#Dental claims management

[instapayhealthcare]

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[instapayhealthcareservices]

[dentalrcm6]

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[vision200]

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[murrmielmur]

How iz treazon treatin' ya?

I can't really say. I still work in Temptations.

But it seems that you are asking for a first report.

I can proudly claim that I have been quite successful so far. I applied for a job with the @the-archangel-squad and was hired as @sandalphonsgoldteeth personal assistant, with the main task of stopping him from crying and annoying the other angels.

I managed to bribe him with special eye make-up and expensive dental jewellery. I tempted him with pornography and whores and he succumbed.

So that would be:

✓ Greed/Envy

✓ Lust/Lechery

✓ Pride/Vanity

= 3 Cardinal Sins

Personally, I am surprised that there is so little difference between their lot and our lot. So far I only know one angel who fulfils or even exceeds my expectations. ...

Sandalphon is such a crybaby and his enthusiasm for pornography is something I've only encountered massively in Hell. ( @furfurs-fotos for example, tends to cry and abuse porn regularly, though in his case both activities have subsided greatly as of late, so I heard.)

In short: Archangels are better clad than demons and smell better, but that's about it.

Report no. 1 to @lower-management

[rileythelonelyalien]

Dottore x GN! reader: Medical ordeals

A/N: Hello! it's been a hot minute since my last post apologies for that, I've been quite held up with all my courses but I have some time off now so hopefully I'll be writing up all the idea I have saved up but for now I do hope you enjoy this fan fiction . This one is in fact based around an experience I've actually been through .

cw: description of a bad medical experience , mentions of blood.

You and Dottore had only become an item a short while ago , although feelings had blossomed much further back it had only become an official thing as of late. 

Dottore being a man of science and arguably medicine (albeit the medicine and ‘cures’ he provides are not orthodox to what a morally sound doctor would prescribe) over the time that he has known you he has done his best to collect medical records of yours so that he was aware what either ails you or what you would be prone too. However, try as he might he could never manage to find or secure your dental records and so he had to turn to his last option, asking you himself. Of course, he had asked you to bring anything concerning the matter to him under the premises that he needed more data for a statistic table that he was drawing up , although this was not the case.

You enter his lab the lights just as blindingly bright as always as you walk further into the sterile environment making sure to not touch anything as you wouldn't want to compromise your boyfriends work because of something so trivial. Tightly clutching you proceeded further into the laboratory. As you make your way to the back which is where your lover is most likely is, you notice a few of his clones working some of them were already acquainted with you and in your presence sent you a small wave before continuing their assigned tasks. However, some of the others who were still in the process of warming up to you snarled at you some even hissing , quote the amusing sight yet still very threatening. Doing your best to pay this unusual behaviour no mind , you quicken your pace once his desk come into view with his back facing you. Cautious to not startle the man you walk around the desk so that he is able to see your figure and alert him that you have arrived. Gently setting down the papers you give him a gentle smile. He brings his head up from the paper filled with many equations and diagrams scrawled on with seeming quick haste , he brings his face to look at yours. Somehow he claims he can see perfectly even with his mask on that looks like it covers his eyes , you struggle to comprehend just how he has managed to do this but knowing his genius this was entirely probable. Beneath his mask you watch his features soften and a sharp toothed smile take over the previous frown that was etched onto his face. Yet before you could point anything out or begin to say anything he quickly picks up the papers you had brought him flicking though them reading them at an incredible pace , although this may have been an adaptation in order for him to reduce time wasted on reading so that he can progress even faster with his projects none the less it was still immensely impressive. 

You decide to sit down on one of the few chairs by his desk and wait patiently until he finishes. A loud slamming of papers sounds thought the lab , Dottore has quickly set down the papers you had brought to him , the abruptness of the sudden sound making you jump slightly. You tilt your head slightly as you gently ask your lover ‘ Is everything okay ?’ you watch his features change from annoyance to a much softer expression at the mere sound of your voice. After a few moments of silence, he offers you a reply ‘ There seems to be some missing parts to your documents , do you happen to know what happened ?’ at the mention of this your expression changes ,your mouth in resemblances of an ‘o’ as you realise what he was talking about ‘Ah, that….’ you hesitate. Dottore leans in closer so that his face is closer to your own and places his hand on top of yours as if to provide some comfort and as a way of reassurance that what ever you say to him will be safe. With this gesture from him you feel much more comfortable in explaining everything to him. 

You take a small breath before conveying what happened in that one undocumented appointment:

You were young and were taken to the dentists in order to get a check up however this ended up with the need of tooth extraction… Unfortunately for you this was not going to be a straight forward as they promised it would be. You were sat in that chair a clear liquid being put onto your gums they were meant to stop any pain form affecting you , yet it wasn't taking effect. Despite knowing this they did not look to find a solution to this and proceeded with the extraction. Metal tools clamping down on your tooth steadying themselves in order to rip it out. Within moments the tooth is pulled out with immense force you could hear your own screams echo through the halls as your mouth began to pool with blood. The throbbing pain echoed thought your mouth and face with tears spilling over and running down your cheeks. This was a moment in your youth you would never forget. The emotionless faces that inflicted such pain on you the lights shining into your face and eyes , the throbbing pain. Everything was etched into your mind. Yet despite this entire ordeal the clinic that you had went to wanted to keep their pristine record of always satisfied patients and so they wiped this appointment and the results clean from any records that would exist. Of course, they are not able to erase someone's memory.

As you finish relating this story to him you noticed how his hand now gripped yours , tight but not tight enough to cause you any harm his face now contorted into a scowl. This was not what he was expecting to hear not in the slightest , although he has witnessed much worse when he conducts his experiments but when it came to you it was … different. You were worthy of being treated like the most precious jewels , so gracefully without bringing you any harm and yet some had the audacity to do such a sloppy job and dare to cover their tracks? Not on his watch. ‘Dottore? I hope this hasn't upset you dear’ You try to bring Dottore back from his thoughts yet as soon as you utter out those few words Dottore quickly proceeds to grab both of your hands with his own. ‘What a bunch of preposterous fools , treating you so poorly have no shame to act in such a way in the name of medicine?!?’ The hypocrisy from him was intense yet you were oblivious to his medical ‘ordeals’ and such his statement seemed comforting. He brings a gloved hand up to touch your cheek staring into your eyes through his mask ‘ My love in my hands you will only be treated with the upmost of care I can assure you with that!’ he vows to you. Being so infatuated with him all you can do it lean into his touch and hum in approval ‘I know my doctor will take good care of me’ you state before kissing his palm. 

[the-kr8tor]

THE BLUEBERRIES OH THE BLUEBERRIES....I love blueberries. I'd definitely sleep well being compressed under Hobie- literally a weighted blanket.. (also i cant sleep without noise or the feeling or someone being there) Daily Hobie HC! Hobie's turn for the lovely high from getting his wisdom teeth removed. You waited in the waiting room, your leg bouncing from pure boredom and worry about how Hobie might come out. Your pondering seemed to pass more time than it should've as Hobie hobbles out, squinting in response to the bright light. His eyes glance you up and down, his nose scrunching up in offense. His voice is sounds like he's behind a wall of cotton as he murmurs in disgust about how you're not his partner. Hobie's expression shifts to genuine confusion as you begin giggling at his claim, gently going to reach out and try to wipe away the blood dripping from his mouth. Hobie stumbles back slightly, yet due to his spider-senses he's able to gain back his footing rather quickly, despite the meds fogging him up. He mumbles indignantly about how you shouldn't touch him because you're not his partner. Taking his hand and pulling him a little closer, you wipe away the blood from his lips, gently telling him about how you were his partner. You thank the dental surgeon, apologizing on behalf of Hobie for his spidey-senses probably freaking them out at how alert he was, especially since he was already standing and walking around. Terribly, but still somehow stable. All while Hobie is shocked by the fact you ARE his partner. Whoa. The walk back to the van was oddly peaceful, not minding the fact he was leaning against you a little. He didn't say anything, just simply looking around and admiring you. Once you both were settled into the van, with you starting up the engine and letting out a lighthearted sigh at the fact you learned how to drive this just for him, Hobie hits you with something that caught you very off-guard. He turns to you, with a deadpanned expression, asking if you wanted to marry him. You fumble over your words, knowing he isn't fully functioning but also having no idea how to response. Eventually, you say that you can't. Hobie huffs and turns away with a pout. After around ten minutes of driving, you start to hear sniffles from him. Glancing at him for a moment, you realize that some tears were falling down his cheeks as he frowned, looking out the window. Guilty giggles began to fall from your mouth as you tried to console him, listening to how he dramatically sulks in the corner about how you didn't want to marry him. Your heart melted with every sniffle coming from him on the trip home, before you finally arrived and turned to look at him with a sympathetic smile. Hobie looks towards you with a pout. He listens as you ask if he would be happier if you said yes, and he immediately nods his head. A proud smile appears on his face as you say yes to marrying him, not taking notice of you wiping his tears dry. You manage to walk him back into the boathouse, leading him to the bedroom and let him lay down, giving him a glass of water to help keep him hydrated. He takes a few naps as you simply just take care of him, eventually coming out of the loopiness. You don't hesitate to tease him about what he said about marriage in the van, and how hysterically sobbed about it. Hobie groaned at your teasing, pulling you into his arms quickly and trapping you, ignoring your giggles. However, the moment you mention the two hours being over, allowing him to eat no-chew foods, his grip loosens, allowing you to wriggle yourself out. You return with some icecream to share for the both of you, with Hobie pulling you into his arms, licking the icecream off your spoon with a chuckle. He asks what your final answer was to the 'will you marry me question' from in the van, which you gave him a faux disappointment sigh, before replying with your answer, with was yes. -🐦‍⬛

Me too! Especially when it's on top of a cheesecake! Also samesies! I have a long pillow that I've had since I was a kid I literally cannot sleep without it

*sigh* that would be a dream 😍

Daily Hobie HC!!

Ooohh this reminds me of the fic that I wrote about R getting their wisdom teeth out! It's right here if you want to read it 💕

OMFG IT GOT CUTER!!!!!! HOBIE PROPOSING WHILE HIGH FROM LAUGHING GAS IS SO FREAKING ADORABLE!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰 And he's all pouty too awweee even crying?! HAHAHHAHAHHA bro really wants to put a ring on it

Lmaoo jokes on R his proposal wasn't halfhearted at all!

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Chapter 1: Fingolfin x Maglor

Ah, one pairing that was actually on the Bingo sheet (not cheating 100% here)

Pairing: Eönwë x Gothmog, Fingolfin x Maglor

Prompt: Business Rivals

Words: 1865

Warnings: Details of Fëanor's death, @cilil cameo, incestuous relationship referenced, uncle-nephew incest, no explicit interactions...

Nobody would readily have claimed that Gothmog was a coward, but the company lawyer—a ruthless demon in the guise of a young woman—made him nervous, nevertheless.

Cílil, who had studied under Námo, the most infamously merciless lawyer of his time, scowled at the interruption, and Gothmog nearly shuffled his feet like a naughty schoolboy.

“I am not asking for your sources,” he opened without even bothering to rattle off the usual formalities. “I’d merely like to see your results.”

“Who are you to question my findings?” she inquired in the dispassionate yet cutting tone for which the so-called Doomsman was both feared and renowned—she evidently had been an exceptionally gifted student.

“I…no…I need to know what intel you have on Fëanor. Who might have wanted to kill him?”

“Who wouldn’t?” Her grin was so sharp that he knew that she was not joking in the least.

“I need a list.”

“I need a sandwich. Maybe we can come to an understanding?”

An agonisingly tense hour later, Gothmog was in possession of enough gossip and incriminating evidence to bury Fëanor twice.

As for Eönwë, he felt much less elated. Fëanor, he was informed, had been stabbed and burned, and it had been only thanks to his overabundance of jewellery and his dental records that a positive identification had been made.

“I do not expect much to come from this,” Manwë had sighed, looking out of the window pensively as if he had already given up on the case.

“I do have a few leads,” Eönwë had exclaimed, dismayed by his superior’s uncharacteristic and highly worrisome despondency.

The astonishment painted on Manwë’s face had been outright insulting, and this hurtful lack of faith made Eönwë all the more determined to actually solve this case.

He was unusually grim as he burst into the deserted pub, looking even more desolate and decrepit in the bleak daylight, but seeing Gothmog devouring his club sandwich with visible gusto instantly lifted his spirits.

“Here,” the hulking henchman mumbled around his lunch as he shoved over a neatly typed-up page of paper. “I thought we’d start with the brother. He might give us some insight into who else would have benefited from Fëanor’s sudden demise!”

After having been forced to order and eat a surprisingly delicious lunch, Eönwë found himself in a sleek, slate-grey SUV, speeding out of the most disreputable part of town.

The file on Fëanor’s half-brother in his lap was discouragingly thin—Fingolfin was, as far as the official accounts went, a regular goodie-two-shoes.

Their father, Finwë, had perished under suspicious circumstances, and Fingolfin had managed his part of the estate that had been left to Finwë’s children much more conservatively than his famous older sibling.

Of course, people chalked this up to the notable difference in nature and temperament between their respective mothers, but Eönwë was curious to discover if there wasn’t more to the story than met the eye.

He had slept very little the previous night, trying instead to memorise all the members of Fëanor’s extensive family as well as the numerous feuds and sources of resentment that might well muddy the waters before they got very far in their investigation.

The man who opened the door of the sober, clean-cut mansion was not Indis’s firstborn, though—young and alarmingly pale, he had flashing eyes that reminded Eönwë of the ocean and a soft, sensual mouth that was presently downturned in deep sadness.

More unusual and suspicious yet, he was wearing a thin camisole and the kind of comfortable trousers people usually only ever donned in the privacy of their own home.

“Who is it?” A moment later, Fingolfin—the top buttons of his creased formal shirt undone—appeared in the marble foyer.

“Police,” Eönwë said in a calm, professional tone.

“Bodyguard,” Gothmog growled unnecessarily.

With a flabbergasted side glance at his companion, Eönwë cleared his throat. “I would like to ask you a few questions about your brother.”

“Which one? Oh, Fëanor, of course…” Fingolfin blushed. “I am sorry—my nephew, Maglor, has just come by to inform me of the tragedy. As you may understand, I am utterly distraught.” Rubbing his face as if to dispel the treacherous bloom of blood mounting into his hollow, pale cheeks, Fingolfin made a jerky, only vaguely inviting gesture with his left hand. “Come in—I’ll answer any query you might have!”

“No ring,” Gothmog hissed as he ambled into the house behind Eönwë.

“I thought you and your half-brother had not been on the best of terms,” the detective commented, trying hard not to be distracted by the looming presence of the thug by his side. “You were business rivals, weren’t you?”

“Hardly,” Fingolfin replied with a brittle chuckle. “I focus mainly on the preservation and steady growth of our assets, while my brother was always more interested in innovation.”

“If that is so,” Gothmog intervened sharply. “Why would your nephew seek you out—in the most informal, cosy outfit I’ve ever seen—so soon after the news broke?”

“Ah…Well…As I just said, I am good at dealing with eventual crises. I will advise him and my other nephews on what comes next—is this really necessary? I did not kill my brother if that is what you’re trying to get at. I loved Fëanor.”

Letting his gaze sweep across the room ostentatiously, Gothmog pursed his lips.

“The boy has been here before…often,” he whispered into Eönwë’s ear as he watched Maglor flit through the room with such self-assured grace that it was evident to him that—in his evident state of distress—he could not have feigned his intimate familiarity with the layout of the house.

Eönwë blinked owlishly; he had expected hostility and barely concealed resentment in this cool, clean abode.

Instead, he’d found a man who seemed earnestly devastated by the loss of someone he’d reportedly never considered a detested rival at all. Moreover, Gothmog seemed to insinuate that Fingolfin, pretending to be much more forgiving than was credible, was entertaining a morally questionable relationship with his nephew.

Of course, he had also noticed the way Maglor’s hand lingered just a little too long on the shoulder of his uncle, and the subsequent grateful smile had not struck him as entirely appropriate, but he had been ready to give them the benefit of the doubt.

After all, grief did strange and terrible things to people, and he was not there to judge the ways in which they dealt with so unspeakable a loss.

“We’ve got to ferret out the other sons,” Gothmog remarked sotto voce. “There is something fishy here, to say the least. Even if that fool means it when he says that he’s not seen his brother as a foe, Fëanor would surely not have welcomed whatever little imbroglio is taking place here!”

Fingolfin, Eönwë decided as he opened his trusty notebook, was at the same time much more and much less suspicious than he had anticipated, and this was due to totally unforeseen developments and revelations.

“Loved him?” he asked pensively, forcing his mind back to the actual statements of their suspect rather than Gothmog’s outlandish speculations. “He did not seem the kind of man who was loved. Revered, admired, and envied, yes, but cherished? Hard to believe!”

“I cannot think of a single person who’d want to harm Fëanor,” Fingolfin insisted, looking up with wide, honest eyes that gleamed feverishly. “Why don’t you visit my brother’s ex-wife? She might have a better overview of any potential enemies.”

Nerdanel—famous sculptress, headstrong businesswoman, and winner of a short but vicious divorce—had been the next person on Eönwë’s list to interrogate anyway.

Nonetheless, the detective, dizzy with all the discoveries he had made during this first foray, schooled his face into a grateful smile.

“What happened?” Fingolfin asked suddenly, lifting his doleful gaze pleadingly to their stern faces. “Can you tell me?”

“I’d also love to hear that,” Gothmog agreed quietly.

“He’s been poked viciously by a pointy object—probably in one of a downtrodden, insalubrious apartment complex uni—and thrown from a considerable height before being set aflame. I am sure you can appreciate now why we’re looking for someone who hated the man enough to try and murder him thrice over,” Eönwë reported in a detached, professional voice.

He’d had very little time thus far to come to grips with the gruesome nature of the crime he was investigating, and he preferred to keep his profound incomprehension and instinctive pity in check in front of his suspects.

“Unimaginable,” Fingolfin cried out and slung his arm around Maglor who buried his face against his chest with a piercing cry of inarticulate, raw despair.

Gothmog’s jaw tightened—while he was more convinced than ever that Melkor was not guilty, another nagging doubt started to take root in his heart.

Even though his boss was usually not the kind of person for such long, convoluted sequences of deliberate, calculated violence, his second-in-command would undeniably have delighted in so elaborate a staging.

Seeing the picture of heartbroken desolation before him, Eönwë realised that he should have minced his words and softened the blow of the truth—he felt terrible for having misread the situation once again and was suddenly very eager to get out of this hopeless situation, fraught with unspoken truths and involuntarily revealed secret affections.

“Neither one of you is to leave the city while we’re investigating,” he informed the two mourners who seemed to have forgotten about the rivalry between their family branches, good manners, and common decency, as well as the rest of the world in general. “Thank you for your insights—I will probably circle back to the both of you in due time.”

Gothmog merely tapped his finger to the side of his nose and winked. “Good luck comforting one another,” he hummed provocatively and was promptly bodily shoved out of the room by an endearingly flustered Eönwë.

“When we get to the wife, please keep your impertinent comments to yourself!”

“Whatever you say, guvnor,” Gothmog chortled cheerily. “They are more than workplace rivals or distant relatives; this I’d bet my head on. Let’s see what Maglor’s mum has to say to that!”

“Tomorrow same place? I must go write up what we’ve found out so far,” Eönwë mumbled, strangely reluctant to part from the uncouth giant ambling up the elegant driveway.

“Same place, same time. Can I drop you off somewhere?” Gothmog asked amiably, apparently also not eager to let their collaborative moment end.

“I’ll walk,” Eönwë said waveringly. “I need to clear my head and go over the facts…Thank you! See you tomorrow!”

The clumsy lie tasted like stale coffee and cheap lemonade on his tongue, but he couldn’t bear to be observed—and potentially mocked cruelly—while he tried to work through their discoveries.

Eönwë had ever been slightly squeamish when it came to romantic and sexual innuendos—despite superficial appearances, he was not a prude so much as a woefully inexperienced, lonely soul, though.

He might not have known much, but he was certain that he’d better keep that little, inconsequential truth about himself under wraps for the time being.

So, @tolkienpinupcalendar here's another pairing!

Lots of love from me!

-> Masterlist

[with-love-from-hell]

Hi everyone,

So I'm still on Hiatus but I need to ask for help/support since apparently life never ceases to shit all over me when I'm already stressed out.

Tw: blood, animal illness, mentions of animal death

This morning, my partner and I woke up to puddles of blood all over our bedroom. There was a lot- and I mean a lot- as a result of my dog suddenly beginning to bleed from his mouth. After taking him to the emergency vet, we found out he has multiple tooth abscesses that have been caused by an underlying infection in his jaw- which the vet thinks may be linked to some sort of cancer, but right now she can't run any biopsies until the infection is managed.

So far, the vet bill has been $600, but there is more to come. He began bleeding again about an hour ago and I may need to take him back in, plus we are being referred to a dental specialist for surgery. Per what my vet has said, this is going to easily cost a few thousand dollars. I bought pet insurance today after trying to hold off on it until after we move, but they will not cover any claims until February 10th.

My dog is everything to me, and this entire situation has me stressed out beyond belief, and is resulting in draining my pto where I may need to take unpaid leave for my exam because I will be going negative after taking today and tomorrow for this. I don't normally like asking for financial help, but anything that can be offered during this time would be appreciated. I've owned Houser since he was a puppy, and he's been through a lot since then- between previous abuse from my sister's exhusband, having a skin allergy, chronic ear infections, high anxiety, joint issues, and going blind suddenly about a year and a half ago. He's barely 10 years old, and I'm really hoping to have a few good years left with him.

This whole situation has sent me into a spiral- both relating to the potential of him having cancer and financial strain on top of the billion things I have to worry about right now. If I can at least have some of the financial burden taken away, that would mean the world to me. If you can spare anything at all, I would be so grateful. After losing my cat to a cancerous tumor a few months ago, I don't think I can mentally handle having another happen.

Thank you to everyone who is willing and able to help out. This shit fucking sucks, and having any type of support rn would be great.

[toastling]

I just love disability pay.

For those who don't know, I recently underwent surgery, and have been out of work since January in the lead-up to said surgery dealing with multiple infections and abscesses and healing in preparation. When I got put on temporary disability, I was told I'm good through June 31st and can call if I ever needed an extension. But on Friday near the end of the business, day I get an e-mail saying actually I'm only good until the 16th, and also, if I need an extension, I have until the 11th to call them and let them know to get the paperwork e-mailed. I figure "Okay, that's fine, they've been operational 7 days a week for any questions or corrections these last 6 months", except, for extensions specifically, they only operate on week days. Now mind you they only told me any of this in a single e-mail at the last possible second at the end of a Friday, so, there was no chance I could call them and get the paperwork sent over to have my doctor fill out over the weekend. The 11th is Tuesday. Since they won't handle this particular thing on weekends, I have Monday and Monday alone to call up, get the paperwork, send that paperwork to my doctor, and then send it back to them for approval. There is almost No chance that the last two steps are going to be completed in the span of Monday alone, especially since the surgeon in charge of my case is only in the office near me on Tuesdays, and only before noon, which means I'm going to have to try and get said paperwork to him to be filled out on a day he isn't even in town and insist it's rushed as fast as possible or I'll miss the deadline I didn't know I had until yesterday. It's like, incredibly obvious it's set up this way intentionally because America really doesn't want you to stay alive if you're disabled, even only temporarily, but Jesus Christ dude.

What's more, I've been making an entire third less what I should have been this entire 6 month period, forced to get by on $100 a week, because the way they calculate disability in my state is based on my prior 4 weeks of work before going on medical leave.

But as it happens, since I was chronically ill and was getting sicker than ever more often than before, I'd just missed an entire month of work just before the infection and abscess that took me out pre-surgery these past 6 months.

I'd only been back to work for 3 weeks by the time I was forced to go on leave again, and because I'd been out for so long before that and my schedule is created 3 weeks in advance, my manager had to finagle things a lot to squeeze me onto the schedule at all for those 3 weeks, so I was working WAY fewer hours than I normally did, meaning I was making less money than I normally would. And because I didn't reach that 4 week benchmark, that is what my disability pay was calculated off of, not what I actually, normally make in a week.

I've kind of just Let That Go this entire time because I live with my family still, so thankfully I've been able to get by on 100 a week by focusing solely on the most essential stuff, namely my personal groceries, and my family has been carrying me with any other expenses along the way, including medical ones (my surgery and bowel infections have been covered by my insurance 100%, but my dental emergencies which have also been going on continuously since January have not), but man, the combination of all this is just. Incredibly frustrating.

It should not be this difficult to have surgery and not, under ordinary circumstances, end up on the street during recovery because I can't work for X amount of months, but, you know, greatest country on Earth and all that. God bless the American healthcare and social safety net systems.

As an aside though, for anybody with more experience being on temporary disability pay than me - do you think it would be possible for me to appeal and get the money I *should* have been making this entire time this late into my claim? Because with the dental bills in particular, it would be nice if I could get the last 24 weeks of that missing third of my rightful pay to get back in the black with my dentist.

I was told it's NY state regulations, the whole prior 4 weeks of work calculation thing, but I do have extenuating circumstances there that impacted my paycheck. But like, would that even matter to these people?

[opinated-user]

I wonder what would happen if one of Lily's stans or one close to them turned out to have the Big C themselves and learned first hand every single way she blatantly lied about allegedly having it.

No it shouldn't have to happen, nor do I want that: it's that I fully expect Lily would be a callous bitch about it and we'd have yet another ex-fan who had to learn her true colors the long and hard way.

she's already so very callous about it. if you happened to have LO as your role model for what surviving cancer looks like, you'd come out thinking that: -cancer and/or chemotherapy shouldn't have to interfere with your work.

-cancer and/or chemo doesn't make your hair fall out (probably because of especial native genes) -cancer and/or chemo in general is barely an inconvenience.

-financially speaking, managing cancer in a country that has universal healthcare is easy, minimal even.

-cancer and/or chemo has no impact in your daily routine.

-cancer and/or chemo has no further lasting impact in your overall health.

-cancer and/or chemo are easy to mask. -not having health insurance means nothing and doesn't affect anything because it's all about dental work only anyway. all of this is bad already, but then when they see actual cancer survivors or people going through treatment they'll think. -they aren't working because they're lazy. look at LO, she kept working, streaming, editing and recording videos while on chemo!

-their hair fall out because they didn't took proper care of it (or lacked especial native genes).

-if they let cancer intervene with their life, it's their fault.

-they don't need financial support and/or those that claim they do in Canada or similar countries are lying, therefore wanting to scam strangers online! look at LO, whose expenses were "minimal" and never needed any financial help despite being such a low tier youtuber!

-if they can't manage to continue on their life as usual while on treatment, they need to work on that and stop complaining. this will also affect the people suffering the cancer, because seeing "public figures" like LO treating her illness in this way will makes them feel like they're doing something wrong, are especially weak or should keep pushing even well beyond their limits. if LO could do it, why couldn't they? this is the reason why i'll never stop bringing up how harmful and amoral this particular lie is, worse than so many others. as it is people don't tend to be educated on cancer unless it touches them personally, so LO has an influence on their perception of it and it will be a terrible one. it doesn't matter if LO tries to say "well, i was extremely lucky" or "i'm not like other cancer survivors", it doesn't even matter if she tries to give attention to actual cancer survivors who do need help. the damage is already done.

[vision200]

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Simplify financial transactions with integrated billing features. Vision Technologies' dental software seamlessly integrates with insurance systems, reducing administrative burdens and ensuring accurate billing processes.

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Enhance treatment planning with advanced imaging capabilities. Visualize treatment options, explain procedures to patients effectively, and ensure precise execution of dental treatments.

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[atombonniebaby]

A little idea sprung to mind and I wrote a one shot!

Hope you enjoy (maybe you'll read this and you've heard this classic story us Scots like to spin 😅)

Also features a Mac headcanon and an original fallout themed pun for our boy to claim!

Content warning: Some mature themes and humour, so if your no over 18... Bolt 😘

(p.s I like this screenshot, so I recycled it 🤟)

A Scotsman never tells...

 "Like a Mole Rat, the size of a cat?" MacCready repeats with a frown, waving his hand through the smoky air. 

The Boss' hands dance around, telling his story in a way only he can, and damn it, if his eyes don't sparkle in the dim light of the Third Rail's VIP room, and MacCready reminded himself he oughtta never play cards with the man.

Mac slowly chuckles, boots up on the coffee table, cigarette smoldering between his fingers. "I call brahmincrap," he argues, furrowing his brows. "I mean, I've seen some wacko creatures in the Wastes, but no way in heck there are creatures out there that could have lasted this long with such sparse action in the sheets—I mean, if it weren't for Duncan, the MacCready line would be headin' for extinction—one chance a year?” he scoffs. "No way a species would survive with those odds!”

Nate just chuckles, sipping his Scotch. "Well, those wee buggers have the bonus eh decent dental, son," he smirks with a wink. "Soon as they find their darlin', they're set for life."

That stings a bit. "Watch it, old man, keep yappin', and you'll be feasting on Blamco and beans for the rest of your days—"

The bastard raises his hands defensively, smirking. "Alright, alright. Simmer doon—just dinny forget to snag yersel' a toothbrush next we're in Diamond City— or else it'll be you choking doon canned goods."

"Goddamn it, I brush my teeth! Twice a day!" he bristles, tongue proddin' the crevices in his mouth. "Ain't my fault some teeth never bothered to show."

Nate's eyes soften. "Aye?"

"Had Rickets as a kid...one of the perks of living in a cave, I s'pose," he shrugs. "Lucy managed to work out a treatment for the 'Littles,' by then, the damage had been done." He sighed, fingers picking at the frayed armrest. "I mean, I do alright now—cold weather can be tricky, old injuries hurt like heck, and I always gotta work hard to keep my knees from knocking," MacCready tried a laugh. "I'm mostly pissed because Lucy always reckoned I should've been taller."

"Ach, just makes it easier for ye tae hide in tight spaces, lad."

His lips were curling before he could even get the words out. "Dunno about that, boss. You of all people should know the difference a few inches can make."

Nate scoffs, doing his best to look offended, but there's almost a hint of pride in those eyes before he's shaking his head. "Damn—Rickets, Mac? No wonder you tire out quick, lad...Ye're needin' to cook more, eat some red meat, get some dairy in ye...and lose the hat and layers when ye can, get some sun on your skin...You'll be at more risk of it coming back."

He can't help but laugh. "What, so if I start chowing down on Brahmin and Radstag and soak up the rays, I'll morph into some tall, dark, handsome stranger?"

Nate grins, swirling his Scotch, "Take it easy, it's not a magic potion, Rob—actually, Haggis might be great for your diet," he chimes, changing the subject, like he always does when they get off track. 

"Haggis? What the heck are you on about now?" Mac chuckles, ashing his cigarette. 

The animated Scott explains further. The Haggis—or 'Haggi,' plural—those critters he'd been yammering about—have longer legs on one side of their 'dumpy' bodies—means they can only scoot around the hills in one direction. It’s a one-shot deal: find a mate or wait another year for some action. 

"Sounds like a crock of—" 

"Hold on," he interrupts, a smile on his lips. "In Scotland, it was tradition for families to hunt a haggis, fatten it up, and serve it on Rabbie Burns Night, wi' some neeps and tatties..."

"Rabbie, who now?" He raises an eyebrow. "The frick are 'neeps'?” he guessed 'tatties' was just his the idiot pronounced 'tatos.'

"Rabbie Burns," he chuckles. "Famous Scottish poet. You need to broaden your literary horizons, MacCready." His laughter fades as he continues, "And a 'neep' is a turnip."

MacCready opened his mouth, about to ask the boss to further define 'turnip,' before he was cut off.

"My sister El, she would break her heart every year. Took her forever to accept that we had to cook up her wee pal."

As much as he tries to believe—this tall tale about haggis sounds as believable as a three-headed Radstag. "I still don't buy it," he scoffs, trying to suppress his grin. "You're pulling my leg. If these things are real, I'll eat my hat."

The idiot just laughs, downing the last of his Scotch. "Would ye prefer a tell ye' it's a bunch eh mushed up innards, mixed wi oats and cooked in an animal's stomach?"

"I think I'm gonna be sick—”

His guts were turnin'. He took a deep breath to calm it. He's shaking his head, grinning despite himself. "Well, if it's anythin' like molerat, it'll just burrow a hole through my caps stash...I'll stick to Radstag, surprisingly not as dear..."

Nate let out a wavering groan as he tried to suppress a laugh. "You're a wee arse, lad. Dang sense eh humor eh yours is dire."

"Yeah-yeah, believe what you want...you're clearly at home with your delusions—they're entertaining, at least."

He takes a victory drag from his cigarette, leans back, and watches Nate's eyes dance as he delves into another tall tale about some sea monster.

Despite his skepticism, Nate's tales offer a rare glimpse into a world beyond the Wastes. So he listens, the taste of stale smoke on his tongue and a story spinning out before him.

He realizes this—this is as close a guy like him could get to what he always envisioned it would be like, to grow up with a father—lulled to sleep with a late-night tale about Wasteland beasts and heroic adventures.

The dad he couldn't wait to be.

Yay, found family 🥰

[theflyingfeeling]

Hi, I have an idea for Joel/Olli promt! So there's comic con (or something similar), and Joel really wants to go, get more Venom merch, but he needs company. However it seems like everyone around him has plans with their s/o or is not interested in such geek things... except for Olli, who hears Joel complaining and excitedly suggests to go. It's not that Joel doesn't want his company, rather he's too nervous about going somewhere with his secret crush on Valentines day... And they have a really great time there, even though they're into different parts of con, but of course it's not a date (or is it?😏)

Hello! 👋 Oof, I'll have you know I wrote so many versions of this fic (particularly the ending), so I really hope this one pleases you 😅

.

.

words: 28033

rating: G

trigger warnings & additional tags: a shit-ton of pining, but what else is new? I also hope you enjoy the geeky references 🤭

AO3: here!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The miniature Yoda stared at Joel from his position by the Millennium Falcon, mercilessly and with great judgement.

A coward, you are, he seemed to say with his old, wise eyes.

Joel couldn’t find it in himself to disagree, although he did wonder about his own mental well-being. Having figurines of fictional characters communicate with you telepathically, no matter how sage and respectable they were, was surely a sign of not having it all together anymore.

In my defence, Joel said to Yoda in his mind, I didn’t ask for any of this.

As usual, he blamed Joonas, primarily for ditching him because of a date night (although Joel had to admit the Gregorian calendar was also partly at fault, for making the comic convention fall on February 14th this year), but also for proposing Olli should go with him instead, coincidentally at the exact moment Olli had joined them in the studio kitchenette. Then again, Joel hadn’t had much choice, since Aleksi had already declined the invitation, claiming it overlapped with Rilla’s dental appointment, and Niko would, naturally, have a key role in Porko’s grand date night. Joel hadn’t even bothered asking Tommi, knowing he’d most likely have plans with his own partner, especially after Joel had seen him fiddling with a small velvet-covered box the other day. Vilma had work and Samy’s sister was in town, so it really seemed Olli was the only one with no other plans for Valentine’s Day, against all impossible odds.

One might wonder what exactly Joonas had done wrong in suggesting Olli to accompany him at the convention. To everyone else following the scene from afar, it might have seemed innocent, helpful even, but Joel knew better. The catch was that Joonas, that insufferable bastard who always ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time, had caught Joel during their European tour last spring when he had been replaying that cursed video he had filmed of Olli doing yoga poses with no shirt on. If Joel had to find something positive out of the situation, it was that at least that particular time he had been only watching the video (with lust in his eyes and longing in his heart), because not all his daydreams about that video were quite as innocent.

(By now Joel had deleted the video from his phone, to avoid something like that from happening ever again. He didn’t mourn the loss, however, as the sight was permanently imprinted on his internal memory card.)

Be as it may, Joonas had managed to squeeze the truth out of him that day, and Joel could still not believe his terrible luck. As much as Joel loved Joonas, he was the last one of his friends he wanted to know about his sort-of-maybe crush on Olli. Had it been Tommi instead, the guy would’ve probably made one sarcastic remark and left it at that, whereas Aleksi’s quips about it would’ve probably been so foxy and subtle that no one would’ve noticed a thing, if not for Joel’s burning blush. As for Niko, Joel would be surprised if he hadn’t heard all about it from Joonas by now.

So when Olli’s face had brightened at the mention of a comic con and an extra ticket Joel didn’t want to go to waste, how was he supposed to tell him he’d rather go alone instead? Indeed, how was he supposed to not melt into a pining, miserable mess when Olli came to him on their next break from recording, his eyes shining as he showed Joel the schedule of the event on his phone and listed all the exhibitions they must see, all the lectures they should definitely attend.

All that had lead to Joel waking up in that morning feeling as if he had not slept a wink, which wasn’t far from reality; he had spent half the night picturing all the potential as well as the absurd scenarios of what would happen the next day at the convention, and when he had finally fallen asleep, he had dreamt of Olli and Olli’s hand in his as they roamed the conference hall together, and when they stopped the whole place was empty all of a sudden, or maybe Joel only had eyes for Olli and his red lips as they moved closer to his…

It really was no wonder that after such a night Joel was now imagining a plastic Yoda voicing his disappointment in Joel for not having the courage to take Olli’s hand, albeit only under the pretext of not losing each other in the crowd when the presentation about the influence of Kalevala on Tolkien’s work had ended and the mass of people had headed towards the exit of the lecture hall all at the same time. If Olli had been disappointed in Joel’s clumsy rejection of his hand, he had hidden it well by explaining passionately how fascinating he had found the part that had  illustrated the similarities between Kullervo and Túrin Turambar, who ever the latter was (and Joel only had a vague knowledge about the former character as well).

What would you do, then, Joel asked Yoda, if one day you found yourself crushing on Obi-Wan? I betcha green ass the Force would be nowhere near you at that moment. 

He never got his answer, for he felt a tap on his shoulder before he could hear Yoda’s croaky voice in his head again.

“Look what I found! It changes colour when you put coffee in it.” Olli beamed and showed Joel a mug that was, undoubtedly, somehow related to all that hobbitty stuff Olli loved, if Joel had to give a wild guess.

His brain still tangled in the conversation he had been having with his new imaginary friend, Joel only managed a weak smile, more at Olli’s excitement than the collectible in his hands. Thinking Olli wouldn’t pick up on his strange mood was, however, wishful thinking.

“So, what do you want to do next? I feel like we've only been looking at my interests so far,” Olli said and scratched the back of his head, as if ashamed of his enthusiasm, which was the last thing Joel wanted. 

“Nah, I don’t know…” Joel mumbled while Olli was putting the mug he had purchased in his backpack, so tenderly that for a while Joel thought Olli was going to plant a kiss on its side.

“No, it’s your turn to decide.” Olli zipped the bag and swung it on his back again, flashing a kind smile that made Joel want to punch himself in the face for finding it so adorable.

When Olli kept insisting on Joel making the decision of their next comic con activity, Joel remembered the stall selling Marvel merch they had passed earlier. Particularly he thought back to the black Venom t-shirt that had been hanging behind the counter, with the alien symbiote’s slimy, gaping mouth decorating the backside. Thanks to fan gifts, he owned several Venom shirts already, but he didn’t own that one yet.

Olli was happy to fulfil Joel’s timid request to find the Marvel stall again, and when they set off to wander around the large conference hall, Joel partly hoped Olli’s hand would try to find his again, because this time he might have actually accepted the gesture, even if it would likely have launched the panic mode in his pitiful brain. He knew it was stupid, to dream of just having your fucking hand held, like he was some kind of pathetic, touch-starved loner with barely any human contact in his everyday life. Sometimes he envied Joonas, who seemed to have no problem asking for (and receiving) spontaneous affection from his loved ones, while Joel was able to do that only when he was high enough on endorphins during or after shows to not be in full charge of his actions, or drunk enough to not care how others might perceive him. Mind you, he wasn’t the type to care an awful lot about what others might think of him (at least not on a good day), but when it came to Olli, he would rather die than in any way imply his attraction to him or do anything that might blow his already poor cover.

And yet, masochistic as he was, he often tortured himself with the naive, overly-optimistic hope he nurtured somewhere deep, deep inside him of Olli maybe returning his feelings. He knew it was no use, but there were days he couldn’t stop thinking about the faint shade of red that had appeared on Olli’s cheeks when he had noticed Joel had been filming his shirtless yoga session, or that one time he had felt Olli holding his breath when Joel had, in a sudden burst of recklessness, grabbed a handful of the bassist’s hair during a gig and brought their faces close for two seconds which in that moment had felt like two millennia. A little less frequently he reminisced the incident of Olli accidentally passing out in Joel’s bunk instead of his own and waking up with his hard-on pressed against Joel’s hipbone (Joel blamed it on the hangover), not to mention how Olli had fucking winked at him when Joel had, quite senselessly, blurted out he’d rather bone Olli out of all his bandmates if he had to choose one. Sure, it had only been in the context of that silly game some fans had asked them to play at a meet and greet, but Joel had still seen it best to avoid Olli the best he could for the rest of the day, just to save himself from further embarrassment. He tried not to think about any of these occasions for too long at a time, because if he did, he would eventually drive himself crazy trying to figure out what it all meant. 

You know, if it meant anything at all. 

“Ugh, do you have any idea where that Marvel stall was? I feel like we’ve been walking around in circles,” Olli frowned, and Joel almost bumped into his backside when the man stopped to look at a makeshift café down the aisle they were walking.

“We can stop for a snack if you want to.”

Two minutes later Joel regretted taking pity on his friend; Joel tried to look away, tried not to think about how sweet sugar would taste off Olli’s lips as he munched on his half of the doughnut they shared, but Joel supposed he may as well let himself have this new image for his dream catalogue for the following night (as a treat, in case they wouldn’t find the Venom merch).

“Right, now let’s find that Marvel stall for you,” Olli said, wiping the final sprinkles of sugar off his lips and bringing Joel back to earth as he did.

~~~

“That one,” Joel pointed at the t-shirt his eye had caught earlier, and soon the salesperson handed him an identical one in a plastic wrapping.

“Did you notice our Valentine’s Day special offer?” the woman asked, gesturing at the heart-shaped piece of cardboard next to Joel that read ‘Buy a T-shirt, get one for half price!’

“Ah, yeah, thank you, but I think I–”

“Oh, look how cool this is!” Olli nudged Joel’s side. In his hands Olli was holding a black t-shirt with some kind of geometrical triangle illustration that Joel had a vague memory of seeing on a movie poster before.

“...I’ll have that one as well,” Joel said to the salesperson who nodded contently.

“Really?” Olli’s puppy eyes stared at Joel like he had just offered him his hand in marriage and half of his kingdom.

“Well, I mean, it’s half the price off and… you paid for the giant doughnut, so…”

His mouth felt dry and his cheeks flared up when Olli’s face softened.

“Thanks, man.” Olli gave him a clumsy half-hug that Joel wished would’ve lingered like so many of their other hugs seemed to do these days. For the few seconds the embrace lasted, Joel already managed to become intoxicated by the scent of Olli’s cologne.

“Wait,” Olli said when the salesperson reached her hand to take the shirt from him, “I wonder which size should I get?”

Still drunk on the smell of Olli, Joel almost had to rub his eyes to make sure he wasn’t seeing things when he was suddenly face to face with a shirtless Olli, in the middle of a crowded conference hall.

If Joel’s tongue had felt dry against his palate before, now there was an entire desert in his mouth, and Olli’s toned body was the oasis he was thirsty for. His upper body must have been topless for only a couple of seconds before he pulled the new shirt over his head, but that was plenty enough time for Joel to take in the firm pecs covered in curly chest hair, the nipples that looked like tiny strawberries Joel was dying to taste, a soft-looking stomach one could easily lay his head and fall asleep on, and a faint happy trail that disappeared under the baby blue boxers that peaked from under Olli’s trousers. Joel already knew what he’d be picturing later that night, in the dark of his bedroom with his hand down his own underpants.

“What do you think?” Olli asked him, oblivious to the hunger raging inside Joel. 

Even with a shirt on, Olli was a sight for sore eyes with the way his biceps filled up as he posed for Joel. 

“Looks amazing,” Joel sighed, trying to control his breathing so as to not appear like some kind of creeper who drooled after half-naked young men.

Olli seemed pleased with Joel’s feedback and grinned as he undressed himself off the shirt to hand it to the salesperson. This time Joel was prepared and pretended to be immensely fascinated by the display of Funko Pop figurines behind the cashier.

They shuffled around the convention for almost an hour more, occasionally stopping to marvel at someone’s exceptionally detailed cosplay costume or to point out cool collectibles and comic book inspired art, from paintings to pastries, until Olli’s gait became visibly more sluggish. Arriving near the large map of the exhibition where they first had started off earlier that day, Olli planted his cheek heavy on Joel’s shoulder. Joel granted himself a few seconds to lose himself in the softness of Olli’s hair against his neck and the aroma of the man’s shampoo before he spoke.

“When does your train leave again?”

“Mmmmh, around six,” Olli mumbled sleepily and rubbed his cheek against the fabric of Joel’s hoodie, as if he was about to fall asleep on his feet.

Perhaps Yoda had been right about him; only a true coward would fail to take the opportunity to wrap their arms around the soft boy leaning onto them for support or do anything at all to keep him there as long as they could. Joel? He was barely able to look at Olli, let alone return his gesture, which was a greater tragedy than any galactic war, as there was nothing Joel wanted to do more than exactly that.

“D’you wanna grab a bite before that?”

“Mmmmmh,” was the response Joel got, which in Olli-language meant ‘yes’.

~~~

Seen this coming, you should have, Yoda’s voice echoed in Joel’s head when, after a full McDonald’s Drive Thru meal, Olli yawned with his head on Joel’s lap as they sat on a bench at the railway station. For the first quarter an hour that had followed their fast-food dinner, Joel had watched how Olli had fought against exhaustion and finally lost the battle as he had practically slumped on Joel with no warning at all, and since then Joel had been fighting a battle of his own against wanting to sweep aside the curls that had fallen on Olli’s forehead or sliding his hand inside Olli’s jacket to keep it warm. 

Olli growing sleepy after a heavy meal was predictable and very in-character, so Yoda did have a point. What Joel could never have foreseen was falling in love with his friend, after all these years of viewing him as a younger brother, in a way. 

Simple times, they were, he explained to Yoda in his head, who nodded approvingly.

Then again, when Joel looked at Olli, breathing calmly on his lap, he wondered how it had not happened sooner.  It wouldn’t have made much difference, he feared, but maybe he would have come to terms with it by now. 

Or perhaps he’d be even more heavy-hearted, after all the years of craving something he could not have. Perhaps he would have lost all that was left of his sanity, being so close to Olli every day, yet nowhere near where he wanted to be.

Perhaps it would have destroyed him.

Joel was so lost in thought of what might have been that he didn’t notice how one of Olli’s curls had swirled around his finger until Olli shifted on his lap a little. The small movement was followed by a quiet, satisfied sigh, despite his awkward position and the uncomfortable wooden bench on which he lay, which encouraged Joel to continue caressing his silky hair.

“Did you have fun today?” Olli suddenly asked.

Spending a whole day with you? It was both Heaven and Hell.

“Of course,” Joel assured as Olli’s eyes fluttered open. “You?”

Olli nodded. “I love places like that.”

Olli wouldn’t have needed to tell him that, though; Joel had seen the way Olli’s eyes had glimmered the moment they had stepped in.

“Thanks for taking me there. And for the shirt,” Olli added quietly, closing his eyes again and nudging his head against Joel’s stomach, as if to urge Joel to keep on petting him. Joel was happy to comply; it wasn’t exactly in his power to deny Olli anything at all. If Olli had asked him, Joel would’ve happily sat there the whole night, with Olli in his arms like he belonged there, even if nothing else would ever come out of it. But as it turned out, the inevitable passing of time was not on Joel’s side, because soon after, the announcement of Olli’s train to Oulu echoed around the railway station and the comforting warmth of Olli’s body left him.

Olli groaned and rubbed his eyes as he sat up, but then the bliss and turmoil of being so close to Olli returned when he leaned against Joel again, pressing his face in the crook of Joel’s neck. 

“Too tired,” Olli whined. “It’ll be so late when I get home. Why couldn’t Tommi wait for one day before driving back?”

Then stay, Joel wanted to say. Stay, stay, stay.

He had already opened his mouth, but Olli stood up. Joel followed his example and immediately felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist. 

“I hate sitting on the train,” Olli mumbled against Joel’s chest.

Then stay.

“And it’s so chilly there.”

Stay.

“And you’re so warm.”

Stay.

“And I’ll miss you.”

Please.

“And I really hate missing you.”

Oh, for the love of god, stay!

“Damn, Joel, I wish you would just say it already, so that I can stop thinking it’s all in my head!”

Joel stopped breathing and the train arriving at the track next to them stopped moving, as did the whole world around Joel.

“Say what?” he asked quietly, terrified to hear the answer.

“That you want me to stay.”

Olli’s eyes looked into his, and when Joel most needed it, that ridiculous humanoid alien from a popular space opera franchise that had haunted his subconscious for most of the day was silent. The only guidance he had then was Olli’s gentle gaze, the same soft eyes he had often stared into in his dreams as of late, sometimes with hope, other times with despair. This was no dream, however, and Olli’s honest eyes were waiting for his honest answer. 

“Stay,” he whispered, almost hoping the noises of the railway station would swallow his desperate plea.

Olli stared at him silently for what must have been mere seconds, but to Joel it felt like time had stopped or ceased to exist completely, which Joel wouldn’t have minded awfully much to be honest, as long as he’d get to hold Olli forever, even if he would never hear the words Olli was to say next.

“Then I’ll stay.” 

Olli rose on his tippy-toes so that his hot breath warmed Joel’s lips for a single second before their lips touched, in a kiss that was somehow passionate and cautious at the same time, greedy as much as it was tentative, a perfect mirror to Joel’s current feelings.

It was exactly what Joel had been fantasising about for nearly twelve months, possibly longer than that if he dared to be honest with himself, so when Olli parted from him, it felt precisely like all those dreams he had woken up from prematurely, with Olli slipping out of his hands at the sound of his alarm clock going off. Only this time, Olli was still there when Joel opened his eyes.

“Your place or mine?”

Joel blinked at Olli’s cheeky smile.

“Huh?”

“Come on!” Olli grabbed his hand, and in the next moment they were sitting next to each other on the train to Oulu, talking and laughing and kissing and probably driving the other passengers in the extra class crazy.

Hours later, the clock was nearing midnight, the train was nearing their childhood hometown, and Olli’s lips were nearing Joel’s collarbone as he slept against Joel. Earlier on their journey, those lips had secretly nibbled on the thin skin just above Joel’s collarbone, almost as if in an attempt to spell something there.

Love you, he does.

This time, Joel smiled at his inner Yoda’s observation.

Yeah, I think he might.