#and then one day I think it was a public toilet bowl had writing on the inside

[nodataavaliable]

My son thinks he is a "Skibidi Toilet"

I've taken him to several therapists but nothing works. My son thinks he is a "Skibidi Toilet". He honestly and truly convinced he is one of these singing toilet creatures, and will not stop insisting that everybody else believe him too. It is relentless and unnerving.

I've quit my job to become a stay-at-home mom ever since my husband divorced. He went to go work for a camera factory, and disappeared from family life. My son turned to YouTube incidently from that moment on, which was but a few months ago.

The obsession with "Skibidi Toilet" started with Roblox, where I was oblivious to the psychological harm it would cause us at the time, and often gave him money to buy things from the game. Looking back now, I notice every purchase on my credit card went towards some stupid accessory in only the games about the toilets.

He started watching the "Skibidi Toilet" YouTube series. Over and over again. He would sing the song along with the toilets, until he had it memorized, and started singing it all the time. He watched videos from lore and film theory channels, learning anything and everything about the "Skibidi Toilet" ever thought and recognized in the "Skibidi Toilet" universe. I've caught wind of several of these videos when they've been on in the house, but I don't understand if there's any coherent narrative to any of them.

It seems like an AI script is writing all of it. A very bad AI script at that. I find it harder and harder each day to believe an actual person, or set of people, is behind this complete and utter nonsense. What kind of goals does the Algorithm set to accomplish? Convincing kids they are toilets? That they can "identify" with whatever they want?

My kid used to be smart and bright but his mental capacity is waning because of this. I fear for his future development and potential growing into an adult. His schoolwork and reading comprehension scores have gotten lower and lower, and his social interaction skills have faltered as well. I used to expect a "hello" or "good morning" from him, but now all I get is a ""Skibidi dob dob yes yes yes, Skibidi dob dob dip dip" ... you know, "Skibidi" this and "Skibidi" that. I've had it with this stupid fucking song and everything.

The effect this phase has had on him is almost too much to bear to witness as his loving and deeply concerned mother. He started climbing into public toilets and cramming himself into the bowl. He has been sent home from school early several times because of this unexplainable behavior, which ends up involving several adults forcefully pulling him out and suffering a tantrum back from him.

Therapy has done nothing. I had over-optimistic hopes in his last therapist, who merely prescribed drugs to absolve the problem. The drugs had zero effect on him, so I quit that very medication instead of refilling it when the time came.

We went to Home Depot to pick up some gardening equipment together, and he saw the display toilets in the bathroom aisle. I had to pull him out of one of those toilets, but accidently caused it to fall over on its side, which shattered it. He was emotionally attached to it, screamed and desperately tried to put the useless shards back together. It caused a giant public scene and embarrassment and I had to pay for the broken toilet myself at checkout.

Now I leave him at home and keep him suspended from school. I don't believe he is ready to return anytime soon. I am on the verge of breaking down in tears. I keep the bathroom locked, but he often finds a way in regardless. There is nothing he likes doing more than crawling into the toilet and singing the "Skibidi Toilet" song. He believes now 100% that he is a "Skibidi Toilet", referring to our bathroom toilet as his "exo-skeletal shell". I woke up to him doing this at 3:00 AM this morning and was so exhausted that I did nothing and tried to go back to sleep. I feel like a failure as a mother. I just don't understand this.

Our lives a "going down the toilet", so to speak. I can't "handle" much more of this. I just "can't stand" to see my child's mind and soul hit such a low point in life, going so deep down in the "sewer".

hey guys look at this cool ask its been sitting in my inbox for months

[college-girl199328]

Courteney Cox has addressed claims made by Prince Harry in his recent memoir about partying at her home.

The Friends actor was one of the more surprising public figures to get a name-check in the Duke of Sussex’s autobiography, Spare, which sparked a media frenzy when it was released last month.

In one passage, Harry wrote that he attended a party at Courtney’s house. There, he took magic mushrooms and hallucinated – among other things – that a toilet he had just urinated in was talking to him.

He also spoke of being a Friends “fanatic”, and admitted to having a small crush on Courteney’s character when watching the show.

During an interview with Variety, Courteney was asked about what Harry wrote, confirming he stayed at her California home “for a couple of days – probably two or three” back in 2016.

“He’s a really kind person,” she apparently told the US outlet “with a laugh”, before revealing she had not yet read Spare herself.

While partying at Courteney’s home seven years ago, Harry recalled in his book that he spotted “a huge box of black diamond mushroom chocolates” in the fridge, which was apparently “for everybody” there.

“My mate and I grabbed several, gobbled them, and washed them down with tequila,” he wrote.

During his trip, Harry remembered thinking a bathroom bin was someone’s head, revealing: “I stepped on the pedal and the head opened its mouth. A huge open grin.”

“I laughed, turned away, and took a piss,” Harry added. “Now the loo became a head too. The bowl was its gaping maw, and the hinges of the seat were its piercing silver eyes. It said, ‘Aaah’.”

Magic mushrooms have been illegal in the UK since 2005 and are categorized as a Class A drug. They are also illegal in most states in the US.

This isn’t the only disclosure about drug use in Spare, though, with the author candidly writing about having taken cocaine during a shooting weekend when he was 17.

Harry wrote that this was not “fun and it did not make me feel as happy as it seemed to make others but it did make me feel different and that was my main goal. To feel. To be different”.

[black-and-yellow]

[miracleonice87]

Secret

a Mathew Barzal one shot

a/n: and here it is! the recent news-inspired secret baby fic. Huge thanks to all who reached out and encouraged me to write it and to those who gave me ideas and advice. completely fictitious timeline and hockey-related events here, and we’re pretending the pandemic is not a thing in this one.

summary: Mat Barzal and his longtime girlfriend welcome their first baby after keeping her pregnancy well-hidden from the public eye.

warnings: morning sickness and childbirth (nothing graphic or detailed). dad Barzy, which deserves a warning. swearing. super fluff.

_____

Never in your life did you imagine that you would be attempting to conceal your first pregnancy — or any pregnancy — from members of the media.

Then again, you never could have predicted that you would end up being the long-term girlfriend of one of the most recognizable figures in the National Hockey League, and, more specifically, on the New York City sports scene. But if there’s one thing you had learned over the course of your more than four-year relationship, it was that life is full of the unexpected.

Currently, that aforementioned figure was whipping his car as quickly as possible into a private parking area at New York Presbyterian, glancing at you every ten seconds as you breathed through the early stages of labor with your firstborn baby, your water having broken just as you and Mat were settling in for sleep around midnight.

Only a small, select group of people knew that you and Mat were expecting, and as you checked in to the maternity ward just before one o’clock in the morning, you were grateful that there were very few people around you. You were hurried to your private room, Mat faithfully carrying your bags and nearly stepping on the heels of the poor nurse pushing your wheelchair, refusing to let you out of his sight for even a second.

Only once you were settled into bed, changed into a most unflattering hospital gown, hooked up to several monitors, and examined, did you allow yourself to look up at Mat and announce your practically inevitable victory.

“As long as that nurse doesn’t moonlight as a reporter, I think we did it,” you ventured with an incredulous chuckle. Mat shook his head in disbelief as he stood next to your bed, holding one of your hands in both of his.

“Don’t wanna speak too soon, but yeah, I think we did,” he agreed. “I can’t believe we managed to keep this a secret.”

_____

Six weeks

It certainly wasn’t the first time you’d ever had your head hanging above a toilet bowl on New Year’s Day.

But it sure as hell was the first time it had ever happened when you had no hangover to speak of.

In fact, you’d only had two sips of champagne the previous night before you felt weirdly dizzy and passed out in bed watching the Isles battle the Bruins.

The next thing you knew, you were being gently roused from deep sleep by your boyfriend, whose brow was creased with concern as he leaned over you.

“Sweetheart?” Mat spoke softly when you finally opened your eyes, his fingers smoothing your hair against your heavy head. “You okay?”

You inhaled deeply, feeling completely off. “Yeah... yeah,” you insisted softly. “What time is it?” you asked, discombobulated.

“It’s almost midnight,” Mat answered. “How long have you been sleeping?”

You slowly pushed yourself up on your elbows in bed. “Uh... I don’t know,” you admitted. “I watched the first period... I think.”

That wasn’t like you, and Mat knew it. A lifelong hockey fan, you kept close tabs on not only Mat and the Islanders, but the scores from around the entire league each night. Coming from a hockey-loving family, watching highlights on NHL Network was your late night routine. On top of that, you looked flushed to him, and dark circles hung around your eyes, a rarity for you except when you were ill.

“Baby... are you sick?” Mat shrugged off his suit jacket, tossing it on the end of the bed and quickly taking a seat next to you on the edge of the mattress. He put the back of his hand to your forehead and studied you carefully. “You don’t feel fevered.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s just a cold,” you replied, remembering the strange feeling that had overcome you when you sipped your champagne earlier. “I do feel kinda dizzy... nauseous.”

Mat nodded, eyes still full of worry. “Maybe you’re getting the flu,” he suggested. “That’s been going around lately.” You nodded too, yawning.

“Well, listen,” Mat continued, motioning for you to lie back as he pulled the covers over you again. “Go back to sleep, and tomorrow if you still aren’t feeling well, I’ll run to the pharmacy and get you some medicine and stuff. Okay?”

You nodded again, overcome once more by exhaustion as you settled back into your bed. “Okay,” you whispered. “Thanks, babe. Hey, did you win?”

Mat smiled. “Yeah, baby, we won. Now get some rest. I love you, sweet girl,” he said, pressing a warm kiss to your temple.

“I love you, Maty,” you breathed. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year, my love,” he whispered, his thumb tracing your bottom lip slowly as you immediately drifted back to sleep.

And now here you were, seven hours later, heaving into the toilet as Mat dropped to his knees behind you on the tile, gathering your long hair into his hands as quickly as possible.

“Oh, honey,” he groaned, rubbing your back. “You poor thing.���

After flushing the toilet several times to get rid of the contents, you finally sat upright, cautiously, slowly.

“God, I feel like shit,” you whispered, pressing a hand to your forehead as Mat ran his hands back and forth down your legs, trying to soothe you.

“I can tell,” he said sadly, standing. You looked up at him helplessly as he said, “I’m gonna go get you flu meds from the pharmacy. Let me just get dressed.”

You nodded once, feeling too lightheaded to move your head any more than that. You didn’t budge from your place on the floor as Mat took his robe from the hook on the door and wrapped it around your shoulders, kissing the crown of your head before exiting the bathroom. You heard him shuffling around in his drawers as you closed your eyes, willing the queasy feeling in the pit of your stomach to cease.

Moments later, Mat called out to you from the bedroom.

“Do you need anything else from the drugstore while I’m there, baby?”

You opened your eyes to glance around the bathroom, trying to keep your head as still as possible. You saw toothpaste, Tylenol, and... did you have enough tampons?

You reached next to you to open the drawer that held your monthly supplies, and you were surprised to find two boxes of tampons, not even opened, along with a plethora of pads and liners.

Finally, it hit you like a crashing wave. Suddenly, your world started spinning, and it wasn’t because of the nausea.

“Holy fuck,” you whispered, slamming the drawer shut.

“Maty...” you called out hoarsely, causing him to rush back toward the bathroom. Your heart was racing.

“What’s wrong?” he asked anxiously as he appeared in the doorway, ready to take up residence on the floor with you again if necessary.

You bit your bottom lip and inhaled a shaky breath before answering, sounding much more calm than you felt.

“I need you to buy me a test,” you said matter-of-factly.

At first, Mat wore a blank expression. “What kinda te— wait…” he said as you watched the wheels turning in his head. You couldn’t help but allow a small smile to spread across your lips as the realization hit him, too. He froze, mouth slightly agape, wide eyes searching yours to try and determine whether you were serious. Reading him, you nodded, which caused his eyes to widen even further.

“A pregnancy test,” you confirmed in a shaky voice.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered familiarly, his own smile beginning to play on his lips.

_____

“That was Liana,” Mat said, sliding his phone back into the pocket of his sweats after ending the brief call. “She’s catching a flight in the morning.”

You nodded gratefully as Mat returned to your side, dutifully grabbing your hand and running his other over your rounded stomach.

“She said to tell you she loves you, and baby, too,” he added with a warm grin. “And that she—“

Mat stopped short the second he heard you groan softly, the smile you’d worn upon hearing Liana’s name having morphed quickly into a wince.

“Another contraction?” Mat asked, hastily pulling the stool by the bed closer and taking a seat.

“Mhm,” you confirmed tightly, rolling on your side to look into his eyes, seeking a diversion. The pain in your face absolutely shattered Mat’s heart. He despised how helpless he felt watching you.

“Just look at me. Breathe, baby,” Mat coached before breathing in and out just as your Lamaze instructor had taught you both, nodding his head to urge you to mimic him. You did your best, squeezing his big hand hard enough that Mat saw his fingertips turning white, though he was too smart and too concerned with your labor pains to point that out.

“Good girl. Breathe, sweetheart. Good girl,” Mat encouraged. “That’s my girl,” he added softly, lightly dragging his fingernails along your scalp, combing his hand through your hair, in an attempt to comfort you.

“I seriously hate you right now,” you spat between pants and gasps. “You did this to me.”

Though he tried to hold back, a breathy laugh passed through Mat’s nose. “Yeah, my mom warned me you might say that,” he told you. “I’d hate me right now, too,” he added, running his fingers along your forearm lightly as you grimaced in agony.

Finally, your muscles relaxed as the contraction passed. Your face softened and your eyes fluttered open to see Mat staring at you intently, concern etched into his gorgeous features. You reached out your hand to run a thumb over his strong jaw.

“I’m okay,” you whispered, giving him your best smile as you caught your breath.

Mat nodded. “I just hate seeing you hurting,” he whispered back. You gave him an understanding look and then grinned brightly.

“But it’s gonna be worth it,” you assured, making Mat’s eyes light up. He kissed your palm and you asked, “Now what else did Liana say? Distract me.”

With a smile, Mat said, “That she can’t wait to meet this little one.” He leaned his head forward to kiss your belly sweetly as you smiled softly, leaning back against the mattress to rest up momentarily before the next wave, as the memory of telling Liana the news months ago came to mind.

_____

Twelve weeks

Your phone buzzed on the dining room table, vibrating against the glass top. Normally, you would never answer a call during a Valentine’s Day dinner with Mat, even at home, but these particular circumstances allowed for an exception.

“It’s Liana,” you smirked, swiping to answer the FaceTime call as Mat muttered, “Nice of her to call you and not her own brother.”

You ignored his complaint and smiled at the woman who was basically your sister-in-law.

“Hi, Li,” you said happily. “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

Liana didn’t even let you finish your greeting before she asked hurriedly, “What the fuck is going on?”

Mat leaned closer into you in order to be included in the camera’s view. “That’s rude,” he chirped, trying to sound angry, but being betrayed by the smirk twitching at his pink lips.

“No, seriously, you guys,” Liana continued, sounding anxious. “What does this mean?” She lifted the card from the full bouquet of blush pink roses before her. “‘Happy Valentine’s Day, Li,’” she read. “‘We’re so excited to give you another member of the family to love this August.’  And it’s signed from you guys and ‘Baby B...’”

Liana’s eyes flicked back up to your own and she couldn’t stand still, pacing her kitchen. “It’s not funny to joke about this,” she insisted, sounding confused and slightly offended.

“It isn’t a joke, dude,” Mat giggled. “We’re having a baby.”

Liana started screaming after “having.”

Laughter racked your body as you watched her jump up and down, tears streaming down her face as she squealed and asked a dozen times whether you were serious. You nodded each time until her hysteria finally subsided.

“Do Mom and Dad know?” Liana asked with a quaking voice, wiping the dampness from her cheeks.

“Yeah, they know,” you confirmed, swiping at a couple of your own fallen tears. Damn hormones.

“But listen, Liana,” Mat interjected, putting on his most serious tone. “They know, and her family knows, but past that, we haven’t told a soul. We honestly might not tell anyone else, depending on how soon she starts to show. We don’t want crazy fans or, God forbid, the media to get ahold of it and just be intrusive. We’ve seen how that goes. We just want this to be as private as possible. So you can’t post anything, can’t tell any of your friends. Okay?”

Liana nodded, sniffling throughout her brother’s command. “Yeah, totally,” she immediately concurred. “I get it. I think you guys are smart for doing it this way. This is like Kylie Jenner shit.”

You and Mat both snickered at that comparison for multiple reasons, then Liana began truly processing the news.

“Wait... so,” she began. “How far along are you?”

“Twelve weeks,” you replied. “So barring anything out of the ordinary, that kind of means we’re in the clear, risk-wise.”

“And you’re okay? Everything is okay?” Liana asked nervously.

Mat nodded, appreciating his little sister’s obvious concern for you and the baby. “She’s okay, Liana,” he assured as you smiled at him. “She’s perfect,” he added, picking up your hand to press a kiss to your fingers, causing Liana to tear up once again.

“You better take such good fucking care of her, Mat. You hear me? She doesn’t have her mom or any of us nearby, so she needs you,” Liana said firmly to her brother. You warmed at her display of womanly solidarity, ever thankful to have an ally in her.

Mat rolled his eyes. “Yes, Liana, I’ve been taking care of her for years,” he said, unamused.

“Yeah, well, it’s different now,” Liana pointed out. “Now she’s carrying my niece or nephew!”

You and Mat grinned at each other once more, Mat rubbing his hand slowly across your lower belly, which was mostly still flat, save for a slight, bloated curve.

“Yeah, she is,” Mat said airily, gazing into your blue eyes deeply as his sister resumed her squealing in the background.

_____

“Can I please have more ice chips?” you asked as you came down from yet another contraction, sounding whinier than you meant to and slightly hating yourself for it.

Mat smiled warmly down at you, pushing some of your hair back from your forehead and tenderly placing a kiss to your temple.

“Yes. You get all the ice chips you want, sweet girl,” Mat cooed, nuzzling his nose in your hair before stepping back and winking at you, grabbing the ice bucket from the bedside table. If there was one thing you had enjoyed most about the experience of pregnancy and labor, it was the way Mat spoiled you, ever attentive to your needs and wants. “I’ll be right back. Don’t have that baby while I’m gone,” he instructed, pointing at you.

Despite the discomfort you felt, you still breathed a laugh and rolled your eyes at him, Mat positively beaming at you as he walked backwards out of your suite, then turned down the hall.

As you rested your hands against your belly and your head back on the pillow, spotting the big bouquet of flowers Tito had sent for you, another memory from the past several months flashed in your mind.

_____

Twenty weeks

“I’m sorry,” Tito choked out once he stopped coughing on the Easter ham you’d made for a small group of the Isles boys, who had just begun playoffs and therefore weren’t traveling for the holiday, and their significant others. “You’re what?!”

You and Mat giggled, Mat squeezing your thigh under the table reassuringly. Sydney, late in her own pregnancy, jumped from her seat, tears springing to her eyes, and squealed as she ran to you, throwing her arms around your shoulders as you sat grinning at the others — Tito, Marty, Anders, Grace, Josh, and Meg — whose mouths hung open as they tried to process your announcement.

You turned back to Mat, the same broad smile seemingly permanently plastered on his handsome features the past few months stretching across his face once again.

“You wanna show them?” he asked softly, the tone in his voice telling you the decision was yours completely. You nodded, grasping the fabric of your knit sweater, the same casually chic, baggy style that you’d stocked up on to hide your growing stomach.

Sydney let go of you, allowing you to stand from your chair, as she nearly shouted, “What do you mean, show us?! How pregnant are you?!”

You bit your bottom lip, still smiling from ear to ear, and turned sideways, lifting your sweater to reveal your noticeable, ever-rounding bump beneath your high-waisted leggings.

A collective gasp sucked the oxygen from the room, Mat smirking at your friends, as you quietly admitted, “I’m twenty weeks...”

Tito pounded a fist to the table in disbelief and let out a holler. Anders raised his own fists over his head so fast that he knocked off the black baseball cap he wore. Josh and Marty couldn’t stop yelling, “No!” and “No fucking way,” respectively. Meg and Grace immediately leapt to their feet, too. “You’re halfway?!” they shouted in unison.

All Mat could do was beam proudly at you, bringing your waist close as he pressed a reverent, chaste kiss to your stomach over your sweater.

“Surprise!” you sang softly to the onlookers, your voice watery as a couple of happy tears escaped your eyes. The girls all embraced you, taking turns rubbing your belly, as the guys uttered boyish praises to Mat, joking that they didn’t know he had it in him.

Besides your and Mat’s parents and siblings, you still hadn’t told any friends of your pregnancy — making this sacred time that much more special for you and Mat.

But it was time to tell this circle. It had gotten more and more difficult and complicated to refuse drinks when the wives and girlfriends met for brunch, and even Mat was struggling to come up with excuses for why he wanted to rush home from the arena when the rest of the guys his age wanted to go to the bar to celebrate big wins. This close-knit group knowing the truth would help combat that.

You certainly didn’t plan to tell the whole team — quite frankly, there were some recently-added guys you just didn’t know well enough yet, along with some newer girlfriends who seemed a little suspect when it came to keeping team matters close to the vest. You and Mat agreed that you’d tell your close group of Isles friends and leave it at that. And that group, this group, these friends who had become much more like family — these felt like the right people to let in on the secret.

_____

“I’m scared,” you whimpered. “I don’t know if I can do it.” The pain was excruciating now, the pressure was building, and your doctor had just informed you that it was time to push. You felt like crying, but you were so paralyzed by the fear that gripped your chest that no tears were flowing.

“Hey…” Mat began softly, gently taking your face in both of his hands and angling it to look up at him, his eyes radiating confidence and pride. “Listen to me, okay? You’ve been so strong throughout this whole pregnancy. I know better than to believe that that’s gonna end now. You can do this, my love. I know you can,” he encouraged. “And I’ll be right here the whole time.”

You nodded, still feeling completely unprepared but somehow strengthened by Mat’s faith in you. As the doctor approached, gowned and gloved, she looked at you with anticipation.

“You ready, sweetie?” she asked. With one last look up at Mat, who nodded and kissed your knuckles, you turned back to her with a nod of your own. She patted your knee and said, “Okay, let’s have a baby. On the count of three, I want you to push, just the way we talked about. Daddy, you hold this knee. Ready? One… two… three… push.”

_____

Twenty-three weeks

The Isles had lost in the second round of the playoffs. Mat was obviously disappointed, but he was also more excited for this offseason than he’d ever been for a summer before, which certainly softened the blow. You were having his baby in just three more months, and he absolutely could not wait. Mat was ready to commence full dad mode — getting the nursery ready, reading the books, and most importantly, keeping a close eye on you every moment that he could.

On the same day the guys were cleaning out their lockers and giving final interviews following the end of the playoff series loss, Mat had scheduled a meeting with the coaching staff and team public relations executives to inform them of your pregnancy. He wanted them to be aware of the situation in case the news got out before the birth, especially as your baby bump was getting harder to hide. Since the two of you had decided to stay in New York for the summer instead of returning to British Columbia, to avoid travel late in your pregnancy, he knew that the chances of someone spotting your round stomach and starting to talk about it was higher on Long Island than in Coquitlam. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if the news got out, but if you and Mat could help it, you’d much prefer that it didn’t. He wanted this experience to be peaceful for you and as enjoyable as possible.

The meeting had gone well, which was unsurprising. The staff was thrilled for the two of you and promised to keep a tight lid on the information until you were ready to share it publicly after the baby had been born — they also agreed to evade any questions that their office might encounter on the topic during the summer.

Mat had thanked them profusely and said his goodbyes before leaving the building, heaving his heavy equipment bags into his trunk, and heading back home to you. A few minutes later, his phone dinged with a text from you and he glanced down at it at the next stoplight. It was a photo of the two of you in front of Big Ben on a rare sunny day in England, Mat hugging you close to his chest.

“This just popped up in my memories. Four years ago today we were in London and you told me you loved me for the first time. Look at us now. 💋”

Mat grinned at the message before returning the phone to his cupholder, his mind traveling back in time to that first big vacation the two of you had taken together. He knew your affinity for English culture — the fashion, the history, and, of course, the royal family, so he decided to take you on a trip across the pond a couple of months after you started dating.

It was one of the best decisions he’d ever made, as it brought the two of you much closer in those early days of your relationship — so close, in fact, that he found himself professing his love for you over a candlelight dinner on your last night in London. You had frozen, just for a moment, before a broad smile lit up your face, your eyes sparkling.

“I love you, too, Maty,” you’d said softly, allowing Mat to finally exhale as he basked in the knowledge that you felt the same way as he.

London was a landmark in your love story. Mat blinked a few times at that thought, an idea suddenly coming over him.

London…

_____

London Riley Barzal, named for the city where you fell in love and given your current last name as a middle name, was born August 15 at 8:13 p.m., after twenty hours of labor.

You and Mat had never known a love like the one you found the moment your baby girl was laid on your chest, and he had never been more fiercely in love with you than he was as he watched you snuggle her close.

“God, she’s so beautiful,” Mat breathed, voice quivering as he realized that this tiny girl belonged to him — to both of you.

“She’s perfect. Just perfect,” you agreed as her strong cries suddenly quieted into small whimpers.

Immediately, Mat looked you in the eye. “She knows your voice,” he said in astonishment.

As your baby blinked and squinted before opening her eyes for the very first time, she seemed to look directly up at her daddy. You smiled knowingly at Mat, who was frozen in place as he locked eyes with his baby daughter for the first time.

“I think she knows yours, too,” you suggested, the two of you smoothing your fingertips over her tiny face and hands in wonder.

You spent several minutes soaking it all in as a brand new family of three, both talking to London softly and placing kisses on her tiny head, before the nurse took her from your arms to take her vitals and give her a brief exam.

As you watched your healthy, gorgeous baby being fawned over by the medical team, you breathed a deep sigh of relief and a silent prayer of gratitude before opening your eyes again to see the love of your life staring down at you in absolute amazement.

“You did so good, baby,” Mat said through tears of pure joy. He pressed his lips to your damp forehead, cupping your cheek in his hand. “You did so good. You’re unbelievable, you know that? I’m so goddamn proud of you,” he praised.

“We have a baby, Maty,” you said with an awestruck, tearful chuckle. “I just had our baby.”

Mat nodded, grinning. “We have a daughter, my love,” he said. “Our little London.”

_____

One week later…

[fruitquake]

hi! can you do a wolfstar as professors in hogwarts trying to keep their relationship a secret but failing bc the students find out and they all ship it hard, pretty please? 🥺

absolutely! not sure this is what you wanted but i hope you enjoy!

-

Prof Lupin + Prof Black. The words had been etched into the wall of the bathroom, with a lopsided heart around it. Sirius rolled his eyes, taking a drag at his cigarette. The student bathroom was where he came to smoke. The gross one, that no students actually used. 

A different cheeky student had merely written Remus Lupin is in love with the astronomy teacher. Sirius chuckled. There was lots of other graffiti on the walls of the bathroom, and he always enjoyed looking at it. He took one last drag of his cigarette, before flicking it into the toilet bowl and exiting the stall. 

-

“Any questions?” Remus looked over the crowd of third years, whom he had just explained a new assignment to. A few hands were raised.

“Yes, Ms. Jones?”

The 13-year-old giggled to her friends, before turning back to Remus. “Professor Lupin,” she said in an almost innocent voice. “I have… confidential sources-” at this, she giggled to her friends once again, “-that tell me you and Professor Black were seen snogging behind the greenhouses last week. Is that true?”

Remus cursed Sirius and his carelessness. “Well, you see,” he said, quickly thinking up an appropriate response. “Really, what I do outside this classroom is none of your business. But if you must know; no, it isn’t. Professor Black and I have done no such thing.” 

The girl exchanged a look with her friends that showed him she wasn’t satisfied with her answer. He sighed. “Dismissed.” 

Immediately, the students erupted into conversation, and chairs scrambled as they left the classroom. 

-

“Sirius, we have to be more careful.” 

Sirius rolled his eyes at this, settling down comfortably in Remus’ office chair. 

Remus closed the door behind them, hopefully giving them a moment's privacy. “The students aren’t stupid,” he continued. 

“Well,” Sirius said, feet resting on Remus’ desk. “Some of them are.”

“No,” Remus glared at him. “They’re going to figure it out,” he said. “Some of them already have!” 

“So what’s the point in hiding it anymore?” Sirius asked, jumping to his feet. In a few quick strides, he made his way across the floor, closing the gap between Remus and himself. “Why’s it so damn bad if people know, anyway?” He reached for Remus’ hand, and Remus let him take it, letting out a weary sigh. 

“We don’t know how people will react,” he reminded him. “But it’s certainly not everyone who’ll find our relationship… appropriate.” 

“So what?” Sirius burst out. “Who cares what they think? I love you, Remus, and I want to be able to show that, even when we’re in front of other people. Heck, if it was up to me, I’d shout it from the rooftops every day. I’d write it somewhere for the whole world to see!”

Remus looked at the floor. “Please don’t,” he mumbled. “Sirius, I… I know you don’t exactly get it. You’ve never seemed to care much what others thought of you, but I don’t have that luxury. I’m already a werewolf, I can’t give people more reasons to hate me. So… no more reckless make-out sessions, or telling looks in public, alright?”

When he looked up, Sirius’ face had hardened. “Fine,” he said. “If that’s how you’d like it. From now on, we’ll be professional work colleagues only. You don’t have to worry about people discovering our ‘inappropriate relationship’.”

“Oh, come on, you know that isn’t how I meant it!” Remus reached out towards him, but he’d already turned around and made towards the door. “Sirius!”

“It’s Professor Black to you,” Sirius said coldly, before slamming the door behind him. 

-

Remus was exhausted. He’d barely gotten any sleep last night.

He’d thought the fight yesterday would’ve been quickly forgotten, but Sirius hadn’t come to bed that night, the bed they usually shared. It’d been cold and empty without him, and Remus had spent all night worrying he’d fucked up badly this time. 

“Professor Lupin!” It was Ms. Jones, the nosy third year. She came up to him, a look on her face that told him she knew too much. 

“Yes?”

“Did you and Professor Black have a fight?” she asked, looking innocent enough except for a gleaming sparkle in her eyes. “It seems you two have been avoiding each other all day.” 

“How do you notice everything?” Remus groaned at her. “Don’t you have normal hobbies too?”

She smiled cheekily. “I do, Professor, but you two are not as subtle as you think you are. In fact, it’s glaringly obvious that you’re in love.”

Remus could feel the colour rushing to his cheeks. He cleared his throat, trying to appear as professional as possible. “Ms. Jones, our private lives are really none of your concern-”

“Oh, come on,” the girl said, a humorous gleam in her eyes. “He and you are meant to be!” Her face turned more serious. “Really, professor, I think it would be such a shame if you ruined your relationship over something this silly.”

“Alright.” Remus rolled her eyes. “Off to class you go.” He turned around, walking down the hallway towards his own classroom. But as much as he hated to admit it, she was right, he knew it. He would have to find Sirius after class...

-

He had been planning to go looking for Sirius as soon as his class was over, but he didn’t have to. Sirius was already waiting for him right outside the door to the DADA classroom. 

“Hey,” he said, as soon as he saw Remus. 

Remus stopped in his tracks. “... Hey.” 

Sirius shifted uncomfortably. There was an awkward silence that seemed to stretch for an eternity, before Sirius suddenly spoke: “Remus, I’m so sorry! I’m a bloody idiot.”

A look of guilt and worry was prominent in his eyes. 

Remus sighed. “Come,” he said softly. “Let’s talk about it, okay?”

They walked in silence to Remus’ office, the same place they’d fought last night. Remus was searching his brain for something to say, but before he got the chance, Sirius started talking again:

“I’m so truly sorry,” he said. “I should’ve listened to you. It’s perfectly reasonable for you to not want this to be public, but instead of respecting your wishes I acted like a bloody asshole.”

Remus moved closer, grabbing Sirius’ hands. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said in a gentle voice. “You were upset, I get it. And I probably could’ve been more understanding of your point of view as well. You don’t want to hide who you are, or who you love, and that’s understandable.”

Sirius seemed to relax a bit, a weak smile forming on his lips. “We don’t have to tell anyone,” he said. “If it makes you comfortable, we can try to be more careful from now on. I just don’t want to lose you.” 

“No,” Remus said, shaking his head. “I’ve thought about it and…” he hesitated for a moment, before meeting Sirius’ eyes. “I think I’m ready for people to know.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Really? Remus, I mean it, if you’re not comfortable, please don’t-”

Remus held a finger to Sirius’s lips to silence him. “In the words of a very wise man I know: ‘Who cares what they think?’” He chuckled. “So, let’s… Let’s shout it from the rooftops, and write it somewhere for the whole world to see.” 

He looked nervously at Sirius, who grinned, leaning in to kiss him. They pressed their foreheads together, standing like that for a while. 

“You’re incredible,” Sirius mumbled. “But perhaps we don’t have to do those things just yet. Let’s take it slow, alright? Baby steps.” 

Remus nodded. He imagined him and Sirius, walking down the hallway, holding hands. The thought was daunting, for sure, but exciting as well. 

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Baby steps.” 

[fangroyal]

#3 What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

Fun Meta Asks for Writers

Adding the link to the ask game at the start this time, 'cause this is gonna be a long one, y'all. 😂

Where do I even begin? First of all, @angie-leena​, thank you so SO much for sending me this ask! It was the kick in the ass I needed to get me to actually write this scene, and for that I’m extremely grateful. I still don’t know if I’m entirely happy with the finished product, but it exists now, and that’s something.

So some of you may remember (if anyone actually follows my ramblings, haha!) that I’ve been simultaneously complaining about and obsessing over this gigantic WIP I’ve had since fucking March 2019. Nearly two and a half years have passed since I put the first word to paper, and oh how I’ve loved to cry out in frustration about how I have about 12k written on the stupid thing and yet not a single scene finished.

AT LEAST

NOT UNTIL TODAY

YES, I’VE DONE IT. I’ve finished a scene on this amazing, wonderful, and incredibly stupid WIP, and I could just cry.

FYI for anyone who doesn’t know what the fuck I’m talking about (which I’m sure is everyone, ‘cause I don’t expect anybody to remember this insane thing I’ve been shouting about all this time, LOL): this is the Slytherin My Gryffindor WIP. Yes, that is a working title. 😅 I will find a better one.....some day.......Ron/Draco is the main pair, but there will also be plenty of others sprinkled in the background.

Anyway, about this ask and that context I haven’t been arsed to write yet...

Context required in order to understand this scene 😂:

Fred Lives AU

The Muggle world and the Wixen world has kind of mixed in recent years, and it’s very common for magical people to be using Muggle technology

The Weasley twins have opened a second shop in Diagon Alley...selling sex toys (yes, really)

Their first original product line issssssss..........dildoes shaped like the Weasley brothers’ own dicks (and a fleshlight kind of thing for Ginny)

Yes this is crack!fic (but, like, also not???)

Ron has been made general manager of the shop and is there all the time, as they’re incredibly busy

Draco wants 👏 that 👏 D 👏, but is worried about Ron finding out, so keeps coming into the shop randomly hoping he won’t be there (and of course he always is)

Eventually there’s a day where Ron’s in the backroom, Charlie’s visiting and helping out at the register, and when Ron emerges, Charlie informs him that Draco Malfoy has just run in and bought Ron’s dildo

Cue Ron being incredibly turned on by this notion

So that pretty much brings us up-to-speed for this scene - it’s been a few days now, and Ron’s been trying to figure out a way to contact Draco to talk to him about the whole thing, since they never became friends or anything after the war and don’t regularly talk unless they’re just seeing each other around

The fic is meant to touch on, like...fame in the aftermath of the war (i.e. why anyone would be interested in sex toys modelled after the Weasley siblings in the first place)

Ron has evolved from his teenage self and grown to hate the fame - it prevents him from being able to date, because the press can never let him keep anything private

After this scene, the fic will focus on Ron and Draco developing a sexual - and eventually romantic - relationship (originally under the guise of “testing out” other products from the shop together)

They will try their best to keep their relationship a secret, but, like...everyone knows 😘😘😘

Also Draco is a model in this one (not important for this scene, but just thought you might want to know 😂)

In addition, some warnings/content to make note of before reading:

NC-17 (smut incoming!)

Technology circa 2005

Phone sex

Semi-public sex

Sex toys

Both Ron and Draco are a little drunk (but very consenting!)

Crack taken way too seriously

Of course, this hasn't been betaed or Britpicked, so I apologize for how very rough it is right now, lol. It will likely be a little (or a lot!) different if I ever actually finish this whole fucking fic and post it later on. I am treating this scene like a “sneak peek” of the fic, because I definitely do still want to try to finish it someday...

HOLY SHIT, I had a LOT more to say about it than I thought. 😅 So anyway. Scene under the cut.

Friday night at the Dragon's Head was packed. It took a bit of initiative, but Ron, Seamus, and Dean finally managed to snag them all a table in the back corner, hoarding the extra seats till Harry and Neville finally arrived, trailed closely by Ginny and Parkinson ― who were curiously short one blond wizard.

Ron tried not to think about it. He bought the first round with Harry, listening to him chat about the recent Puddlemere match against the Magpies. They ordered nibbles for the table. Ron munched on chips, his heart skipping every time the door opened across the room and another few patrons trickled in.

He was on his third pint of the evening when he started getting antsy. He sipped his Simison, using the light smoke curling around the rim of the glass to discreetly glance around the pub, hoping to spot a familiar head of blond hair in the crowd. His foot tapped impatiently on the floor.

"Is he coming, then?"

Ron's head snapped to attention. Ginny checked the door as well before turning back to Parkinson.

"Who?" Neville asked, snagging a vinegar-soaked chip from the bowl in the center of the table.

"Malfoy," Ginny said, craning her neck to see her girlfriend's screen.

Parkinson tapped away on her mobile, shaking her head. "No. Says he's already curled up with a bottle of wine and a good book, and doesn't fancy getting all done up."

Fucking hell. Ron drained the dregs at the bottom of his glass. It wasn't often Malfoy joined them on a mostly-Gryffindor outing ― not unless Parkinson could convince him. Somehow, Ron felt he should've known it wouldn't be in the cards tonight. Conversation pivoted again, and Ron ran his fingers up the sides of his empty pint, thinking.

At some point, Seamus and Harry set off to get another round, and Ginny hurried away with them after a quick peck to Parkinson's cheek. Neville and Dean had gotten into a chat about proper Mimbulus mimbletonia care, and Ron saw his chance. He could feel his heart start to thud in his chest as he cleared his throat, raising his voice to catch her attention.

"Parkinson?"

She turned back from watching Ginny leave, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Yes?"

"Think you could give me Malfoy's number?"

The smirk she gave him in response made his hands shake a little as they drummed against the tabletop.

"Whatever for?"

Ron stared her down, knowing full well any excuse he told her would never be enough. Parkinson's expression was predatory ― as if she already knew the answer anyway. He waited for her to comment, bracing himself.

To his surprise, she instead dug her mobile back out of her handbag.

She turned the screen towards him, and he typed the number directly into the dialer on his phone. He waited a few minutes until everyone ― Parkinson included ― had moved on to other things and forgotten about him, and then slipped from the table.

Ron shouldered his way through the crowd to the loo, pushing inside and locking the door behind him. It was a small room, hardly bigger than a broom closet. There was a toilet and a sink, a grimy mirror hanging above it, and a dim ceiling lamp that barely lit the space.

Ron backed up to one side of the room and slumped against the wall. He gripped the phone in clammy hands. Those pints had picked a perfect moment to hit him all at once. Ron blinked away the creeping dizziness, staring down at the numbers glowing dauntingly on the tiny screen. He'd been unable to get it out of his mind for days ― the image of Malfoy riding his dildo ― and now that he had a way to contact him, he was frozen. The leaky faucet dripped, the sound maddening as it mingled with the rush of blood in his ears. This was stupid. This was so bloody stupid.

He hit call.

Ron held his breath, cupping the phone to his ear. The line rang and rang, until he started to realize he didn't have a plan B. What if Malfoy didn't answer? What if he had to leave a voicemail? What would he even say? He should've just texted him, damn it.

Then, suddenly, the ringing stopped. There was rustling and a mumbled, "Bloody useless thing." Then, louder, "Yes?"

"Malfoy?"

"Yes, this is ― Weasley?"

Malfoy sounded surprised. Ron breathed out gradually, his heartbeat slowing with it. Malfoy's voice was clear and present on the other end. No looking back. He tried to think of something to say, and only came up with one thing.

"Haven't seen you round the shop yet this week."

"Don't tell me that's really why you called." Malfoy sighed, trying to sound put-upon, but Ron could hear the hint of nerves underneath. "If you must know, that would be because I found what I'd been looking for."

"I know."

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. For a moment, Ron thought Malfoy might hang up. But then he cursed quietly. "Damn that brother of yours. Incorrigible."

So it really was true. Charlie hadn't just been taking the piss. Ron felt a warmth flare up in his belly, spreading down to the tops of his thighs.

"Try growing up with him. And the twins? Now that's a real nightmare."

"I was trying for discreet, but you were always there."

Ron leaned further back against the wall, staring up at the dark ceiling above. He thought of all those times Malfoy had dropped in at the shop, only to hurry out again if Ron ever came too close. Malfoy had jumped at the chance when Ron had been called away to the back that day.

Malfoy cleared his throat. "Well. You know. So what, then? Looking to mock me for it?"

"You always assume the worst with me. Why is that?" Although Ron couldn't exactly blame him. He hadn't given Malfoy much else to go on in years past. Neither of them had. "No. No, I was calling because…" Why had he been calling? It had seemed such a natural thing when he'd asked Parkinson for Malfoy's number not five minutes ago. "I was curious. If there was, er." He waved his free hand, searching for the words. Nothing sounded right. "Any particular reason for it."

Malfoy laughed ― a short bark of a sound. "I mean, obviously yes. It's a sex toy, Weasley."

Ron snorted, taken aback. "That's not ―"

"Actually, I thought it'd make a nice statement in the middle of my dining table. It would be an excellent conversation piece for dinner parties."

"For fuck's sake, Malfoy, I didn't ―"

A chuckle rumbled through from the other end of the line. There was that snark again. Merlin, it made Ron hot, his skin blooming from his collar up to his ears. He chewed his lip, pulling back the grin that threatened to spread across his face.

"I only meant ― was there a reason? That you'd picked mine?"

The line suddenly went quiet. Ron had to check his phone just to make sure the call hadn't dropped.

When Malfoy finally replied, his voice was soft, uncertain. "What would possess you to call and ask me that?"

Ron breathed in slowly, his hand tapping an incoherent rhythm on his thigh. "Well, I'm a bit pissed, to be honest," he admitted, still feeling the slight burn the Simison had left in his throat.

Malfoy didn't say anything more at first. The lamp above buzzed as the faucet continued to drip. Ron could hear the noise from the pub pressing up against the other side of the door.

Then, Malfoy said, "Maybe there was."

Ron felt his heart jump into his throat. "Was what?"

"A reason why I bought it," Malfoy said slowly, deliberately. "Figure it out, Weasel."

Oh, bloody hell. Ron took a shaky breath. Every nerve felt like it was on fire.

"And...how was it?" Ron heard himself ask as if from very far away.

Even over the din of the music beyond the bathroom door, he could hear Malfoy swallow. "It was good."

"Oh, ta." Ron chuckled despite himself.

"No, I mean...Bugger." It was nice hearing Malfoy so flustered. A rare occurrence, and one that the little fluttering pixie in Ron's stomach very much wanted to repeat. "It was brilliant, alright? Happy?"

Brilliant. The word tingled down Ron's spine. For some reason, he couldn't wipe the smile from his face. Bloody hell, was this really happening? He thought of fleeting insults thrown in the school corridors all those years ago ― then he thought of a night just a few months ago, the look in Malfoy's eyes as Ron told him about the shop.

"You wrote a song about me once, if I remember correctly," Ron said, feeling deliriously happy.

"I suppose I did." Malfoy sighed.

Ron's eyes flicked to the door, to the noise of the crowd beyond. "Why didn't you want me to know?"

"Oh, please, Weasley," Malfoy said bitterly. "Pick a reason."

"I know, but ―" Ron tried to argue, but Malfoy cut him off.

"You don't owe me anything. It would be incredibly unfair for me to expect you to be interested in return."

Ron supposed that was fair enough. He'd had similar feelings towards Malfoy until very recently.

"I would be, though. I mean ― I am."

Saying the words out loud gave them a weight Ron hadn't felt before. He let them roll off his tongue, flattened the tip of it along his lips as he thought about flashes of icy blond hair, high cheekbones, and long fingers swirling around the rim of a glass. He thought of the moment he'd finally realized Malfoy had been looking back.

"Oh." Malfoy paused, seeming surprised by that revelation. "Good to know."

Malfoy fidgeted. Ron listened intently, hearing the breath he released and the scrape of his fingers against his mobile.

"You wouldn't ― ah." Malfoy caught himself, and Ron waited for him to continue, his ears ringing. "Would you want to…?" Malfoy trailed off, finishing his thought with a scoff.

"Would I want to what ― oh."

Oh.

Ron swallowed hard. He wanted to believe Malfoy was asking him what he thought he was asking him, but even after everything, it was almost too good to be true. The long stretch of awkward silence on the other end told him he was right, though, and that made him jittery, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck.

"I could be reading too much into this," Malfoy muttered.

"No, no, definitely not. I mean." Ron licked his lips, his mouth suddenly feeling far too dry. "I just don't want you to think I expect this."

Malfoy made a sound, and Ron could practically feel him rolling his eyes on the other end of the line.

"Oh, so you don't ring up every person who buys a model of your cock and ask them how they enjoyed it?"

"What? No, of course not!" Ron stopped, realizing, and laughed at himself. "You're joking. That was a joke."

"Terribly clever, this one."

A sudden jiggling of the door handle made Ron jump, almost dropping his mobile in the process.

"Occupied!"

He fumbled with the phone, his heart thudding wildly. When he put it back to his ear, Malfoy was laughing. The sound made Ron feel weak in the knees.

"Where are you?" Malfoy asked, still snickering.

"In the loo at the Dragon's Head."

"Oh, of course." Malfoy sucked his teeth contemplatively. "Hang on. Is there anyone in there with you?"

Another frustrated turn of the door handle.

"It's a single."

"Good." Malfoy lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Do you want me to use it?"

Ron pressed his hand flat against the door, waiting until he heard the bloke give a huff and storm off. "Use what?"

"Your dildo, Weasley."

The silken drawl of Malfoy's voice spread like gooseflesh across Ron's skin. "Right now?" he asked incredulously, although he was already half hard at the thought.

"I could give you an exclusive product review. Unless you don't want to."

"No, I do!" Ron replied quickly, and Malfoy laughed again, making him blush.

"Eager, are we?"

"Yes." Ron passed a hand over his face, trying to laugh as well, but it came out shaky. Merlin, it had been all he could think about for the past few days. Still, he'd never imagined Malfoy would offer it outright. "Just didn't take you for the phone sex type."

Malfoy hummed. "You caught me in a randy mood. Now how do I ― ah, right."

Ron assumed he'd been put on speakerphone, as there was now an echo. He dug out his wand for a moment and cast a quick Silencio on the bathroom. It was a wonder how he had the brain power to spare, when all the blood in his body was suddenly rushing to his cock. He could hear Malfoy fumbling for something on the other end.

"Where are you?" Ron asked in return, trying to distract himself from the heady thrum of anticipation.

"In bed. Naked," Malfoy added with a hint of a smirk in his voice. Ron groaned, shutting his eyes against the image of Malfoy stretched out on soft sheets, hard and waiting for him. Merlin, had he been naked the whole time they were talking? Ron pressed the heel of his palm to the crotch of his jeans.

Malfoy went silent for a moment, until there was a faint intake of breath. His bed creaked distantly in the background.

Ron licked his lips, cupping his hand around the solid, hot line of his cock under his trousers. "Are you prepping yourself?"

"Of course." Malfoy breathed out steadily, the bed creaking again. "You're bigger than I thought you'd be. Although I'd always wondered."

Fucking hell. Ron arched against his hand. Was he really going to get his cock out in a pub toilet? The last shred of his resolve melted away when he heard Malfoy moan, low and guttural, a sound that shot straight through Ron, all the way to his toes. He imagined Malfoy laying back, his knees bent up, and slick fingers down between his legs, pressing in and out of his puckered hole. Ron was switching the phone to his left hand before he could give it a second thought. He flicked open the button on his jeans and pushed his pants down to hook under his balls, taking himself in hand.

Ron rolled his hand down over his length. Malfoy's breath hitched, and he cursed, the bed shifting with him. Ron caught his lip between his teeth, wondering how many fingers he had in him. He imagined himself leaning over Malfoy on the bed, licking a hot stripe along his neck as his hand worked him open, his thighs falling open as he settled between them.

"Fuck, I needed this," Malfoy breathed. Ron moaned, pulling his foreskin back and rubbing over the weeping head of his cock.

Malfoy muttered a Cleansing charm, and then a drawer was pulled roughly open nearby. Ron heard Malfoy pick up the phone, moving and setting it down again as he bounced on the bed, adjusting himself.

"Are you ―?" Ron wanted to ask, but he couldn't finish the thought, left hand gripping the phone hard as he tried to steady himself.

"Yes, gods."

Ron paused, listening as Malfoy shifted and panted on the other end. He didn't have to ask when it was fully in. He knew the moment Malfoy's breath faltered, the gasp he gave sending shivers down Ron's spine.

Malfoy huffed, the sound so loud to Ron's ears as the whole world funneled down to a point, to this moment as he listened to Malfoy move the toy inside of himself. He moaned, and Ron thought he could hear the squelch of lube on the other end of the line as it entered him.

"Talk to me, Weasley."

Malfoy sounded wrecked. It was enough to make Ron's toes curl just to hear it. It was almost too much to handle ― the idea of Draco Malfoy being thoroughly fucked out by a dildo modelled after Ron's own cock. Ron's head thunked back against the wall. His hand trembled a little as he began stroking himself again.

"Get on your knees for me," he said softly.

Malfoy swore. Ron heard him flip over, his panting breaths suddenly closer to the receiver. In his mind, he could see Malfoy bent over the bed, arse in the air and cheek pressed against the mattress, lips rosy and parted. He imagined himself knelt behind Malfoy, hands gripping his slender hips.

"There's, uh." Ron swallowed. "There's a self-shagging feature. If you want. The spell's ―"

"Oh, we're well acquainted."

"Fuck," Ron moaned. No way he was going to last like this. He rocked his hips, thrusting into the tight circle of his fist. Malfoy sounded like he was trying to collect himself, even as his voice broke on the last word. Ron couldn't begin to explain why that aroused him so much, but he didn't care, already speeding up his hand as it flew over his cock.

Malfoy cast the spell, and Ron felt his cry as the toy began to move on its own. The bed gave a jolt under Malfoy's weight. He gasped again, and Ron heard his fingers scrambling across the sheets.

Ron could almost see it. He imagined Malfoy's bowed back, his knees slipping and spreading apart, his toes curling. The bed creaked with each movement. A dildo of Ron's own making, Malfoy arching back onto it as it fucked him down onto the mattress. Merlin, he should've known Malfoy would take it so well, his eyes rolling back as he listened to the sounds Malfoy made as it thrust into him.

Ron closed his eyes and felt like he was sitting in the room, watching the whole show, watching a copy of his cock pound into Malfoy again and again. The pub outside the bathroom door fell away from him, and all he could focus on was Malfoy's voice and his hand on his own cock.

"Tell me how it feels," Ron choked out, wanting to hear it, see it, touch it, to watch Malfoy unravel under Ron's hands and cock, to capture each cry with his tongue.

Malfoy groaned. "So ― good ―"

"Tell me," Ron rasped again, thrusting his hips forward into his hand. "Tell me ― ah ― how good it is."

"It's so ―" Malfoy cried out, his hands skittering over the sheets. "So good ― so big ― I ―"

"Fucking hell, Malfoy."

At that point, Ron didn't know if he wanted to be watching the toy fuck Malfoy or if he wanted to take over for it. Was he really getting jealous of a dildo? He wished he was there. He wanted to tell Malfoy as much, but he couldn't manage it, instead moaning loudly as he felt his balls begin to draw up against him.

"Fuck, Weasley, you're gonna make me come," Malfoy whined, his posh accent slipping. 

Holy shit, and that was what did it. Ron made a gut-punched sound, his wrist flicking over the head of his cock. He was coming almost before he'd even realized. He barely had the presence of mind to do anything about it before the first spurt had dribbled onto the floor. He pushed off the wall and lent forward, pumping the remainder into the sink. He heard Malfoy swear, and Ron slumped back against the wall again, listening as he came apart with a shuddering cry.

The line went quiet once more. Ron rested his head on the tiles behind him, closing his eyes, holding his softening cock. For a long time, all he could hear was Malfoy breathing on the other end, his own heartbeat equally loud in his ears.

"I liked that. A lot."

Eloquent as always. Ron half expected for Malfoy to say just that, but instead he heard a very soft chuckle ― and then, quietly, "So did I."

Now that his heart rate was gradually slowing, the noise of the club outside wormed its way back in, reminding Ron of where he was, and what he'd just done. He shuffled his feet uncomfortably, glancing at the door when he heard a chatty couple pass by. How long had he been in there? Were the others looking for him?

Another person suddenly banged on the door, and Ron started, pushing off from the wall and quickly withdrawing his wand, disabling his Silencio and spelling himself clean.

"Right." He wanted to say more. Merlin, he did. But instead all he said just then was, "Well, I should probably, er, get back to it. You know?"

"Of course." There was rustling on the line, and then Ron was off speakerphone, Malfoy's voice close and intimate again in a way that made him shiver. "Have a good night, Weasley."

"You too, Malfoy."

Ron exited the bathroom, ignoring the irritated look the other patron gave him as he slipped past.

The entire way back to their table, he felt like he was floating on a cloud. Harry gave him an odd look when he slid into his seat, pulling the fresh pint they'd bought him an indeterminable amount of time ago towards him. Ron couldn't even begin to catch up with what they were all talking about, his mind drifting to thoughts of Malfoy, his mobile a leaden weight in his pocket as the night wound on.

[goamazons]

                                                                                             September, 2                                                                                              Damnville

Dear Dad, You can survive for three weeks without food, for a week without water and turn into a measly gremlin the next very day without a toilet. You’re reading a toilet monster, Dad. Never feed me after dark, ha, ha! It all started when Ma got struck by one of her *BRILLIATN IDEAS* to change the entire pipe system in our house. Just after she flushed the lobsters’ shell down the drain, and they got stuck there for good like, getting back to the ocean wasn’t their most cherished dream before dying. The easiest way out was to invite a proper plumber. Ha! That never happens in Ma’s horoscopes she reads every time she needs to do something PIPING. Instead, she invited our neighbor Mr Gardenzio even though he’s not a plumber but an ex-heavy-lift-boxer and also never gets my name right (he calls me Buster.) I have nothing against boxers and busters, Dad, but every time Mr Gardenzio comes by, my house smells of dogs, sounds like a rush hour and I am a free errand boy.  He smashed all our pipes to dust and sent me to buy one thousand and one thingy I’VE NEVER KNOWN BEFORE EVEN EXISTED. I called Amazons and together, we rumbled by the hardware stores like three lost kittens. Hecta asked, Why would a boxer fix your pipes. I said, He re-qualified into a plumber after he retired. However, when we were back it turned out, he actually did not coz he’d just had a spontaneous duel with the toilet pan. And won. It cracked in two like pieces of the cosmic Yin and Yan that now will never get back together T_T

Then the ball got rolling...

Ma hit her stupendous fit about God punishing her for all her *MAGIC POWERS*, Mr Gardenzio went to have his tenth bucket of coffee and I was sent back shopping for a new toilet pan. Ma ordered one just like our dead old pal even if it was like, hundred years old and hardly flashed anything down. Whatever you put there surfed on the rips of running water and proudly plopped back on the bowl. Still, Ma believes old things are better things, plus cheaper, and bought one from the Internet on a massive discount. I used all public toilets in the nearest cafes and officially declare I prefer new things. You simply push the button there and the poo vanishes as if by magic, not waits for you to PUSH IT MANUALLY. Anyway, the next day, I took Amazons to collect my new toilet coz Ma refused to pay the delivery. At the shop, it turned out they didn’t even wrap it up. And it weighted a complete tonne! I said, What a chance to pump our Shaolin warrior power. Agnieszka said, Quite! and took the plastic tank, like a princess. Hecta and I grabbed that anvil-like bum-throne and kung-fu-dragged it along the streets sweating and panting like all proper warriors proper should. Met our Domestic science teacher Mrs Jennings doing her shopping. She gasped as she saw us coming her way and lamented that we brought her bad luck with that empty vessel. It’s like having all thirteen black cats and a magpie crossing your path in one go. I thought, empty toilet can’t be worth luck than NO TOILET AT HOME AT ALL. Then it turned out it WAS a bad luck coz that bloody WC didn’t fit in anywhere. It had so monstrous bowl, it was destined to serve giants with butts as big as shopping malls. Mr Gardenzio got ready to rematch it while Ma phoned the shop to blow their brains off for selling us a Cthulhu’s loo, and we were sent to get it hell outa the house and over a mile back. BACK. TO. THE. SHOP. I think Mrs Jennings had a heart attack when our paths crossed again today. We ordered a standard one AND A DELIVERY SERVICE. But they will only bring it tomorrow. I’m a homeless kitten now, Dad. I have no personal closet, i. e. no territory to mark, no roots, no claims. Even monks have somewhere to pee, right? I’m a gypsy tumbleweed. I will sleep at Hecta’s tonight. Gotta go do my business in the bushes till the rest of my life if Mr Gardenzio doesn’t box it all back together. Write to you soon,                                                                                Your gremlin Skipper  

[makaylajadewrites]

Part 9: Demons

Hi everyone, welcome back to the Bria Monique series! It's been quite some time since I've posted anything in this series, and although this is just a drabble/is kind of rough, I hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3 here

Summary: Spencer was not a stranger to having enemies. He had been dealing with them all his life and had them for as long as he could remember. Even as a child when he would walk down the street from his house to the bus stop a few blocks away, wearing his heavily scuffed Converse and old leather backpack that once belonged to his father, he was looked at like some kind of natural phenomenon. But the attention wasn’t always innocent and harmless, and he learned that the hard way through the ruthless bullying he suffered through his high school experience.

Tags: Hate speech, Homophobia, Potential transphobia, Bullying, Coming of Age

Word Count: 2665

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Spencer was not a stranger to having enemies. He had been dealing with them all his life and had them for as long as he could remember. Even as a child when he would walk down the street from his house to the bus stop a few blocks away, wearing his heavily scuffed Converse and old leather backpack that once belonged to his father, he was looked at like some kind of natural phenomenon. The sensation of eyes on him was nothing new, because at first it had always been harmless, curious onlookers left confused and amazed at the sight of eight year old Spencer Reid, sitting in a Las Vegas public high school’s library soaking up the contents of a quantum physics textbook. But the attention wasn’t always innocent and harmless, and he learned that the hard way through the ruthless bullying he suffered through his high school experience.

To think that teenagers, some almost six years older than him, bullied him to feel a sense of power was sickening when he thought back on it, but he supposed it was a natural part of Darwin’s theory of evolution at play; survival of the fittest, and Spencer was far from the fittest. He was physically small at that age, as any ten year old would be, with knobby knees and too-small hands, but that only made him a primary target for bullies.

The goal post incidence would forever remain engrained in his memories, and even though it had been over ten years ago, Spencer would never forget the pain, humiliation, and shame he felt after that day. He had been so uncomfortable in his own skin, thinking things about himself that twelve year olds shouldn’t have to think. He didn’t like his body, and had come to hate it more and more as the years went by.

College should have been where the bullying ended, but it didn’t. Twelve - almost thirteen - year old Spencer trudged into his first ever class at Caltech with those same dirty Converse and his mother’s old peacoat since he was now tall enough to wear it without it going below his knees, and the looks were still the same. Some were harmless, others malicious; he told himself it was normal to be hated by those who didn’t understand him. He came to expect it, and at the tender age of fifteen, he began to realize another aspect of himself that would bring him hatred from others for the rest of his life.

Spencer was gay.

He didn’t know what exactly made him realize it. He had been sitting at the desk in his individual dorm room one day (since the university thought he was too young to dorm with another student) with an Abstract Algebra textbook open in front of him while he scratched out impossible equations in his notebook. And suddenly his hand seized movement, his eyes rose, and he looked out the window into the cool December air. A young man was walking across the street two stories below, with olive skin and unruly brown curls, and when he glanced up towards Spencer’s figure in the window. He smiled, and Spencer was breathless.

That was all it took. He had never thought about it much in the past, since he was so heavily caught up in his studies and more concerned with his education than anything else, but the minute those emerald eyes locked with his own, he was reminded of the fact that all human beings crave affection from someone, and in Spencer’s case, he just so happened to wish for it to be a man.

He was once again faced with self-deprecating thoughts, fearing the judgement that would certainly come his way should others know of his identity. He felt like he was constantly holding his breath whenever he went out in public, like he was one second away from screaming out to the world ‘I’m gay,’ just to get the pain and humiliation over with. He didn’t know much about gay culture, and as intelligent as he was, he didn’t know much about gay history either. So as well as doing research on his own, he took a course called Queer History the next semester. In that class, he met Ethan, and together, they explored their sexualities and Spencer had never been more sure of anything in his entire life. He was gay, and that was okay.

They drifted apart naturally, with no hard feelings or animosity, and even today, they remained friends, only contacting each other occasionally. Reid would sometimes pay his old friend a visit if the team ever traveled down to New Orleans, and seeing Ethan behind a piano always seemed to calm him. He was truly talented, and although many chastised him for wasting his intelligence in order to be a jazz musician, Reid couldn’t fault him in the slightest. He was doing what he loved, being who he loved, and that was all that mattered.

It wasn’t until Spencer met Derek that he began to think a little differently about himself. He had always had so many issues with his self esteem and the way he viewed his body, and even before their relationship turned into something more than a platonic friendship, Derek went out of his way to make Spencer feel better about himself. He called him ‘pretty boy,’ encouraged him to go on dates often, feigned jealousy regarding Spencer’s intelligence. When they became a couple, those efforts increased tenfold. Sometimes with no real reason he would compliment Spencer, throwing in pet names as a form of shared intimacy between them. They would make beautiful love together at night, writing poetry with their lips, composing symphonies with their joined bodies. He would wake up the next day in bed with Derek, and Derek would greet him with a deep voice that creeped over his skin like ivy, saying, “Good morning, beautiful.”

Over the years, those looks remained of course, but for the most part, he had learned to block it out, because he had proved time and time again, both to himself and others, that he was undeserving of needless judgements. He was fine the way he was, and while nobody was perfect, he had grown comfortable with himself. Of course he still had moments of doubt and he was still occasionally dysphoric of his body, appearance, personality, but Derek, ever the loving partner, would guide his thoughts in the other direction, and with gentle kisses and soft murmurs, Reid would feel better. Performing in drag definitely helped too, because a drag queen could not be a good performer if she wasn’t confident. But he lacked the confidence of Bria Monique in himself, and sometimes he wished he had merely an ounce of the confidence she possessed. But he was getting better, slowly but surely.

Which was why when he walked into the bullpen alongside Morgan on a seemingly normal morning, a sheer layer of lip gloss coating his lips and a dusting of pale pink blush over his high cheekbones, he nearly stumbled over himself when all eyes seemed to lock onto him. The whispers started, subtle in nature, but they pierced through his brain like a dagger, and not even Derek’s hand on the small of his back could erase the overwhelming sense of shame that swelled in the pit of his stomach. They knew. Word must have spread like wildfire, and it certainly didn’t help that most of the bureau followed along with the BAU’s cases, since they played out like a police procedural sometimes.

What bothered him the most though was that David Rossi stood just outside of his office, leaning over the railing and watching the scene play out like it was some sort of entertainment, a neutral, unreadable expression on his face. Spencer felt nauseous all of a sudden, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so uncomfortable in his own skin. He pushed away from Derek, not with malice, but with the need to simply get away from prying eyes, and his closest refuge was the restroom just outside of the bullpen. He quickly found a stall and threw himself to the ground before that porcelain throne, dispelling the contents of his stomach into the bowl and feeling a sob force its way from his throat. He hardly even noticed Morgan who was there with him almost immediately after, holding his chestnut curls back with one hand and rubbing his back, just between his shoulder blades, with the other.

“It’s okay… You’re gonna be okay, baby,” Derek said softly to him, hating the sight of his lover crying so openly. “Let’s get you cleaned up�� We can talk to Hotch about this, get it sorted out.” And while he knew that Derek was only trying to be reassuring, it still hurt like a bitch to become the focus of all of that negative attention once again. He didn’t say anything at first, reaching blindly for toilet paper which Derek was happy to supply him with before wiping his mouth and nose with it, using another piece for his eyes. Morgan managed to get him out of the stall and standing in front of the row of sinks, he was faced with his reflection, and he was disgusted with himself. He turned the water on, splashing it on his face and practically scrubbing the light makeup off of his face with his fingertips. He looked up slowly, catching the dark bags under his eyes and other imperfections on his face, and he broke down once again. People couldn’t accept him either way. Derek pulled him in, and Spencer melted into the embrace as sobs shook his shoulders.

“Do you want to go back home, Spencer?” Derek asked softly, pulling away to catch sight of Spencer’s tearful honey-brown eyes, and he gently cupped his cheek. His thumb caught a tear that was just beginning to fall past his bottom lashes, and with a sniffle, he shook his head. That would be like admitting weakness.

“N-No, I-I just… I just need a minute,” he murmured rather lamely, pulling away from Derek and pulling a few paper towels from the dispenser to dry his face and wipe away his tears. “Then we can… We can go talk to Hotch,” he said, his voice dropping in volume considerably when he said that, like it was embarrassing. It was, but it was what they should do. He felt uncomfortable, singled out, and while talk and gossip was bound to spread, he hadn’t expected it to be so obvious.

“Take your time, pretty boy. Deep breaths, okay?” Derek reminded him, rubbing a hand over his back yet again as Spencer leaned heavily against the edge of the skin, exhaling shakily and doing as Morgan said. He needed to calm down if he wanted to go out there again, but he wasn’t sure if he could ever face his colleagues the same way again. Eventually though, he managed to collect himself, and the two exited the bathroom and walked quickly to Hotch’s office, Spencer keeping his head bowed in shame the entire time while Derek escorted him with an arm around him the entire way.

Once inside, however, they weren’t expecting to see Rossi inside, sitting down in the seat in front of Aaron’s desk. The two seemed to be chatting amicably while Hotch filled out paperwork simultaneously, but both men raised their heads at the intrusion, and instantly, Hotch took notice of his youngest agent’s flushed face and swollen eyes. He said nothing though, giving either Spencer or Derek the opportunity to explain. Rossi looked on curiously, but he remained silent, paying special attention to the contact between the two men.

“Hotch, we’ve gotta talk, man,” Derek said simply as he closed the door behind them, “How did details of the case leak?”

Hotch was silent for a few moments, setting his pen down and sighing, “It was bound to happen, Morgan. It was getting a lot of attention from the media due to the social justice concerns that arose from it. We cannot control what the media does with the information they retrieve,” he said, folding his hands across his desk, “Nor can we control how others react to seeing such news.”

“So… what? You just want Reid to deal with it?” Morgan asked, narrowing his brows. Spencer stood awkwardly alongside him, glancing over at his partner since the anger was radiating from him in waves.

“What do you want me to do, Morgan?” Hotch asked, clearly a bit exacerbated, “I believe the bureau is considering a mandatory seminar regarding discrimination and harassment in the workplace, but I can’t force them to do it.”

“Of course,” Reid said then, nodding his head a bit sheepishly, “I-I understand…”

“It came across as quite a shock, kid. No offense,” Rossi said, truly sounding genuine but the way his dark eyes roved over him made Spencer feel incredibly vulnerable. “It was, ah… shocking, to say the least. You can’t be surprised that people reacted the way they did.”

“David,” Hotch said warningly, but Reid was already raising an eyebrow, his expression turning into one made of both confusion and surprise.

“What does that mean?” Reid asked slowly, and Rossi simply raised his hands in exasperation as if it were clearly obvious to everyone.

“Oh, Reid… You have to understand how strange it is. Men don’t belong in women’s clothes, it’s just unnatural!” He exclaimed, and Reid shrunk into himself a little bit as the volume rose in the small office. Hotch rose from his desk slowly, catching Reid’s panicked eyes.

“I don’t think you get to choose what type of clothing someone wears,” Reid said simply, “People can wear whatever types of clothes they want to. I don’t wear women’s clothing in my casual life but I’m quite familiar with women’s clothing due to my hobby, which is not unnatural and is completely harmless.”

“Reid…” Rossi started, shaking his head, but Reid wasn’t finished just yet.

“Maybe you should come to one of my shows sometime. Then you’ll see how unnatural it is for me to feel comfortable in my own body and enjoy myself. You have no idea how many straight men have tried to take me home. I bet even you wouldn’t be able to keep your eyes off of me, David,” he said smoothly with an air of confidence, huffing a bit and glaring sharply at Rossi, making direct eye contact, something he was not known to do. In fact, Hotch and Morgan shared a look of surprise, and even Rossi was left speechless. Derek had never seen his lover like that before, but he was swelling with pride at seeing Spencer defend himself. Reid didn’t feel an ounce of regret for anything he said, and was in fact quite satisfied with himself.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to fix my makeup,” he said with no hesitation, turning on his heel and leaving even Derek in the office as he returned to the bathroom to do just what he said. When he emerged, pink gloss glistening on his diamond lips and translucent blush shimmering on his cheeks, he walked to his desk with his head held high, and even as the whispers continued around him, he sat himself down and got to work, just like he always did. Derek watched him from his own desk and Spencer’s eyes lifted to meet his gaze. He didn’t have to be afraid of judgement anymore, and even if Rossi couldn’t accept him, he would always have someone.

“I love you,” Derek mouthed, and Spencer beamed, feeling more content with himself than he had in a long time.

“As you should,” Spencer said aloud in response, looking down at his work and not missing the guffaw of laughter that came from his lover.

He may always have demons, but he would always have Derek too.

<-Part 8: What a Woman

[masterwords]

Vacation

Okay, so I have at least one more part to Ice Castles to work through, but they were making me too sad so after having a beer, I decided to indulge a cute little whumpy sick!fic image that I’ve had in my head for weeks.  It’s some cute Hossi love, because the main reason they’re my OTP is so beautifully overly simple - I hardcore stan someone taking care of Hotch, and I don’t think anyone else is really capable of it.  He’s always the one who is strong, who is solid, who is the shoulder to cry on, and I can’t see anyone but Rossi being that person for him and I need that for him desperately.  Especially with as often as I like to whump him.  So...here you are.  It’s cute, it’s whumpy, and it’s satisfying my need to see someone just give the man a hug.  More Ice Castles tomorrow!

....................................................................................................................

Vacation.  Aaron Hotchner wasn't good at vacation.  He almost always ended up sick, and this was no exception.  Dave liked to say it was because he spent so much time stubbornly avoiding being sick so he never missed work that his immune system didn't know what to do with the down time.  Maybe there was truth in that, he was no doctor, so he had no idea – all he did know was that on night four of their two week stay in Italy, he started feeling off.  The first sign came while they were visiting the Cenacolo Vinciano in Milan, a chill followed by the odd sensation of being lightheaded while he was admiring The Last Supper.  He brushed it off as just being in awe of the magnificence of what he was seeing and pressed on.  Over dinner that night, he noticed his appetite waning sooner than usual, especially when faced with a steaming dish of the most beautiful risotto he'd ever seen.  He managed to pick his way through it while Dave worked on a bottle of wine on his own.  The next day, he woke up with a headache – just a fuzzy, dehydrated feeling that made his eyes feel dry and his face sore, like he'd had a little too much to drink even though he hadn't had a drop.  He drowned it in cappuccino and toast, determined not to let it derail his good time.  Dave had, he was sure, begun to be suspicious but wasn't saying anything yet.  

By the time dinner came around on their last night in Milan, he was sure he was coming down with something. His stomach turned at the thought of food, but he ordered a bowl of borlotti bean soup, at Dave's recommendation, and did his best.  It was incredible, but it sat like a rock in his already very iffy stomach.  He followed it with fizzy water, hoping that would settle what he was currently passing off as indigestion when Dave asked if he was alright.  They called it a night earlier than Dave had intended, but he could see the writing on the wall and tried to intervene early. It was unsuccessful.  Aaron woke the next morning with a worse headache, but they set out for Venice by way of train anyway.  It was a long, beautiful ride through the country, but Aaron slept through most of it, bound tight in his coat though it was a beautiful spring day.  Dave found himself enjoying the company of some older women on a group outing, doing his best to keep up with their Italian though his was rusty.  They had all sorts of home remedies to help Aaron feel better, and by the time the train reached Venice, Dave had a list as long as his arm of all the things he would need to get for his sick friend.  Aaron did alright for a while, he was a trooper, but it was only a matter of time before everything went all topsy turvy.  They'd stopped for a bite to eat and Aaron tried a glass of water and a few crackers from the meat and cheese tray Dave had ordered, but his body rejected it almost immediately.  He paid his euros and spent some time in the public toilet.  Dave waited patiently outside, and this was how they spent much of their day. Walking around, seeing a few things, paying for Aaron to spend about ten minutes throwing up in a public toilet, repeat repeat repeat.  By the end of the day, Aaron was miserable and barely standing, try as he might just to power through.  They checked in to their hotel, and while Aaron crawled into bed to go directly to sleep, unable to muster anything else, Dave wandered down to a cafe nearby and had dinner by himself.  Upon his return, Dave found that Aaron was still sleeping soundly, so he slipped out of his shoes and began washing up.  

“Dave?” Aaron croaked from somewhere deep inside of his nest of blankets.  “Dave I think I'm sick.”

“You think?” Dave smirked, sitting beside him on the bed.  Not too close, though.  He was not about to share in this illness when they still had so much exploring to do. They might have to push back a few plans, cancel a few others, but as long as it was only Aaron who got sick, they'd still be just fine. Dave had, though he'd never cop to it, planned some wiggle room for this very purpose.  It would have been more of a surprise if they'd had a whole trip with no illness.  

“Just get some rest.”

“Do I have a fever?”

Dave pulled back the covers slighty, revealing Aaron's pale face, his glassy eyes red rimmed and sleepy lidded.  He placed his hand directly on Aaron's forehead, fully aware that it wasn't the most accurate way to tell a fever, but he did feel very warm.  And clammy.  It could have been just the fact that he’d created a cocoon inside of the blankets, but he did suspect it was a real fever. 

“Probably,” was his reply, very softly.  Aaron let out a faint groan and pulled the blankets around his face again.  “I'm calling my cousin to let her know we'll be a few days late, we'll just stick around here a while until you're well.”

Aaron whimpered somewhere deep inside of his nest.  

The conversation with his cousin hadn't gone as Dave had intended.  He'd begun with a lovely, boisterous greeting, and then the bad news, that his partner wasn't feeling well and they'd have to stay a few extra days in Venice before traveling. His cousin and aunt were sharing the phone, both shouting over one another that they needed to come first thing in the morning, that no one should be sick in a stuffy hotel room, that he'd heal faster in the countryside – by the end of the conversation, which Dave had contributed very little to, they had all decided that Dave's cousin's husband would pick them up at their hotel by 0800 and he would drive them out.  He'd never met the man before, and now he was being chauffeured around Italy by him with his sick partner in tow.  Things were spiraling, but Dave hoped it was for the best.  He'd lost control of the entire situation.    

When the morning sun streamed through the window, Dave was already up and packing their bags onto a rolling cart left by the door.  He woke Aaron at the very last minute, trying to let him sleep as much as he could.  The man looked like death – his skin was pale, his eyelids sagged, and he couldn't get warm even after putting on two sweaters, Dave's jacket and his own.  He looked like a madman, walking along slowly with his arms folded tight over his chest, just trying to make his way down the hallway to the main lobby on legs that threatened to collapse underneath him.  Dave had noted, with some joy, that Aaron's bedhead was among the best he'd ever had.  There were so many small things, insignificant things by anyone else's count, that brought unbridled joy to a person – Aaron's bedhead was one of those things for Dave. The car they were to ride in was tiny, but they'd managed to shove the luggage into the back without too much difficulty, the harder part was fitting Aaron into the backseat that was hardly made for a child.  He lay down, curled up on the seat under a wool blanket that was always kept in the car and fell fast asleep before they'd even managed to get out of the city.  Dave and his cousin's husband, Leo, got on rather well for their hour and a half drive.  Leo turned out to be quite an interesting man, and he'd had plenty of questions for Dave about his frightening job.  By the time they'd arrived in Valeggio sul Mincio, they were already making plans for their visit.

The house was exactly as Dave had remembered it as a child, except slightly more weather worn.  On one side was wide open hillside as far as the eye could see, an old castle at the top overlooking it all, and the other was all water, a house that was built on the bank of a lake.  It was one of many, tall and thin and smashed together wall to wall but each painted a different color.  His family happened to live in the one the color of marigolds in the fall.  As a child, he remembered coming to spend summers with the cousins here, but he hadn't been now in many years.  Perhaps he'd been busy, perhaps just seeing other things, but seeing it now brought back such a rush of memories that he was overcome with profound sadness at all the time he'd chosen not to spend here.  When the car came to a stop, out ran his cousin, Ilaria (Illie, to him, because when he was small he couldn't pronounce her full name) and her mother, Auntie Viola.  They kissed Dave quickly, distractedly, and rather unceremoniously pushed him out of the way to get to the car.  He couldn't figure out what was happening at first, but when Illie opened the car door and they began to help Aaron out into the sunshine, it all came together.  He smiled.  Aaron wouldn't know what was happening, would probably be unbelievably uncomfortable, but he wouldn't say anything to put off these two women who were suddenly putting themselves at his every beck and call.  He looked at Dave as they ushered him into the house, confused but too sick to protest, and Dave followed quietly as they made their way up the tall, narrow staircases to the guest room at the end of the hall.  The women chattered at Aaron in Italian, none of which he understood, and Dave translated as best he could but they were being pretty clear with their hands and movements.  It didn't take long before Aaron's shoes were off and he was being tucked into the bed, extra blankets piled on top of him, his pillows fluffed. They patted Dave on the cheek, each in succession, and chided him for not coming sooner before leaving the room to gather their supplies. Dave just looked at Aaron, who looked utterly mortified, and shrugged.  

“You'll just have to get used to it,” Dave said softly, smiling.  “They mean well.”

“I don't feel good, Dave,” Aaron whispered in the most pathetic voice Dave thought he'd ever heard. “My stomach hurts.”  

“I'm sorry, Aaron.”  He'd been trying to keep some distance, in the interest of their trip, but his resolve had weakened considerably at seeing Aaron so miserable, so he decided to sit on the bed next to his partner and pull him in close, letting him rest his fevered head on his chest.  Aaron curled up, pulling his knees up toward his chest because the pressure felt good against his cramping stomach.  It didn't take long for Aaron to fall asleep there, and stay that way for hours.  Illie and her husband had come and gone, bringing up their luggage and a book for Dave to sit and read as he comforted his sleeping, sick partner.  They brought tea and coffee and snacks to keep Dave sitting there, because as Illie said, the sick needed comfort, and what could be more comforting than the touch of a loved one.  Dave supposed she was right, it seemed to be helping Aaron sleep at the very least.  

This stretched on for days.  Aaron's fever came and went, and with it came all the other symptoms of general human misery when a stomach illness was involved.  He managed to cycle through all of them before finally feeling better, with all thanks due to Illie and Viola, who doted on Aaron day and night, except when they were making Dave to do it.  Aaron hardly had to move a muscle for nearly four days straight, unless he wanted to.  Dave was forced to learn a number of their remedies so that he could take care of Aaron back at home, because they were certain he hadn't done a great job up until that point.  They were very likely correct, he surmised.  They'd decided to spend the remainder of their trip in the countryside with Dave's family, forsaking the excitement of museums and tours and city life for rolling hills and glittering lakes and the love of a close family.  They took daily walks, had home cooked meals, and played games or told stories well into the night.  Aaron was even starting to pick up some passable Italian in spurts.  The vacation, as it turned out, had been exactly what both of them had needed, even if there were some unexpected bumps along the way.  

Back at the BAU, Aaron was buried in paperwork at his desk.  The team had done what they could to keep things caught up so he didn't have a mess on his hands, but there were many things out of their control.  

“Hey boss!” Emily Prentiss entered Aaron's office like she owned the place, plopping down on the couch and kicking her feet up.  He peered across the room at her suspiciously as she pulled a postcard out of her breast pocket and began reading in her loudest, most obnoxious voice.  

“Venice was beautiful, Emily, truly magical.  We've been having a wonderful time in Italy.  I'm sitting here writing you while watching a Gondolier carting a young couple in love down the canal.  Aaron, however, is losing whatever is left of his breakfast in a public toilet, as is his prerogative any time we go on vacation.  I thought you, of all people, would truly appreciate what I'm about to share with you.  He's now spent a small fortune to use the facilities, but he does say they're very clean, and he tries to leave them that way.  Use your imagination.  We can't wait to tell you more when we're back.”

Aaron stared at her, his hand now on his forehead, the look of the long suffering.  

“Hotch?” she asked, sitting bolt upright, drawing his name out with a few extra syllables.  “Did you clean the public toilets after you barfed in them?”

“That's not any of your business, Prentiss.”

“So you did.  So you were barfing and then scrubbing, all day, while you were in Venice, Italy?  I NEED to come with you on your next vacation, you big dumbass.  Rossi doesn't take enough pictures, clearly.”

“He took plenty of photos,” Aaron replied, looking back down at his paperwork.  “None of which any of you will ever see.”

[yatorihell]

In The Darkness Chapter 81 - The Deathly Hallows

Noragami x Harry Potter AU

Words: 2,638

Summary: The trio seek help finding the horcruxes.

Also available on Yatorihell AO3

Spring bled in slowly with April snowfall punctuated by bright sunny days. The last snow clung to frigid grass mounds and the hilltops, but the brightness of daffodils signalled that winter was over.

Yato explained the vision he had when the locket was destroyed; the feathered metal of some sort of tiara with a large blue gem in its center. The only clue they had to its location was Hogwarts.

“Perhaps it's Rowena Ravenclaw’s Diadem?” Hiyori suggested. “We thought that the horcruxes were linked to the founder's items in some way, maybe this is the next one?”

Yato nodded in agreement. The visions had let up slightly, but he felt a shift now. The Sorcerer must have felt the horcrux being destroyed; it was part of his soul, after all. It was all beginning to fall apart, piece by piece, revealing the location of each part of his soul, and he was powerless to stop it.

Something inside Yato thrummed with urgency, whether it was the nervousness of being traced or the excitement of final destroying a horcrux, he could not tell.

The next horcrux in their sights was Helga Hufflepuff’s goblet, but that presented a new challenge. Its location was shrouded in mystery, and the jewels and gems that filled it in Yato’s vision offered no clues.

After moving camp for the third time that week, they settled into the chilling afternoon sun and ate dinner. The radio filled the air with the latest updates – not that there were many to begin with over the last couple of weeks. Kazuma’s tinny voice rang out around them, crackled every now and then by the poor signal. The usual list of the dead and snatched and Wanted rang out, but there seemed to be no new restrictions or laws.

Perhaps the Sorcerer had implemented everything he wanted, Yato mused.

“We – I – hope that you are keeping safe during these times. W- I have nothing new to report on the Ministry’s activities, but I will update you as soon as we – I know.”

Yato scrunched his nose before digging into his food. He’d never heard Kazuma blunder so much when speaking unless Bishamon was involved, but it seemed she hadn’t joined him for some time. He wondered if Kazuma had even found a job, as the radio show seemed to be taking up so much of his time nowadays. Then again, not many employers would want to take on an illegal radio show host working against the Ministry of Magic in the first place.

“Thank you for listening. Yato, Yukine, Hiyori, wherever you are, whatever you need, you know where I am,” Kazuma signed off with the usual spiel he’d adopted in the last few months. The radio clattered for a second with a few mumbles before a click sounded, leaving the radio static.

They sat for a moment in silence, eating, before Yukine spoke.

“Do you think we should try contacting Kofuku?” Yukine asked.

Yato shot him a look, spooning stew into his mouth. “Why?”

Yukine shrugged. “She might know more about the goblet and the diadem if it disappeared when she was a student, or she can find out for us in the archives. Any clues would help.”

Yato made a face. It was a good idea, but with a large problem. “How could we contact her? We can’t go to her, and I don’t have Coo Phone.”

“It should be Easter break now; we might be able to reach her without anyone knowing,” Hiyori chimed in. Yukine nodded his agreement; it was already mid-April, so most teachers and students would have gone home for the holidays.

“What about Kazuma? He knows what’s going on, hell, he probably knows where they are,” Yukine suggested, pointing at the crackling radio. “He’s been saying that if we need help, we can go to him. Do you know where he lives?”

“Somewhere in Devon. A secluded, countryside mansion his parents rarely stay at as they’re away working for MACUSA,” Yato recalled, putting his bowl on the ground by his chair. “I went there once and broke his toilet. Never got invited back.”

“I wonder why,” Yukine said dryly. “Well, Kazuma should be able to get a message to Kofuku. Maybe we could arrange a meeting somewhere?”

“Could do,” Yato agreed. “We’ll just have to work out a way for her to get the message back to us.”

“Ok then,” Hiyori said, turning off the radio static. “Next stop, Kazuma.”

~

They packed up camp and Apparated at the closest village to Kazuma’s house. Shouldering their backpacks, Yato, Hiyori and Yukine made their way through the winding roads that led them into the countryside. Past the fields of cows and dilapidated barns, they came to a stately gate bordered by trees and two Griffin statues, though one was missing half of its head. The gates original purpose seemed to have failed to keep trespassers from entering through the buckled railings.

They started up the path, hugging the treeline until the house came into view. Kazuma’s house was indeed a mansion, though parts of it seemed to be crumbling along with the rest of the grounds. Hiyori and Yukine exchanged glances as Yato made his way up the path; it felt too exposed for them to just walk right up to the front door. Any worries they had weren’t shared by Yato as he looked back and waved them forward.

The front door was framed by a tangle of ivy that worked its way up and around the windows, spreading like a disease over the grand house. It seemed there was a hole in the roof judging by the protruding pigeon's nest overhanging them, the tiles charred by a small fire.

Yato rapped the bronze knocker three times, and almost instantly Hiyori saw a curtain twitch in the window. The door opened slowly, and a green framed eye appeared in the crack.

Yato smiled. “Surprise?”

The door swung open and Kazuma stood before them, haggard and unkempt, mouth open.

“You came,” Kazuma gawked.

Hiyori and Yukine once again shared puzzled looks, and Yato looked over his shoulder with a quizzical smile. “Is that ok? We’ve been listening to the radio-.”

“No, no! it's fine! Great! Come in!” Kazuma gushed. A grin had taken over his face, wider than they’d ever seen, giving him the appearance of a madman.

The house was even worse inside. It appeared he had no need for cleaning with no guests, but the state of the kitchen peaking at them from the end of the hallway was worrying. Kazuma led them to what should have been a dining room, but it was too full of newspapers and radio equipment to see a table beneath it. A small desk sat by the window, bathed in grey sunlight that filtered through the torn net curtain. On it sat a radio, a microphone, and two sets of headphones.

They avoided touching anything as they picked their way through the debris before stopping in the middle of the room.

“Were you born in a barn?” Yukine grumbled to himself, but it went ignored.

“We’ve followed your radio show,” Yato explained. “And we need a favour. You’re the only one who can help.”

Kazuma nodded, his smile slipping slightly and a troubled frown coming into his brow.

“We were hoping you could get a message to the Order,” Yato said. “We know what the next horcrux is, but we need some help tracking it down.”

“Yes, yes,” Kazuma murmured, though it seemed he wasn’t really paying attention. His eyes kept sliding to the window as if worried someone would burst in and find Public Enemies One, Two, and Three all in his house.

“Do you have an owl?” Yukine asked.

“Yes.”

There was a pause. No one moved. Kazuma fiddled with his thumbs, looking out the window.

Yato cocked his head slightly. “Could you… get it?”

Kazuma snapped out of his thoughts at the suggestion. He nodded and left the room.

Yato shook his head and began riffling through the bits of parchment that had taken over the table. “I think he’s lost without Hogwarts. Too much time away from Bishamon and books. Try and find a pen.”

Yukine and Hiyori set about diving through the rubbish in search of something to write with. At the back of the house, they could hear Kazuma rummaging around, shortly followed by a soft owl hoot and a ruffle of feathers.

Yukine looked around, noticing that two chairs had been pulled away from the table to huddle around the makeshift radio station. There was a mug and plate growing mold in the window sill, but the other mug was fresh with coffee. It seemed odd since Kazuma was the only one home.

There was more scraping – from their search as they found and handed a pen to Yato – and from the kitchen as a door opened and closed. Yato scribbled out a note, detailing that they needed to find what happened to Helga Hufflepuff’s goblet.

“Look at this,” Hiyori said. They turned to look at her, seeing she held a battered copy of the Daily Prophet, dated to only a few months ago. The headline read ‘TENJIN’S GRAVE DISTURBED’.

Yato frowned. “Why would anyone break into his grave?”

Yukine shrugged, waiting for Hiyori to stop skimming the pages for answers, but none came. They heard footsteps in the hall, and Yato turned to ask Kazuma.

“Kazuma, what happened…” Yato started, but then Kazuma rounded the corner and stood in the doorway. They looked at him and his empty hands. All thoughts of the Daily Prophet slipped from their minds.

“Where’s the owl?” Yato asked.

Kazuma blinked at him. Had he forgotten to bring it? What had he been doing?

“She’s sleeping,” Kazuma answered, but the lie was flimsy.

They looked at him for a long, unsettling moment. The Kazuma they knew didn’t act like this. He didn’t live like this, or look as disturbed in the eyes as he did at this moment. Yukine’s eyes slid back to the pairs he’d noticed in the room. Two mugs. Two plates. Two chairs. Two headphones.

One person.

“Who else is here, Kazuma?” Yukine asked lowly. His hand was already reaching for his wand, and the flicker of Kazuma’s eyes told him he noticed.

“What do you mean? It’s just us,” Kazuma said, hands splayed.

The silence of the house confirmed it, but it still set them on edge. Something – someone – was amiss.

Hiyori’s voice cut through the tension. “Where’s Bishamon?”

Yato turned his head to look at Hiyori. Her lips were pressed in a thin line, eyes ablaze. Just like Yukine, she’d noticed the extra items.

Kazuma stammered for words. “W-what do you mean?”

“I know she has been living here. Your parents are in America, but there are two mugs out and two chairs around that radio. Wasn’t Bishamon doing the radio show with you until recently?” Hiyori replied.

Yato looked back at Kazuma. She was right. Bishamon had been a regular guest on the show, recanting Quidditch tales and the like, but she was nowhere in sight. It had been months since they’d heard her, and it looked like it had just been Kazuma for a while.

“Where is Bishamon, Kazuma?” Yato asked lowly.

“I had to,” Kazuma said shakily. “I had to bring you here.”

Yato pulled his wand from his pocket in sync with Hiyori and Yukine. “Why have you brought us here?”

“They said they’d kill her –,” Kazuma started.

“You tried to steal the Sword of Gryffindor, didn’t you?” Yukine cut in.

Kazuma whirled at the question, eyes frightened behind his glasses at the mention of it.

“A while back, you said the Sword of Gryffindor was moved to a safe location,” Yukine continued. “It’s because you tried to steal it, wasn’t it?”

Kazuma nodded after a moment. “Madame Kofuku told us about the will, and how the Sword of Gryffindor was meant to go to you. We tried to steal it using the Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement-.”

“We?” Hiyori pressed.

“Me and Bishamon.”

“What happened?” Yato asked.

Kazuma stammered silently for a moment, mouth opening and closing. “We got caught. Oshi, all those Deatheaters… they tortured us, to find where you were. When they realised we didn’t know, they sent me back to catch you… They… they took Viina-.”

Kazuma broke off in a choke, hand pressed to his mouth.

“Where’s the owl, Kazuma?” Yato growled, but he already knew. It would be at the Ministry by now.

“I’m sorry!” Kazuma choked. “I couldn’t leave her to die!”

“Yato!” Hiyori’s warning rose. Dark figures blurred by the window, the rush of black robes caught in the wind as they sailed past the house.

“Shit!” Yukine swore, raising his wand to the window. “Kazuma, you bastard!”

“Out!” Yato roared above the blubbering mess Kazuma had become, begging for forgiveness, begging for understanding, but Yato wouldn’t hear it.

He pushed Yukine and Hiyori out of the dining room and down the hallway to the kitchen. The front door shattered to pieces behind them with a red flash and they heard Kazuma scream. Yukine pressed his back against the wall next to the back door, and Hiyori ducked low against the counter, peering beneath the window drapes to see the swirling figures on broomsticks.

“Stupefy!” Yato cursed a Deatheater as they stepped into the threshold of the house, but he could see more running up to take his place.

Yato slammed the door shut and pressed his back to it, swearing under his breath. He looked to Hiyori. She looked back, terrified.

“We have to go. Now!” Hiyori hissed.

Yato caught Yukine’s eye and nodded. He reached for the door handle and flung it open, and Yato burst outside in a wave of curses that returned tenfold at him. The house opened up into a wide field with a sky of Deatheaters above it, and beyond it, a forest.

He didn’t need to look back to know that Hiyori and Yukine were hot on his heels, sprinting across the stretch and deflecting spells more than they could send them. Deatheaters advanced and swooped at them, fingers just missing their hair and clothes as they staggered to the edge of the wood, slipping down the muddy trails and over tree roots deeper into the thicket.

Spells hit and scorched trees as they weaved their way through the woods, heaving and panting, stumbling, and tripping. Flashes of red and blue lit the woods ahead of them, the crunches of feet on bracken behind them telling them that the Deatheaters were now persuading on foot. Whoops and shouts rose, calling directions and strategies that were lost on the wind that whistled past their ears as they blindly stumbled through the woods, unable to reach each other to Disapparate.

Hiyori stumbled down a slope, a clearing opening up before her where more voices could be heard. Panting hard, she just barely heard approaching footsteps behind her, and Yukine’s shout.

Hiyori spun, wide-eyed as she realised Yukine had been Snatched. It was of little relief when she saw Yato cresting the slope, throwing glances back over his shoulder and running at full pelt towards her. Hiyori realised with a sickening dread that there was no way out ahead or behind. If they caught Yato it was game over…

But what if they didn’t know it was Yato?

Hiyori had no time for thought as she raised her wand. The Stinging Jinx hit Yato square in the face and he fell backward like he had hit a wall. A pained grunt slowly escaped his swelling lips, and Hiyori said a silent apology.

Above the crest, Hiyori saw the Deatheaters and Yukine – bound by Incarcerous – in tow.

They had been Snatched.

[vegetalass]

hcs of the gang being quarantined in one big house together maybe?? 🥺 lub ur writing

i lub u, anon!!🥺 sorry this took forever!

General 

Oh my godddddddddd

They had to stop doing movie nights because there was too much fighting 

They tried to set it up such that everyone got a turn to pick a movie but there were still complaints

Now, movies are viewed at random and the policy is that 

1. The TV is first come first serve

2. You have to announce when you’re using it

3. Anyone is allowed to join you 

This has stemmed into multiple people shouting “IM WATCHING _____” at random times

And yes, people will try to hide the remote (mostly Sean)

If they can find it, that is

The lines between public and private property have been blurred. Everything must be labeled or there is a chance someone will take it 

You can risk it, but it’s not recommended since they’re all dudes and will most likely eat anything 

And even with your name on a box of graham crackers, there’s still a chance someone will stick their hand it in and steal a few

All the dudes walk around in their Long Johns like it’s not awkward

They have to do their own laundry so everyone is missing socks

Or they have extras

And wet laundry is constantly being left on the ground if it’s unattended and someone needs the washer 

Arthur

This dude double dips 

He licks the spoon and puts it back in, too 

Gets yelled at a lot for this, but never remembers to stop

Everybody is afraid to touch all of the dips now because of this 

And Hosea has to start buying separate ones just for Arthur

He’s the one who takes 3 hour baths 

I imagine that there’s multiple bathrooms in the house but not enough for everyone so there are definitely times when people are like “WTF, Arthur you’re still in there?” or “Where’s Arthur?” 

Usually it’s Charles or John because they don’t mind sharing a bathroom with each other 

Cue Arthur having accidentally fallen asleep in the tub 

But yea he’s just chilling in there, otherwise

Started the quarantine off by trying to fix up the house… But immediately got lazy

There’s probably a number of things he keeps saying that he’ll “get to, eventually”

The only reason Dutch hasn’t called someone is because it’s a PANDEMIC

Technologically challenged 

Barely knows how to turn on the TV and still uses an iPhone 5 that has pretty much stopped working

John has given up trying to explain how to make things fullscreen on YouTube

Because of this, probably spends most of his time wandering around the yard and reading or journaling

Tilly even bought him some scrapbooking supplies, which he’s been trying to use 

Little washi tapes and highlighters because she knows it can’t get too complicated too fast 

She also makes him an Instagram account so he can take photos or post art

But figuring out how it works is a losing battle, and he never remembers to use it, anyway 

“I think we should get a pet” 

Everyone: “Arthur... Do we look like we take care of ourselves? 

If anyone tries to talk about how annoying the quarantine is, starts ranting about people who refuse to take it seriously

And the conversation ends up spiraling into him blaming capitalism for everything

John 

Every other meal he eats is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or Doritos

He does that thing where he wraps a bowl or plate in plastic wrap so he doesn’t have to wash it 

Doesn’t clean up after himself

Leaves used tissues, slimy butter knives with PB on them, and crusty socks laying around 

Unluckiest of them all 

His snacks get taken the most, the bathroom is always occupied when he needs it, never gets to use the TV, his laundry is always moved, etc. 

Always ends up using the bathroom when there’s no toilet paper

Texts Arthur for help and then makes an announcement in the group chat about “common courtesy” 

Nobody replies

His texts are full of messages to Abigail that all say the same thing

“Help.” + “Please come get me” + “I hate it here”

They’re all left on read except for the occasional response asking if he needs anything from Target

The list he sends back is like four paragraphs long and it’s all dumb stuff 

He’s like “FaceTime me when you get there, I wanna go shopping too”

Doesn’t even really want to leave the house for necessities, so he has to do stuff like water down his soaps or steal other people’s toiletries just to prolong how often he needs to go shopping for himself

He’s the one using Irish Spring from the dollar store mixed with water or a block of orange Dial soap that hasn’t been touched in five years 

Charles tries to throw away an empty hand soap and John is like “THERE’S STILL SOAP IN THERE LOOK” *mixes water with it* 

Steals razors and Shampoo 

Thinks conditioner is “unnecessary” and “doesn’t do anything” 

Complains about being bored but doesn’t bother to do the things people that people offer

Charles 

Voluntarily becomes a recluse 

Not because he wants to but because everyone else is too annoying to deal with 

He’s forced to start using the internet and when he’s not on the computer he’s trying to block out the noise of the 8 other men he lives with just living 

Going on walks is his other hobby

Also probably buys one of those adult coloring books to color

Like Athur, Charles hogs the bathroom 

It’s not as bad as Arthur since he’s not in the tub for the whole time but he really will spend an hour getting ready in the morning for absolutely no reason 

If anyone asks about it he just tells them that since they’re in quarantine there’s no reason to rush 

But he does get yelled at if there’s no other bathrooms available 

Becomes a self-care connoisseur 

Walks around in a bathrobe and face mask just to try and achieve some sort of zen 

Literally the only one who doesn’t walk around half naked

Besides Hosea, the one of the only guys who tries to wake up on time and eat three healthy meals a day 

The house is entirely dark and he’s eating toast while Hosea makes coffee 

It’s awkward, not because they’re weird about each other but because no one else is awake and it’s quiet for once 

Dutch is the third person up and Charles leaves the kitchen by the time he’s around 

Gave up trying to do the dishes and only cleans what he uses

Sometimes if he feels like being nice he’ll do Arthur’s dishes, too 

But only if he gets something back in return, like Arthur doing his laundry or something

The only one who changes his bedsheets on the regular

Him and Kieran are the only ones trusted by Hosea to leave the house safely 

Micah 

Everyone is surprised Micah isn’t dead yet

Everyone is constantly fed up with him for something or for just being irritating 

And try to ignore him for the most part, which is hard

Tries to defends himself with “Well, you don’t have to bother me if you don’t want to” 

Doesn’t clean up after himself, either

John leaves more mess, but Micah does worse stuff 

While John just leaves his dirty peanut butter knives around, Micah does stuff like forget to put the mayo back in the fridge, leave the bread bag out and open, forgets to bring his used dishes to the dishwasher, throws his trash in other people’s trash cans, leaves his wet laundry in the dryer, etc. 

If it’s annoying and gross, he does it 

And tries to eat food that other people have made for themselves or don’t want to share with him 

Dutch is the only one who shares with him willingly

Does not pick up his hair from the bottom of the shower

And doesn’t clean the sink after he shaves

Honestly, I doubt any of the drains in the house work properly because so much shaving goes on 

It’s honestly surprising to everyone that he takes the quarantine seriously 

Accuses people of being sick even though all of them have barely left the house… 

Wears a mask inside when he’s feeling salty 

He doesn’t even care about the mask, it’s just to make people feel gross and bad about themselves

Besides Sean, he’s always trying to hog the TV

And everything he watches is annoying, pretentious, or both

Complains about there being “nothing to watch” despite always having something on and refusing to stop

Tries to smoke inside and literally always get busted for it

Even if other people are doing it too, he’s the one who doesn’t even bother to be by a window when he does it

His room is always off limits 

If you need something from him you need to knock and wait in the doorway

Also does the “You’re too close… Step back, please” thing

And if anyone gets mad, says it’s a pandemic and he’s just trying to be SAFE

Mostly does this to feel powerful

Turns in to Uncle Jr. with all the complaining and berating he does

Uncle is honestly offended

Hosea

The only person allowed to do the shopping 

He gave up trying to give people lists because the groceries they came back with were never right 

Either too few, too many, not the right stuff... You name it 

See here for more

That’s why, despite being the oldest, he’s the one who goes grocery shopping for meals twice a week 

Refuses to buy alcohol because of incidents that they’ve had

Can’t stop people from sneaking it, though

Similar to Dutch in that he gets annoyed when people oversleep, but because its quarantine, he tries to not mention it, and at the worst, gets passive aggressive 

Tries to make a chore chart for people to follow but it gets ignored

He ends up having to force people to do things by reminding them constantly 

He’s the one who starts opening people’s doors in the morning and turning on the lights

Makes everybody start eating on paper plates with plastic silverware because he’s tired of trying to make people use the dishwasher 

Arthur doesn’t know how, John doesn’t put his plates in the right place, Charles refuses to since no one else contributes to keeping it neat, Micah doesn’t even know they have one, Kieran also can’t fill it correctly... 

Basically, it’s too much for Hosea to handle 

His dinners are all Costco pre-made meals that can be made quickly 

Frozen lasagna and prepackaged salad type stuff 

He’s the guy who falls asleep on the couch sitting up while watching TV and if you try to talk to him he says “I’m awake” without opening his eyes

And if he’s using it, don’t even think about suggesting to change the channel 

The answer is and always will be no

Even when he’s not really paying attention

And it’s either on the History Channel or Discovery Channel

Always complaining about how cold his feet are

Doesn’t let anyone touch the thermostat

He’s an in real life Elf on the Shelf

Dutch 

If anyone, and I mean anyone starts sleeping in, he gets in a really pissy mood 

“While I’m up, doing work for you, you’re sitting in bed being lazy!!!” and “What do you mean you don’t understand why! Why should I have to tell you why wasting the day is annoying to all those who are working!” 

Even despite this, he can’t actually change the fact that no one wakes up on time

And it’s not like the work he’s doing for them is very important

He’s the one who thinks that a pandemic is the perfect time to be or do something useful

Eat healthy, write a book, pump iron… Anything

And when people complain about being useless he’s like “You have all this free time!!!1! Stop complaining!!! You can do anything!!!” 

And if he’s doing something he considers useful, yells at people who try to bother him 

Arthur: “Hosea wanted to know-”

Dutch: *doing sit ups* “CAN’T YOU SEE I’M BUSY?” 

When it’s his turn to cook dinner, he’s making 8 boxes of Trader Joe’s mac and cheese in a huge pot and calling a meal

Literally the only meal no one complains about 

He won’t clean the pot when it’s finished, though

Literally just cooks and leaves it out for someone else to deal with

Another self-care aficionado 

Also walks around in a bathrobe and face mask 

He’s worse than Charles though, because while Charles wears pants... Dutch will be booty ass naked under his 

Also keeps trying to make homemade masks and scrubs and walks around in those, too 

He’s like “This is a good one, I can tell already” 

Everyone: “Dutch... is that... mayo... in your hair?”

Annoyingly good at monopoly

Does not invite Molly over and gets yelled at over FaceTime

Cue everyone eavesdropping on their arguments

Goes on power walks

Yells at people when they listen to loud music with swear words 

Honestly, always yelling at people

“Can somebody get me my slippers? Arthur? John? Hosea? AnYoNe!!!”

Kieran 

Spends the least time in the bathroom because he’s afraid of getting yelled at 

Does everything in five minute increments 

Except for showers, when he allows himself ten minutes

Barely 

Most of what he eats is just microwave popcorn and shredded cheese

He’s the one asking people if they want to go on “family walks” with him

Literally no one joins him 

Also tries to play board games with everyone

This goes a little better at least because Hosea will sometimes play and if he’s there, a few people will definitely join 

Very bad at monopoly

The most conscious about wearing a mask 

The others wear them but Kieran is the one who wears double masks, gloves, and carries around Febreeze 

Also will get mad if anyone forgets their “safety equipment” 

Or if they’re within six feet of him in public

Props to him though for staying healthy 

I’ve mentioned this before, but... Spends most of his time playing games on a big tablet wearing headphones

Candy Crush and FarmVille and Words with Friends and stuff like that

Though all of his internet friends are weird old ladies he doesn’t know 

Everyone is mad at him for sending non-stop game notifications, too

Hosea is the only one who responds to any of them 

He’ll never admit this, though

Also tries to start doing arts and crafts 

Mary-Beth started telling him about the various crafts she’s been doing, so he’s started trying to follow along, too 

Things like crocheting or popsicle stick art 

His stuff all looks bad, but he’s just happy to be doing it

And to be FaceTiming Mary-Beth

When he gets to choose a movie, he’s picking a “family-friendly” movie like Inside Out or Lilo and Stitch 

Everyone starts out being mad but they all end up watching the whole thing without complaining 

Heated debates ensue, too 

For example, like about whether Flynn should’ve cut Repunzel’s hair in Tangled 

“YOU’RE GONNA LOOK AT ME AND TELL ME THAT I’M WRONG?” 

Charles + Arthur vs. Dutch + Bill

Makes meatloaf or Hamburger Helper like once a week

They’re basically the only thing he knows how to make 

Sides with Arthur when he suggests getting a pet

Wears a Snuggie 

Doesn’t change his socks 

Javier

Plays his own music very loudly and won’t turn it off or down if you ask 

Either that or he’s practicing guitar 

It’s not really that bad but when you can’t escape it.... People get mad 

The only saving grace is that the singing is usually in Spanish so it’s not as bothersome

The door to his room is always closed

Refuses to open it

To talk to him, you have to knock and then he’ll exit

Dutch is the only one allowed in and he thinks Javier’s rules about entering are creepy so never does it

Javier cooks his own food and won’t share

Only makes enough for exactly one person so even if he wanted to, there’s not enough

Eats dinner in his room to prevent people from bothering him or asking for some

However, he has the biggest stash of quarantine snacks… 

No one knows where he gets them

And getting him to share is like trying to do a drug deal, but he’s not against it as long as he gets something in return 

He didn’t personally cook all these snacks so the rules are different 

His room is full of scented candles to make it smell better since the whole house kinda smells like Boy 

Buys a gamer chair at the start of quarantine 

Claims it’s more comfortable than the office chair that Dutch and Hosea chose for everyone

Everyone is jealous

Wears fuzzy pajama pants only 

Sean

Sean is the one sleeping in

Never sleeps in his bed and just falls asleep wherever, basically

Usually the couch

Because he’s always snoozing, he’s the one who watches the most TV

Micah claims this isn’t “fair,” despite doing the same thing

And even if he’s not watching TV, he’s just using the couch to watch Tik Toks full volume 

Tries to make his own Tik Toks, but they either stink or no one wants to participate

Constantly having people get mad at him for recording them 

Stopped wearing clothes the moment quarantine started

Always in a tank top and his underpants 

It’s kinda weird 

People cared at first but by now they can’t be bothered to complain since they’re 

1. Used to it 

2. Probably start doing the same thing

Leaves his laundry laying around

Also won’t share anything he’s eating 

Gets mad when people steal food

Doesn’t address anyone in particular though, just walks around yelling about how “nobody has the common decency not to steal” 

Has food delivered almost every other day 

No one knows where he’s getting the money from, either

Everyone think it’s a waste

Mostly because he doesn’t share, but also because all hell broke loose when Hosea found out about an expense called “delivery fees” 

Also has a stick up his ass about wasting food 

Started yelling about this randomly, too 

If he can’t force someone else to finish leftovers, he forces himself to finish them 

Probably gets caught watching a certain type of nasty video a lot

Lowkey it probably happens to everybody at least once

Yells at anti-maskers 

Tries to wrestle the other boys and gets his ass handed to him

Bill

Possessive of everything 

Usually he’s not this bad but being cooped up with a bunch of thieves and liars doesn’t make him confident that his Circus Animal cookies will last very long 

Doesn’t share anything and very adamant about making sure there’s labels on things so nothing gets mixed up

Also makes his own space in the fridge with tape 

BILL’S SPACE DO NOT TOUCH 

And will start yelling in anything is moved 

Not as bad as Sean though because he only cares about his own stuff

The whole thing is super hypocritical though, because he definitely steals other people’s stuff

If he gets caught, claims “it’s only fair” 

Hosea has to buy him soap because he won’t buy it himself

Definitely the one who learns how to make prison hooch with cranberry juice and yeast

And the one who eats all of the ice cream 

Even the nasty flavors 

Wears the same clothes everyday because since he’s not working, “they’re not dirty” 

They start getting holes in them, though

If anyone tries to suggest something for him to do, he gets mad and claims he “knows how to entertain himself”

Also constantly accusing people of being in his space or business 

Ends up starting a ton of fights over this and then complaining about how mean everyone is to him 

He’s not doing it on purpose, though 

Ends up buying some kind of gaming console to pass the time

If he buys an Xbox, he shares with the rest of the boys

If he buys a nintendo switch, he starts playing Animal Crossing and doesn’t put it down for weeks 

Out of everyone… He’s the one who takes the pandemic the least serious 

He follows the rules because he doesn’t want to be eaten alive by any of the boys, but he probably thought the virus was a hoax at first 

He learned his lesson the first time he tried to go out without a mask and got locked in the car, though

Forgets to flush the toilet 

His room is dirty

[batbirdies]

Alfred + Apples or Alfred + Jim Gordon, please? Thanks for all your lovely writing!

AO3 link

This work is part of a series, but can be read alone. Know that Apples is Jason’s 4 month old puppy.

______

It was a beautiful day out, was the first thing Alfred noted when the sun came up that morning. Unfortunately, as the morning wore on and grew warm enough he might think to spend it out in his greenhouse, it became apparent he could not.

Not after Cassandra had skipped into the kitchen to drink a glass of orange juice and take a protein bar. “Can you watch Apples?” She asked, making a point of swallowing her food before she spoke.

Alfred paused where he was kneading dough, preparing it to prove for the next few hours. He glanced up to find Jason standing a ways back, hovering in the doorway, and raised an eyebrow.

“She wants me to drive her to her dance class. I told her she had to ask you about Apples if she wanted me to. I’d just bring her, I did last time-“

“Someone is allergic.” Cassandra interrupted, setting down her empty glass and popping the last bite of her protein bar into her mouth.

Jason shuffled a little further into the room behind her with a small grimace. “Ended up having to sit in the car with her the whole time. And she’s still gets kinda anxious with that many strangers.”

Alfred looked at Cassandra then, whom he knew was perfectly capable of getting herself to her dance classes, and had for many months before Jason moved back in.

Of course her driving was rather terrifying and they encouraged her to avoid it whenever possible. But beyond that, it was something to get Jason out of the house, which he had been doing very little of as of late.

Alfred had invited him to the store with him a number of times and been politely turned down without exception. He would seem to consider it at first, to mull it over with cautious interest that would quickly diminish, morphing into something hesitant and nervous that he would hide and brush off as not thinking Apples was ready for an outing with so many people yet, or not wanting to leave her in the manor alone when the others were busy.

Of course then he would become overly quiet and obviously frustrated with himself, eventually retreating to his room or the library or risk snapping at one of his brothers or Bruce. Occasionally the cave for some exercise or the outdoors if the weather wasn’t too horrid. It always left Alfred feeling a little out of his depth. He was never one to push but he questioned if a little more encouragement might be a bigger help.

From him - perhaps not. But from Cassandra he thought it might be more successful.

He’d heard them discuss her classes before as well, and she seemed eager to share this with Jason of all of them; perhaps because she saw that he too could benefit in being reminded of the good and harmless things his body was capable of.

“Of course I don’t mind,” he replied in the end, letting go of the idea of spending a peaceful morning mostly outdoors. Cassandra’s class was two hours long and he didn’t doubt she would rope Jason into getting lunch afterward if all went well and truly, Alfred hoped it did. “I’m sure it would be no trouble.”

It was only eight thirty in the morning then, but Cassandra’s class started in just thirty minutes. And so Jason rushed around, getting Apples outside for the toilet before he hurried back inside, toeing his boots off noisily in the mudroom before darting into the kitchen with her. Claws clicked softly on the tile as he slid on his socked feet to the pantry.

He quickly filled her food dish and nearly slid it across the floor where it bumped into the side of the cabinet and spilled a few bits of kibble.

“Master Jason,” Alfred asked, a little exasperated, “are you truly in such a hurry that you cannot set down a food dish?”

“Sorry, I-“ Alfred looked up at the pause, hands still at work. “Don’t like to be late,” he said on a breath, followed by a soft grimace and stiff shoulders.

He was still quite nervous, Alfred realized, a dip of guilt in his chest before he shooed him with his flour coated hands.

“Well, go on then, we’ll be fine. Titus will keep her company, I’m sure I will barely be needed.”

Jason gave him a half smile, one of the crooked kind that always reminded him of when the boy was so much younger; when he first came to the manor and they had been small and unsure.

“I promise I won’t make it a habit of leaving her to you, she won’t need too much watching for much longer anyway and-“

“Master Jason really, I don’t mind at all. I’m glad to see you going out.”

Perhaps a bit too direct, he thought, at the ducked chin and shrugged shoulders. “She’s been asking me for weeks, trying to teach me stuff. I met one of her teachers there last time, they’re nice there. It...seems fun.”  

Alfred nodded, scooping the dough he was working into a ball and setting it gently in a metal bowl. “And you quite deserve it, I think. So go on, I promise I’m not bothered.”

Jason bumped a fist on top of the counter in quick succession, nervous energy leaking out. “Ok, one thing, she does need to take that med around 10-“

“I remember, it’s on the counter right over there, I will handle it.”

One last swallow and nod before he rubbed at the back of his neck and Alfred caught Cassandra’s shadow flit across the doorway; waiting out of sigh, no doubt.

Alfred put both hands on the sides of the bowl, looking up and making direct eye contact. “Master Jason, go have fun, please.”

This time his answering smile was wider, eyes crinkling just slightly at the edges. “Thanks, Alf.”

“You’re quite welcome.”

Cassandra peaked her head around the door just then, grinning when Jason turned around. “Come on, have to speed there.”

“I’m coming, I’ll get us there on time.”

And as Alfred went about covering his dough in cling wrap and a towel, setting it to prove near the stove top he glanced down at the puppy still working away at her breakfast, tail wagging happily.

She was quite sweet really. The only thing being, Alfred had yet to spend much time alone with her. It had been just shy of six weeks since she joined their family, and in such a short time she had lost much of her initial skittishness. They were even taking her out in public now, as Jason had mentioned. As long as one of the family was with her, she was much less nervous.

Alfred though, sadly, was probably her least favorite. Through no fault of his own, mind you. He was usually too busy working in some fashion to sit and properly introduce himself, and the boys and Cassandra always seemed intent on monopolizing her attention.

Of course, Alfred had lived an active life up to this point, and while he appreciated the vigor of a young puppy, he wasn’t sure he quite had the energy for one. Not the way these youngsters ran with her out doors, or played with her toys for hours on end. His best bet, he figured, would be to find Titus and have him run her around outside later.

For now, as she finished up her food, she came around the counter and trotted through the kitchen, around the island and nearly out into the dining room before he had to call her back. She came easily enough, though as Alfred started on cleaning up the counters and she sat down next to the rug he stood on, he thought she looked rather disappointed.

“He’ll be back soon, no need to pout.” At that, she laid down, feet sprawled across the tile, flat on her belly with her head resting on the floor. “Oh my, I dare say it won’t be so terrible without him for a few hours.”

Truly, at this point in his life, Alfred should have known better than to say any such thing.

    *

    Things started off a bit bumpy, but not so terrible.

Apples, by nature, didn’t like being left alone. The plus side to this was that it was never difficult to keep track of her. Without Jason or any of the others there, she didn’t venture anywhere she could not see him.

On the downside however, it was a little difficult to get certain things done.

While he found having a small shadow follow after him wherever he went reminiscent of days long past, the dog was not quite as good at staying out of the way as any of the children had been. He nearly tripped over her on three different occasions while attempting to dust in one of the hallways. This served the double purpose of being mildly frustrating as well as rather guilt inducing; as each time, the poor thing tucked her tail and ears down as if awaiting punishment.

When he knocked his elbow into an antique vase and nearly upended it in order to catch his balance he decided he would be better served to attempt the task later, when someone else was home to keep Miss Apples company.

The dough he’d been making earlier that morning still had plenty of time to prove, but he was never remiss in starting meal preparation early. If the children went out for lunch it generally meant they would be home for dinner and Master Damian had requested a vegetarian dish Alfred had yet to try his hand at. So he ventured back to the kitchen to peruse the recipe and do a bit of prep work.

As he fell into the rhythm of chopping vegetables and premeasuring spices he paused when he felt a weight fall over his feet. Glancing down, he found Apples laid out on the kitchen floor as she had been earlier that morning, but had rested her chin on his feet this time.

He was forced to stretch himself halfway across the counter in order to snag the salt from the top of the oven, but she was rather sensitive and he didn’t want her to think she was in any sort of trouble for it. He couldn’t help but find it rather endearing, even while it restricted his movement.

Thankfully, she seemed to become restless and bored after not too long, letting out little puppy huffs every now and then. So all he had to do was lean back from counter and ask, “Do you want to go outside?” And she was immediately up on her feet and wagging her tail.

“Yes, I can tell,” he mumbled to himself as he began resealing packages and returning items to their proper places until dinner time. “We’ll go find Titus, he can wear you out.”

Titus, though, while rising early to relieve himself and eat his breakfast, was generally back to sleep this time of the morning, and today was no exception. Any attempt to wake him had, so far, been unsuccessful.

Alfred would never admit to attempting to tip him out of his bed when no amount of calling and promises of treats would budge him. While his lack of success had something to do with it, he feared more that he might have strained his back in the attempt, and would rather not hear the uncomfortable speech from Bruce about his age. He was quite fine, thank you.

“Well then, you’ll have to settle for a peaceful walk around the grounds I’m afraid,” he tried not to grumble to the puppy, who’d stood by and barked a few times through Alfred’s efforts to wake the larger dog, but had been no help otherwise. She only wagged her tail now, ears raised as she followed him back down to the mud room.

Jason and the others would take her out in a jacket and no leash, letting her bound around and chase a ball and whatnot.

Alfred, though, was wary of doing so on his own, as she didn’t seem as attached to him as the others, and she was still a bit skittish. He worried something might spook her into running off and he wouldn’t be quick enough to follow after her. And so he went about the trouble of fitting her into her harness, pulling her little padded rain jacket over her head before slipping his own coat and hat on, latching her leash to the harness - and then remembering her medication, sitting on the counter in the kitchen.

“Oh my,” he said to himself, glancing at the clock above the back door. It was a quarter past 10. He hesitated, unsure how long they would be outside but not wanting to risk the delay, though he knew it wouldn’t be long, he went ahead and pulled his boots back off and walked the poor thing back into the kitchen.

It was only an antibiotic, one prescribed after Damian insisted the skin issue she came to them with was not healing properly and they’d managed to have a vet to the house. The privileges of the wealthy and all.

Jason had seemed to be torn between exasperation at the luxury of it, and gratefulness at not having to either go out with her himself, or force her into the universally dreaded environment of the veterinarian’s office.

She was only a few days into the prescription and he really should have read the directions on the bottle, or even simply recounted his own extensive medical knowledge and given it to her with a scoop of kibble, or some other snack. But he did not. Instead, he shook a pill out of the bottle and pressed it into a small piece of cheese before feeding it to her.

But in that moment, none of those things occurred to him, he only shuffled her back into the mud room, and out the back door.

It was rather snowy out, and would likely stay that way for another month before they saw the ground again, but there was a cleared and paved path that wound around the gardens and Alfred took her along that way. It was very brisk, and he tugged his hat low over his ears as they walked, at least enjoying the sun though he thought he may not have spent much time in his gardens after all, not in this chill.

Apples trotted out ahead of him, sniffing at the air and the snow at the edge of the path, rushing side to side in a zig-zag pattern while Alfred took a much more sedate pace behind her.

He did let her into the snow a bit, so that she wouldn’t wee on the pavement, but of course she discovered a hidden tennis ball buried in the snow and rushed back to him with it, wagging her tail insistently. Alfred sighed, eyeing the snow covered land around them. It was unlikely something would frighten her, really, and he could at least do this much.

“Well alright, if you insist.” He bent down, with a little difficulty, his back twinging in warning when he was just a few inches from the ball. He lowered himself very slowly the rest of the way, tugging Apples over while he was already low to the ground and unlatching her leash. He stood back up with careful movements, but seemed alright when he was back to standing.

To hell with age, he thought, as he tossed the ball out into the snow. It wasn’t nearly as far as any of the children would throw it, nor Bruce, but he did not want to put anymore strain on his spine than necessary, just to be safe. Apples didn’t seem to mind as she went bounding after it, only to return in short order, ready for another go.

He consciously loosened his stance before bending down the next time and was relieved to feel no answering twinge. They went about it for just a few short minutes before Apples seemed to have enough, only following the ball with her eyes the last time he threw it before sitting down at his feet and looking up at him.

“Done already are you? All the better for me I suppose.”

He took her a bit further out on the path, waiting until she at least relieved herself before he led them both back inside.

It was then that things went drastically downhill. He went about removing his hat and coat, and then carefully bent down to take off Apples’ coat and harness and untie his shoes. After removing one and setting it near the door, he heard a distinct sound that had him turning around more sharply than he should have.

Before he could make a move to do a thing about it, Apples had retched all over the floor. “Oh dear.”

He made to take a step toward her but that proved to be a mistake when she  cringed down and away from him.

“No-“ he cut himself off before he could finish as her paws went right through her sick, causing her to lose traction all together and slip, sliding her front half straight across it.

With lips pressed thin, Alfred stood very still, one shoe still on. He took a breath, feeling a painful clenching in his chest as he watched her scramble back to her feet and huddle against the wall.

“It’s alright,” he tried to soothe, still not making a move to get any closer. “It’s nothing to be so upset about.” Kneeling down very carefully again, he patted his leg, keeping his voice low and soft. “Apples, come, it’s alright, I promise. You’re in no trouble at all. Come here, please.” He could see her shaking as she finally shuffled across the floor to him, belly low to the ground, tail between her legs, making a wide arch around the mess still on the floor. When she finally came near and he cautiously began to reach forward she rolled over, exposing her stomach, throat bared.

It broke his old-soft heart.

“You poor dear,” he mumbled under his breath. He wasn’t quite sure where to reach, as there was damp-yellow sick pressed into nearly all of her exposed fur.  

After a moment of glancing around he grabbed the spare rag the boys had been using to clean the dog’s feet off and slowly settled it over the mess that was her fur. He tried to gently tug her back to rights but the very action sent her scrambling back to her feet, forcing him to grab her around the middle to stop her from potentially running into the main house covered in vomit.

“Shh, shh, it’s alright.” He soothed, tucking her up to his side, attempting to hold the towel in place to avoid any transfer. He could hear her wheezed breathing, feel how stiff her muscles were in his grip, though she didn’t make a sound.

And so he sat for quite some time, kneeling on one knee in the mud room, with one untied shoe on, and a half grown puppy covered in sick, stroking down her back; about the only clean spot on her.

She did calm down a little after a while, turning her attention to licking at his trousers when she couldn’t reach his hands, as if apologizing. Sadly, there was no way to avoid a bath for her. Thankfully, they were already in the perfect location for one.

There was a large sink up against one wall with an assortment of bottled soaps sat next to it and a stack of towels on a shelf underneath. She would hate it, he thought, and likely be terrified of him for the foreseeable future but there was nothing else for it.

Carefully, he adjusted his grip around her center, shifting the towel once more before he stood up, an alarming zing running up his spine at the movement. He gasped in a breath himself and held very still, only relaxing after enough time had passed and no other pain followed. He walked her over to the sink and more crouched than bent over to set her down.

Removing the towel he made sure she wasn’t likely to climb right out of the sink and stepped briefly away to take care of the mess on the floor. He heard her claws scraping up the bottom of the sink and soft whining breaths, but she didn’t bark.

Alfred steadfastly did not bend to wipe up the floor, instead squatting in an awkward pose and using the already dirtied towel to wipe up the rest of the sick. He would mop later.

The laundry room was just through the doorway and he took only a split second to deposit the towel in the dirty hamper before he kicked off his remaining shoe and returned to the sink. The poor thing was shaking and when he turned on the water it only got worse.

“I promise it will be quick and painless,” he tried to soothe, holding his hand under the stream and waiting for it to warm up. “You’ll right as rain as soon as this is done with and you’ll feel so much better, I promise.”

He did his level best to avoid getting water in her face, moving the spray nozzle to primarily soak her chest and belly before squeezing out some soap and scrubbing it into the dirtied fur. She endured admirably, all things considered, though she continued to retreat to the back of the sink each time he lifted his hands away. “I know, I am your very least favorite person in the world right this moment, but you’ll be so much happier when you’re clean.”

It didn’t take very long, really. He scrubbed and rinsed her twice, paying special attention to her feet the second time around. He managed to shield himself from her full body shake by grabbing a towel just in time and quickly draped it over her, giving her a good scrub with it. “There, it’s already so much better, isn’t it?”

Trouble came a second time when he attempted to lift her out of the tub. His back seized immediately, stars dancing in his vision causing him to nearly drop her and leaving him frozen, half bent over with her wrapped in a towel in his arms. She squirmed just slightly, tail whipping out the bottom of the towel and Alfred mentally cursed his old bones and bad timing.

Putting her on the floor was what did it in the end. The moment he knew he’d pushed things too far and the insistent stabbing pain up through his low back made him gasp, quickly reaching out to grip the edge of the sink. Apples was busy divesting herself of the towel while he underwent the mental math of his next moves.

He needed to sit down, number one, but he needed to take a muscle relaxant first or he would only stiffen up the longer he stayed still. And perhaps an ice pack, he thought.

Walking into the kitchen, back bent at a 45 degree angle, he spared a split second to be thankful no one was there to witness it. Though, if someone had been, he would not be in this predicament to start with.

He had to pause in the doorway from the laundry room, breathing shallow. “You foolish old man,” he muttered under his breath, bracing himself for the last shuffle to the medicine cabinet and the awkward reach he had to make without being able to stand up straight. He swallowed the pill dry rather than bother with getting a glass of water.

After the grueling process of getting an ice pack from the freezer door he was left with the question of where to retire. He wanted nothing more than to retreat to his own rooms, wait out the pain in his back until the relaxants took affect and he could move easily enough to attempt to work out the muscles. But he would have to bring Apples with him, and the others wouldn’t look for him in his rooms.

If they did, it would be because they assumed something was wrong when they couldn’t find him in the main house.

It would worry Jason more than he was willing to, even for his own pride. And so he shuffled into one of the lower level entertainment rooms, not wanting to even risk the stairs. He was afraid initially that Apples would attempt to hide, but she steadfastly followed after him, even after he’d put her through such suffering.

“You are quite a loyal thing, aren’t you?” He mumbled aloud as he very slowly lowered himself onto the couch.

It took some shifting around, but he managed to get the ice pack tucked behind him, pressed into the tight, angry muscles of his low back. The remote, thankfully, was sat precisely in the center of the armrest he sat closest to and as he relaxed, and settled back into the cushions, he turned on the television, hoping for something he could fall asleep to.

Apples had followed him all the way to the couch and only hesitated for a moment before she jumping up after him. She was shivering still, though he hoped it was more from the cold of being wet now than from fear.

Though it wasn’t the more lived in portion of the manor, there was at least a throw blanket draped across the back of the couch and even as restricted as his movement currently was he was able to drag it down and wrap the poor thing up.

“There you are,” he said, running a gentle hand over her head, the only part of her body still exposed. She folded down next to him then, resting her chin on  his thigh this time.

“You still like me after all that, do you?” He could feel the dampness from her fur soaking through his trouser leg slowly, but it was nothing to be bothered with now. Her brown eyes turned to look up at him, a little shiver running through her frame before she burrowed just a little closer. “Well I suppose the feeling is mutual.”

Alfred tucked the blanket in tightly around her, settling one hand on her back as his heart squeezed that little bit. Jason would likely be furious with the comparison but he couldn’t help but be reminded of the boy when he’d first come to the manor.

He distinctly remembered an instance in his early days there, when he’d been in the kitchen with him, trying to help with dinner. Somehow he had spilled a pot of spaghetti sauce and he’d been so panicked to clean it up he’d burned himself badly on the pot and had to be coaxed into just letting either him or Bruce look at his hands. He’d spent over an hour stiff and wide eyed continuing to insist it was an accident repeatedly, as if they didn’t believe him.

Alfred had been concerned it would cause backsliding, more fear, but as the evening wore on and it became apparent there would be no expected punishment he’d ended the night pressed up again Bruce’s side on the couch in the den, watching a movie. It was closer contact than Alfred had seen Jason volunteer for up to that point and it warmed his heart and made it ache all in one; the way he was so cautious but so hungry for safety and love.

He’d never quite lost that caution.

As Alfred tried to ease his sore muscles, running a hand down Apples’ blanketed back and feeling the pull of drowsiness as the muscle relaxants began to take effect, he hoped that she might, and that perhaps in time Jason would as well. They were quite a perfect pair, weren’t they?

    *

    When Bruce arrived home early from WE, he had expected to find both Alfred and Jason home, but when he came into the kitchen through the garage, it was quiet and empty. But that didn’t seem quite right, because the car Alfred usually took into town was still parked in the garage. The one Cass took to her dance classes was gone, but Alfred rarely drove her and when he did, he took his own car, not hers.

And none of that explained where Jason was.

“Alfred? Jay?” He called as he set his briefcase down on the dining room table. It was a long shot, in the manor, likely he would have to do a search by foot.

Jason’s room was empty, as was the den, and when he looked out at the grounds from his bedroom balcony they appeared empty as well. He checked his phone briefly, to see if anyone sent him an update, but there was nothing. They hadn’t been expecting him home yet so he supposed that wasn’t a bad sign per se, but it still left him feeling vaguely uneasy.

He shot a quick text to Jason, to be safe, as he continued through the house, spotting Titus at the foot of the main stairwell as he ventured back down. It was possible Alfred was out in the greenhouse but Bruce now wondered where Apples was too. He supposed he could have taken her with him out there but in the current weather even that would be rather cold for any extended period of time.

“Where is everyone Titus?” He mused when he hit the ground floor, only for the dog to turn and trot down a hall toward the lesser used parts of the manor where they might set up guests if they had any. “What are you-“

Titus had no reason to venture down those halls on his own, and all the doors would be closed anyway, unless someone was down there.

“Alfred?” Bruce called again as he began to follow. Perhaps he had decided to deep clean the lesser used space. Except that the further down the hall he traveled he began to hear something that sounded distinctly like a television, some sort of commercial playing.

He spotted Titus slipping into an open door and followed on silent feet.

What he found left him nearly speechless and warmed from the inside.

Alfred sat on the couch, propped up straight with his head tilted up, resting on the back on the couch, eyes closed, one hand on the remote, the other on Apple’s back where she lay curled up next to him with her head on his leg. Titus had folded himself down in front of the couch, head up and watching Bruce. Quietly he pulled his phone out, but before he even raised it completely he was interrupted.

“If you take that picture you will find your phone missing in short order,” Alfred mumbled to the ceiling before his eyes slit open just enough to give him a soft glare. Bruce suppressed a smile as best he could, but didn’t lower his phone.

“Turnabout is fair-play,” he said, tapping the shutter release.

[professionalfangirl24601]

AI continues the Riko roast attempt N2

in this one you'll see still no Riko, confused Kevin and Neil's questionable PR skills.

"You know, I get it," Neil said. "Being raised as a superstar must be really, really difficult for you. Always a commodity, never a human being, not a single person in your family thinking you're worth a damn off the court—yeah, sounds rough. Kevin and I talk about your intricate and endless daddy issues all the time. I know it's not entirely your fault that you are mentally unbalanced and infected with these delusions of grandeur, and I know you're physically incapable of holding a decent conversation with anyone like every other normal human being can, but I don't think any of us should have to put up with this much of your bullshit. Pity only gets you so many concessions, and you used yours up about six insults ago. So please, please, just shut the fuck up and leave us alone. We'll come to your games in peace, and we'll buy your gear. But we'll only do that if you step aside and give me another go at this thing called life."

Neil watched Kevin in silence for several minutes before deciding that—for once—he had to say something. "Kevin, you're great on the court, and the star players in this league who don't know how to act around each other deserve a big applause. You're a great teammate, a solid community person, and a great player. And I'd take a red-hot Dirk Nowitzki in the Finals any day over you. I like a lot of the things that you do on and off the court. I just don't like you. And I'd really appreciate if you could just not be yourself around us. At least then we can have a conversation."

"Nah," Kevin replied after a long pause. "I'm going to be myself."

Taken aback, Neil nodded. "All right, Kevin. You can be yourself. But, you know, a few rules. First of all, you'll have to leave for all practice and shootarounds, and for team meals. I don't want you fucking up the guy's practice routine or spoiling his warm-up routine. And I don't want you parading around half-naked around the arena, much less take my job from me. And while we're on the subject of nudity, I can't have you acting like a jackass with a blown-up Pepsi banner on my back like some sort of tramp."

"Got it," Kevin replied. "I promise to do my best."

"Good. Now, I also need you to tone down your sarcasm, petulance, and dry wit," Neil added, "and stop throwing your mouth open like some sort of baby duck whenever you're excited about something. It's embarrassing. It makes you look like a little punk kid who's already finished with elementary school. Let's see, since you've become a star, your teammates have won five more playoff series and won one more NBA championship, which makes you the winningest player in the history of the team."

"Yeah, whatever. I'm the best."

Neil sighed. "Yes, Kevin, you are, and you know it. You're also the most hated. I know you probably don't want me to tell you this, but your public is starting to catch on to your royal punkiness. Fans are starting to ask when you're going to stop messing around and start being the good-natured soul that you truly are. And while they're asking, they're not as excited when they see you coming to the game anymore. Now that they're no longer getting everything for free, they're demanding a fraction of your paycheck and coming to games only if they've got a death wish.

A quick look at your recent numbers shows that you're never gonna be able to sustain your market value, so you're losing sponsors faster than a Zippy the Pinhead cartoon. I think it's time that you made some more changes to your image and get back to being the class clown. You're going to have to wear these goofy glasses that are now a part of your uniform. You're going to start speaking in a baby voice and begging reporters for softballs as if you were some poor, innocent baby who just wants to be noticed. Then, you're going to bring every scrap of lunch meat and grease-stained Kleenex into the locker room with you, and you're going to start sucking on garlic-flavored toothpicks as if you were some cheap wannabe poser trying to play the part of an intellectual.

And last, but not least, you're going to start jerking off and spraying your entire body with strong-smelling hairspray before going out for a road game, and after the game, you're going to do it again. And then, when you get home, you're going to do it some more. You'll also start sniffing your own armpits, licking them, and making weird comments like, 'Look at that freakin' blue streak in my dreary locks.' You're going to stand in front of your mirror and constantly ogle yourself in the toilet bowl. You're going to call yourself Ginger, gussy yourself up, and belt out 'White Wedding' in the shower, and if you have a date, you're going to purposely rip her clothes off and pretend that it was your idea all along."

"I'm sorry, but I'm going to ignore everything you just said, Neil," Kevin replied, trying to speak without giggling.

"Fine. So, then, what's your big idea, Kevin?"

"Oh, this is priceless." Kevin giggled maniacally, and his teammates yelled for him to shut the hell up.

"You're totally gonna be in movies," Neil said. "You're going to play the bad guy, but make sure you get the girl in the end. You're going to go undercover for weeks and sneak into death-metal concert events, where you're gonna stage fights, mess up everyone's hair, and drink bleach while being the absolute worst thing to ever hit a concert stage. People are gonna love it. You're going to start releasing dark, angst-filled folk-rock ballads, full of powerful emotion and heartache. You're going to start writing scathing criticism of the president and your teammates on your blog, but under a false identity so that nobody will recognize your name when you're actually being serious.

You're gonna get married, have two kids, and then have to suffer through a divorce that's so nasty that your ex-wife's going to get remarried within a month of the divorce. You're going to get beaten up regularly by her new boyfriend, who will be an enormous douche, and then have a car accident, and your legs will be broken so badly that you're going to need crutches. You're going to lose your job as a sportswriter, and then your wife's going to get fired from her job as a waitress because your friends will keep inviting her to your games. You're going to have to drive an old junker car that is crammed with mismatched parts, and you're going to have to flip yourself through traffic lights and weave in and out of oncoming cars while wearing a suit that's way too big for you. You'll bring hundreds of dollars of Taco Bell and Tostitos lunch meat into your home, and you'll be constantly sniffing your fingers like a dog, but somehow, that's going to work for you."

"Why don't you shut up?" Kevin demanded.

"I'm telling you, it's the perfect plan," Neil said Kevin finally stopped laughing and his cheeks began to redden.

"I'm sorry, but I don't get it."

"Well, all I can say is that you're damn lucky that the Sacramento Kings are playing against the San Jose Sharks this season, otherwise I'd lock you in your room right now, and I'd make you eat a full eight-course dinner," Neil replied. "I don't think you're ready for a Gregg Popovich type of coaching. I'll let you take the next couple of days to ponder this information."

"Uh, okay," Kevin said. "Thanks, Neil," he added quickly as he ran off to the bathroom to vomit in the toilet.

[blackaquokat]

The Song You Might Have Been (Chapter 1)

Fandom: A Heist with Markiplier/Who Killed Markiplier

Pairing: Prison Attorney (Yancy x Y/N District Attorney)

Summary: In which circumstances occur and the assistant district attorney ends up in the same prison as a certain inmate who might be their only chance at survival. 

A/N: Yes, it’s been months. I’m sorry. I had trouble finishing the last chapters so I put off posting it, because I didn’t want to leave you guys hanging if I never finished, and then I got hit with a major bout of depression regarding my writing and a bunch of other stuff in my life.

But, I’m feeling a lot better about myself and my writing, so I thought I’d share what I did have of this fic. Yes, this is the same nonbinary DA from my other series. Please let me know what you guys think!

Many thanks to @timelords-13

---

It’s unthinkable. Except that it isn’t, because it happened.

You’ve been framed for a crime you didn’t commit. 

And the frame job is good. Enough to have you arrested. Enough to taint what little good reputation you’d cultivated in the city as a public servant working under the District Attorney.

But not good enough to convince your closest friend. 

“Listen,” Damien reassures you, just before you’re hauled off to prison, “Don’t worry, we won’t leave you in there. I’m on this, Mark is on this—”

“Why should I be reassured that your B-list actor friend is interested in my case?”

Damien rolls his eyes. “I understand your doubt, but Mark is well-connected, my friend. His social capital rivals mine. I’m sure he can get a dedicated detective interested in clearing your name.”

“Why do you expect me to trust Mark’s judgment in detectives—”

“My friend, retain some of your optimism, or at least have some faith in me, please? And, listen, while you’re in prison, Make. Friends. Or alliances, at least. You’re going to need someone to keep you alive.”

“What, you don’t think I can look after myself?” 

You knew he was right, he is right, but if you didn’t give him a little bit of a hard time like you normally would, you would have lost what little cool you’re retaining.

And so here you are. Being escorted into prison. A non-white, not-quite-male prosecution lawyer. 

Great. Just great.

And apparently your reputation precedes you. Once you’ve been processed and properly stripped of almost all your personal possessions (you managed to sneak a picture of your mother into the pocket of your jumpsuit), you find yourself shoved into the outside yard and on the receiving end of stares from just about every prisoner milling about.

Your natural prickly bravery is warring with your fear of being in a place like this with no chance of protection. You find the most uninhabited corner of the yard and lean against the fence, hands in your pockets. Touching the photo in your pocket helps to ground your pounding heart.

Make friends. Easy for Damien to say. He’s not the one with the personality of a housecat only slightly used to human interaction, but that’s what happens when you dare to go against the status quo from the get-go and refuse to take shit from anyone about it.

The big difference between you and Damien is in your political approaches. Damien is transparent, kind, honest, and has enough social capital that the entire city adores him. Even the tabloids don’t dare to trash his reputation and any attempts to do so have fallen flat.

You, on the other hand, are far more cutthroat and firm in your approach. You emphasize justice and cracking down on the criminal element in the city, but you don’t leave out corrupt officials either. You’ve put just as many white collar criminals away as blue collar, and you’ve done so without any particular bias. You’ve created the reputation of an incorruptible crusader, but not someone who pursues a case without being absolutely sure the perp is guilty.

Hence your cynicism about the likelihood of anyone liking you enough to a) keep you alive here in a prison full of criminals you prosecuted or b) clear your name and get you out of prison in the first place.

“Hey!”

You immediately tense up. Please don’t be talking to me, please don’t be talking to me—

“Hey, you’re the attorney that put me in here!”

Jesus Crucified Christ. 

You make eye contact with the guy approaching you and, sure enough, you recognize him. A former gang member who’d taken a side job as a human trafficker. Who’d have thought even gangs looked down on that sort of thing? It was thanks to the gang leader himself that this guy was charged in the first place.

“Trent Newman,” you greet nonchalantly. “Long time, no see.”

Newman’s eyes narrow dangerously. He moves toward you like he’s got a shiv in his pocket. What’s the turnover on dead guards and prisoners here? You’ve tried to find out in the past, but the Warden who’d earned the nickname “Murder-Slaughter” didn’t exactly have an open book policy into the kind of prison he ran.

“Well, looks like my luck is turning around!” His hand reaches into his pocket. Shit. Sometimes you hate it when you’re right. “I’ve got something I’ve wanted to give to you since the trial, and now I’ve got my chance!”

You move slowly into a defensive position. Getting shivved on Day One of your prison stint won’t look good for you. “You sure you want to do this now, Newman? With the guards around? With this many witnesses?”

“Do I look like I care?” Newman spits back.

“Well, youse should, shouldn’t ya?”

Newman whirls around and your attention focuses on the guy who just popped up behind him. This inmate has multiple tattoos on his neck and arms, and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his biceps.

“But, c’mon, Boss, this ain’t just any criminal, this is an attorney, this is the attorney—”

“I thought I told you, Newbie Newman. No one gets shivved here without my knowin’ ‘bout it. So why don’t youse go occupy youself elsewhere whilst I welcome our new guest?” This guy’s tone is casual enough, but only an idiot would miss the outright threat underlining his words. 

Newman is an idiot, but he’s not that clueless. He tosses one last glare your way before storming off.

Once Newman is gone, this guy saunters up to you with all the confidence of someone who’s been here for too many years to count. “I’ve heard of youse, I think. You’re that big-time attorney somebody, huh? I’ve got quite a few inmates here who’ve got youse to thank for their residence.”

This isn’t off to a promising start, delayed shivving notwithstanding. You wait for him to get to his point.

He inclines his head at you. “Not much of a talker, huh? That’s fine. I loves to chat it up. The names Yancy, by the by.” He rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck. There looks to be a pack of cigarettes stuffed into his rolled up sleeve. “So, what are youse doin’ in here? Get a little tired of following that justice book of youse’s? Take a bribery from the defense? Get a little snort of the good stuff?”

“Frame job,” you answer, against your better judgment.

“So you finally snapped and framed a guy? Can’t say I’m surprised, you lawyer types—”

“No, I was framed,” you correct. You’re not sure why. It’s not like it will matter to this guy. 

Yancy’s eyebrows shoot upwards. “Is that right?” When you don’t respond, he leans forward, his eyes squinting at you. “So you tellin’ me youse innocent, then?”

Your brow lifts at him in response. “Would you believe me if I did say that?”

Yancy blinks at you like a baffled cat. He leans even closer, sniffs a few times, and straightens away from you. “Yes, yes I think I could. What were youse framed for?”

Wait? What? Does guilt smell like something? Your arms cross over your chest. “Uh, well, I don’t have any proof on me—”

“This ain’t the kinda place lookin’ for proof, just get on with youse’s tale, huh?”

Well then. This wasn’t exactly how you expected to tell your life story for the first time. This day is already shaping up to be far different from your expectations. 

“Another attorney at the office was on the take. Connor Smith.” His office nickname had been “Pit-stain,” but that’s not exactly pertinent to your story. “Leaking information and taking bribes from another public official that I’m pretty sure is embezzling from the charity he’s running. Maybe even funding the new drug empire in the city. I only had been investigating off the books for a week before Smith ended up dead, and the police found evidence implicating me.”

Yancy listens to all of this quietly, nodding along and stroking his chin with two fingers. “I see, I see…” Then he shrugs. “Well, that’s unfortunate for youse, but hey, life’s an unfair bowl of cream, ain’t it? So, while you get comfortable in youse’s cell, I can show youse the ropes of this place—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” you interrupt. “You’re making it sound like I’m never getting out.”

Yancy blinks at you again. “Well, why would youse wanna leave?”

Is he...is he serious? “Why would I want to stay in a prison full of inmates who want me dead?”

“What, like that jackass Newman?” Yancy scoffs. “Look, Gorgeous, many of youse’s arrests are happy to be here. No water bills, hooch wine, no nine-to-five job eating their mind away.” He clicks his tongue and winks. “What more could you ask for?”

Well for starters, you’d like wine not made out of toilet water, but that’s not the point right now. “My freedom, maybe? Because I’m innocent?”

“Hey, what makes you think I’m not innocent myself?”

“Are you?”

“No, but it’s the principal of the thing, ya know? Innocent until proven guilty, and all that nonsense!”

You can’t help it. You laugh. This is so goddamn surreal, and you’re still utterly baffled that this is your life for the foreseeable future. Your laughter catches Yancy off guard and you wave your hand dismissively. “You’re right, you’re right. Still, I think I’ll focus on staying alive until my name is cleared.”

Yancy’s eyes narrow at you again. “What, you think you’re too good for this place, is that it?”

The anger in his voice is confusing. “No? I just...have…” You shrug helplessly. “I have people I need to get back to.”

The anger leaks out of Yancy’s posture as a look of understanding comes over his face. “Ah, I see! Youse gotta piece on the outside, huh? Well, Gorgeous, that’s what conjugal visits are for, I don’t see why that would hold youse up—”

“No, God, no, that’s not what I meant. I mean...ugh, fine.” Against your better judgment, again, you pull your mom’s picture out of your pocket and show Yancy. It’s one of the few you have of the both of you together. Happy. Smiling. 

Much to your horror, Yancy yanks the picture right out of your grip. “Hey!”

He skips out of your reach without taking his eyes off of your mom’s image. “Youse the family type, huh, is that it?”

You snatch the picture out of his hand and stuff it back into your pocket. “What if I am?”

“Hey, no need to act all defensively there, Gorgeous,” Yancy reassures. There’s a glint of...something in his eyes. You’d dare to call it regret if you didn’t know better. “But lemme tell you what I’ve learned since coming here, yeah?” He leans in just close enough to make you uncomfortably aware of his soapy smell. The last person to be this physically close to you was Damien. “You’ll forget about youse’s familial bonds soon enough. The past doesn’t survive within these walls, you hear?”

He pulls away from you just as the prison bell rings and you suddenly feel like you can breathe again. “Anyways, you’ll change youse’s mind soon enough. Once you forget about your worries and strife, youse’ll fit right into this luxurious place.”

The man jogs inside with a gang of inmates surrounding him before you can respond.

You don’t see Yancy again until breakfast the next morning.

After a night of anxious sleep on the bunk underneath the cellmate who barely spoke two words to you (you’re pretty sure this is another criminal you condemned in court), you weren’t really sure what to expect at mealtime. You came in long after dinner the day before and your conversation with Yancy left you wrongfooted for many reasons.

(Of course, first things first, you have to deal with the public showers. Hopefully that’ll be the worst part of this experience.)

You settle at a corner table all by yourself. Breakfast consists of a runny but hot oatmeal and a small carton of milk. Your appetite is nonexistent, but seeing as the food situation might not improve anytime soon, you take small bites anyway. You can’t afford to let your strength wane from hunger.

“Are you the framed lawyer?”

You almost choke on your oatmeal as you spin around in your seat and see a giant of a man standing behind you, his forearms crossed. There’s a spider web tattoo on his bald head and a long bushy beard on his chin. “I...might be?”

He nods and sits next to you. The seat creaks underneath him. He pulls a fork out of the pocket of his jumpsuit and takes a giant bite out of your oatmeal. “Boss told me to make sure no one bothers you. The name’s Jimmy.”

By “boss” does he mean Yancy? Why the hell would Yancy bother with giving you a personal guard? 

“...oh. Thanks?” 

Jimmy nods gravely. “I do what the boss tells me. He’d be here himself, but he had business to tend to with the warden.”

You have nothing to say to that, so you continue eating your oatmeal and continue to just let Jimmy eat off your plate. He asks for your milk carton and you hand it off without a word. 

It’s not until breakfast is about to end that the man of the hour himself appears. “G’morning, g’morning, Legal Eagle!” Yancy greets. “How are you and Jimmy the Pickle here getting along?”

“They gave me their milk!” Jimmy reports with a toast of your milk carton.

“Oh, a generous lawyer?” Yancy looks you up and down. “First one to come to this place. That’ll be all, Jimmy, thank you.”

When Jimmy goes to leave, turning back one last time to smile at you with a wave of the milk carton, Yancy takes his place the next seat down from you, feet coming up to rest in the space between the two of you.

“Dare I ask why you assigned me a bodyguard?” Suspicious as you are, you try to convey through tone that you have no problem with having one.

“Can’t have a new inmate die right off the bat, now can I?” Yancy pulls a bread roll out of his pocket and tosses it to you. You catch it in surprise. “Casts a bad look on me. No one dies here without my say-so.”

You take a bite out of the bread roll. It’s a little stale, but it’s much preferable to the oatmeal. “So I’m more useful to you alive right now?” You’re not offended. At this point, you’ll take what you can get until you’re released from Happy Trails Penitentiary. 

“You could say that.” Yancy blows a loose strand of hair out of his face. “I was just talking to the warden about your cellmate situation.”

“What about it?”

“Well,” the bell rings, signalling the end of breakfast, and Yancy winks as he swings his feet off and hurries away again, “you’ve got a new one, of course!”

You don’t think much of this until that evening. In the meantime, your first job is in the kitchens washing dishes. There’s a pleasant routine to doing a chore you’re familiar with. The guard in charge of this job is more than terrifying, but he leaves you alone once he sees how quick and efficient you are.  (You’re not so naive as to forget that prison guards can be even more dangerous than the inmates.) 

Jimmy plops next to you again at lunch and your time in the yard passes, miraculously, without incident.

When it’s time to return to your cell for the night, you see an unfamiliar pair of legs dangling from the top bunk. Then you see the face at the other end of the body.

“What,” you begin with no small amount of suspicion, “the hell are you playing at?”

“I’m sure I have no idea what youse talkin’ about, Legal Eagle,” Yancy (because of course it is) responds in a too-innocent voice. 

Looks like that nickname is sticking. Great. 

“Listen,” Yancy continues when he sees that you’re not at all convinced at this ‘coincidence’ that has taken place not even twenty-four hours after your arrival. “Like youse said. There are plenty of inmates here who’d like to see you dead. I can hold off most of them, no problemo. But a few are just whack job enough to be out of my hands. They barely listen to the warden, let alone me. Henceforthing, I say that the best bet is to keep an eye on youse myself. I’m a rather busy bee durin’ the daytime, so I’ll be takin’ the night shift, I will.” 

He shifts around the bunk until his top half is dangling upside down, right in front of your face. “Unless you’d rather someone sneak in at night and stick ya in youse sleep.”

“I think you know the answer to that,” you retort. “But why put in this much effort to protect a new inmate, and more than that, a prosecuting attorney?” A thought occurs to you and your eyes widen. “Wait. Do you...do you know something about my case?”

Even upside down, Yancy’s face is inscrutable. “I guess you’ll have to figure that out for youself, don’t ya, Gorgeous?” He lifts himself back onto the bed and crosses  his ankles. “Why don’t you get some rest, huh? The guard in charge of the kitchens doesn’t take too kindly to cranky inmates who don’t appreciate the work they’ve been given.”

You stand there, glaring at him, for another several seconds before dropping to the floor and doing fifty push-ups. Because you didn’t do your usual twenty-five last night and also because you’re not just going to take this guy’s word as gospel. You’ll wait until he’s asleep first before getting to bed.

--

Thank you for reading! Please relbog/comment! If you want to be tagged/untagged for the rest of this series or this pairing, please leave a message in my inbox!

Link to Chapter 2 is here!

@starcrossedforever87 , @dontworryaboutanything , @beereblogsstuff , @falseroar , @intemperantiae , @memetoyoko , @soul-wolf , @marki-dumb , @withjust-a-bite , @raimeyl , @scribbeetle , @its-dari , @neverisadork , @silver-owl413 , @sassy-in-glasses , @chelseareferenced , @sketchy-scribs-n-doods , @axolittle-boi , @wildfandom , @shrinkthisviolet , @purple-anxiety-blog , @conceitedink , @skidspace

[vernonfielding]

A moment of divinity

Story No. 12 of my Season 7 Countdown Project. This one is written for @andrewsambags and @madeofitzits, who are both such incredible assets to the B99/Newsomberg(/bespectacled-Jake/Andy) fandom.

This story is ALSO my submission to the B99 2020 Vision Challenge. Thank you to the organizers at @b99fandomevents for putting it together!

Summary: “I got to see the world through your eyes.”

The morning he accidentally switched contact lenses with Amy was one of Jake’s favorite moments of their first year of marriage. Interesting. Takes place during Casecation. (Read on AO3.)

Jake high-fives Amy on his way out of the shower and her way in. Once upon a time in their relationship they would have showered together if they were running late for work and needed to save some time (and more likely making themselves even later). But they’ve been married three months now and living together for two years and honestly, shower sex is super overrated. It’s crazy slippery and someone always bumps an elbow or gets soap in a really uncomfortable place and it’s too cramped to get the right angles or leverage.

Still, it’s fun watching Amy’s butt disappear behind the shower curtain.

Jake grins to himself as he turns to the medicine cabinet. The mirror is steamed over and he resists clearing a spot with his hand – Amy hates the smudges – and opens the door to grab his contacts. For a second he’s confused when he can’t find the familiar frog-face case he keeps his in, but then he remembers Amy made him throw the case out after he dropped it in the toilet. He sighs and takes out the boring blue case instead.

He’s only had contacts for about a year and he’s still not good at putting them in blind, so when he closes the cabinet door he glances at the shower, and Amy’s hazy (but still somehow sexy) profile under the water, and then rubs clean a corner of the mirror so he can see what he’s doing.

The first one pops in but feels weird against his eyelid, like it’s at the wrong angle (which yes, he knows is impossible, it’s a circle), but he blinks a few times and it seems to settle. The same happens with the second one. His vision is a little off but the bathroom’s full of steam so he just closes his eyes as he towels himself off and slips on the boxers he slept in.

He opens his eyes again as he turns toward the bedroom – and for a second he thinks he’s having a stroke. He doesn’t have any idea what a stroke feels like (he’s not entirely sure what a stroke is, actually) but the sudden blurred vision, the way the familiar lines and shapes of their bedroom have gone all sideways, and the accompanying vertigo must mean that something is very, very wrong. Jake stumbles toward the bed, hands flailing out in front of him because he can’t see, and practically collapses. His heart is hammering in his chest and he’s blinking madly, eyes tearing up.

His eyes – Jake laughs out loud when he figures it out. He’s put in Amy’s contact lenses. She’d even told him when he borrowed her extra contact lens case to be careful they didn’t mix them up.

He’s massively relieved that his brain isn’t going to explode (he’s pretty sure that’s what a stroke does), and he flops back on the bed, blinking up at the blurry ceiling fan spinning slowly overhead. His vision is still totally screwed up but the contacts aren’t actually uncomfortable, and as long as he just lies there he doesn’t feel dizzy.

It occurs to him that in a way, he’s seeing through Amy’s eyes. And he knows that’s not really how it works and that Amy would tell him he’s being ridiculous but- it’s also kind of true.

He smiles to himself as he pushes up on his elbows and slowly looks all around their bedroom, taking in the familiar and yet suddenly new surroundings. He squints at their matching bedside lamps and the floral prints hanging on either side of the headboard, the colors and shapes fuzzy, taking on new forms. The ferns on top of the armoire are a dark, muddy green, and their blurry arms seem to be waving at him in the breeze from the fan. The wicker laundry basket in the corner is a friendly looking lump, the bookcase a somewhat threatening dark tower, looming over the bed.

He knows this room so well that he could close his eyes and perfectly imagine the line-up of items on Amy’s dresser: the bottles of perfume and lotion, the silver tree that holds her few pieces of jewelry, the quilted box that her abuela gave her long ago, still holding the keepsakes of a child, shells and foreign coins and shiny buttons. He cranes his head to look behind him anyway, to see the shape of them from a fresh, Amy perspective.

He’s been seeing the world through her eyes for years now, really – as a partner and as a friend, as someone he loves and as someone he will spend the rest of his life with. But it hits him anew, now that he’s literally (sort of) seeing through her eyes, how incredibly lucky he is. No one else gets to be this close to her, gets to share her life with her and experience the world with her always at his side. His heart seizes at the power of that thought.

This woman – somehow he finds a way to love her more every single day.

“Jake!” Amy’s panicked voice shakes him out of his near-blind reverie, and Jake sits up, looking blearily toward the bathroom.

“What is it? Are you okay?”

Amy doesn’t answer right away, but Jake makes out her hazy silhouette in the bathroom doorway, steam puffing out around her so she looks like a dream, soft and ethereal.

“Ames?”

“Why am I wearing your contact lenses?”

Jake shuts his mouth. He blinks at her and though it doesn’t help clear his vision, he feels pretty confident that she looks annoyed. Perhaps very annoyed.

Then she tilts her head to one side, and he can feel her eyes on his face, and she says, soft this time, “You’re looking at the world through my eyes, aren’t you.”

“Maybe?”

Amy stumbles toward him, arms outstretched the same way his were, towel wrapped around her body, and when she bumps into his knees she grabs onto his shoulders and peers into his eyes (probably – even up close he can’t see too well).

She says, “You are a ridiculous goofball and I love you, so much.”

He beams back up at her and says, “I love you,” and he kisses her with his eyes – her eyes – wide open.

+++

Amy refuses to let him have his own contacts back after they’ve both taken the lenses out of their eyes.

“They’ve been in my eyes. That’s gross,” she says.

“But I’ve just been wearing your contact lenses for the past five minutes,” Jake says.

“Yes, and that was sweet, but also gross,” Amy says, and dumps his contacts into the trash, along with her own.

The thing is: Amy has a backup pair. Jake does not. He was down to his last pair and hadn’t gotten around to ordering more and yes, Amy told him ages ago to just get the daily disposables so he’d always have a huge supply on hand but he hasn’t yet.

“You can’t go to work blind,” she says, following him into the kitchen once they’re both finally dressed.

“What do you think I did before contacts?” Jake says.

“I try not to think about that,” Amy says. “Seriously, put on your glasses, babe.”

He rolls his eyes – his back is to her, so it’s safe – and squints into the refrigerator to make sure he grabs the orange soda and not the Orangina bottle. When he turns around, Amy’s right in front of him, close enough that he can see her just fine.

“Please?” she says.

She doesn’t wait for him to reply, just unfolds his glasses and carefully slides them onto his face, nudging them into place with a finger. The room snaps into focus, startling and satisfying at once.

“Better?” Amy says.

Jake shrugs and mutters “I don’t know” under his breath even though he knows he’s being childish. It’s only when he sits down at the table with his bowl of Froot Loops that he realizes he’s grabbed the Orangina after all.

When Amy hands him the orange soda instead, the smirk on her face is clear as day.

+++

No one at the precinct cares about his glasses. The only person who says anything is Charles, and he tells Jake that he looks like an international spy slash billionaire playboy slash Russian dancer.

“All three?” Jake says.

“Not all at once, but yes,” Charles says.

“Cool,” Jake says, and means it.

He’s still not planning to ever wear the glasses in public again, until he’s walking out of the precinct with Amy, their shifts ending at the same time for once, and she yanks him by his badge into a dark corner of the parking garage and mauls him with her lips.

“What was that for?” Jake says, panting, when she finally breaks away. His glasses have steamed up, and he reaches up to take them off so he can wipe them on his shirt.

Amy grabs his hand though and growls. “Leave them on.”

“Oh,” Jake says. And then, “Oh.”

He does eventually get new contacts. Just- not right away.

End Notes:

Title is from Bikini Babe Workout (Bash Brothers).

When I first saw the 2020 Vision Challenge (with associated squinting Jake gif) I immediately was like, oh hell yeah I’m writing Jake with glasses! And then I saw the theme was “new” and thought about Jake seeing the world through a “new,” Amy perspective. And well. Here we are.

At first I just thought it’d be fun to try to explain how they managed to swap contact lenses. But as I got started writing I had to ask myself, Why in the world would this be a top five moment for Jake?? That’s a weird top five, right? (I hope my answer is satisfying.)

This canon doesn’t match with my AC/DC canon (in which Jake already has contacts/glasses). But my rule for this project is that the fics only have to be compliant with actual canon, not my own canon. I know, that is too many canons. Just trust me, it’s all cool.

I would have been happy to have written an ending wherein Jake decides to wear his glasses every day forever and ever but – stupid canon. Here’s hoping for season 7 bespectacled Jake.

[aonrivers]

Pregnancy, Birth, Postpartum, and Baby Time! (TMI warning) - Part 01

Recently I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. For nine months I read articles and expectations of things to happen and to come, but honestly nothing prepared me for the truth of it all. Sure my friends told me some stuff, but nothing like what I experienced.

I’ve decided to write the nitty gritty of it all along with tips for new moms that I wish I had too. This is going to be major TMI, but when you've given birth, nothing seems like TMI anymore - especially because in the labor room you've got about ten people you've never met before (yes, even your doctor) staring at your asshole and your crotch. With introductions out of the way, are you ready? Here we go!

Part 1 of IDK how many...

Truths about being pregnant:

1) First and foremost... Officially remove negative people in your life the moment that stick says positive. This is Tip #1. I planned on doing this for months before I got pregnant but being pregnant pushed me to do it sooner. I was tired of being stressed out and having negative things told me by certain people in my life and I wasn't going to have it continue during one of the most stressful and most beautiful times of my life. I closed the door on many friendships during my first few weeks and even though it still bugs me that I had to do it, I'm glad I did and recommend others to do the same (even when you aren't pregnant). 2) Tip #2 I can offer is either before or during your pregnancy, plan a vacation. I was on vacation when I got pregnant and planned a trip with my best friend when I hit mid third trimester (would've been sooner but 2020 was a hellish year for the world). 3) I bought a belly book after a few weeks of finding out I was pregnant. My friend recommended it and it was really cool to document every week and my thoughts and post my belly bump pictures, but then second trimester hit and the book was wrong... I ignored it until the third trimester hit and it was wrong again. What was wrong with it? They claimed my trimesters started in certain weeks that were 2-3 weeks off. I Googled my trimesters and checked multiple sites - the book was wrong. So I finally said screw it and created my own. I bought a scrapbook (use a Michael's coupon, that shit is expensive) and I began to craft my own book. 4) A huge suggestion: take those belly bump pictures!! It sounds silly but it's super cool to have. Not only do you get to see your belly growing, but you can put those pictures in your scrapbook like I did. I took the same pose in the same place every Friday. Then I found a really cool app that you could put words on your images and ended up doing that for my Instagram posts. 5) My 3rd tip is make sure you have a really good relationship with your doctor and they believe in the same things you do. I think this is important because I wasn't happy with the thought of being pregnant with my normal doctor then I ended up not being happy half the time with the doctors I went to while pregnant. I wish I had that doctor patient relationship you think every pregnant lady has. I kind of had that with my crazy, beady-eyed doctor I had seen for thirteen years, but when it came time to have a child, she just didn't align with me. She was pro everything I'm not and became a little too radical for me. Be who you wanna be, believe and think what you wanna believe and think, but don't push that shit on me - and that's the direction she started going. So in the end, I left her and went with my friend's doctor... Who happened to have 5+ doctors and a midwife.... Midwife was cool and maybe two of the doctors, but the rest I wasn't a fan of. I didn't even know the doctor who I gave birth with and it was very impersonal with the doctors I saw during the checkups. For example: one doctor would come in, glance at me, talk to me while staring at the computer screen, then leave. I also didn't get ultrasounds done with them, only heartbeat checks. It just wasn't a journey with them like I thought it would be and should've had. Now speaking of those sweet black and white first photos... 6) Sonograms are beautiful things to have. I got a nice picture frame for my second trimester image and have it on my dresser with a cute doll and my childhood music box. Treasure these little pictures. Take pictures of them to keep and reprint because the ink will fade on the ones the tech gives you, but for the love of God, hide your personal information when you post them. Sonograms say your name and birthdate, along with where you got the picture taken then more information on your child. It irks me to no end when people post this online. Especially on Twitter, which is a public forum. Shit. I didn't even post that on my private Instagram. 7) Next Tip: Call insurance to confirm multiple things, such as: what's covered during pregnancy/hospital stay/postpartum, if the hospital is covered, and if your Pediatrician is in network. Just because the office says "yes we take Aetna/UHC" doesn't mean they're in network. 8) Something that I will be telling everyone I know who is pregnant (which honestly isn't many) is scourge the internet for those pregnancy sites. Most sites and stores offer sample boxes. If you start a registry, they send you one too. Try: Amazon, Babylist, BuyBuyBaby, Walmart, Target... The list goes on. Check What To Expect's website for a list of all the sample box sites. I got about ten boxes that all had great stuff inside: bottles, pacifiers, breast milk pouches, diapers, lotion/shampoo samples, wipes, pads, and a few other smaller things. I honestly haven't used any of it, but plan to soon. 9) A great tip my friend told me was to go on those breast pump sites and check to see if your insurance is covered. My insurance ended up covering up to $300 for a breast pump. Of course I went with a $300 breast pump and paid an extra $30 out of pocket to have a few more parts included in my purchase. It was a great idea and is highly recommended for new moms to take advantage of! (I went with Spectra for a few reasons... It's definitely quieter than the Medela pump (the hospital had this one), and there's a nifty nightlight on the pump handle with two settings. It's super useful and I actually use the nightlight feature every night...) 10) Another great tip is to make that baby registry and share it!! People you don't expect will buy stuff. I used Amazon and got a bunch of perks. After my shower, I bought the rest of my stuff with the discounts Amazon offers. It was 2 bulk orders where both had 15% off entire order. I also get discounts on diapers for a year or, I think, the equivalent of $600 spent. Both perks were extremely helpful. 11) FYI, pregnancy is ten months, not nine. They tell you this in articles on The Bump and What To Expect, but I figured I'd say it anyways. 12) You won't miss your period during this time. I sure don't. 21 years so far is long enough for me. 13) The nausea is real and it sucks. It gets to the point where you don't wanna try for baby number two because you're just so over it after being sick for three months straight. 14) Nausea doesn't mean you're hanging over the toilet bowl throwing up the only food that doesn't make you sick. You can just have that knot in your throat all day that's teasing you about having to throw up. Not fun. 15) Being tired is also real and I have no idea how working moms-to-be do it. I work from home, so taking power naps was easy to do. Most of the time, I couldn't keep my eyes open. And it took about three months to find out why... (see next number) 16) YOU'RE NOT ONLY GROWING A HUMAN INSIDE YOU BUT A FREAKING ORGAN TOO!! That's right folks. The placenta isn't just chilling inside you waiting for the day you get pregnant. It's growing right alongside your little baby, taking your nutrients and energy so it can form and power up your little embryo/fetus. 17) If you're a vivid dreamer like me, the dreams are definitely weird. They tell you this, but for me, my dream self becomes pregnant too. I literally went through my dreamworlds pregnant. 18) Boobs hurting is an understatement. My boobs hurt so badly from the hormones and getting ready for milk that I didn't even wanna touch them when I was showering. 19) Your boobs become hideous. I have small breast - a nearly A has been my measurement in the past, but becoming pregnant, I became a large B - probably going into a small C cup. And not only did the boob itself get bigger and veinier, but the nipples got bigger and darker (confirmed by my friends, doctor, and websites that women experience this change). I honestly don't recognize my boobs anymore. I also don't even know why I wanted bigger boobs growing up. They suck. It's not the backaches (I didn't have any while pregnant, surprisingly), it's the fact that when you sleep on your side, that boob gets crushed and goes numb. 20) Boobs leak as they start forming that first collection of milk aka colostrum. So be aware. Being braless is great but those milk stains aren't cute. And it's not like a normal wet spot either where your nipples are. It's a wet stain with a milky ring around it making it totally unattractive. 21) Your nipples will become numb aka no stimulation. At least for me. My nipples are still numb but I guess it goes without saying why (think about it). 22) On websites, they will tell you that your cervix swells and some women enjoy sex more with their new closed off vagina, but not for me. It hurt to do anything down there. My husband and I had one position available and when the bump got bigger, we became celibate. And boy does the guilt take over... So expect this to happen - you're not alone if it does. 23) Your sex drive may be gone. As I said above, I swelled up down there and it was very painful having sex. With that, the sex drive was killed. My poor hubby suffered through these nine months and continued to suffer after birth because- well I'll get to why suffering continues after birth later. 24) Craving food may not happen for you. I didn't crave anything unusual. The only thing I ate on a daily basis were two English muffins with butter. On weekly basis I had three scrambled eggs on those two English muffins. This occurred maybe 2-3 times a week. Other than that, my "cravings" were the same. I wanted Taco Bell and all the other normal stuff I ate when not pregnant. 25) Paranoia for what you're eating will definitely hit you. Guilt will too. Paranoia because you're checking Google to see if you were allowed to eat that pasta with garlic sauce; and guilt because you're eating crappy junk food and feel like you're depriving your baby of nutrients. But like my friend told me, your body provides the baby what it needs and to stop being paranoid. Also those prenatals pack a punch in vitamins. 26) This isn't really nitty gritty or a tip... it's just something I personally did while pregnant and that was - I stayed away from the foods they tell you to like the high mercury fish and cold cuts, but I ate hot dogs and medium cooked beef. But those meats were cooked 170°+ which they recommend if you wanna eat your normal foods. You can also eat cold cuts but it's highly recommended they're warmed up. These meats contain listeria which is something we can defeat by ourselves but our little babies in the womb have difficulty in doing. Another thing I did in regards to food was I stayed away from foods I was allowed to eat but made me sick when I wasn't pregnant. I just didn't want to deal with the sickness. 27) Sleep however tf you want to sleep and that's exactly what I did. Sleeping on my side is not something I do when not pregnant and certainly didn't happen while pregnant. That is, not until the last month or two. I'll elaborate... I'm a back sleeper. I slept on my back and felt my baby every night tucking into one side of my belly because it was comfortable for her. It wasn't until those last months where the weight of my baby was actually pushing on my spine and yes you can feel it. It's a heavy pain that forces you to side sleep. 28) Those pregnancy pillows are shit. Seriously. They're bulky and annoying. My friend bought me a super nice one that went under the head, down the back, and cupped between the legs and I used it for five minutes. I'll find use for it one of these days - maybe gift it to my friend who is due in April - but right now it's just taking up space downstairs. I tried the slanted pillow for my belly. That lasted a month. What did it for me was that silly "As Seen On TV" pillow. It's that white, guitar pick looking pillow you shove between your knees to keep your legs leveled and your spine straight. That's literally the only pillow that helped me when my belly got huge. My bed worked out in my favor cupping my bump. 29) Being pregnant in the summer isn't that bad. Granted I had AC/Central Air the entire time. But seriously... You know why it also wasn't so bad? I could wear tank tops and dresses. Those were my maternity clothes. I bought maternity leggings for $4 when Kohl's had them on sale. They sucked. The belly piece went over the belly nicely, but the back road my back fat in a very uncomfortable way (and I don't really have back fat). Also, flip flops were my Godsend. When my feet swelled, flip flops were all I wore. Can't do that in the colder months! 30) I basically became a heater. Probably because I gained 4lbs of blood and water and a baby and whatever else was going on in my body. I normally sleep with a fleece blanket and a comforter; even in the summer. I could only use my fleece blanket while pregnant. I was surprisingly warm enough. Which leads me to the next sleeping factor... 31) Sleeping naked was a must. Here's why... Besides being hot all the time, waistbands hurt me and shirts bugged the crap outta my body. 32) Being commando all the time was a must. It was super nice being commando. I didn't have to worry about a period making a grand entrance and the waistband and around my thighs weren't hurting. 33) A nice buying tip: the baby grows super fast. And if your baby is born in the fall or winter, chances are the stores only have summer clothes. So make sure you get those larger outfits for the months to come! 34) Ask for larger clothes for that baby shower. It'll help down the road. 35) Shaving stops when you can no longer see down there and when you can no longer bend comfortably to shave your legs. Of course that didn't stop me before I went to the hospital. I cleaned up the best I could from the belly button down, but still managed to miss that one spot on my damn kneecap! 36) Back to baby... Flutters start being felt really early. Feels like gas but it's the baby. They say 16 weeks but I was feeling the flutters at 12 weeks. After the flutters came the kicks and jabs, and the constant wondering if I had a mini Mike Tyson in my belly. Especially when my belly would convulse like she was using my organs as a punching bag. I came across only one random article that explained what that was... Hiccups. Yes, the baby gets hiccups in utero and if your baby is like mine, the damn things continue outside the womb annoying your little bundle of joy like your own hiccups annoy you. 37) Sometimes you'll panic when you don't feel the baby moving much. Babies in the womb still need sleep I was told. If you get no movement at all within 24 hours no matter what you do then definitely call your doctor. (Your doctor should tell you this during a visit.) 38) I was told this: babies hear you and mostly everything around you outside the womb. This is true. My baby would move from her comfy right side to the left just to get closer to where my husband was talking to her. 39) Third trimester is when everything starts getting real, possibly painful, and definitely the feeling of "I'm over this". They mention this on those websites and they're not joking. 40) Every night I popped two tums just to keep the acid reflux down and the heartburn away. They say major heartburn means you've got a hairy baby and they weren't kidding (more on this later). 41) Waddling actually does occur. At first I felt like I was just doing it because I'm pregnant and subconsciously I'm making fun of pregnant ladies you see in movies. But you really do waddle and wonder if your walk will ever be the same again. (Spoiler: it does.) 42) My feet and legs swelled by my 8th month. They were slowly swelling into the third trimester but it was super noticeable towards the end. But I also ran into a health issue which I'll get to later... The swelling actually hurts. It feels like you're walking on water bags and on top of that, the bottom of your feet feel like you walked all of Disney World nonstop for a week straight. Do yourself a favor and put your feet up and rest. I hardly did this. I just had so much stuff I wanted to get done and I don't like asking for help, so I did everything myself until it got to the point where my husband or mother-in-law were yelling at me. 43) Getting a cold while pregnant sucks. Coughing and blowing your nose is kind of hard because you start to worry that your upsetting your baby. Plus, now you gotta think about medicine. What's safe and should you even bother... Luckily your doctor gives a list of safe medications. 44) Swelling in the feet could be something completely different than just the normal "things to expect in your third trimester" so be aware and prepared for problems that can arise that you weren't expecting. Like what happened to me. Even though those monthly appointments turned weekly get annoying, especially when you gotta drive thirty minutes to your appointments, they're not pointless. In week 38 I had protein in my urine and my blood pressure was high. The protein was not a UTI like what I got when I conceived back in December. That protein was a glimpse into something pretty scary if not caught early during pregnancy. It's called pre-eclampsia. Luckily I was two weeks out from my due date so inducing me wasn't too big of an issue. My baby was fully grown. Only way to get rid of pre-eclampsia is to remove the placenta - hence the early birth of my baby. But some mom's aren't this lucky and lemme tell you something. This was something that was never brought up to me during my doctor visits or on the websites I visited. They don't tell you that pre-eclampsia can happen at any point or that it could come back, and possibly worse, in your next pregnancies until you've been tested positive for it. I was in the hospital for five days after giving birth. My kidneys, heart, and platelets were all affected. Thank God I'm cleared now, but knowing about this ahead of time would've been nice. I could've looked for signs which were massive swelling in legs and feet (luckily I had no headaches or blurry vision). But like I said, I was tested positive late in the game. Some mother's aren't. Part 02 will go into labor and the TMI things that go on when you're admitted into the hospital.