sorry about all the wonky lines

Knock, Chapter 7

Little white lies and big white dresses. 

Pregnancy, Sickness, Simon/Reader

Words: 2264

Chapter 1    Chapter 2    Chapter 3    Chapter 4    Chapter 5    Chapter 6

“You’re not on the list,” Fat Joey mumbles, barely making eye contact with you as the Sanctuary’s forecourt bustles with Saviors, everyone but you loading themselves into the back of trucks for the monthly run to Hilltop.

“What do you mean ‘I’m not on the list’?” you demand as nicely as you can while trying to catch a glimpse at the clipboard of names. Being on the list for these runs is how you earn the big points, the kind of points that pay for tampons and cigarettes, not that you need those things anymore. Now you need to think about diapers and breast pads and they don’t come cheap if you’re lucky enough to get hold of them at all.

“It’s not up to me,” Joey’s gaze leads directly to Simon and suddenly everything makes perfect sense.

“Right,” you huff, knocking Dwight out of the way as you make a beeline for your ‘boss’.

Keep reading

Sign here.

One of my friends is deaf and I just learned sign language to talk to her, so WOOHOO!

Also, I just couldn’t get deaf!Sirius out of my head and so I had to write a muggle AU (wolfstar obvs) otherwise I would be damned to eternal torment.

Note: to better understand the conversation between Sirius and Remus I kinda tweaked the sentence formation. In real asl, the sentence is structured as subject-verb-object, which makes it easier as opposed to object-subject-verb, but the latter is also acceptable. Subject-verb-object is easier, I speak from experience. I’ve written the sentences in regular linguistic format, and these parts are in italics.


Sirius was at the coffee shop one day. It had been nearly three years since he’d mastered sign language and the profanities that were included (obviously), and after studying and receiving a degree in arts, he taught at a college for the deaf and dumb. He was an art professor there, and he was pretty damn good at it.

He’d suffered from a painful bout of depression and had almost killed himself: the urge to do it was so overwhelming, seeing as he was no stranger to depression.

He was at the subway, earlier this morning. His red Chuck Taylors practically hung over the safety line and all he needed to do was shift his weight forward, and the train would come barreling in and rescue him.

But he just couldn’t do it.

So he did what any reasonable man would do in times of crisis.

He went to get coffee.

There was a paintbrush tucked into every pocket of his jeans; his long dark hair pulled back into a messy bun; black eyeliner framed his sleet grey eyes. And he was almost certain that there was paint streaking across his face, but he didn’t really mind. Or care.

It was his turn to order. A tall man, bundled in a grey sweater and ripped black jeans (much like Sirius’s own) with light brown curls hanging over his green eyes stood behind the counter. His weight rested lankly on one leg and a hand was poised over a rack of differently sized paper cups; the other reaching for the Sharpie marker nestled behind his ear. There was scars; faint, but there, running across his face: one over the bridge of his wonky nose; one lining his sharp jaw; one decorating his cheekbone.

Sirius gaped at him. He was, had to be, the most incredible man he had ever seen, and Sirius seen quite a few men before.

Sirius saw his cracked lips move soundlessly. He remembered that he was indeed deaf (the sheer attractiveness of the other man had made him forget who he was), and quickly signed Sorry. Deaf. to let him know as such.

The barista paused, cocked his head, and frowned. Oh dear. Thought Sirius. He was about to embarrass himself all over again: signing to a person who didn’t know what sign language was. This is why he should’ve come here with James or Lily or Peter. He shouldn’t pull shit like this. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid-

A small smile fluttered across the barista’s face. Oh. My bad. He signed. Can I get you something? He signed again. Sirius’s heart (and his jaw) dropped to his combat boots; possibly further than that, because this hot dude knew how to sign.

You know how to sign? He asked excitedly, voicing his thoughts. The barista nodded. Learned a while ago to talk to my mother. The man explained. She was deaf too? Again, the barista nodded.

I’m R-E-M-U-S. Signed the man, who was quickly becoming Sirius’s new favorite person.. I’m S-I-R-I-U-S. Nice to meet you. Sirius couldn’t help the grin on his face.

Would you consider joining me for a drink? Asked Remus, a shy expression on his face. I would love to. Sirius signed back, to which Remus lit up. Sirius grinned even wider.

He pointed to the menu after Remus asked whether he could get him anything again, indicating a medium black coffee. Remus scribbled his name onto a cup in a long, left-slanted handwriting, and his phone number at the bottom. Sirius frowned at it. I can’t call you. Deaf, remember? he signed. Remus’s cheeks reddened, then realization flooded into his face as he signed:Text me.

Sirius felt his shoulders deflate from their stiff position and the smile returned to his face. He gave Remus a thumbs-up.

Sirius was leaving the coffee shop with a spring in his step. He’d got himself a date, and a smokin’ one at that. He sipped his coffee and ran his fingers over the phone number (carefully, so it wouldn’t smudge) over and over, to remind himself it was real. That this was real. It was comforting, and gave him a fuzzy feeling.

He pulled out his phone in the middle of a class (his students were all busy with the assignment he’d set them: imagine a person and draw him or her. No porn.) and sent a text message, since he hadn’t given Remus his number, so the ball was technically in his court now.

Sirius: Free tomorrow?

And the reply was prompt. Light speed, even. As if Remus was waiting for him to send the aforementioned text.

Remus: I thought I was supposed to be asking you out?

Sirius: Yeah, well, I don’t particularly give a shit.

Remus: I never wanted you to. Keep your shit to yourself, please. Nobody wants to touch that.

Sirius smiled. He wanted to laugh. So he did.

His students didn’t see him. Or hear him. They didn’t look up once from their A3 notebooks. Hell, he couldn’t hear himself. But damn. It felt good.

Sirius: So do you plan on asking me out or should I hunt you down and ask you myself?

Remus: Does it help that I’m a little turned on by the “hunting me down” thing?

Sirius raised an eyebrow. This guy was forward.

Sirius: It might help a little, yes.

Remus: Okay then. I know a place a couple blocks uptown. Real fancy. I think you’d like it.

Sirius: How would you know what I like? We barely know each other.

Remus: I know sign language. That suggests a lot about me and my abilities, does it not?

Sirius: It can suggest whatever you want it to suggest.

Remus: So….I’ll pick you up tomorrow night for dinner?

Sirius: Sure. I’ll text you my address.

Remus: Don’t expect a limo or whatever.

Remus: Expect like an Uber that we’re going to share.

Remus: Or a regular cab.

Sirius: My knight in shining armor! Rescue me on thine yellow motor-driven steed!

Remus: You dork.

Sirius: I am but a beautiful damsel in distress, ever waiting for my knight to save me from my perils!

Remus: I will see you tomorrow.

Remus: ……

Remus: Rapunzel.

Sirius grinned. Oh man. Remus was….

He was amazing.

Sirius was pretty sure he’d fallen for Remus. Hard. And this conversation had driven the last nail into the coffin.


Perfect. thought Sirius, proudly looking around at over three hours of hard work and dusted his grimy palms off on his jeans.

There was a round table in the middle of the apartment he and his boyfriend-of-two-years-and-seventy-four-days-Remus had bought and moved in together. On the table two glasses, two chairs, and a bottle champagne, and a single light bulb dangling from the ceiling above the table created an almost-romantic ambiance.

The reason he hadn’t used traditional candles was because of how easy it would become for one of the plants to catch fire. And when he says “one”, he means “four billion”. 

The table was surrounded by a generously laden forest of huge pink and orange tiger lilies in watering cans, bright purple and white bougainvillea cascading like waterfalls from hanging pots, green ferns, potted trees, basins filled with green water and smooth round pebbles, water lilies decorating their still surfaces.

There was a hand on his shoulder. Sirius spun around, eyes wide. Remus had a look on his face mimicking Sirius’s, but it lasted longer. What is this? He signed.

I made dinner. Sirius answered simply, but on the contrary his insides were bursting with excitement. Remus looked incredulous as Sirius stood on his toes to peck his cheek, take off his coat, and lead him to a chair.

Remus touched every plant as he walked to the table. Sirius had done it not longer before. He sat on the chair after brushing a few stray petals off of it, Sirius went into the kitchen and returned with two plates of…

Oreos? For dinner? Signed Remus, frowning at the six oreos on his plate. Not just regular oreos. Oreos and peanut butter. House specialty. Sirius signed proudly. Remus laughed. Sirius knew he was laughing because he made a face every time he did, and that face made him go weak at the knees. This, combined with his nerves, made it hard to stand up, so he collapsed into his chair.

These are awesome. Remus signed, chewing slowly. Sirius grinned. You’re the best. Remus continued. Sirius made dreamy eyes at Remus, then fumbled for something in his jeans. Remus ate the last oreo, licked his lips, then looked up expectantly.

Why the fancy dinner? Asked Remus. I needed to be as clichéd as possible, because I know you like that. Signed Sirius. He handed Remus a sheet of paper with his messy, lazy, drawn-out scrawl of a handwriting on it. Read it. Signed Sirius.


If you’re reading this, it means I’ve finally grown a pair and decided to get on with it.

I never thought that I would find someone, let alone someone like you. I always assumed I’d die a wrinkled old man in a rocking who flashed the finger at everyone who walked across my lawn.

And then I met you.

You were my lighthouse. My life was a hurricane, and you saw me through it. You make me feel as if I can do more than what I’m made out to do. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you, attempting to make you feel the same way.

Remus had gone pale. His cheeks were sucked in.

I want to be a wrinkly old man in a rocking chair, flashing the finger at everyone who walks across my lawn, with you by my side, and for it to be our lawn. I want to grow old with you. I want to have kids with you. I want a lawn with you. I want a life with you, the rest of my life with you. I want you, Remus. I love you. Remus’s hands were shaking.

Remus looked up at Sirius as the dark haired man lowered himself onto one knee. Sirius pulled out a small black box from his pocket, opening it to show a gold band, plain, but at the same time beautiful. Remus’s eyes widened. His hand clapped over his mouth.

Will you marry me? Signed Sirius.

A month and a half later, Sirius felt the familiar rush of overwhelming joy and love and excitement and possibly the urge to vomit all over again as he watched Remus sign I do across the altar from him.

right so anon asked for some teencast sjips I believe. I meant to draw them holding hands but I forgot so its not really that shippy.

I tagged the post of Honeydew & Xeph with “they’re giving sips and sjin the stank eye” so this one sorta fits with it if you put them side by side. sips is secretly making fun of them and sjin is laughing about it

yeahhh this looks hella wonky and not nearly as nice as the other one did and also it’s equally sketchy with weird lines all over the place sorry about that