting her who I probably don’t like.”

You laughed. “You’re already dreading a boyfriend?”

“I’m already dreading anyone who gets to be in her world without knowing what it cost us to build it.”

That stopped you.

Jack finally looked at you then—really looked. “She’s not even born yet and I already know I’d lay down in traffic for her. And I know how fast people can break things they don’t understand.”

You rested your hands on his chest. “You’re not going to be scary.”

Jack raised an eyebrow.

“Well. You’ll look scary. Army vet. ER attending. Perpetual scowl. Built like you bench-press refrigerators for fun.”

He snorted. “Thanks.”

“But you’ll love her in a way no one will mistake for anything but devotion.”

Jack leaned down, pressed his forehead to yours.

“I’m not good at soft,” he murmured.

“You’re good at us,” you whispered. “That’s all she’ll need.”

He pulled you into his arms then, one hand resting flat against the curve of your belly. “She’s gonna hate me when I make her come home early.”

“She’s gonna roll her eyes when you insist on meeting everyone she ever texts.”

Jack grinned. “Damn right.”

You laughed into his shirt. “You’re so screwed.”

“I know.”

But he held you a little tighter. Didn’t say anything else. Just stood there in the dim nursery, one arm wrapped around the two of you, as if holding his whole world in place.

WEEK 32

You’d read the pregnancy forums. The blog posts. The articles with vaguely medical sources claiming the third trimester came with a spike in libido. You thought you’d be too sore, too tired. Too preoccupied.

What you hadn’t expected was the absolute onslaught.

It was like your body had one setting: Jack. Crave him. Need him. Get him here, now, fast.

He’d just gotten home from a late shift, dropped his keys in the bowl by the front door, and disappeared into the shower while you laid in bed attempting to not whine out loud. That resolve lasted six minutes.

When he walked into the bedroom, towel low around his hips, water dripping down his chest, you didn’t even mean to say it:

“I’m gonna die.”

Jack froze.

He crossed the room in seconds. “What is it? Where’s the pain?”

You were already on your back, one hand pressed to your belly, the other covering your eyes.

“Not pain,” you groaned. “Just hormones. God, Jack—this is insane.”

He crouched beside you. “You need to describe what’s happening.”

You peeked at him from under your hand. “I need you. I need you.”

Jack stilled. Blinked. Then dropped his forehead to your shoulder with a long exhale.

“Christ. You scared the hell out of me.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, laughing into your wrist. “I just—I’m desperate. I thought it would go away. It’s not going away.”

He lifted his head. Smiled. “Desperate, huh?”

“You’re not helping.”

“I think I am.”

Jack kissed your temple, then your cheek, then hovered over your lips. “You sure you’re good?”

You reached for him. “No. I’m feral.”

He didn’t waste another second.

What followed wasn’t frantic—it was focused. Jack stripped you with efficiency and reverence, lips brushing every newly sensitive part of you. Your belly. Your hips. Your breasts. He murmured to you the whole time—gentle things, grounding things.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he said, kissing the swell of your stomach. “You’ve been patient. Let me take care of you.”

“Please,” you whispered. “I feel insane.”

“I know. I’ve got you.”

He slid inside you slow, controlled, the way he always did when he wanted to make it last. But tonight, there was something more behind it—urgency without rush, intention without pressure.

You clawed at his shoulders, moaning into his neck. “Jack, Jack—”

“Right here.”

“I missed you today.”

“I missed you too. I always do.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, legs tightening around his waist. The angle shifted, and everything inside you splintered.

“Oh—God—don’t stop—”

Jack groaned, teeth catching your jawline. “You feel so good, sweetheart. So damn good.”

He guided you through it, one hand braced behind your head, the other cradling your hip like you’d break without it. When you came, it was with his name on your lips and tears at the corners of your eyes.

He followed seconds later, low and deep and steady, body shaking over yours.

Afterward, he didn’t move. Just curled around you, one arm anchored under your shoulders, the other stroking your belly in long, soothing sweeps.

“Still dying?” he asked eventually.

You huffed a laugh. “Little bit.”

Jack smiled into your shoulder. “Guess I’ll keep checking your vitals.”

He pulled back just enough to kiss your chest, then your stomach, whispering something you couldn’t hear but felt down to your bones.

When you shifted against him, needy again already, he looked up with a low laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Jack,” you breathed, “I’m not done.”

And Jack—predictable, capable, ready-for-anything Jack—just grinned.

“I never am with you.”

The second round was slower. Deeper. You rode his thigh first, panting against his neck, clinging to his shoulders while he whispered filth in your ear—soft, low things no one else would ever hear from him. He touched you like he already knew exactly what you’d need next week, next month, next year.

And when you collapsed against him again, trembling and sore and finally, finally full in every sense of the word—he kissed your forehead and said, “You’re everything.”

“I love you,” you whispered.

Jack tucked your hair behind your ear and kissed your cheek.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

WEEK 35

The third trimester had turned your body into a full-time performance art piece. You were a living exhibit on discomfort, hydration, Braxton Hicks, and the high-stakes negotiation of shoe-tying. You’d stopped fighting the afternoon naps, started rotating three stretchy outfits on a loop, and made peace with the fact that gravity was no longer your friend.

Jack had adjusted too.

Without comment, he now drove you to every appointment. Without asking, he refilled your water before bed. Without blinking, he gave up half his side of the bathroom counter for the ever-expanding line of belly oils, cooling balms, and half-used jars of snacks.

But tonight?

Tonight he came home to find you crying at the kitchen table over a broken zipper on the diaper bag.

“Sweetheart.”

You looked up, cheeks blotchy. “It broke. It broke, Jack. And it was the only one I liked.”

“Hey, hey—breathe.”

You sniffled. “It had compartments. It had mesh.”

Jack took the bag gently from your hands, and examined the zipper like it was a patient in trauma.

“Looks jammed,” he said. “Not broken.”

You stared at him. “You don’t know that.”

He looked up. “I do.”

He walked over to the toolbox without fanfare, and returned two minutes later with a small pair of pliers. Thirty seconds after that, the zipper slid closed like nothing had happened.

You burst into tears again.

Jack set the bag down and pulled you into his arms. “Hormones?”

You nodded into his chest. “I love you so much.”

He smiled against your hair. “You want to take a bath?”

You sniffed. “Will you sit on the floor with me?”

“I’ll bring the towel and everything.”

Which is how twenty minutes later you were in the tub, steam curling around the mirror, your swollen belly just breaching the surface, while Jack sat on the floor, reading your baby book aloud like it was scripture.

“She’s the size of a honeydew,” he said, tapping the page. “Still gaining half a pound a week. Lungs developing. Rapid brain growth.”

You hummed. “She’s been moving a lot today.”

He smiled, reached over, and rested a palm over your belly. “She likes the sound of your voice.”

“She likes pizza. She tolerates me.”

Jack leaned over and kissed your temple. “She already loves you.”

You sighed, settling deeper into the water. “She’s going to love you more.”

Jack’s voice went quiet. “That’s not possible.”

You looked over.

He was watching you like he was memorizing the moment. Like he knew it wouldn’t last forever and wanted to hold every second of it.

“She’s got the best of you already,” he murmured.

You shook your head. “You’re the one who’s been steady through everything. She’s gonna know that.”

He kissed your hand. “She’s gonna know we did it together.”

And you believed him.

Even through the tears, the discomfort, the slow shuffle from couch to fridge to bed—you believed him.

WEEK 36

Jack came home with a basket.

Not from the store. Not from a delivery service. From the hospital. Carried under one arm like it was made of glass.

You were on the couch, half-watching a cooking show, half-rubbing the spot where the baby had been kicking for the last ten minutes straight. Jack came in, dropped his keys, and didn’t say anything at first.

He just set the basket on the coffee table and said, “Robby made me promise I wouldn’t forget to give this to you tonight.”

You blinked. “What?”

Jack gestured toward it. “It’s from the ER.”

Inside: a soft blanket. A framed photo of the team crowded around a whiteboard that read “Baby Abbot ETA: T-minus 4 weeks.” A pair of hand-knitted booties labeled “Perlah Originals.” A stack of index cards, each one handwritten—Dana’s in looping cursive, Collins’s in all caps, Princess’s with hearts dotting the i’s. Robby’s simply read: Your kid already has better taste in music than Jack. Congrats.

You turned one of the index cards over, reading Dana’s note about how you were going to be the kind of mom who made her daughter feel safe and loved in the same breath.

“I didn’t know they even noticed me,” you whispered.

Jack rubbed slow circles against your bump. “They notice what matters to me.”

You looked at him.

He shrugged. “You’re my wife. You’re not just around. You’re part of everything.”

The baby kicked again. Hard enough to make you gasp.

Jack smiled, leaned in, and kissed the place she’d just moved. “She agrees.”

WEEK 38

You’d read about nesting, but you thought it would look more like baking muffins at midnight—not following Jack from room to room like his gravitational pull physically outweighed yours.

He didn’t seem to mind. He’d brush his hand down your back every time you passed, help you off the couch like you were recovering from surgery, and kiss your temple every time he walked by.

By Thursday, the baby bag was packed and parked by the front door. You’d zipped it, unzipped it, and re-packed it twice just to check. And when Jack got home that evening, he nodded at it, then set something down beside it with a quiet thunk.

You glanced over. “What’s that?”

“My go-bag,” he said simply.

You raised an eyebrow.

Jack nudged it with the toe of his boot. “Army-issued. Carried this thing through two deployments and six different states. Thought it’d be fitting to bring it into the delivery room.”

You blinked. “You packed already?”

He nodded, unzipped the top, and tilted the bag open for you to see: a clean shirt, a hand towel, a toothbrush, a few protein bars, and a worn, dog-eared paperback you recognized instantly.

“That one?” you said, surprised. “You always said you hated it.”

“I did,” he admitted, zipping the bag shut again. “But it’s your favorite. I read your notes in the margins when I miss you on long shifts.”

You crossed the room and leaned into him. “You’re something else.”

WEEK 40

You woke up at 2:57 a.m. with a tight, rolling wave of pressure low in your spine. It wrapped around your middle like a band and didn’t let go.

Jack was already shifting beside you. Years in the Army meant he didn’t sleep deeply—not when he was home, not when you were pregnant.

“You okay?” he asked, groggy but alert.

You exhaled shakily. “It’s time.”

He sat up immediately. “How far apart?”

“Six minutes.”

“Let’s move.”

By the time you got in the car, the contractions were coming faster—steadier. Jack didn’t speed, but he gripped the steering wheel like the world depended on it.

You were wheeled in through the ER doors—because of course you were going into labor at the hospital where Jack worked. Princess met you at triage with a knowing smile.

“She’s in three,” Princess said. “Perlah’s setting it up now.”

You were halfway into the room when Jack froze.

He turned to Collins at the desk. “Patel?”

“Stuck behind a pileup on 376,” Collins said. “She’s trying to reroute.”

Jack muttered something under his breath and scanned the monitors. “Where’s Robby?”

“Down in trauma. He’s finishing up a round.”

Jack didn’t wait. He left you in Princess’s care and went straight for the trauma bay.

Robby was wiping his hands on a towel when Jack stepped in. Hoodie half-zipped. Scrubs wrinkled. Wide awake.

“She’s in labor?”

“She’s in active labor,” Jack said. “And Patel’s not gonna make it, but—”

“You want me in the room,” Robby finished.

“I need you in the room.”

Robby dropped the towel. “Done.”

When Robby stepped into your room, you exhaled like someone had lifted a weight off your chest.

“Hey, doc,” you muttered through a contraction.

“You’re in good hands,” Robby said, glancing between you and Jack. “You’ve got half the ER out there whispering about it.”

“Tell them if they bring me chocolate, they can stay,” you joked.

Perlah dimmed the lights. Princess wiped sweat from your forehead. Robby took your vitals himself and kept your eyes steady with his.

Hours blurred together. Jack never left your side.

“You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

“You’re doing perfect.”

“She’s almost here.”

Then everything started to move faster. Robby gave a nod to Princess and Perlah.

“One more push,” he said. “You’ve got this.”

Jack leaned close, his forehead against yours. “Come on, sweetheart. Right here. You’ve got her.”

And then—

A cry. Loud. Full. Brand new.

“She’s here,” Robby said quietly.

Jack didn’t move at first. Just watched. His eyes were wet. His hand covered his mouth.

Princess handed her to you, swaddled and squirming. Jack kissed your forehead and brushed a tear off your cheek.

“She’s perfect,” he whispered. “You did it.”

Later, after they’d cleaned up and the room was quiet, you watched Jack walk over to the bassinet. He held up a camouflage onesie.

“Oh my God,” you said. “Seriously?”

He looked over, completely straight-faced. “This is important.”

“You’re impossible.”

He kissed you once, then again. And held her like he’d waited his whole life.

[sgiandubh]

It all starts with a smoke alarm

This wasn't supposed to happen like that, of course. It was supposed to happen with an ”allow me to introduce myself”, at the least. But hey, I am playing the cards I've been dealt, and since an anonymous ask on Tumblr does not allow pictures or links, this will have to do. We'll have plenty of time later.

Yesterday, I said that reading that Single Report reaped benefits. I have screen capped and summed up all the things that made me rise an eyebrow, to make things easier. Hopefully, this is going to be short: who would wax lyrical about a septic tank, after all?

I did not use my superpowers to do this, but simply the link provided by a very active Anon on several shipper blogs, in order to properly stir shite, I presume: https://corumproperty.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2023/05/HomeReport-31.pdf

Armed with my wits and a virtual highlighter, I started to carefully read the whole document. Ownership details aside - this, I discussed yesterday -, I remind you that it should give any prospective buyer a good, detailed idea of the available fittings and current condition of the house put on sale.

In Europe and elsewhere, I guess, inspections of this type are rather a dull and thorough affair. And these people did an excellent job: they checked every single nook & cranny, used binoculars to have a closer look at the roof tiles and listed it all on these papers a good researcher should read, before dropping to conclusions.

This is how we know, for example, that the inspection happened on a rainy day:

.. and that the guttering was overflowing. Does that sound like a well loved, lived-in house to you?

Thought so.

This brought a smile. And the image of a Christmas tree left near a London dustbin in June. Home, sweet home?

Like all properties, this also comes with burglar and fire alarm systems. However, apparently not much has been done, in this respect. Or at least, not recently. Not since February 2022, to be accurate: otherwise, they would have been upgraded. Yet, no such thing: it's up to the buyer to do and pay for the upgrade.

Lived-in? Certainly not after February 2022 and probably even earlier, would be my best guess. But lived-in at some point in time, most certainly.

You see, since I was on the real estate agent's webpage, I also took the virtual tour of the house. It is available to everyone, here: https://my.matterport.com/show/?m=AFKibrk8QiD

Now, I don't know about you, but when I visit somebody's house for the first time, I always check the bookshelves: yes, I am a shameless nerd. I am also well aware that the rest of the furniture was staged, it looked that sad, clinical way it does all over the world. Did not expect to find any books in there, to be honest. And yet, there they were.

I didn't bother with the fashion coffee table books, although I thought they were a nice nod to Ms. B's past, and totally the kind of things she might have on her credenza.

A built-in bookshelf in the basement caught my eye. That did not look staged. It looked as she might have left some of her own books in there, like an afterthought, if you want. And people's choices of books are always speaking volumes to me, about who they really are.

It did not disappoint.

More fash-un. And yeah, Tiffany & Co! I knew it!

A Tina Turner bio or memoir. Awww:

Bette Davis and some feminist literature. Her books, I am pretty sure of that:

And, to save the best for last, lo and behold, what do we have here?

Bear Grylls?

That Bear Grylls?

Hahahaha. Of course. I have all the reasons in the world to believe the music producer/PA/whatever is into masculine thrillers written by a world-renowned survivalist, haven't I?

Not a chance in hell, to be honest. I grinned like the Cheshire cat because, ladies, we do know WHOSE book is this, don't we?

Judging by its jacket, well-read. Not a prop.

Belonging to someone with a dry, wicked sense of humor who apparently also left this gem:

A Captain's Duty. At this point in time, I wasn't grinning anymore. I was laughing like an idiot, of course.

Slàinte mhath, ladies. We'll have time for a proper introduction later.

[drawingdroid]

The Unknown Regions III

A Din Djarin x Fem Plus Size Reader Fic

Summary: You, a soft astrophysicist, meet the hardened Mandalorian in less-than-ideal circumstances. Your abilities will lead to you crossing the galaxy together in search of his green son.

Read Chapter 1 | Read Chapter 2

Warnings: Expect conversations about weight, body dysmorphia and internalised fatphobia that may be triggering, so read at your own discretion; injuries and blood; canon typical violence; reader is AFAB and user she/her pronouns; no use of y/n; smut to come in next chapters; porn with plot; plot with porn; Din Djarin need a hug and a fuck.

Word count: 2,777

A/N: Forget reader for not knowing anything about Mandalorians, let's just pretend she was just so focused studying the planets! In my head she's an Inner Rim girlie too, so not much info about Mandos reaching her planet there, I hope you enjoy going inside Din`s mind for a while! I hope it doesn't feels too off since going inside the tin can brain is a lot of guess work hehe. Anyways, I love you so much for reading this and value a LOT your comments, it's very difficult for me to respond to them but I do my best to overcome the anxiety.

🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐

“We need to stop.”

The sound of your voice over the speeder’s motor startled Din. He had just achieved not being aware of every part of his body touching yours when you spoke in your beautiful tone. You both had been traveling across the desert for a while now, in that time not a soul crossed your path. The truth was that you were a good driver, and Din could have even relaxed if he wasn’t so preoccupied with Grogu´s whereabouts. He was confident about the little boy`s abilities and also sure that Karga was moving Heaven and Earth to find his child. But he wouldn´t rest until his thumb was again between his claws.

Din had another pressing problem too. And it was you. He had been actively trying to fight his arousal during your ride. Dank Farrik, it was taking all of his discipline to stop his hips from moving as close to yours as he desired. But you were a sweet, good-hearted woman who was helping him selflessly and he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable by any means. He would have to restrain himself just a little more.

“What?” He managed to ask after a moment. You turned a bit in your seat, confident that any obstacle was in sight, and he could admire your profile against Tatooine’s sunset.

“Your bandages, it’s been a while, we have to change them.” Din swallowed thinking about what he remembered as a fever dream: last night, your soft hands over his naked torso trying desperately to keep him alive. He shivered at the only thought of being touched with such delicacy again. He didn´t want to stop nevertheless, he wanted to be as soon as possible inside the Crest, ready to fly wherever Grogu was.

“It’s getting cold, too,” You said, thinking that his shiver was related to the temperature. “If we are fast, I think we’ll arrive by nightfall.” A silence went by while he weighed his options, but then remembered what you said about not being useful to his son if the was septic. He sighed heavily.

“Okay.” 

The spot where you decided to stop was a bit more hidden than the open dunes. Din didn’t want to have any surprises while he was vulnerable, even though he would remain vigilant all the time. He’d do the treatment himself if the nasty burn wasn’t in the most awkward place across his side. It looked like he’d need to rely on you once more. And wasn´t he enjoying that secretly?

“I’m sorry for burning you.” You were on your knees while he rested against a rock, medical supplies on display across your lap. He observed your guilty expression, beautiful brows curving downwards in a cute frown. 

“You saved my life.” He offered, stopping for a second the process of removing his armor. It was a moment of silence where you two just stared at each other until he resumed working on his padded vest. 

When he was bare (his undershirt had ended useless after having to cut through it), you couldn’t hold a heavy sigh that Din noticed. He caught your gaze on him and felt exposed, not used to being seen even without his cuirass. It looked like you felt his uneasiness because your hands started to work fast in the bandages. He tried to look away while your fingers grazed here and there his raw skin, tender and welcoming.

“It seems like everything is healing well.” He could hear the smile on your voice, and without looking he knew your full cheeks were looking round and beautiful. “I smuggled some bacta patches from work that would do even a better job.” He just nodded, grateful and wanting this to be finished as soon as possible. Every muscle in him was tense while he was actively trying not to dwell on how delicious you smelled.

“I’m going to clean the wound first.” You informed him since he was looking away. The gentle touches provoked his chest to tighten and goosebumps started to form on Din’s skin. “Does it hurt?” Your voice carried a lot of worry and he felt bad. 

“Sweet girl, if you only knew.” He thought, biting his lip under the helmet.

“Just hurry up please.” His voice came hoarser than he intended and he cleared his throat before speaking again. “Tell me about your job.” He said in a softer tone, intending to distract himself from the fire of your touch. He finally surrendered to turn his helmet to you again, and maker, what a sight. You were so, so close to him and your cheeks were rosy because of the sun. But the better part was seeing your eyes, lighted up like stars because of Din´s question.

“I’m an astrophysicist. Currently, I’m studying The Unknown Regions at the observatory. Trying to map them and gathering information about their systems.” It was clear you loved your job since your voice became so joyful and full of wonder in a moment. So you were a smart girl. Din knew how difficult calculations were even inside the mapped space. He saw you under another light now, but his interest didn’t show because he just nodded and remained silent as always, thinking about what to say next. Small talk wasn’t his forte. But looking at how your smile started to fade made him panic as he didn’t want you to feel bad. So he tried again.

“For us Mandalorians, knowing our way around the galaxy is essential. Space navigation and calculating hyperspace jumps are as important as blaster training.” You were the one that remained silent this time, gaze fixated on his wounds while applying the bacta patches carefully. It was probably the longest sentence he had spoken since you had met and he was suddenly self-aware of how he sounded. He started getting nervous when you didn´t answer. Prejudice against Mandalorians was usual among the galaxy, and it wouldn´t surprise Din that you’d been fed the same stories about them. 

“So that’s who you are? A Mandalorian?” You asked curiously when you were finished with the patches. Oh, you weren’t mad, just concentrated. Din sighed in relief, feeling instantly ashamed of his concern. “You can dress now, I brought some ration packs if you’re hungry before leaving.”Din started working in his armor once again, fast and efficient, but trying to avoid the tender spots you had just dressed.

“So Mando is short for Mandalorian.” You realized munching a ration bar, speaking more to yourself than anything. When he was finished, you offered another one for him and also the water flask and a thermos with warm broth. When Din refused, your elegant brows joined in a cute annoyed face. “You have to eat something or you’ll faint before finding your son, Mando.”

Your threat worked so he grabbed the food you were offering, but just stood awkwardly there. You tilted your head in a silent question. Din realized then you didn’t know anything about Mandalorian culture.

“I…I can’t show my helmet…face…so…” Din blamed the blood loss for his lack of eloquence, but it looked like you caught the concept. Your smile was so kind when you looked at him understanding.

“Sure! Then if you excuse me, I’ll go use the bathroom to give you some privacy.” You said standing up nervously and shaking all the sand from your clothes. You avoided his gaze al looked embarrassed, probably thinking she had offended him.

“Be careful.” Din said when you started walking towards a nearby rock formation. Turning to him, your expression was amused when you spoke.

“Afraid some of some lizard biting my ass, Mando?” You giggled and disappeared behind the improvised restroom.

“There are far worse things than lizards in this land!” He responded, but the harm was already done: now he would be thinking about your ass again after fighting the thought for hours during your ride. It looked so plush, so rounded, and Din found him conjuring the image of how his hand would feel grabbing a handful of it and… 

“Are you done?” You asked, cutting his daydreaming short. Dank Farrik, he was worse than a teenager. He then practically absorbed the food before giving you the green light, and shortly after you were both on your way to Mos Eisley again.

As you had calculated, the twin suns had just set when you made it through the city’s door. With Din’s indications, it wasn’t long until you arrived to Hangar 3-5. Due to the time, Peli had already finished her work day, so the first ones to say hi were a trembling R5 and the mechanic droids Mando despised.

“Tell Peli I’m here” You both didn’t wait long for the curly haired woman, who was chewing a plate of suspiciously-looking meat. 

“I’m charging you extra for arriving after opening hours! I just roasted the biggest womp rat ever and it’s going to get cold!” She then eyed the woman piloting the speeder and smirked. But when she and Din got out of the vehicle she noticed the lack of a certain gremlin.

“Where’s the little one, Mando?” Her grumpy façade broke when she didn’t even see the hover pram around. Din felt like he was being gutted. He looked at his feet ashamed and defeated.

“They’ve taken him.” It was painful to speak and he felt how his eyes became glazy. Din thanked the helmet in situations like this. He turned his head when he felt a warm, soft hand just where his pauldrons ended. It was you, trying to comfort him silently. Your expression was shy, but your grip was steady and it somewhat grounded him. Peli looked at you both, brows up in silent amusement and Din caught the expression, feeling like his face was on fire. 

“I’ll have the Crest ready in a second.” Peli said, keeping to herself any snarky remark going through her brain. “You better find the little one.” He added with a menacing finger against his cuirass, and Din could only nod. The bounty hunter didn’t tell her he didn’t know where to start looking. If he had his helmet off, he'd be pinching the bridge of his nose, but for now he could just stand there awkwardly twitching his fingers. You had been silent all the time, and Din realized that the dreadful moment had arrived.

“Tell the droids to refuel your bike, it’s on me.” He offered, not knowing how to address the elephant in the room. Din hadn’t noticed when, but you had removed your helmet and now your hair was framing lovingly your pretty face. Tatooine’s three moons made your skin glow like beskar and… Dank Farrik was he an idiot. “Uh…it’s not safe to cross the desert now.” A bit of common sense returned to him when he realized he couldn´t just send you home. He looked to his ship, then to his hands, and then to your pretty face again. All options were worse than each other. Inviting you to his ship? The Crest was probably kriffing uncomfortable for someone as you, he had seen your house, you liked to be surrounded by beautiful things, soft fabrics, like the carpet he had ruined with his blood. It didn´t look appropriate either He got nervous just imagining it. The other alternative was a hotel, but any of them on this side of the city was as unsafe as riding the desert alone in the middle of the night. But finally, his lust-clouded brain came up with something.

“I can drop you by the compound if you put the bike inside the cargo bay.” Maker, why did he have to sound so unsure with you? He felt like an idiot. But it looked like you had been waiting patiently for him to figure things out and just smiled in agreement.

“That would be really thoughtful Mando.” Thoughtful? How dare you say that after driving a stranger across the desert because he had his butt beaten up and his son kidnapped? Okay, it made a good sob story, but nevertheless. Your heart was made of gold. Din then froze for a moment. In his line of work, when things looked too good to be true, he should always be suspicious. He looked at your kind eyes under the moon. Dank Farrik it was almost painful to mistrust you.

“Ship’s ready!” Peli announced cleaning her hands from grease with a rag, followed by her droids. She looked to you and then to Din, and you smiled amicably to her and then proceeded to secure the bike inside of the cargo bay, leaving him and Peli alone.

“She looks like a good one Mando.” Peli nudged his bruised side and smiled with her incomplete dentition. Din couldn’t hide a groan of pain.

“You haven’t even spoken to her.” He responded exasperated, while handing her the credits he owed. 

“Call it women’s intuition.” She ended the conversation returning to her kitchen to that roasted womp rat, leaving Din confused as hell.

In the meantime, it looked like you were ready on the top of the ramp, and you were just looking around uncomfortably while trying not to be too nosy. Din had noticed that one of your many virtues was your politeness and how you didn't make him feel uncomfortable.

“She seems nice.” You commented when Din had climbed the ramp. He chuckled dryly for a moment, and with the modulator it could have been missed for a cough.

“She’s a menace.”

You both were sitting in silence inside of the cockpit while Din covered the distance between Mos Eisley and the Observatory’s compound. What it had looked like a long ride, passed in the blink of an eye, and you were amazed at how fast a ship could move in atmo too. It wasn’t long until the control tower asked about your credentials to land, and you provided the employee number given to you. The landing was gentle and before you could realize it, you were just sitting there staring awkwardly at Mando. You didn´t want to leave.

On the other hand, Mando looked as frozen as you. Neither of you had said absolutely anything since abandoning Peli’s Hangar as if the reality of his son’s kidnapping had finally hit him. You didn’t want what to say. A million things passed through your mind, but any of them seemed adequate. Finally, you gathered the courage to stand up and Mando just kept his visor on you. The silence was thick and uncomfortable.

“I’m… I’m gonna get the speeder.” You finally said, pointing vaguely downwards, but not making any move. He nodded and you felt disappointed. He had just lost his son. What were you thinking? Him asking you on a date? He didn’t look like he did the whole dating thing anyway.

But then that particular thought installed inside your brain, landed like a ship in your head before you could stop it. How dare you? How dare you think you had any opportunity with Mando? Someone like him couldn’t possibly be attracted to you. Warriors valued strong, fit bodies. And you were the opposite of that. Your mood soured and you were just prepared to exit the cockpit when the cabin’s commlink went to live.

“Mando!” The same grey-bearded man from before appeared as a holo, his hand on his hips in a serious demeanor. “I have good and bad news for you.” The bounty hunter turned his body to face Greef Karga, giving him his full attention. “We know who has the kid and where are they taking him.”

“How is that bad news?” You interrupted, without containing your joy at the information. You didn’t know anything about the child, but you were already so invested in his recovery.  

“They are taking him to the Unknown Regions, sweetheart. Unmapped Wild Space.” Karga explained with a gloomy demeanor. “It will be almost impossible to find him there…” He looked as devastated as the boy’s dad had looked before. However, Mando was still in silence although now his back looked straighter and more posture more confident. Maker, he even looked wider than before. He slowly turned his visor to look at you. 

Maybe you weren’t confident with your body sometimes. But the thing you were sure of was your wits. So when you spoke, without looking away from Mando’s visor, it sounded almost cocky how self-assured you were. Your smile, not the sweet welcoming one, but an intelligent, mischievous grin, adorned your face when you spoke.

“It’s a pity for the kidnapers that I’m precisely an expert on that.”

Next Chapter

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Four sighed. Getting floated sucked.

His unit was surprisingly quiet, with only four patients in the twelve-bed unit, which meant the usual staffing was too much. Extra nurses were sent elsewhere in the hospital where they were needed. For ICU nurses, that usually meant getting floated to another ICU.

Four wasn’t so lucky. He instead got floated to the stepdown unit, and was none too pleased about it.

Floor nurses had all of his respect.

How did one juggle so many patients at once? He would only care for one to two in the ICU, but in the stepdown it could be three to five, and on a regular acute care floor, it ranged from four to eight. Thankfully, his status as an ICU nurse meant he couldn’t be given more than three patients, as he wasn’t trained to multitask more than that, so he was spared most of the horror. But still…

It didn’t help that everything about this was new. New unit, new codes for carts, new abbreviations (though thankfully he was sent to the stepdown unit for his own service, so all of these patients were surgery and trauma patients and the language was all the same), new people, new style of patient care.

Four found his head spinning as he tired to organize his shift as much as possible, and then did a double take when a patient walked by, their IV pole in tow, and stepped off the unit alone.

“They—they can do that?” Four asked another nurse. His patients never walked alone, if they could even get out of bed at all.

“You’re the ICU float, aren’t you?” the other nurse chuckled.

“…Yeah.”

The shift started off bizarrely and only got more stressful as he progressed. Report was… bare, for lack of a better word, basic information that Four wished to go into detail, but didn’t have time to do so. The patients weren’t as sick and didn’t need as much fine combing through their chart and analysis of each body system, and Four felt uneasy knowing so little and having to work with so much less information. The med passes were insane, the amount of pills immense, the demands of more alert patients who were still hurting and stuck in their situation but more able to be upset about it was overwhelming. Four found himself enjoying a conversation with a patient in one room while simultaneously watching the clock as he still had a med pass to do in the next room, but his current patient, sweet as he was, wouldn’t stop talking.

How do these nurses get anything done? He wondered to himself as he finally excused himself from the room. (At least he knew more about this particular patient now, though learning his life’s story about his love for cars was not entirely helpful in his patient care)

It wasn’t until halfway through the shift that things truly went downhill.

Working in an ICU made Four paranoid. He paced the hallways, peeking in on his patients far more than was truly necessary. But one time, when he entered, he saw that his previously awake, alert, and oriented patient, who was fairly healthy, was breathing far too fast, pale, and sweating. He looked up at the corner of the room only to remember that there wasn’t a monitor there, unlike in the ICU, and rushed to find the nearest dynamap machine to assess his patient.

After a search that took entirely too long, he returned to find his patient lethargic. He assessed quickly – tachypneic, febrile, tachycardic, hypotensive. This patient was getting septic.

“How do I reach the doctor?” he asked the charge nurse. “My patient’s deteriorating.”

“You can page him,” the charge nurse suggested. “But that’ll probably take too long. I would call for the Medical Emergency Team. That’ll escalate it quickly and get your patient the care he needs. I’ll activate the team.”

Four fiddled with trying to help his patient as much as he could in the meantime. He grabbed fluids in preparation of giving his patient medication through his IV, he grabbed wet wash cloths and ice packs to cool him down. Within a minute or two, the door to the room opened, and he turned to see more unfamiliar faces. Two nurses entered, wearing blue polo shirts, the dark blonde one pulling out supplies while the other approached Four. “Are you the nurse for this patient?”

“Yes,” Four answered, giving a quick report. “62-year-old male, admitted for a liver transplant, was basically going pathway until tonight. He’s lethargic now, has a fever, tachycardic, hypotensive, he’s painting a septic picture, I think. His white count hasn’t been too much of an issue lately, there was a little uptick the last set of labs but nothing extreme. Usually A/Ox4, notable history aside from the cirrhosis that led to this is heart failure without reduced ejection fraction, and hypertension.”

As he spoke, Four watched the other nurse look his patient over, and she asked, “What access do you have?”

“18G in the L AC, 20G in the R wrist.”

“Any of them draw?”

“No,” Four said, wringing his hands a little.

“Got the labs, I’ll go upstairs to run the VBG,” the second nurse said a few moments later.

Four blinked. “Wait wha—are there orders?”

“I’ll put in the orders,” the first MET nurse, who had distinct blue hair, said with a smirk. “Let’s give him a fluid bolus and see how he does.”

Things progressed quickly from there. A physician arrived shortly after, getting report from the nurses, who said the patient likely was septic, would need an arterial line to confirm the high lactate from the VBG, and would probably need norepinephrine infusion since the hypotension wasn’t resolved with the fluids being given. The physician, in turn, placed orders for the medication, placed the arterial line with Four’s help, and spoke to the STICU attending so the patient would return to Four’s ICU.

The team worked efficiently, and despite the seriousness of the matter, Four found himself enjoying it as it felt like his home unit. When they reached the ICU to hand off the patient, Four stayed to help get him settled. He felt a hand on his back and turned to see one of the MET nurses smiling at him softly.

“You did good work down there,” she commented, blue eyes gentle and assuring.

“Thanks,” Four said with a smile. “I never got your name.”

The woman’s smile faded a moment, surprised, and then she huffed. “Sorry. I don’t usually introduce myself. My name’s Zelda. I noticed there are a few of those around this hospital, like there seem to be many Links like you, so just call me Lullaby.”

Four blinked, completely caught off guard – how did this woman know his name was Link? He guessed she’d read his badge at some point, but more importantly, how did she know there were other Links in the hospital? None of them would interact with a MET nurse. And how did she know they had nicknames??

An alarm blared from the monitor, drawing his attention back to the patient, and by the time things had settled Lullaby was long gone.

[fandom-queen-13]

Septicartparty week 3

Do I owe you fluff? No. Do I want to give you all fluff? YES I DO!

Introducing Poppet (Septic Digital Circus) and Dapper (Septic Switcharoo)!

Poppet: A wooden puppet boy, the ringmaster's favorite! I wanted to draw wood grain on his body, but it didn't look right for some reason. He's one of the only braincells in the group, always a calming presence. But if he is a puppet, where are his strings?

W̴̧̤͈̝̣̞̥͙̔̓̀̈́͠ơ̵̠͍̲̦̠͍̦͚͈͈͊͛̉͊̌̚͝͝û̶̠̤̝͍̲͎̰̈́̽̿͜ͅl̴̢̢̠̰̼̗͇͍̠̹̫̘̊͐̉͐͊͝d̷̢̛̰̮̖͂̋͆̔͒͠n̵̜̬̪͖̪̐̌'̵̢̧̲̲̘̼̺̙̗͙̤͕̺͓̤͆͋̍̍̓̂t̴̡̗̻̞̹͍͓͖̳̫̉̀̓̆̆̋̈́̀͝͝ͅ ̴̢̧̫̹̝̥̪̜͕͕̫̱̥̟̉̌͌̀̐͝ͅỳ̵̧̨͇̦͔͍̰͉̞̯͇̤̤̒̂͊̀̊̓͛͂ͅơ̸̛͔͕̞̺̹̙̈́̓̔̚͝ư̶̡̠͈̗̣͍̙̬̼̞̐͊͒̃͒̂͑́̈̐̉̋͜͝ ̵̬̰̬͓͈͓̖͕̈̇̏͒̓͆̇̕͜͝͝ḽ̶̣̳̝̲̟̞̠̓̅ͅi̸̜͓̟̣͈̮̩̇̐̉̆́̾͜ḵ̷̡͕͓̗̬͕͈̔͋̓̈́̾͛̀͌͋̒͐̕͜͝e̶̡̡̛̺̦͇̻̺͖̫͍̬͉̱̐̊̈́̒̾̄̈́̄͂̕̕ ̴̡̨̲̬̖̜͙̦̒̀͑́ͅͅt̶̡͍̻͙̺̗̭̙̋̏̐ͅȏ̸̧̠͖̖͔͉͇̩̞̩͓͊̆̽́̃̒͝͠ ̸̢̧̢̼͕̠̜̪̥̞̰̋̅̀͌͋̒́͑̃̀̆͘̕͝͠ķ̶͍̘͔̲̈̏n̵̛͙̮̳̱̦̟̳̦̙̭̟̮̲̞͂̈́̍͆̀̍̔͝ǫ̵̡͓̯͔̺̪͚͇͍͓̟̲̝̈́̓̐͊̈̓͗̆͒͊͆̋̈́̐͛͜ŵ̵̢͉̯͈̗̫̫͑̑̉́͊̏̓̐̍́̎̒͠͝.̵̡̢͇̹̖͍̩̱͇̥͕̘͐͆͌̚͠.̴̢̛̼̰̲̫͔̝͚͍̮̆͑̀͋̎͛͘.̶̢̧̛̙̖̱͎͇͉̯͛͐͋̌̒̀́͌̒̆͊̚

Dapper: He's so kind and sweet, he must be an angel! Nope, he's a demon from a silent film reel. Well, technically a demon, but everyone prefers spirit. He is very kind and helpful despite being mute and having to carry his film reel literally everywhere. Speaking of which, have you seen it recently? A bad scientist took it, and he's been dragging around poor Dapper ever since! He's been asking this one guy, but he knows that this good doctor can't help him if he can't recall his captor's name. What was it-Andy? Andre?

< HENRIK

MARVIN >

Reference photo:

[hautevaux]

@sephaeroth asked: "Don't worry about me..." MEME: It's Worse than we Thought

Vaux's silence speaks wonders. The angered glint to his gaze that such a thing so much as be suggested nigh burning akin to the very sun itself, but he chooses to say naught. There are yet more pressing matters to tend to, more uncertainty and concern to hurdle ere he can even hope to scold the other with regards to the absolute state he has shown up to the tailors doorstep in.

Vaux glances down the hallway, notes that there is not another soul in the vicinity and then grabs his company's arm to pull him inside. A long exhale was released through nostrils as he briefly disappears into the small bathroom, running warm water to fill the sink and collecting towels and little cotton pads, some antiseptic and things of that ilk before he re-emerges and sinks behind Sephiroth.

Small though Vaux is in comparison, he doesn't hesitate in pushing his taller companion into aforementioned bathroom, reaching for shoulders to insist he sit on the side of the bath.

He turns, gently wets part of a soft cotton pad so that he can begin to so gently wipe away at the dried blood upon Sephiroth's face, still not saying a single word. He's soft with his motions, discarding the pad each time it got too soiled ere replacing it with another and only when he is certain that he had gotten all of it does he soak another in the anti-septic but before he begins, he pauses.

Another long exhale is released through nostrils, this time it errs on the side of quiet upset: the long fingers of a free hand reaching forward to cup at the others face and press a soft kiss to his cheek.

"I'll always worry about you. I've said it once and I'll say it thousands of times over if I have to--- and I worry because you're so very precious to me." A soft exhale follows, his delicate touch returning as he cleans what little cuts and scrapes he can see. "I won't ask what happened but... I'm glad you came here-" Even if Vaux was squeamish about seeing blood, he was managing to keep calm enough simply because there hadn't been too much, thankfully.

"I'd hate to see the other guy." He makes a lithe attempt at a joke, his small smile lingering as he finishes up and then softly places each palm against Sephiroth's cheeks: "There. Back to being perfectly handsome-- Can I interest you in a hot drink while you're here, sweet?"

[agentredops]

Beautiful Person Award! Once you are given this award, you're supposed to paste it in the ask of people who deserve it. If you break the chain, nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you're beautiful inside and out! 🌸

yooo appreciate the award! 💜💙

the COD community has been nice to me since I've created this account and I appreciate that a lot 🧡

gonna tag: @septic-salad @lordskellington003 @littlemissclandestine @redartifex

[thelavendercatalogue]

Was thinking about your au and wondering if Lupin misses out on a lot of little moments that makes life worth living being asleep most of the time. Is there ever a moment he and Jigen get to enjoy a sunset? Having feelings about this.

Oh dear sweet anon. It has nothing to do with Lupin being asleep that he misses out on a lot of things.

Lupins mental health was failing even before the incident and Jigen knew that, the hospital was just the kick in the pants that started the whole snow ball rolling down the hill making things move faster then what was intended

And basically because of him being sick and everything, what would have been easy to treat became harder because if it wasn't for him getting sick in the first place they would've had a much easier time getting through to him convincing him to calm down

Because he got hurt in such a way that made him fearful of loosing what made him him, loosing the life he spent so long building up it spiraled him a lot faster

had he not gotten hurt, and sick he probably would have been more coherent enough to work through it and at least stubbornly try to get better.

But the problem with Post Septic Shock Syndrome is it alters your mental state and has a increased chance of making you more depressed then what you were before. Now combine that with Lupins already deteriorating mental health and you got a recipe for disaster.

There HAVE been instances where Lupin tried to enjoy things he once did, but they never worked out.

For example I've mentioned before

Lupin likes the rain, Jigen likes the rain its a mutual thing, but unlike Lupin, Jigen really doesn't like to go out in it, he's more then content to just laze about in the house listening to it from the closed windows

Lupin on the other hand loves it, he loves playing in it, running out in it, basically all in all just enjoying himself with it

but after his incident, Lupins personality had switched, he became a shadow of his personal self, and one of the biggest tells for this was, when it rained lupin had now refused to go out in it and enjoy it, even if it meant staying out on the porch or the balcony and watching it fall

NOW

Post-sepsis syndrome (PSS) or Post Septic Shock Syndrome) is a condition that affects up to 50% of all sepsis survivors. It includes physical and/or psychological long-term effects, but one of the main psychological/emotional effects include Decreased cognitive (mental) functioning, Hallucinations, forgetfulness/memory loss

And Jigen knew that that was a possibility, the docs gave them fuckin brochures when they left detailing all the shit he would be potentially dealing with when it came to lupin's recovery

But when he finds Lupin standing outside on the balcony during a rainstorm one day, he for a split moment, believes Lupin is actually getting better, finally enjoying what he use to and slowly returning back to his old self again, and while he typically doesn't enjoy being out in the rain he still goes out to join him

When he goes outside to praise Lupin for actually finally going out to enjoy the rain and being back to his old self again, he realizes too late however that. . .Lupin isn't actually acting like how he normally does when he goes out in this sort of weather.

There's no joy or content on his face, instead it's almost like. . .he's stargazing; his head is tilted upwards, as if he's looking at the sky but his face is blank and it's like he's disoriented because he has a glassy look in his one eye and all he's doing is just standing there in the middle of a rainstorm clueless as to what he's actually doing and when Jigen cant rouse him or get him to move he instead stays with him and puts his hat on his head until the rain stops cause lupin isn't even moving his head to keep the rain from falling into his nose

When Lupin finally snaps out of this episode he's in, Jigen asks him if he's alright and if he's ready to go back inside now, and Lupin looks at him and it's like his brain is slowly catching up and Jigen asks him again

and all Lupin does is look at him and go

"Sure. . .what were we doing out here again. . .?"

There are a LOT of contributing factors as to why Lupin seems to "miss out" on things that once made his life worth living. Most is physical of course, don't get me wrong, but that physical is also causing/exacerbating the Mental reasoning's for a lot of stuff. Jigen tries to get Lupin to enjoy stuff they use to, like watching the sunset or their favorite TV show's or such. It's just that Lupin doesn't have it in him either physically or mentally to care anymore.

His life is falling apart.

and no amount of little joys is gonna fix it

[franklyshipping]

Sometimes Heroes Wear Monocles ~ A Jacksepticeye Ego Fanfic

Here we have a fabulous prompt from the ever lovely Jameson/Marvin anon! You have been so so patient, so I hope you enjoy! LET’S DO THIS!

TAGGING: @jameson-lee-jackson and @jam-lee-jackson ​

Quiet footsteps padded through the manor in the midst of the night, the figure trying to be as quiet as possible. Then that figure slipped into the living room, reached the couch…and flopped onto it face first. Within seconds, Jackie-Boy Man was sound asleep. The septic superhero had been spending nearly every night out on hero duty, keeping people safe, stopping crimes, and generally being an incredible human being. But it was also gruelling and tiring for the poor guy, who now was quietly snoring as he curled up on the couch.

A few moments later, another set of footsteps came through the room. It was Jamie, with a glass of water he’d fetched himself from the kitchen. He was using his phone torch to light his way when he saw the snoring hero. He gave Jackie a fond, warm smile. Everyone knew how hard Jackie had been working, and how exhausted all his efforts made him. Jamie tilted his head down at Jackie, his moustache twitching a little as he thought to himself. Then, his face lit up as he made a decision. Tomorrow, after Jackie had enjoyed ample rest, Jamie was going to treat him to the cheer he deserved. He carefully put a blanket on the hero, and headed up to bed.

The next morning, Jamie got up early to begin his endearing plot of love. First, he made sure everybody knew to keep out of the living room where Jackie was sleeping, so that he could get as much rest as possible. Jamie also took over the nearest kitchen, and set about curating the most delectable buffet of sweet and savoury snacks. He made, from scratch, cheesy breadsticks, little garlic buns, jam donuts, chocolate marshmallows, and his ultimate snack… his famous chocolate chip cookies (Jamie had to whack Anti with a dishcloth to stop him stealing them!). As they reached the middle of the day, Jamie put a little of everything on a tray, along with a nice dark roast cold brew with vanilla milk foam, and brought it to Jackie. He put it carefully on the table beside the couch, and it wasn’t long before the delicious scents woke Jackie up.

‘What the…?’

Jackie mumbled, his eyes going wide at the sight of the amazing spread of food in front of him; for a few moments, he genuinely thought he was still dreaming! Then he spotted Jamie sat across from him, and the young man wiggled his moustache as he signed excitedly.

‘Surprise!’

Jackie let out a laugh as he sat up.

‘Jamie… did… did you make all this for me?!’

Jamie nodded, his eyes sparkling as he signed.

‘Yep! You deserve it, you’ve been working so so much and I wanted to treat you! This is your first surprise.’

Jamie’s reply made Jackie grin, his eyes lighting up like that of an excited child as he replied.

‘This is just one surprise, what’s the second?’

‘You’ll just have to wait and see, now c’mon eat up!’

Jamie signed playfully, making Jackie giggle as he got started on the banquet of goodies Jamie had put together for him. Needless to say, it was clear Jackie needed every last morsel of it. It had been a while since Jackie had been able to dedicate time to even a little treat, so to be able to have something of this scale was just… heaven! He ate every last crumb, and for the first time in ages the hero actually felt like a properly energised human being. He let out a sigh as he flopped on the couch, rubbing his stomach with a grin on his face.

‘Whew, man… you sure know how bake up heaven!’

Jamie beamed, his moustache wriggling.

‘Why thank you!’

‘So, what’s this second surprise?’

He asked, doing a little stretch as he let the baked goods sink into his system as he looked across at Jamie with a curious grin. Jamie grinned back… and then stood up. Jackie’s brows knitted together in confusion as Jamie came over to him slowly. Then Jackie’s eyes widened as Jamie stood over him, raised his hands… and wiggled his fingers at him. Colour flooded the hero’s face as he suddenly realised Jamie’s intentions.

‘Woah woah Jamie wait hold on–AH!’

Jamie jumped on Jackie, interrupting him gleefully as his chest shook with giggles. Then, without hesitation, he slipped his fingers into Jackie’s armpits and tickled them, his blunt nails scratching as the hero’s hollows as he winked down at him.

‘Nononohoho! Wahahahait! C’mahahan, thihihis ihihis mehehean!’

Jackie squealed, and Jamie merely giggled, especially when Jackie dramatically clamped his arms to his sides. This didn’t hinder Jamie one bit, his fingers still deftly wiggling into Jackie’s underarms as he sent him a teasy grin. Jamie’s nails showed no mercy, making the hero writhe and wriggle under Jamie as he exclaimed.

‘Thihihis ihihis hehehero abuhuhuse!’

Jackie’s words made Jamie mock-pout at him, making Jackie let out an indignant noise as he squeaked out his words.

‘Dohohon’t mohohohock mehe-AHH!’

Jackie yelped as Jamie suddenly dragged his scratching fingers down the hero’s ribcage, his eyes gleaming as he watched Jackie snort and kick his feet, now throwing his head back with his laughter.

‘Yohohou’re ehehevil! Ehehehevil mohoustache mahahan!’

Jackie yelped, his words making Jamie gasp as he raised his hands to sign.

‘Don’t you bring my moustache into this!’

As a punishment for Jackie’s insolence, Jamie dug his fingers properly into the hero’s poor ribs. Jackie’s eyes widened at the intensity, letting out howls of giddy laughter as he hurried to babble.

‘AHH! NOHOHO IHIHI TAHAHAKE IHIT BAHAHACK! I TAKE IT BACK I TAHAKE IHIHIT BAHACK!’

Jamie grinned, and kept on tickling his ribs. His lean fingers plucked at each of Jackie’s ribs playfully, as if they were cute little string instruments, as Jackie batted at his hands (though, not too strongly). By now Jackie was a mess of cackles and yelps and snorts, a veritable cacophany of boisterous ticklish reactions that Jamie enjoyed listening to. Jamie was certainly dedicated, ensuring that each of Jackie’s sensitive ribs got the exact, precise attention it deserved.

‘Coochie coochie coo!’

Jamie raised his hands for a mere moment to sign, before continuing the rib tickling with delight. Jackie’s face went red as the ticklish feelings surged under his skin; he was desperately wishing he hadn’t slept in his spandex suit, which just made the sensations so much worse!

‘OHOHOHO GAHAHAD NOHOHO!’

Jamie giggled warmly at all of Jackie’s reactions, thinking that they were just beyond adorable! After a few more moments he eased up on Jackie’s ribs, leaving the hero panting and giggling as he gazed up at Jamie.

‘Oh gohod, ahahare yohou dohohone?’

‘Not quite yet.’

Jamie signed in response, along with a wink. Then he teasingly wiggled his fingers above Jackie’s tummy, making the hero squeak and instantly hide his face in his hands.

‘Nononono not there!’

Jamie grinned, his face bright with fond teasing.

‘Oh yes there!’

Jamie signed, before his fingers descended to their fresh tickly task. He only used his fingertips against Jackie’s tummy, giving the hero the most teasy, fluttery tickles known to man… aka, a technique that was Jackie’s most endearing tickly weakness. The gentleness and teasing were almost unbearable! Jackie’s face was beet red beneath his hands, and he couldn’t stop kicking his feet as he giggled and babbled.

‘Ihihit’s nahahat fahahair ihit’s nahahat fahair!’

Jamie adored watching Jackie hiding his face, he thought it was so cute how he was flustered merely from the softest tickles at his tummy! Jamie curled and uncurled his fingers slowly, making Jackie let out a loud, embarrassed whine.

‘Plehehehease! Yohohou knohohow Ihihi cahahan’t!’

Jackie peeked through his fingers as Jamie pulled a mock-innocent expression, his eyes shining as he signed.

‘Can’t what?’

He continued the evil, gentle tickling as Jackie whined even louder, his feet now kicking the couch as his voice got even more high-pitched.

‘Ihihi cahan’t tahahake thihihis!’

Jamie let out a soft, playful gasp.

‘Oh, am I being too rough? I can be gentler for you!’

He signed… and then Jackie squealed when Jamie somehow lightened his tickly touch even more. Now, Jamie’s stroking and fluttering were practically featherlight, which was even more tickly for the poor hero!

‘Ohohoho my gohohohod!’

Jackie soon descended into a stream of purely incoherent giggling and rambling as Jamie treated his tummy to the softest tickles for minute after minute. His fingers swirled over his waist, the little pudge under his navel, the sides of his tummy, the centre, all of it. No part of Jackie’s tummy was left un-teased. When Jamie was satisfied that he’d flustered the hero into the happiest and most blissful oblivion, he then had mercy on him. Jackie ended up consumed by giggles for another two minutes before he was able to catch his breath. When he slowly revealed his face he was completely crimson, practically matching his suit. His eyes glimmered as he gazed up at Jamie, his brain racing with a million giddy thoughts… but there was only one thing he wanted to say.

‘…thank you.’

Jackie’s whisper made Jamie beam. Indeed, there was nothing else that needed to be said. Jackie melted as Jamie gave him the warmest hug imaginable, both of them relishing in the happy snugness. As he hugged the hero, Jamie could feel the joy in him, the relaxation… and for once, a real sense of relief too. They cuddled and cuddled for what seemed like forever, only moving to get more snacks or slip in a movie. It was bliss. Truly, the most well-deserved bliss.

AHHH HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED THIS FIC, LEMME KNOW IF YA DID! WOOO LUV YOUS!!

[lirusstories]

Basking in the Sun - Septic/Egotober Day 20

TW: None

Egotober: Music

Septictober: Touch-Starved

Word count: 260, short and sweet

Soft music plays through the room as Jameson sits on the couch with his eyes closed, allowing his mind to dance with the music in shades of blue and gold.

He opens his eyes again when he feels her join him on the couch.

“I made you some tea.” She hums and he looks down and smiles at the filled cup on the coffee table in front of the two of them.

“Thank you.” He hums in her mind, looking up at her lovingly and she smiles back softly.

“Of course love.” She responds just as softly as her smile.

She wraps an arm around him and the touch burns so sweetly. It’s been so long since he’s felt anything like that.

She leans lightly against him, giving him enough room on the couch to move away if it’s too overwhelming.

Instead, he leans into her, basking in her warmth like a fox in the sun.

“Mad?” She asks, though she clearly already knows.

“Mhm.”

“It’s a lovely song.”

“You say that about most Caravan Palace songs.” He reminds her warmly.

“That's because most of them are good.” She chuckles.

Jameson loves that sound, he hasn’t hear it in far too long and he melts into her burning touch when she reaches down and absentmindedly starts playing with his hair.

“I’m glad you’re back My Heart…” She murmurs so quietly he almost doesn’t hear her.

”I’m glad to be back My Soul.” He murmurs into her mind and he feels her physically relax.

“I love you.”

“And I love you.”

Hello! If you enjoy our work and wish to see more, including spoilers, cut scene's or replaced scene's feel free to join our discord!

And if you really enjoy our work and want/are able to help us out, feel free to buy us a ko-fi or send us somethin on paypal!

Taglist: @glitchyartist @randowaffle @jselorekeeper @brokentimewatch @secondary-objective-active

[matcheadz]

HoS or Host of Seraphim Update!

NaNoWriMo did not work out! Woohoo! Anyway, here's your next chapter. Chapter 14: Devil's First Communion. I like food. You like food. I made myself hungry multiple times while writing this.

In this chapter, we follow Kyrie and her struggle with the intersection of her abandoned faith and motherhood. Kyrie doesn't understand Vergil, nor does she think she'll ever care to. But he means something to Nero, and thats what matters. All she can do is look out for her family and hope that the world, not Sparda, will look upon her favorably.

Also Kyrie WANTS her man, so mild warning for that.

Here's a spoiler-free snippet!

Nero smiled at her. “Hey.” Kyrie flushed. “Oh. Hello.” “Sorry about the water. Dante stuck his head under the sink instead of using the shower like I asked. “ Nero looked up at his spectral hands, still holding firmly onto Kyrie’s waist with his own human hands. “These are new.” He hummed appreciatively. “Where’d you get these from?” “Um. Lady thought of us while out with Trish. I was just about to put them away.” “That’s nice of ‘em. Let me help you.” “No. I quite like it here, actually.” It was Nero’s turn to flush this time. He bit his cheek, stifling a small smile as he brought her upright again. Kyrie giggled at him, pleasantly content in watching him turn his back to her and open the cabinet doors. “At least someone was able to do a little gift-giving” Nero sighed, stacking the porcelain safely away. “Client was so sure he had some kind of poltergeist scratching at the walls in the house. Turns out it was just a rat infestation. Had their tails all knotted together. Scared the absolute shit out of me. Dante wouldn’t shut the fuck up about it until he found out the hard way they were interested in the issues with the home’s septic tank.” Kyrie stifled her laughter at the image with an attempt at a sympathetic little hum. To ease the blow, she walked up behind him, encircling her arms around his chest and pressing her cheek to the middle of his back. In the last few days, Kyrie had found this angle to be the best way to listen to the sweet little purrs that had appeared after that dramatic stage play in the backyard. The rumble increased as she nuzzled into him. “I’m glad you two are spending more time together.” She whispered quietly. Nero’s back jolted with a soft exhaling of amusement. “Yeah well…I guess I have more reason to now that I know he’s not just ‘some guy.’” Nero turned in his spot, resting his lower back against the kitchen counter to gaze down at her sweetly. The flesh of his hands came down to rest again at her hips, thumbing barely perceptible circles over the band of her skirt. His spectral arms hesitated above them in the air, before slowly placing themselves over her shoulders. Strangely, Kyrie felt no weight, even as they made the shoulders of her blouse crease. “I think you and I both knew he wasn’t just ‘some guy,’ mio tesoro.” Kyrie whispered, reaching up onto the tips of her toes to meet his face.

[spookysalem13]

PayPal Donation Link For Nola's Surgery

On Sunday my pug Nola aka Count DracNOLA had to be taken to the Emergency Vet.

Her uterus became infected and she was blowing up like a balloon and leaking infected puss. She was going to turn septic without a complete hysterectomy.

The first ER vet we took her to was more concerned with an immediate pay day than treating the animals with any kind of kindness, respect or humanity.

They tied a slip leash around my sick baby and dragged her. She's a pug. Pugs can only be walked on a harness. Not even a collar because of their breathing and a collar being tugged cuts off their airway.

They wouldn't pick her up. Why? I don't know. She's a small dog. She's sick. Picking her up should have been their immediate response. But instead they slipped a knot around her neck that got tighter as she moved. Nola couldn't breathe. She was choking and being dragged until she gave in and followed because she couldn't breathe. She was literally coughing and they did nothing but pull harder on her tightening the closure around her neck.

I was so upset. But I knew she was sick and she needed to be treated. She was back there for 5 hours. They wouldn't let me see her.

They told me I needed to pay $8,500 to have my baby's surgery done or she'd go septic and wouldn't make it.

I said I don't have the money. They said they don't do financing so I could take out a care credit but be warned I'd be paying high interest. I said I didn't care I needed to save Nola.

But despite my good credit, I have low income. I'm disabled and I can only work 24 hours a week. So I don't make much money. I qualified for $4,100 as a care credit loan. I was in tears I was shaking. I asked them what do I do. I don't have the money. They said take her to the humane society but she won't get proper care there. Making me feel guilty for needing to choose that option in the first place.

But I didn't have a choice. Then only to find out the humane society was closed until Tuesday and Nola didn't have that much time.

They said they couldn't change the prices. Prices were final. But they contacted another ER vet. Only to find out that this vet heard about Nola and changed their prices for her.

So this new vet is where Nola had her surgery that night. The first vet still charged us $220 just to see Nola in the first place. But the second vet was different from the moment we walked in the door.

They immediately picked her up and petted her, gave her love and attention. Took her back to be examined by the surgeon instantly. I didn't have to wait hours like before.

They brought the pricing to me about Nola's surgery and at maximum it was going to be $4300. We agreed and Nola was taken the best care of. They were so kind and sweet to her. Her surgery went beautifully. Everyone treated her so lovely. Even the technician fell for her. He was obsessed.

I went to pick her up the next day and the total was $3,600. Even less than what I was expecting. I will be paying it off for the next 12 months. But my Nola is okay and she was taken care of by people who genuinely cared about their profession and not only about making the most money.

She will be in recovery at home for four weeks. She's doing okay now. She's finally eating again. She's stubborn about her medicine but she's doing well.

And the important thing is my baby is still here.

If you'd like to help donate to helping a low income disabled creator like myself with paying for my Nola's surgery. Tips or the PayPal donation link at the top and bottom of this post are linked. Anything is appreciated, only if you can. But just sending love to Nola is truly appreciated.

I've been so scared and worried. I'm just so incredibly thankful she's okay.

PayPal Donation Link

[whim-chime]

1.22.24: atl teardown

it’s strange to come to a city, form a bond with it, feel it around me, and then leave. to pick up everything and migrate south, to pack my life into two suitcases, to have a home in the people around me instead of a house i’ve lived in for years - it’s all very bittersweet. the traveling ecosystem of cirque du soleil is uniquely taxing and equally rewarding.

something i’ve learned about the circus is that it’s less about the troupe name and more about who falls within that name. cirque du soleil is a corporate entity, and it functions that way on a large scale. however, the capacity that i’m involved with it is very small in the grand scheme of things, and that means i get to enjoy the small things - giving face glitter to the merch team on sundays, hugs from the technicians, blown kisses and stickers and sweet little gifts i didn’t ask for. being surrounded by passion and kindness and stories. laughter and smoke. teamwork.

atlanta was good to me in many ways. it was scary at times, and difficult. but mostly it was good to me.

a day after setup in october, i got sick and went to the hospital. i was told i had likely gone septic. i think i should have been scared, but i wasn’t. i was just thinking about how sad my mom would be if i died.

i wasn’t septic, as it turned out - the symptoms of extreme dehydration mimic sepsis symptoms in POTS patients - and i made it to premiere night a few days later.

i drove directly into an active shooter situation before turning around and trying to avoid hitting the people running away behind my car. i had a string of illnesses towards the end of the run, and struggled with the fifth anniversary of my dad’s suicide. i also danced, sang karaoke, got a new position, celebrated the holidays in a new city, made new friends, and had the most intense three months of my life.

i feel changed; fundamentally different. this could be for any number of reasons - probably a combination of many. i’m so very grateful to have been a part of something that transcends so many barriers. the transient nature of the big top is i think what makes it so special. impermanent and fluctuating, in motion, a mobile village and its people.

[taikeero-lecoredier]

(1/3) Hi, I hope this isn't too weird, feel free not to answer my ask(s), but I saw you in the notes of a tma post and you seemed familiar, and it took me a moment to figure this one out, but I realized that ages ago you ran an event I took part of. It's been years and I've changed fandoms and accounts quite a few times since then, but I still remember how happy I was to contribute to that event, and more importantly, I remember how nice you were to everyone who made things for it.

Hello,anon ! First of all : thank you for sending me those asks, those were really sweet to read! When you mention a tma post,did you perhaps mean the one with stranger! Sasha and desolation! tim ? Or a different one altogether ? :o Its super sweet of you to say though,I really appreciate it :D The only event I remember making was for the septic egos one, did you mean the @basket-full-of-septics ? I did wanted to make an event for tma where I would ask people to send me their designs of michael distortion and I'd draw them all but I never got around to do it sobs I'm here to stay though,so you don't have to worry about me leaving ! I feel you on that side though, when the Internet is a ever changing place,it sucks that you see a lot of people come and go (and sometimes they dont return) But I'm happy you had such a good time with the event :] ! I hope you have a great day yourself, you can always pop me a dm if yo'ud like,and thank you again for sending me these asks :)

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

TRIPLE DIPPED IN FILTH

BY

UZIEGO AKA ZAC DÜNN

Triple dipped in the filth

A wealth of savage information

The cubicle walls had grown much too tall.

Like the zenith of JESUS casting his mighty stone glare upon the Neolithic moment the cave man saw his shadow. Uptown scrawling as the flies circle the remains. Cord on blue and brand spanking new, reevaluating incantations so sweetly spoken on knobby knees.

Corrosive fluids drip and create vast puddles the pedestrians slip upon, septic lines intercrossing the perimeter. Parabolas cascade choky fire man hole covers under the blankets. She has a wank then made a pound of bacon. The coffee is always BUSTELLO. Somewhere behind the dumpster lived a man of behemoth fragrance and fortitude. His name was DEMPSY.

He was born and raised in the OLD NORTH END.

After a tour in NAM he ended up back on the streets of the NORTH END. He tried to stay out of trouble, but trouble always had a way of finding him. Days turned into years in a blink.

One day panhandling, whilst inhaling a half eaten danish, a sweet lady had given him, a tall clean cut gentleman approached him. He asked him if he was hungry. DEPSEY looked back into his face with his cold blue eyes, chewing a chaw of danish.. SURE… The man motioned for him to stand up and follow him. DEPSEY did so…

They walked several blocks toward the lake and they came upon the man’s CADILLAC. The man unlocked the doors and they lumbered inside. The man offered DEPSEY a bottle of JOHNNY WALKER BLACK LABEL. DEPSEY gladly took the bottle and cracked the top. He looked out the window and cased his surroundings prior to lifting the jug of booze to his lips. He took a solid swill that lasted every bit of 5 seconds…

The man smiled and asked DEPSY if he’d like to make some money at his cabin entertaining friends. DEPSY had just come off a particularly ruff week. DOUGLAS DUCHARME had smashed in both of DEPSY’s front teeth then stole his backpack. The irony is that DEPSY had stolen the backpack from some bird who was doing her boyfriends laundry and was forgetful. He felt tuff rolling around in the pinstriped overalls and BEASTIE BOYS T SHIRT. Like one of the fellas out innit, tryna holler at girls and get a slice of the pie.

The man said he would need to “perform” again but DEPSY was beyond blind eyed drunk almost instantly. He closed the bottle and took a gruff snort. JUST SO LONG AS NO ONE TRIES TO RAPE ME I DON’T CARE… The man grinned then belted out a large chuckle in an almost

diabolical manner.

OH, NO RAPE OF ANY KIND, CROSS MY HEART.

The car sped onward toward to cabin on the other side of lake.

DEPSY awoke as the car pulled up to the palatial wooden cabin. The man spoke softly and said… WE’RE HERE.. DEPSY yawned as it was now the afternoon and the booze had given him desperately need vitality to soldier forward and command the fields of carnage that lay ahead…

The man slowly proceeded toward to front door of the cabin. It occurred to DEPSY as he staggered toward the cabin, that he was completely out of his element… Sadly his element was being exposed to the elements and the brutally of strangers, but it was his place none the less… He was utterly unaware of where he was or how he'd gotten there or where he was. He figured that where there’s one bottle of BLACK LABEL, there’s most likely another

Innit somewhere.

They stepped through the threshold and entered the massive, grand lodge of cabin. A giant mounted BUFFALO greeted them.

DEPSY asked for a glass and some ice. The man scurried off across the creaky wood floor to fletch an appropriate vessel. When he returned DEPSY had made himself comfortable on a giant leather sofa. He felt important clutching his bottle and receiving the heavy vessel with crisp ice cubes that clicked and clacked as he poured the sauce over the ice. He held up the glass so as to take in the room and savor the nectar he held in his paw. Suddenly a thud clapped the back of his noggin.

When he awoke he was naked. He was tired to a chair surrounded by naked people in hoods all muttering something. He tired to make out their words, but to no avail. His head felt like mud. His eyelids felt extremely heavy. It seemed immediately that he’d been drugged with something.., butt naked and high as a kite on some horse, tied to a goddaM chair…

WHAT KIND OF PUDFING DID YOU PUT YER PECKER INTO THIS TIME DEPSY.., he though, speaking to himself in 3rd person..

He’d done his dance with the dragon while train hopping and stealing cattle to escape the law in BOSEMAN.

It’s of relevance to note while DEPSY had effectively been vomited out of the MILITARY INDUSTRIAL COMPLEX into the bowls of the old NORTH END. Masochistically forced to March like all the other home bum zombies. Begging for change, eating free church meals grabbing what goods could be clutched up at all junctures.

He’d been raised by his father the traveling salesman. Selling aluminum siding and driveway sealant any moron could do themselves. The GRIFT ran deep in his blood.

The old man sold the Irish sweepstakes tricks back BROOKLYN on FLATBUSH AVE as kid.

His DAD had been a longshoreman. The docks were a blaze with debauchery and hi jinx galore. The trucks would pull up and the fellas all filled out like rabid hounds.

Tearing about the cans and looting anything and everything in sight. Whole trucks would just disappear and reappear. It was a different time. But the OLD MAN eventually drank one too many and knocked the ever loving puss outta some fella and killed em.

It was an accident but then he got upset and kicked the shit out of the dude to make sure he was dead before removing his member and urinating all over his blood splattered face.

It was a mess so he chose to burn the bar down and leave NEW YORK. He took a boat to the MALDEVES. A buddy helped him get on a crew with phony docs and he was gone. Like a rat on CANAL in the swarm at dawn. A ghost who served up the final ass wooping for an unwitting BAFOON. He too would turn into a ghost with his fists and lack of wits.

Once he hit land, he swore to never get on a ship again. He kissed the beach and cried for an hour. His eyes burned and he felt like he was falling because he couldn’t stop crying. The captain stood over him shaking his head briefly before leaving him to sob alone. Eventually a switch flipped inside him and he stopped crying and stood up. He walked to the tiny town. From there he found a work and wife before stowing passage back to the states several years later and moving BURLINGTON, VERMONT.

It was slowly becoming apartment to DEMPSY that his situation was most certain.. as the of JOHNNY walked away, he could hear the people muttering and start to have coitus all around him. The floor began to ooze and he remembered feeling dopey when his eyes opened..

The roar of undulating flesh and growling was relentless.. one lady in particular seemed determined to out do EVERYONE.. eventually he became aware of a very tall naked man with a giant BUFFALO head upon his shoulders.. he moved slowly with intent amongst the slithering round the room to trigger the invoication…

The magus took long, confident strides. Commanding the room as he moved closer to the alter..All the disgusting smashing abruptly stopped…

The magus spoke:

WE ARE ONE

WE ARE NONE

(the people respond in a shrill scream)

WE ARE THEY

THEY WHO LIVE TODAY

WE WILL DIE

BUT ONLY AFTER WE TRY

WHAT IS BORN

CAN NEVER DIE

THE LIGHT IN-EXTENTION

INSIDE OF ME

IS THE LIGHT

INSIDE THE TREE

As each phrase and response was spoken the people blasted out the words slowly and loudly. The resonance of the many voice drifting chaotically in and out of dissonant frequency.

WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK…

DEPSY thought to himself. The invocation finished and all the people exhaled as one and collapsed to the filthy fluid kissed floor. The thud was followed by them grinding there faces into the floor. A low whimpering Bega in to bubble.

DEPSY was remarkablely calm through out this all, thanks largely to the THOROZINE and KETAMINE cocktail they blasted into his ASS..

GUYS, LOOK.. IT’S NOT SO BAD! YOU GOT EACH OTHER! QUIT CRYING! I DIDN’T CRY WHEN I CAUGHT MY BALLS IN MY FLY THE OTHER DAY. OH, SURE I LET OUT A YELP, BUT NONE A BOO HOO’E BULLSHIT!!! LOOK AT YOURSELVES!!

The wailing and sobbing intensified. Growing slowly to deafening roar.. The MAGUS stood watch over his flock. He lifted his left index finger and made a huge circle, then stepped through it. He clapped both his hands at full force in front of him, stepped forward again, closer to DEPSY.

The MAGUS began to speak in a brick hard tone.

YOU ARE THE FOOL

THE NEOPHYTE

BROUGHT BEFORE THIS

COVEN TO BARE WITNESS

TO CONSECRATE THIS

RITUAL AND EXTEND

OUR LIGHT FROM

THE VOID INTO

THE WAKING WORLD

WE TOAST YOU

ON MOST HIGH

YOU TOOK SO

MANY STEPS TO

GET TO THIS PLACE

WE MEAN YOU NO ILL

BUT INSTEAD INVITE YOU

TO CLEANSE YOURSELF

IN THE HEALING

WATERS OF OUR

HOT SPRING BATHS

The people grew quiet as the MAGUS spoke.

They rose like flowers growing in time lapse. He could feel sweaty flesh touching his hands and feet, unbending him from the chair. A voluptuous woman stood before him in all her glorious bounty. She extended her splendid hand to DEPSY and softly spoke.,

PLEASE COME WITH ME DEPSY

DEPSY gave his noggin a solid shake and pressed his heels into the wet floor to stand. He put out his weathered catchers mitt and placed it into her smooth, cool palm. She made a sound but it was like a delicate hum of recognition.

They slowly strolled out of the room which was actually a large barn behind the property. They walked with everyone else to the lake and another huge building with large glass windows. Inside they all slipped into the natural hot spring pools that were there. Looking out across the lake from the pool the MAGIS entered last. He circled the pool as the people began heavy petting. A gooie slaughshing and clapping of the liquid surface begin distrusted ensued. The people formed a loose GUYER and began to rotate and penetrate each other whilst circling DEPSY at the center of the MALESTROM.

The MAGUS slowly circled the people and the circumference of the pool. DEPSY was bathed in the fluids and mineral essence of the mountain. The sun hardened flesh of his face melted the years of struggle clean away instantly. His rickety knees, that normally buckled as he walked felt strong again. His stumpy hobbit feet clutched the coarse concrete surface of the pool. His piggies wiggled limber like a toddler’s.. he looked down into the gregarious mating-ball of human flesh undulating hypnotically around him. The woman who led him from the chair placed her fingers on his ear, then leaned in. Slowly biting the lower meat of his ear lobe where is small gold pirate ear ring was. She made the ring clink against her toungue piercing. She slowly recoiled and released her grip. Blowing a breath delicately back into his ear. She spoke in a delicious low and tender blanket voice.

THANK YOU DEPSY

WE TOAST YOU

ON MOST HIGH

YOU HONOR US

BY REMINDING US

THAT THE STEP

WE TAKE NEXT

WE TAKE INTO

THE LIGHT

BRAVE AND CLEAN

WITH HEARTS BRIMMING

WITH LOVE

AND HANDS

STRONG ENOUGH

TO PERRY THE

HEAVY LOAD ACROSS THE BADLANDS

TO CARRY THE FIRE

AS YOU HAVE DEPSY

THE RICH MAN

IS A PAUPER

WHO KNOWS NOT

THE EYES OF THE MOST MIGHTY MOUSE THST EVER WAS A MC WHO BRAVED THE WILDERNESS AND HOBO JUNGLE

WHO SHALL RAISE UP FROM THESE HEALING WATERS AND BE OUR KING

DEPSY looked deep into her eyes and grin as large as he could through his scruffy ginger mustache. He slowly leaned into her and gave her a long, slow, passionate kiss. He was recoiled and held her against his hersute naked frame. Taking in the splashing pool more like a bit of chummed waters with some REEF SHARKS having a nip and saying HELLO.

He took a long slow breathe knowing that he was free. Free of the maze he’d been born into. He was no longer an INVALID PERSON unworthy of pity or compassion. He was a KING. He hadn’t the foggiest what that meant but he was finally feeling the horse clop off to greener pastures.. He quickly clapped his hands and proclaimed..

YOUR KING

IS THIRSTY!!!

BLACK LABEL

ROCKS STAT!!!

YOU BUFFALO HEAD GUY

WHAT THE SHIT

TAKE THAT THING OFF

AND GET YOUR ASS

TO THAT BBQ

AND FIRE IT UP

DADDY’S HOME

AND HUNGRY

[rubyperic-09]

if Toa saw Nick and Charlie hold hands in heartstopper, season 1, episode 6.

someone said they wanted to see this as a fanfiction, so I tried my best to make something likable.

“Tara!? Darcy?!” Nick calls out while we all frantically check every room in the music block. God! Why is he even here? He’s obviously just making fun of Charlie. Loud banging coming from one of the classrooms interrupts my thoughts. Nick busts open the door. At least he’s good for something. “Hey. You guys are supposed to be on stage like, right now.” He says half out of breath. “Oh, Uh!” Darcy says, half stunned, half worried. We all start running towards the ‘stage’ where Tara, Darcy, and Charlie are performing with the rest of the band.

Tara and Darcy are in front, leading the group while holding hands. Nick and Charlie run behind, side by side, smiling at each other while they ... OMFG! Hold hands! Are they together?! Elle follows behind, yelling back at me to hurry up. “I’m Trying!” I yell back, in a hurried panic. We get back, and Nick helps Tara and Darcy set up while we find our seats. Nick finds his way to his seat, which just so happens to be next to mine. I look up to see Charlie smiling at someone, I turn to see who he is smiling at. Nick! Nick smiles back, a proud expression on his face. I smash my elbow into Nick’s shoulder. and Darcy, and Nick and Charlie.

“What?!” Nick says surprised but calm, as if I hadn’t just smashed an elbow into him. I stare at him to see if he is trying to joke with Charlie. He sits there, arms crossed, waiting for my reply. “are you trying to be funny?” I say quietly, but loud enough to sound angry. “Huh?” Nick stares at me blankly. “I saw you holding hands with him. You know, in the corridor.” “Oh, right. Charlie was going to tell you at milkshakes, but he didn’t get the chance.” “So, you two are together then?” I ask sternly. “Yeah.” Nick forces out. “How long?” Nick stares at me, a confused expression on his face “umm...” He doesn’t finish his sentence. “Well come on then! Spit it out.” I yell, much louder than intended. “SHH!” Elle taps me on the shoulder. “If you’re going to interrogate Nick, do it somewhere else. Elle whispers. “Fine” I say angrily.

I grab Nick’s arm and pull him out of the row, and into the corridor. “Are you going to answer me or not?!” I yell, pulling the door shut behind me. “Since Harry’s party. April 17th. Well, that was our first kiss, we have been officially dating since the 18th.” His voice slows and grows quieter with each word. “What?!” I yell angrily. Silence falls upon the room for at least thirty seconds before Nick forces something out. I’m not quite sure what because I can’t hear him over the loud applaud from the audience. I choose to ignore whatever he said and continue talking. “So at Charlie’s birthday when I interrogated you and Charlie, you were already together!?” Nick nods in agreement. “Yeah, I kind of heard that.” He says under his breath. “And When he almost broke his nose at rugby, when you just stood there in shock, you were together?” “Yeah, that’s When Isaac figured it out.” Nick’s tone changed, it was soft and sweet. I had never heard him talk like this. “I was wiping Mud off Charlie’s face when we walked in with ‘anti-septic wipes.’” Nick said this slightly laughing, and using a very Isaac like tone, to emphasis his point.

“So pretty much, I have been bullying both of you out of a relationship I thought you were using to make fun of Charlie, and you were together the whole time. I was telling Charlie to drop you for no reason. I thought I was protecting and really, I was just bullying you both.” I have to stop myself from crying. Nick just stares at me. “Pretty much.” He looks down at the floor when he says this. He doesn’t say this sarcastically, like a joke that was obvious, but in a reassuring tone to show empathy, and to show respect and compassion. I can start to see why Charlie is in love with him. He isn’t like the other Rugby boys. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions before getting to know him. “Why didn’t you just tell me. Why didn’t you just stand up for yourselves when I was pressuring you and tell. I probably wouldn’t have put so much pressure on him if I had known.” “I think that’s why he didn’t tell you. He cares about your opinion so much, that he is scared you will overreact an blow up in his face about something, or not care at all.” Nick goes to continue, but the door is opened by the very person I need to hear confirm this.

“Charlie.” Nick picks him up and spins him around twice before putting him down. “Nick!” Charlie says, surprised and annoyed, but happy. He stares at Nick before subtly nodding towards me. “Oh, yeah. He saw us holding hands earlier, in the corridor.” Nick says partially laughing, partially worried. He pulls Charlie in for a hug. “So that’s Why you’re out here? I thought you both got bored and didn’t want to watch.” Charlie starts crying into nick’s shoulder, covering his face with his hands. Nick gently pushes him out from his chest and removes Charlie’s hands from his face so he can wipe away his tears. “Charlie. I loved every second of what I heard and saw of your performance. I would’ve loved to see more of it, but I think... it’s good that Toa has figured stuff out with me before you, because I don’t value his opinion as much as you. I value what all your friends think, but i haven’t known them as long and don’t depend on their approval. It’s not a bad thing that you do either. Toa was partially upset, so I’m glad he didn’t blow up in your face and blew up in mine instead.” Nick wipes the last tears from Charlie’s face before looking back at me. “I think you two need to talk to each other. Do you want me to stay, or are you all good?” “I’m all good. Thanks.” Charlie hugs Nick goodbye before turning towards me. As nick leaves, I can see a look of ‘be kind or else’ on his face. I nod and he smiles before walking away.

I turn to Charlie and pull him into a hug. “I’m so proud of you.” He stares up at me through hair wet with tears. “Really?” “Yes. Of course.” “Why? I thought you would be ad I didn’t tell you sooner.” Charlie sounds worried when he speaks. “I was mad at first, but now I realize that you didn’t tell me because you were scared, I wouldn’t approve of Nick. Not that I made it any easier with all my comments about him, but I will always be proud of you for finding someone that gives you the amount of love you deserve.” “Yeah?” Charlie pulls back from our hug. “Of course. Charlie I am one of your best friends. I will always be proud of you.” Charlie looks up at me and smiles. I pull him back into a hug. I rest my head in his hair. “I love you, Charlie. I always will. You are the best friend I have ever had. You are the best friend someone could ask for. Thankyou.” “Love you too.” Charlie says sarcastically, but still inn a tone that I know makes him mean it.

We walk out of the music block to find Tara and Darcy making out and Nick and Elle talking. Elle sees me and walks over. Nick leans into the wall behind him. “Just go.” I say pushing Charlie forward. Nick pulls Charlie into a hug and kisses him on the forehead. “Nick?!” Charlie stares up at Nick. “We are outside.” Charlie says. “I know.” Nick says back. “I don’t think we need to keep our relationship a secret anymore. I like you so much, and I love liking you. Why do we need to keep it a secret anymore? Everyone that actually matters already knows, aside from my mum, but I’ll deal with later. We are happy together, and the world can suck Shit if they don’t like our happiness.” “Nick!” Charlie stares at him. “I’m stopping you right there, OK. I like you too and we don’t anyone’s approval to come out. If you want to come out, then come out. I will be here with you through it, No matter what. I love you.” Nick looks at Charlie with a very surprised look on his face. “You... you Love me?” “Of course, I love you, Nick. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” “I love you too. I always will.” Nick picks Charlie and swings him onto his back. “I’m in love with Charlie spring.” He yells while running into the open area. Charlie kisses him on the cheek, and both start laughing so hard they almost cry. Nick turns his head and kisses Charlie while pulling him off his back and into a hug. “Nick!” Charlie screams out of joy, and fear. Despite Charlie's protests, Nick carries him like a baby the entire way to my house.

We celebrate with a film night. It is Nick’s first film night with us, so I’m not surprised he isn’t making make us watch avengers. Nick is in the corner of my bed. This is usually my spot, but I can make an exception this time. Charlie has fallen asleep against him, and Nick has fallen asleep leaning on the wall next to my bed. Darcy is asleep ono Tara’s shoulder and Tara has fallen asleep on Darcy’s head. Isaac has fallen asleep against my bed, the three are on the spare mattress. Elle realizes that we are the only two that are awake, and she pulls me into a hug. “I’m so proud of you.” She says. Before I can say or do anything she pulls me in for a kiss. I gently push her back, mainly to check if this is a dream. I look into her eyes. She looks scared. I kiss her and her look of worry leaves. She looks happy now.

“Eww!! I fall asleep for five minutes, and I wake up to you two making out. Gross!” Darcy says sitting up. Her cries of disgust wake up Nick. Darcy and Nick sit up in shock waking up Tara and Charlie. Charlie sits up quickly. “What, huh. Oh” He looks around and see that he has woken up Isaac. “So- “ “Nope, there will be no ‘s’ word today.” Nick says covering Charlie’s mouth. Both start laughing. “What?” Isaac sits up in shock. “what’s happening?” “I fell asleep for five minutes and wake up to these to making out!” Darcy says before mimicking a vomit sound. “Wait. Are you two together?” Charlie says surprised. I Shrug. “We are now.” Elle says. “Well, ... Congrats, but it doesn’t change the fact that I just woke up to see ‘that.’” Darcy says, still disgusted. “I guess you could call it, Payback.” Elle says dramatically before kissing me again. Darcy rolls her eyes but can’t herself from laughing.

We manage to find two spare mattresses for Tara and Darcy, and Nick and Charlie. Everyone watches the rest of the movie happily. Aside from a few questions about what happened when they were asleep, there were no interruptions from anyone. Today was great, the amazing night made the arguments worth it.