i thought i hated drawing hands the most

Imagine early mornings and Christmas decorating with Chris.

A/N: Part 3, woot! Links for the mini series will be added soon, there are two chapters to this series. (Baby Fever - Part 1/Part 2) and (Drunk Minds, Sober Hearts - Masterlist) Enjoy. :D

Dodger woke you up at 4:28AM because Phoebe was wide awake and Chris was fast asleep. You didn’t want to leave the comfort and warmth of your bed but you were a parent for the week and being a parent meant sacrifices; so you heard from your mom. Dodger jumped onto the bed and nudged you with his head, forcing you awake and out of bed. You sighed loudly; you were exhausted though you slept in your own bed at an appropriate time, you could only imagine how Chris was feeling.

You pulled your sweater over your head and slid your feet into your fluffy reindeer slippers before staggering down the hall to where your husband and niece were; Chris was curled up on the floor and Phoebe was in her cot, blabbering to herself. She saw you and smiled, holding up her arms as a gesture for you to pick her up. You smiled and let out a soft sigh, stepping around Chris to scoop her out of the cot and into your arms.

“At least one of us slept well.” You chuckled softly, tucking her soft locks behind her small ear. “I know you love Uncle Chris but I’m going to need you to sleep by yourself tonight. Do you think you can do that for me?” She giggled and cupped your face in her tiny hands. “I’m afraid that if you don’t-” you glanced down at Chris and chuckled softly. “Uncle Chris might change his mind about becoming a daddy and we don’t want that, do we?”

Phoebe didn’t know the words to tell you she understood but you knew she did, she was a lot smarter than people thought her to be. Look at how she emotionally manipulated Chris into keeping her company, and he wasn’t her only victim; her dad and her two grandfathers were constant victims. The men in her life were easy to trick, the women- not so much.

“Oh God,” you heard Chris groaned as he rolled onto his back. He looked up at you, wincing though there wasn’t any light. “What time is it?” He mumbled; his voice was laced with sleep. “Am I in Hell?” He asked and you chuckled, watching him hold his back as he sat up. “Why does everything hurt?”

“You slept on the floor, why doesn’t everything hurt?” You teased him, fighting the urge to smile. “I’m going to put you down, okay?” You told Phoebe and returned her to her cot; she laid back down and played with her own feet. “C'mon Cap,” you reached down to help him to his feet. “Let’s put you to bed.”

“Ugh,” he groaned, “what time is it?”

“Last I saw, it was four twenty-eight AM.” You told him and his face scrunched up. “Welcome to parenthood, sweetheart.” You teased, soothingly rubbing his back. “It’s okay, I can watch her while you catch up on some well-deserved sleep.”

“I’ll be fine,” he declined, “just get me some coffee.”

“It really wasn’t a suggestion.” You steered him towards the bedroom, drawing a soft chuckle from his throat; he was definitely grateful he had a wife as wonderful as you. “I know I’m not a child whisperer like you but I think I can survive a few hours with her.”

“I think you can do better than survive a few hours with her,” he smiled and kissed your cheek. “I just need a couple hours, I’ll be down as soon-” he yawned, “as possible. If you need anything-” he yawned again and you chuckled, “just come get me. I can-” another yawn, “always help.” He told you and you nodded, watching him climb into bed and curl up under the covers.

He was out in seconds.
• • • • • • • •
“What do you think?” You asked Phoebe, taking a step back from your mantel masterpiece.

You had cleared one of the shelves in the living room and created a Christmas feature that filled the whole room with the holiday spirit. It had the white Christmas feeling that you were so fond of and you couldn’t wait till the first fall of snow came over Boston. Christmas was one of your favorite holidays, people who knew you well knew you loved it a little too much. Each year you’d buy more decorations, in fact- majority of the boxes in the garage were marked ‘Christmas’. Things got to a point where Chris had to limit you to five new items each year, not that he could resist your puppy dog eyes when you found the sixth something that you just had to have.

“I think you started without me,” you heard Chris’ voice and turned around, smiling. He was wearing his black and white plaid shirt. “How the hell did you do all that while suffering from sleep deprivation?” He leaned over and kissed the top of Phoebe’s head. “It’s nice though, I’m glad you convinced me to let you buy that snowman.”

“Me too.” You hugged him from behind and he smiled, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “How’d you sleep?” You mumbled into his shoulder blade. “You look a little less tired.” You commented and he chuckled, turning around to face you when you released him from your grip. “But you could definitely use a few more hours,” you brushed his beard with your thumb.

“Is that a nice way of saying I look like hell?”

“You couldn’t look like hell if you wanted to,” you told him and pecked his smiling lips. “Do you want some breakfast?” You asked and he shook his head, wiping the drip from the side of his mug and licking it off his finger. “Are you sure? I can make you something.”

“Coffee’s good for now,” he nodded. “So tell me, my beautiful elf.” He raised his eyebrows with a playful smirk, making you laugh which drew a giggle from Phoebe. “What else is there to do to turn this normal everyday home into Santa’s Workshop?”

“We still haven’t put up the tree.” You reminded him and he dramatically gasped because it was unusual for you; you’d usually put it up at the start of December. “Okay, cut that out.” You fought the urge to start laughing when he did. “I’ve been busy with work and my husband doesn’t have the initiative to do things himself.”

“Excuse you,” he scoffed and chuckled simultaneously. “My initiative to do things has been ruined by you,” he said and you laughed because you knew exactly what he was talking about. “Do you remember the first Christmas we had together as a married couple? You were out of town for work and I thought I’d surprise you by decorating-”

“You don’t have to finish the story ‘cause we both know what happened and I don’t need a reminder of how bitchy I was,” you told him with a roll of your eyes.

“And you said I did it wrong and did it all again yourself,” he ignored you and finished the story anyway. You winced and he chuckled, grabbing your cheeks and squeezing your face. “But it’s alright, I knew you were a raging perfectionist before I married you.”

“And yet you still married me,” you teased him.

“What can I say?” He shrugged nonchalantly with a small smirk on his lips. “I’m a sucker for the crazies,” he winked with a click of his tongue. You laughed and playfully shoved him, causing him to lose his grip on your face. “Are we going to decorate this tree or what?” He asked, laughing. “Christmas is like- eight days away.”

“Trust me, I know.” You pointed at the countdown calendar on the fridge; Chris bit back his smile and shook his head. “Yes,” you nodded, rubbing your hands together. “Let’s get down to business. The tree’s in the backyard, I’m glad we got that sorted otherwise we would’ve been stuck with a stinky faux one.”

“For a person who hates bugs, I thought you wouldn’t mind a stinky faux one.”

“Not for the most wonderful time of the year,” you shook your head with a wide grin.

Phoebe clapped her hands together, giggling excitedly and drawing the attention of you and Chris. Chris put his mug down on the table and picked Phoebe up, bouncing her with a wide smile on his face. “Are you a Christmas nut like your aunt?” He chuckled when he saw you roll your eyes. “It’s okay if you are, just be cute with your crazy and you’ll have any guy fall at your feet. Look at your aunt, she’s insane and she got me didn’t she?”

“You’re lucky I don’t swear around children,” you told him and he laughed. “Just go get the tree, you jerk.” You tossed a plush Olaf ornament at him and he swiftly caught it, laughing even harder than before; Phoebe grabbed it from him as he lowered her back into her high chair.

“You know I love you,” he smiled.

“You’re lucky I love you,” you teased, pulling away before he could peck you on the cheek. He smiled one of his heart fluttering smiles and nodded in agreement; you melted on the inside and met his lips for a tender kiss. You were definitely lucky to be married to him, and eventually the mother of his children.

Tagging: @widowsfics @m-a-t-91 @xoxomioxoxo @imaginesofdreams @ateliefloresdaprimavera @katiew1973 @winter-tospring @shamvictoria11 @caitsymichelle13 @michellekeehlmello Tags are still open, inbox me if you want to be tagged. Part 4 will be up soon, stay tuned. :)

A Cuddle

-coughs- Alright so I never did this thing before, but here’s a thing.. I guess. I DONT KNOW I JUST CREATED something i THOUGHT WOULD BE CUTE And ugh idk. I am ready for death

Fandom: Servamp


Word Count820


I don’t want to sleep. I already know what’s coming if I do, and I don’t want to deal with it. I’m so tired through… I look over to Mahiru, whose face is illuminated by the moonlight coming through the window. He’s asleep unusually fast tonight, normally it would take six times as long, considering we only settled down five minutes ago. I decide to wait another twenty minutes before I climb into his bed, and when I do, I lie down in the small space he makes when he sleeps in the fetal position. Carefully, I flatten the little area with my paws and then curl up beside him, not too close though. Just enough so I can feel his warmth.

Mahiru is always so calm when he sleeps that it makes me wonder what he dreams about. Probably good dreams, unlike the nightmares I’ve had to deal with this past week. I could usually deal with my nightmares with no problem, but this time every one of them is about me losing him. I’m afraid of that, it’s a pain to even think about. Now every night I climb into bed with him and wait there until a few minutes before his alarm goes off. This way I can be on guard just in case something does happen while he’s asleep. More and more, I find myself wanting his protection too even though I’m the vampire. I just want him to give me his usual cheeky smile and tell me that I’m safe with him. Sometimes I want him to hold me, but thinking about it just gives me troublesome feelings that heat up my insides, I could just die. Speaking of death, I probably had never been closer to it than now, when a pair of fingers suddenly start stroking my head.

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au where everything is the same except……… (there are captions btw)

drawing this reminded me of the hoard of 100+ mews i have in oras (which i realized too late i can’t wondertrade, so… if you want one, hit me up)

32. Not allowed to give Tattoos

AKA: 5 Times Sirius Black failed to be a Tattoo Artist, Plus 1 Time he Actually Succeeded. Sort of.


“I’m going to become a tattoo artist,” Sirius announced proudly, as he sat on his bed with his pillow held firmly in his lap.

None of the others in the room replied.

He turned to see what each of them were doing, unclear why they were paying attention to something other than him, when clearly he was the most interesting thing in the room.

Remus and Peter were huddled over a book, discussing in low tones an assignment they had to turn in the next day. It was something that Peter had procrastinated doing, and then begged for Remus’ help to complete at the last minute.

James had several papers sprawled out on his bed, pouring over them with an intense amount of concentration.

Sirius suspected that they were his plans for Quidditch this upcoming year, as he took his captaincy very seriously.

“You guys,” Sirius whined with a huff, “Was anyone even listening to me?”

“Of course,” Remus answered without a beat, “You’re going to try to give people tattoos.”

“Not try,” Sirius corrected, “Succeed.”

James snorted in response, “Hate to break it to ya, Prongs, but there’s a lot more to giving tattoos than just drawing on someone’s skin.”

“Psht,” Sirius waved his hand dismissively, “It can’t be that difficult.”

Remus and James looked up from their books, shooting each other a knowing look before returning to their tasks.

“In fact, I’m going to start right now!” Sirius decided, jumping up from his spot and looking around.

Realizing that it was well after midnight, and most everyone else would be asleep, he plopped back down on his bed and revised, “On second thought, I believe I will be much more successful in the morning.”

“Sure you will,” James answered placating.

Sirius folded his arms and pouted.

He’d prove him wrong.


Sirius stepped back proudly as he looked at his entire set-up.

It was perfect.

He had a chair for his client to sit on to receive their tattoo and a stool with wheels for him to do his work on.

He sat on the stool with a satisfied sigh, turning to the unsuspecting fourth year who was waiting patiently.

“Alright, then,” Sirius said, reaching over to grab his needles in the sleek black leather case they had arrived In just the day before. Not wanting to waste any time, he had special ordered them from a shop in Knockturn Alley, paying extra for it to be delivered immediately, “Let’s get started, Marvin.”

“It’s Martin,” the young boy replied immediately, his once assured gaze suddenly turning nervous.

“Sure, sure,” Sirius answered, waving his mistake away, “And you wanted a kneazle on your leg?”

“A dragon,” he corrected, his eyes wide as they turned to look at the other boys in the room, “I wanted a dragon on my arm. Not my leg.”

“Of course you do,” Sirius cooed.

He shot a smirk at James who merely rolled his eyes in response, but his slight quirk of his lips showed he was amused.

Sirius took a deep breath, knowing this was his moment to prove himself.

To finally live his dream.

He unzipped the bag slowly, taking the moment to appreciate the tone of the zipper in the nearly quiet boy’s dorm room.

He gently lifted up the top of the case, his heart fluttering at the sight.

There were an assortment of colors bordering the case, ink for him to use while he drew.

But right there, in the middle, was what he had been waiting for.

He picked up the long, silver needle and held it closer to his face, feeling his heart race faster, beating deep within his chest.

His breath caught as the glint of the silver shined in the light.

His breath then quickened, imagining taking the needle against the boy’s skin, pushing down deep as he skid the instrument across, creating lines, and leaving a trail of pain … blood …


[Several minutes later]

“You okay, man?”

Sirius moaned as he lifted himself up, looking around at his surrounding to try and re-orient himself with where he was.

“Why am I on the ground?” He asked confused, looking up at James who was barely holding in his laughter.

“You, uh, you fainted mate,” James replied with a snicker.

Sirius narrowed his gaze at his best friend, “I what?”

“You fainted,” James repeated again.

“I did not,” Sirius immediately retorted, turning to look at Remus who was watching the scene in glee, “What really happened Moony?”

“You took one look at the needle and your eyes rolled back in your head and you fell to the ground,” Remus explained, expanding on James’ story.

“Is someone a little nervous around needles?” James teased, poking and prodding his friend.

“Shut it, antlers,” Sirius growled, pushing himself up and brushing the imaginary dirt off his clothes.

“Sorry about that,” he said to his client, turning in a whirl and putting on his most charming smile, “Where were -?”

He paused, looking at the empty seat in front of him.

“Where’s Marvin?” Sirius asked.

“Martin,” Remus corrected.

“Marvin is a better name though,” James countered.

Peter chimed in from his spot in the corner, looking like he couldn’t quite decide if he wanted to show sympathy towards Sirius or if he was going to join in laughter with James and Remus.

“He left as soon as you fainted,” he squeaked.

Sirius frowned.

“Better luck next time, mate,” James said with a clap on his back.

“Although,” Remus spoke thoughtfully, “Perhaps next time, you should pick a career path in which you are not terrified on the instruments you are holding.”

This time, Peter did not hold back his laughter with the other two.

Sirius merely grumbled disheartened, trying to figure out how he could succeed the next time.


“Yurr ‘eadyy?” Sirius slurred, grimacing at the third year with two heads sitting in front of him.

He ignored the look of sheer terror on the poor kid, and reached over to his needle case to pull out his much needed tool.

This time, he didn’t linger over the grand opening, but simply scooped up the instrument into his fumbling hand.

He paused a moment, feeling elated when he realized he wasn’t experiencing any nerves, rapid heart beating, or cold sweating.


“Nowr,” Sirius spoke, stumbling over to the blurry figure, “Lesss do d’iss.”

He turned on the tattoo gun, hearing the buzzing next to his ear and smiled manically.

Finally, his time was here.

“What the bloody hell do you think you are doing?” a voice shouted from the doorway.

Sirius barely had enough time to blink before the person gently eased the tattoo gun from his hand.

Another hand, coming out from nowhere, grabbed something from his other hand.

“Are you drunk?” the voice asked sternly.

“Heeyyyah,” Sirius exclaimed, pointing to the bottle as he blinked slowly to try and regain his full vision, “I wasser lookin’ fur dat. Whur ya fine it?”

“It was in your hand,” the voice replied flatly.

Sirius squinted at the face before him, examining the stern lines and the light color hair.

It clicked.

“Reeemuusss,” he shouted, lurching forward to put his weight on his friend.

“Get off me,” Remus ordered disgruntled, pushing Sirius off and onto the bed.

Sirius felt another pair of hands on his body and looked at Remus with wide eyes, “Why ya havah four handz?”

“Those are my hands you dolt,” another voice said.

Sirius realized this voice was different than the first voice and turned to the source, brightening up immediately.

“Jaammeessey – James!” He yelled out, reaching to pet the side of his best mate’s face, “Preeetty Jamsey.”

“Sirius, what are you doing?” James asked pointedly.

“Tattoering!” he shouted, waving in the direction of the boy who was waiting for Sirius to put his masterpiece on him.

“While drunk?” Remus asked incredulously.

“Gosta git rid of the nerves sumhowz,” Sirius answered seriously.

Remus sighed disappointedly, turning to the kid, “Get out of here.”

The kid nodded, looking relieved and raced out of the room.

“Hey!” Sirius complained.

“You can’t go waving needles around when you’re drunk,” James scolded his friend.

“Ppsshttpsthff, I arr fiiiiine,” Sirius said with a wave, “In factah, Imma mur than fiiine. I – I – “

His body fell over to the side and his snores started not too long after.


Sirius sat back with a proud smile on his face.

He had done it.

He had finally completed his first tattoo.

Sure, there was unforeseeable complications along the way, but he had overcome them all and finally drawn a piece of art onto someone’s body to be immortalized forever.

“Well,” he stated, grabbing a mirror and holding it up for the fifth year in the chair in front of him, “What do you think, Steve?”

The kid squinted as he looked in the mirror at his tattoo, and then looked down on his shoulder the best he could.

“I asked for a rook from chess,” Steve said accusingly.

“That’s what that is,” Sirius assured him.

Steve frowned deeper, “This doesn’t look anything like a rook.”

“He’s got a point,” James voice chimed in from nowhere, causing Steve to jump.

“It looks more like a thick blob,” Peter said, leaning in to look at it more closely, “Did you mean to draw blob?”

“Perhaps he meant to draw a rook after it had been destroyed in a chess match,” Remus suggested thoughtfully.

Sirius just looked at his friends annoyed.

Steve looked in between the four panicky, “But, I don’t want a blob on my arm. I wanted a rook.”

“Which is what you got,” Sirius said pointedly.

“If you squint your eyes, and tilt your head to the side you can see it better,” Peter said, mimicking the action he’d just described.

“Oh yeah,” James said, following the action, “I see it now. Although Remus is right, is does look like it’s suffered quite a bit in its last match.”

“No one appreciates true genius, anymore,” Sirius huffed, throwing his hands into the air, before stepping off.

“Wait!” Steve called out, fumbling out of the chair, “What am I supposed to do with a bloody permanent blob on my arm?”

“Should’ve thought of that before you made poor life choices,” James answered with a shrug, motioning to the other two to follow him behind Sirius, leaving Steve standing alone disgruntled.


“Mr. Black? What’s this I hear about you coercing students into getting tattoos that you give out yourself?”

Sirius sighed, “No one was coerced. They all came to me of their own free will and choice.”

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips, “Be that as it may, I must ask you to stop giving out tattoos.”

“But professor,” Sirius replied quickly, “This is my dream! My true calling in life! Isn’t that what school is all about? Leaning where to find your place in the world? How you can contribute to society?”

“Of course,” she answered without a pause, “And if this is truly a dream of yours, then I suggest you practice outside of school over the holiday and pursue this career choice once you leave the school for good.”

Sirius pouted, but didn’t counter her point.

McGonagall hesitated before adding, “Although, if all of your work is similar to that piece of art you left on Steve’s shoulder, then perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad idea to look at a couple of different options. Just in case.”

She turned around, leaving a snickering James and Peter next to their friend as he pouted further into his seat.


“What’s this?” Sirius asked suspiciously as he looked at the scene in front of him.

When McGonagall had told him to quit the tattoo business, he’d tossed his needles in the bin and thrown the chair into a spare broom cupboard.

He wasn’t expecting to walk into his room and find James sitting in the very chair he’d thrown out, with Remus and Peter sitting next to him on the beds.

“It has come to our attention that we haven’t been the best of mates to you in recent times,” James answered.

“So, we wanted to do something to show our support for you, no matter what endeavor you choose to pursue,” Remus chimed in, nodding over towards Peter.

Peter stood up and walked to Sirius, holding out a sleek wooden box.

He looked at it suspiciously, wondering what the chances were that his friends rigged it to do something bad upon opening, but decided to take the chance and reached for it anyway.

When he lifted the lid, he found several sleek pens.

“They’re semi-permanent tattoos markers,” Peter explained, “So that you can practice without getting trouble.”

Sirius smiled, wondering what he’d done to get such great friends.

“We figured you’d need a volunteer to try it out,” James said, motioning to himself sitting in the chair.

“Or two,” Remus said, gesturing to himself.

“Or three,” Peter added, smiling widely as he took a step back.

Never one to get emotional, Sirius merely smiled back at the three and said, “Well then, let’s get started.”

“Mate, you really do suck.”

“I do not!”

“I asked for a snitch.”

“You got a snitch!”

“This is not a snitch.”

“At least it’s round.”

“You can almost tell it’s a snitch. I can see the almost wings here.”

“I hate you all so much.”

“We love you too Pads.”



Word Count- 2,532.

Summary- Phil has cancer, Dan has been by his side ever since it got bad and they took him in to hospital. Today is what is predicted as their last moments together, but they don’t find out till much later on in the day. 

Authors note- I CRIED WHILST WRITING THIS. I suggest listening to this mix whilst reading because it adds to the story- 

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