Hello! Could you do #10 "The ladies love a guy who's good with kids" AND #13 "I lost our baby"? Thank you!
10. “The ladies love a guy who’s good with kids.”
He guesses it really doesn’t matter how either of them looks because it happens anyway.
Everyone is under the weather, and he just barely had the fortitude to come to the store and grab a few items for his sick family with Sonia practically glued to his chest. She’s been feeling especially awful today, congested with a raw cough and upset tummy, and she absolutely refuses to be anywhere other than in his arms. He tried to use the cart when they first arrived because his entire body hurts, but she melted down the second her butt touched the seat.
And he feels so terrible, but not just in a physical sense. His poor babies are about to turn one, and he can’t imagine them being so ill during their party this upcoming weekend. At some point, Wesley caught what he and his wife thought was a cold; they knew it would spread throughout all of them, but they definitely weren’t prepared for the flu. Then Stephen started puking, and Sonia started barking up her lungs, leaving him and Leslie virtually useless as the warning signs of their own impending doom kicked into overdrive.
He rubs his daughter’s back soothingly and tries not to drop the medicine tucked beneath his left arm. He was going to grab some orange juice and a couple boxes of tissues, but he’s lacking in the hands department, and he just wants to go home. Ben tucks a fit of wet coughing into his shoulder, which jars Sonia. He’s anticipating a scream with a scrunched face as he rounds the corner of the store toward the checkout when a lady stops him.
“Aw, she’s so cute!”
And he’s taken aback. It may or may not be because of the germs ravaging their way through his broken system. He blinks and sniffles and clings to his daughter a little tighter, dreaming of his wife and warm blankets and a dose of actual NyQuil to clear some of his stuffy achiness. “Um…” he mumbles, biting his lower lip. “Thank you?”
But it comes out more like a question than a statement of politeness.
“And so are you! I really like your jacket! Who makes it?”
Good lord. Is this lady being serious right now? He glances around the store to make sure he isn’t being punked, but no one’s acting suspicious. She’s around his age with whatever color hair and a strange looking face, but he didn’t put his contacts in, and he honestly can’t care less about this situation. He wants to go home. He wants to lie down with his wife and babies.
He looks down at the blue coat he’s bundled in, and Sonia shifts against his chest. “Uh, Target?”
And, thankfully (or unthankfully) his sick almost one year old bursts into tears, shrieking and wailing. He skids away from the strangeness unfolding and checks out with Sonia crying into his already sore ear. Was that woman hitting on him? No, right? He’s been in a relationship with the marvelous Leslie Knope for years and years, and he was never great at flirting in the first place. Hm. Maybe it was the hair? Leslie always tells him he has great hair when he’s sick…
But, soon, the crazy lady is long forgotten.
He gets Sonia inside where it isn’t sleeting, gives her some medicine that allows her to get some much needed rest in her crib without begging for him to stay, kisses both of his sons’ overheated foreheads, and lies down on the mattress beside his wife. Leslie’s starfished out, and he pecks her warm neck before snuggling into her side, shivering violently despite the thick comforter.
“Ben?” she mumbles, turning her head to look at him with barely slit open eyes. “You were gone a really long time.” She coughs instantly after, and he palms her back gently. She sputters and positions herself to where she’s lying on his chest with his arm wrapped around her.
He nods, already feeling his brain start to shut down due to the medicine. He’s praying for at least two hours of rest before the babies wake up. “I know. I’m sorry. This lady stopped me and said Sonia was cute and that I was cute and asked me where my jacket was from. It was weird.”
“Oh, Benji got flirted with.”
He shrugs. “Guess so.”
“I don’t blame her. Your butt is fantastic, but you’re just alright face-wise.”
He chuckles at that. “Just alright? You married ‘just alright?’”
“There weren’t many options left,” she comments, and this is seriously the first time he hasn’t felt nearly as crappy in almost four days. “Plus, ladies love a guy who’s good with kids.”
“Is that so?” he questions, and Leslie yawns against his skin. “Go back to sleep, goofball. I love you.”
Leslie hums softly. “I love you too, my sexy triple daddy.”
13. “I lost our baby.”
Listening to his babies’ giggle and shriek is by far the best sound Ben Wyatt’s ever heard.
They’re six months old and as squirmy as ever, and it’s the best. He loves kissing their bellies and holding them when they need extra cuddles. It’s amazing to him that he has three kiddos to love unconditionally, to support and nurture and watch as they grow into regular sized humans. He loves Sonia, Stephen, and Wesley Knope-Wyatt more than anything in the universe.
It’s why he adores the lazy days he and Leslie have off together, the ones where he doesn’t change out of his pajamas and where their strict schedule falls off the map. Tickling and snuggling and rolling around on the carpet with their triple cherries is beyond exciting. Today is one of those rare occasions where he and Leslie aren’t at work at the same time. His wife’s making a late lunch (probably consisting of brownies and brownies alone for them), and he’s sitting crisscross applesauce on the floor, watching as Stephen gnaws on Sonia’s shirt.
Wesley’s in his lap, wiggling around and chewing on Ben’s fingers. They’re all teething at the exact same time, which means plenty of drool and slobber and crankiness. Yesterday evening, both Stephen and Wesley were practically inconsolable, even with the teething gel he and Leslie placed on their little gums, while Sonia just happily squeaked every few minutes. He’s just happy they’re carefree this afternoon, seemingly without a worry in the world.
“Ben!” he hears Leslie shout, and he instantly gets to his feet with Wesley still in his arms.
He glances back at Sonia and Stephen, who apparently love tummy time today, before heading into the kitchen.
“What’s up?” he asks, rounding the island to kiss his wife’s cheek.
“I made a grilled cheese that looks like a butterfly!”
See? This… This is why he loves Leslie Knope to the moon and back.
She’s so ridiculously adorable, and he has no doubts that their children will grow up to be just like their mom.
Three miniature versions of Leslie can and will rule the world; he knows that for a fact.
He doesn’t know why he’s feeling so sappy today, but even thinking about his family makes him kind of an emotional wreck, and he’s not afraid to admit it.
“My next one is gonna be a dinosaur,” she beams proudly.
It’s pretty neat. She’s cutting them by hand, and Ben already knows he has no artistic abilities whatsoever.
They chatter for a few minutes before Wesley gets restless and wants to be put down, and Ben goes into the living room.
To find one less baby.
Sonia’s on her back, chewing thoughtfully on her toes with her tiny legs in the air, but Stephen is nowhere to be found.
His stomach drops, and his heart hammers in his chest.
“Um, uh, honey?” he calls. “I lost our baby.”
He searches around frantically for Stephen and keeps a careful eye on Sonia in the process. He checks under pillows and blankets and in their toy chest.
“Do you mean this baby?” Leslie questions as she walks over to him with Stephen thankfully nestled in her arms. “We have our first crawler!”
“What?” Ben asks incredulously. “That’s so amazing, Stevie!”
The baby smiles and laughs, and Ben gently switches babies with Leslie, blowing raspberries on Stephen’s bare tummy.
They have a son that’s crawling.
“They’re only six months,” he says, kissing his bald head. “Isn’t that too early?”
Leslie shakes her head. “Not for the extraordinary Knope-Wyatt triplets.”
Anamosa State Penitentiary is a maximum security prison for men, located in Anamosa, Jones County Iowa. First built in 1873, it is the second-oldest penitentiary in the state of Iowa, after Iowa State Penitentiary (ISP), which opened in 1836, pre-dating Iowa statehood. Inmates were transferred from Iowa State Penitentiary (which was known as Fort Madison Prison at the time) to begin breaking rocks in the quarry and leveling the grounds for construction. Over the course of almost 25 years, the entire prison grounds and surrounding farms were built with prisoner labor. Today, Anamosa State Penitentiary operates 7 farms on 1,436 acres, which produce corn, oats and hay, and sustain livestock for dairy and beef production. It also houses a prison industries factory that produces metal furniture and stamping products, custom woodworks, signs, screen printing and cleaning products.
Notable inmates at Anamosa have included:
John Wesley Elkins - On a warm July night in 1889, 11 year old Wesley went into the bedroom of his mother and stepfather, armed with a rifle and a wooden club. He shot his stepfather in the head, killing him instantly. His mother, who was sleeping with Wesley’s infant half-sister in her arms, awoke to the sound of the rifle shot. Before she realized what was happening, Wesley beat her to death with the club. He then picked up his sister, who was spattered with her parents blood, cleaned and dressed her, and then hitched up the family buggy to a horse and took off down the road towards his Grandfather’s house. He stopped at a neighbor’s house on the way to tell them that an assassin had murdered his parents, and that he was fleeing to safety with his sister. The neighbors alerted the police, who went to the Elkins house and, after surveying the crime scene, were skeptical of Wesley’s story. When questioned by investigators, Wesley quickly broke down and admitted to killing his parents, although his reasoning for doing so left them with more questions than answers. He told the police that he was upset with his parents for making him care for his infant sister far more than he wanted to, and he resented the extra responsibility. He had run away from home several times, only to be brought back, and he saw no escape from his predicament other than to kill them both.
At his trial, Elkins pled guilty and was sentenced to life in prison for the murders, and was sent to Anamosa penitentiary. At the time of his admission, he stood 4’8 tall and weighed 73 pounds. He spent 12 years at Anamosa, and devoted his time to working in the prison chapel and library, becoming skilled in reading and writing. In 1902, after a heated public debate which seemed to be evenly split in opinion as to whether he should be released or executed, he was granted parole by the governor. Following his release, he went to work for the railroads for many years, before marrying a woman from Honolulu and settling as a farmer in San Bernardino, California. To this day, many speculate that Wesley could not have committed the crimes, and was covering for someone, although he never admitted to it and no alternative suspect was ever named.
Lester Smith - Many years after Wesley Elkins was sentenced to life at Anamosa, Lester, then 10 years old, pled guilty to manslaughter for the murder of his brother and serious injury of his father after an argument. Upon arriving at the penitentiary, he stated that he quite enjoyed his new home, because he had plenty to eat and a bed of his own to sleep in, which was more than he had ever had. He spent 11 years at Anamosa and was pardoned with the agreement that he would be under guardianship of the president at Cornell College. He was given an education at Cornell and went on to work for an undisclosed newspaper in a large city in the midwest.
John Wayne Gacy - The serial killer and rapist spent 18 months of a ten-year sentence at Anamosa, for sodomy with a minor. Gacy reportedly was a “model prisoner” at Anamosa, and quickly rose to the rank of head cook. Twelve years later, he was convicted of 33 murders and was sentenced to death for 12 of them. He spent 14 years on death row before being executed at Stateville Prison in Illinois.
Robert Hansen - Known as “The Butcher Baker”, Hansen served 20 months of a three year sentence at Anamosa for burning down a school bus garage. After his release from prison, Hansen moved to Anchorage, Alaska, where he began abducting, raping and murdering women. He is known to have murdered at least 17 women, but his suspected body count is closer to 30. He was convicted in 1983 and sentenced to 461 years in prison without parole, and died in 2014 at the age of 75 due to undisclosed lingering health issues.
Messed up the way the colours crossed on my sweater shoulder, so did a controlled unravelling and reknit.
Not even obsessive geeks would have noticed my mistake, but it would have bothered me. Bonus life lesson: look how smooth the final fixed result is! Looking at that, you’d have no idea that it had been completely unravelled and repaired, no idea how long it took, how much I cried, how many friends and experts I reached out to for help, how many friends didn’t understand but were sympathetic, or just how long it’s going to take me to weave in all those loose ends, each of which was necessary but caused a headache.
You’d look at the finished result walking past you in the street and think ‘huh, cute sweater, nice, simple design’.
Nothing worth doing is easy, but sometimes it looks that way from the outside.
a snippet from the Lost Book of the White for V-day
The two of them went straight for the bed, kissing and pulling and stumbling over each other, nearly falling over in the process. They tumbled onto the mattress in a tangle and clawed their way toward the headboard, hands in each other’s hair, on each other’s bodies, stirring each other to incandescent life.
Magnus tore himself away from Alec’s lips and yanked futilely at the knots that kept the bedsheet looped around the Shadowhunter’s body. “How did you tie this thing on?” he growled.
Alec, lips kiss-swollen and eyes dazed with desire, didn’t seem able to respond — he just went for the buttons on Magnus’ shirt with shaking fingers before eventually giving up and just tearing the garment apart down the middle, sending buttons flying across the room. Finally, more out of frustration that expediency, Magnus flicked his wrist at the bedsheet as if shooing away a fly and sent the entire thing fluttering somewhere over the Indian Ocean.
Alec raised his head to watch the sheet disappear. When he looked back at Magnus, the warlock was gazing down at him with a deep seriousness in his gold-green eyes. “You spend your entire life looking out and sacrificing for people,” Magnus said, and his gentle fingers traced their way along Alec’s bare torso, making him shiver. “It’s your turn to just lay back and relax …”
Can we talk more about Lextra’s room here?
Like- homegirl has 4 FUCKING RUGS IN THE CENTER OF HER ROOM AND THOSE ARE JUST THE ONES WE CAN SEE IN THESE SHOTS
WHY DO YOU NEED 4 FUCKING RUGS LEXA
THEY DONT EVEN MATCH
AND WHAT ABOUT THAT FUCKING BEAR RUG HUH? WHO ARE YOU TRYING TO IMPRESS WITH THAT? DID YOU KILL IT YOURSELF OR DO YOU JUST LIKE THE AESTHETIC IT BRINGS TO YOUR WILD ASS ROOM
AND WHY THE FUCK ARE THERE CANDLES ON THAT WEIRD SHELF THING IN THE AIR ABOVE THE BOX IN THE LAST FRAME???? HOW THE FUCK DO YOU LIGHT THOSE FUCKERS?? DO YOU JUST HAVE SOME POOR SOUL OF A SERVANT BOY NAMED WESLEY WHO HAS TO CLIMB A MOUNTAIN OF YOUR RANDOM HOARDER ASS SHIT JUST TO LIGHT 8 FUCKING CANDLES TO MATCH YOUR MISMATCHED RUGS, DEAD BEAR AESTHETIC???¿? WHAT A FUCKING HASSLE
And also what the actual fuck are those floating candle cages????¿? Why the fuck do they hang so low? Just imagine Clarke getting out of bed at like 3 am to go to the bathroom, half asleep and tired af with her eyes barely open. She knows the rooms layout enough to be able to walk through practically blind but she always forget about those stupid ass candle cages until CLANG she walks headfirst into one and smacks the shit out of her forehead. And Lexa wakes up to the smash and Clarke’s half grunt half roar of pain and salty frustration and immediately goes for her bedside dagger ready to fite like ‘who dare attack me and my Clorke?¿’ ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ
And in the darkness of their room she just gets from Clarke 'jeSUS FUCKING FUCK SHIT FUCK WHY’ and Lexa is so confused and startled and disoriented and ready to kick some ass but Clarke is still going off 'WHY THE FUCK ARE THESE THINGS EVEN REAL WHY THE FUCK DO YOU NEED THIS SHIT LEXA FUCK’ and Lexa’s eyes are adjusting and she can now see that she and Clarke are the only one’s in here so she is just like ?¿ big eyes like the confused puppy she is and like stumbling through the dark towards Clarke with needy grabby hands like 'clorke my sun and my stars I will protect- where you be?’
And Clarke is just holding her forehead continuing to roar obscenities even though it honestly isn’t even that painful she’s mostly just tired and pissed that she has to deal with this shit at 3 am and she’s just 'LEXA GET RID OF THIS SHIT YOU DONT NEED 78 FUCKING CANDLES IN HERE AND 9 OF THEM IN FUCKING FLOATING METAL FUCKING SHIT CAGES’
and yes I did count all those candles and I counted 78 fucking candles fite me (don’t actually I’m small and frail)
And Lexa is just like 'shhhh klark my love come back to sleep’
And Clarke is 'FUCKING WHY LEXA’
And Lexa is all 'shhhh it’s for the aesthetic clork’
Clarke 'bUT WHY-’
Lexa 'shhhhhhhhhhhhh the aesthetic clock the aesthetic’
And a guard comes in like 'HEDA I HEARD SCREAMING ARE YOU ALRIGHT’
And Clarke grabs some random ass candle lying around and chucks it at this poor soul like 'NOT FUCKING NOW WESLEY’