ᴍɪsᴛᴇʀ ᴡɪsᴅᴏᴍ (wisdoms) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2016-06-21 09:49:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, garrett hawke, pete wisdom |
Who: Hawke & Wisdom
What: British Boyfriend Night, but Amelia is constipated so there's some prune juice and a fussy baby involved
When: Last night?
Where: Firestarter Fam's House
Rating/Warnings: Fairly low
Status: Complete
Supposedly infants slept about sixteen hours a day, or needed that much, or something like that, and all Wisdom wanted to know was where the fuck that actual sleeping time was hiding. Because if Amelia was really sleeping for that long, her da wouldn’t feel like (and look like, let’s be honest) a modern-day zombie, barely functioning. So in all honesty, whomever came up with that number was full of rubbish. There was no such thing as sleeping, or personal time, none of that at all. Perhaps two minutes here and there for a shower, or to stuff food in his face, maybe a couple hours of sleep a night if he was lucky. Most of the time he wasn’t. Case in point: It was meant to be an evening where, during this fairytale concept of ‘the baby is sleeping,’ Hawke came by and the English boyfriends were reunited before Wisdom so gracefully retired at the old man time of 9:00 PM - the recently married one would show off his Elvis-themed wedding pictures, there would be pizza ordered, perhaps a beer or two consumed. But instead, that exact night decided to be wrought with a very important problem: Amelia was constipated. Yes, unfortunately, the little firestarter hadn’t shat her nappy in far too long of a time and was quite squirmy, like she was trying to diligently push out the poop that would not come. Not to mention the lack of baby smiles; they were mostly her face all squished and uncomfortable. Which was why he didn’t even have time to order a pizza, he was too busy holding and rocking his poor, plugged up daughter - though he freed one hand to send a text to Hawke, who’d be on his way soon. can you stop at the store, get prune juice More joys of fatherhood. Prune juice. Well then. Ask and his bestest mate in all the world (he’d have to get them matching shirts, perhaps?) shall receive this bowel-stirring concoction. He’d purchased several, actually, those cheap little bottles meant for children - likely it meant his mini-arsonist in the making was having some problems and fussy. Constipation was a painful thing, and the only way a baby knew how to express discomfort was to cry, cry, and cry - he recalled it when the twins were young, and there was nothing more stressful than having one baby wail relentlessly besides two of them. At once. Wisdom had his sympathy. Little Ceasar’s it was for the pizza. It wasn’t anything gourmet but it was quick, hot and piping ready at the window to have ready for devourment. He’d gotten two. One for him and Wisdom to split, the other one for the ravenous mother later on who could probably inhale about three of these greasy pies. Hopefully he wouldn’t regret not getting a couple extras? But upon his arrival, it seemed it’d be them and the tiny little human instead. Mommy dearest was attempting to catch a couple winks of sleep from her daily childrearing while she could, and Hawke would be more than happy to assist the new father with baby stress. “I got a couple extra for the future,” he chuckled, setting everything down on the coffee table upon entering. “Never know when you’ll need them. Baby bums are spontaneous things.” Ah, yes, the glory of Little Caesars - that good, old-fashioned wannabe Italian cuisine bastardised in the American way. Honestly though, Pete didn’t give a shit - it smelled divine to his weary senses, and even though it was essentially cardboard with plastic cheese and canned tomato sauce slathered on top, for him and his snarling stomach it’d be the equivalent of a fine feast. Lina would also devour whatever was left - he’d be sure there was enough for her. “You’re a saint, aren’t you,” Pete chuckled, trading what he had in his arms - the baby, carefully placing her in Hawke’s instead - so he could rummage through the bag and find the answer to this bowel problem. “Lina’s asleep, dead to the world, I hadn’t the heart to wake her - things have been alright, though.” Besides that Amelia was clearly upset and if Precious was upset that meant her daddy would burn the world down to fix it for her, if need be. But he settled for going to the kitchen to mix up a bit of prune juice and water - generally, juices were ill-advised for wee ones this small but a little was fine, the doctor said, so a little it was and in one of the bottles. “I take it you want beer?” Garrett was rather alright with this exchange, you see - he was a natural with babies, although he hadn’t dealt with them before Amelia for some time but it hadn’t taken long for it all to come back. “Why, greetings, you poor stopped-up thing,” he cooed, and yes, his voice did increase a few notches in pitch when it came to baby talk. Poor squirmy human, she was making pitiful whimpering sounds and kicking those short legs, he had no choice but to cradle her and bounce her a bit. “I’ll gladly take one, though, whenever you’ve a minute. No rush.” If he could help relieve some stress from his friend here then he’d be happy to do it. Parenting was difficult, and he’d seen first hand with his mother rearing two of these at once - and he’d helped but Maker, it was so much exhausting work. Tears and sleepless nights, forgetting to eat and the frequent failure of defeat when one could not simply figure out why they were crying so much. The first months were taxing. Hawke comfortably settled on the couch, brushing his fingertip down her forehead, the bridge of her nose and right at the tip of it. “Seems as if she’s gaining weight? I think she’s a naturally small wee one, but she’s definitely chunker since the last I saw. Someone must like to eat.” “She does, she always seems happy attached to her mum’s milk machines,” Wisdom responded, though admittedly breastfeeding was still kind of a thing he just, as a man, couldn’t fully comprehend - perhaps because the sprog wasn’t latching on to him, though it was supposedly a beautiful moment to watch. Or not, because he didn’t see the point in creepily hovering - more like he considered it bonding time with Lina and the shitter, something for them. “But according to the doctor, she’s gaining weight at a good pace - soon she’ll have adorable fat rolls that I can tease her about when she’s older.” And remind her of when she was a delightfully chunky mass of cute baby, aww, that always made for good pictures as mementos as well. Grabbing two beers, and the bottle, he wandered back into the living room. No plates necessary, they could eat pizza right out of the box when they had a moment. The beers were set on the coffee table, and he offered the prune juice to his bearded friend. “She might not like it, which is highly likely.” Because who actually enjoyed the taste of prune juice? Besides old ladies. Milk machines. Hawke couldn’t help but laugh. “Ah, that’s good, though. My mum once said she swore by it - helped even recover from the entire hot mess of birthing two sprogs five minutes apart,” he informed. Not that he ever cared to ask about the fun facts about breast milk, but he was around enough to overhear such things. For now, the beer and pizza was put on pause. At least for him. He had plenty of time to drink and eat, Wisdom didn’t, and he’d happily take the burden of trying to make Amelia suckle on the bottle’s nipple. “The taste might make her cry more, sadly, but these things are its own form of magic. Now, c’mon, pretend I’m your mummy, pretend this is her nip...” Oh, heeeeeell no. Little Amelia was no fool, her little face was hysterically scrunched. Still, Godfather Hawke was determined to come out victorious. Breastfeeding also burned a hysterical amount of calories but oh, the wonders didn’t stop there. Apparently preventing cancer was a benefit, and it even relaxed the nursing mum, how, Wisdom didn’t know (since the nipple cream stuff was a necessity) but he’d just trust nature and science and let it be. Pretend I’m your mummy got a laugh from him too - he was busy doing what Hawke probably predicted, and shoving food into his face once the pizza box had been flipped open. In a rather ungraceful manner. But it was five minutes, and in those five minutes, he needed the sustenance - and a few gulps of beer to wash it down, aaah. The thought of a leisurely meal was now a thing of the past. One day, one day, they might actually get back to that. “Unless her mummy suddenly became a yeti, I don’t think she’ll mix the two of you up,” he said once he’d swallowed a mouthful. “If she doesn’t take it through the bottle we can try the dropper.” The bottle was small too, a good size for just a tad bit of juice, and Wisdom thought the dropper would be far less pleasant - at least with the bottle, the nipple was...kind of authentic. “A yeti? How hurtful,” he grumbled, though he was more focused on somehow inserting the bottle’s nipple into the very stubborn Amelia’s mouth. But she seemed to latch on, eventually, after what seemed like an eternal struggle - only to have her suckle enough for a taste that made her whine and want to pull away. Unfortunately for her, Uncle Hawke had the upperhand. “There we go. There, there. Look at that face - I don’t think I’ve ever seen one that screamed ‘fuck this’ as loud as this before. How precious.” Likely, she wouldn’t drink the entire thing and it was expected. The goal was for her to drink some, and a little was all this compact bundle of life required. “Do you even gag when you change those nappies? I’d rather not have to clean your vomit up after you clean her bum up, Wisdom. So you know.” Isabela was, ah, still working on processing the glorious diaper gifts babies constantly shat out. Garrett did his best to not be an arse and keep his laughter to himself, but proved to ultimately fail every time. “She has a lovely ‘fuck this’ face, doesn’t she?” Pete laughed, and it really was cute - though granted, to him, everything about his little baby girl was just bloody adorable. Even her multi-coloured pooping. He was what you might call smitten. But at least Amelia was drinking the juice, and it’d work its way through her system and hopefully perform miracles. The poor little sprog didn’t deserve to be all stopped up. After just enough, she seemed quite over that and scrunched away from the bottle, not wanting to subject herself to more prune-juice torture. “I’m well past the gagging stage, mate, nothing bothers me anymore,” Wisdom was being completely serious too - he’d acclimated fast. “It only took a few nappy blowouts and her spitting up milk and other disgusting fluids for me to get there, too.” He had no idea that, at first, all that spewing was normal. Seemed like more went out than actually came in. “Ah, that’s how you know you’re succeeding at this fatherhood thing,” Hawke chuckled, but his voice was smooth and comforting - babies recognized tone more than anything else, and he wanted to make sure he’d do his best to ease his goddaughter should the prune exposure cause a bit of a wail. “Enduring all sorts of horrid bodily secretions in the name of love. The circle of life, so they say - once you’re old and can’t control your bowels, you’ll be doing the same to her.” Beautiful when you thought about it, wasn’t it? Hah. But that wouldn’t be for a very, very long time. All of them had quite a ways to go before they were wrinkly and crippled, yelling at the youth to get off their bloody lawns. The juice was set aside, and then baby Amelia was transferred back into her father’s heated arms. “There you go, when she soils herself it’ll be on you.” It was his turn to inhale a slice of pizza and wash it down with a bottle of beer. Hurry, before the baby’s gaseous butt bombs ruined his appetite! “Can we not discuss how there will come a time when I won’t be able to control my bowels?” Wisdom gladly took his baby girl back into his arms - she’d gotten some juice down, and now all they could do was wait for nature to take its course. It ought to be soon, because he was wanting to put the wee babe down for a little bit of a sleep. A rest would do them both good. But he rocked Amelia a little, leaning back against the sofa while Hawke barely chewed his food. This was what their lives had become, and funnily enough, Pete was grateful for the way things turned out. Better than being a nicotine-addicted chainsmoker with a drinking problem and swimming in takeaway boxes, alone in his townhouse. “So, now that we’ve got a minute, how are things?” he asked, before he pressed a kiss to the little shitter’s forehead, still continuing to lull her into a state of relaxation. Before she pooped. “You’ve got your tavern all set up, don’t you?” “Indeed, for the most part,” he nodded, a less than savage bite out of his slice now that he’d gotten some in his system. “Well, downstairs is mostly complete - still waiting on the bedding to come in for the couple rooms upstairs. I’m being a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to the recreation of my dwarven friend’s room, though I’m fairly sure no one will want to sleep on coarse linen for the sake of authenticity.” Too scratchy for one thing. Last thing anyone would want is a good ol’ chaffing after a nice romp in that bed, eh? For now, they were introducing the finished parts off to their closest friends, a couple new chaps on the network too for opinions and criticism - the cocktails his beloved pirate had so creatively concocted had been a hit thus far, and they tweaked the Rot Droppings ale some. “I did receive some interesting news, though.” Another casual swig of the beer, this time draining the bottle until less than half was left. It meant he’d be going to the next one very soon. “A friend of ours dreams of being the next revolutionary figure in Thedas, I suppose, and he dreamt about how I decided to stay behind in the Fade - that realm of dreams and demons I believe I told you about - so everyone else could climb back into the normal world? I died, so the rumor goes.” Hawke didn’t sound upset. More like he was relaying news of the weather to his dear friend here, but the last time he obsessed over in stopping death from leaking over, it… Didn’t end so well. “What?” Wisdom wasn’t so calm - felt like he had been suddenly shocked, at the delivery of info that was verbal anvils dropping on his head. Though he supposed that not worrying yourself into a ball of stress about such dire news was perhaps a good idea, because what could you really do about it in the long run? “You stayed behind there why? As a sacrifice?” How very heroic - and it honestly sounded like something that Hawke would do. That bearded fool was a squishy soul under the brick house exterior, Pete knew that. “Well, I have seen people die here, if they die in the dreams,” he admitted, yet there was a ray of hope. Usually there seemed to be - and he’d been through the worst of the worst, literally on his knees during what looked like an apocalypse. And things had turned out in the end. “But should you need a resurrection, at least there are people around who can accomplish that.” Such odd times they lived in, no? Well, for a resurrection there’d need to be some kind of body to resurrect, he assumed? The way Trevelyan explained, Hawke was lost in the Fade. The realm of the mindfuck Isabela so eloquently put. “He seems to think that I survived, somehow,” Hawke tacked on, so his Not to mention so many variations of their dreams existed. The Hero of Ferelden, for example, was a woman here. He wasn’t a blood mage in Bela’s. Who knew where things would land him. His empty bottle was put aside so he could lean back, comfortably, and cross his hands over his stomach in thought. “I haven’t exactly told Isabela but I have my things ‘in order’ for those blasted in-case scenarios. It’s something to do regardless, with all we’ve got - if I disappeared from frolicking to my death in the Fade or had a heart attack from the orgasms my wife gives me, everything is taken care of. Financially speaking.” How one could survive in a land where demons were practically coming out of the cracks in the walls, well, who could say - but perhaps it was possible. Most anything was, Wisdom and his cynical self even believed in as much - he’d seen what could be considered impossible become a reality, and so he knew by now that when there was a will, there was a way. A good portion of the time. Some things could not be saved, but he doubted Hawke would fall under that category. He wouldn’t consider otherwise - because, ah, you know. Mascara running down his cheeks, along with his tears. “Well, you ought to tell her, don’t you think?” he lifted one eyebrow, letting it poke upward. Amelia had stopped squirming, at least - so he expected her to pop back awake any moment now, with a soiled nappy. “I hear that’s one of the more depressing things married couples ought to discuss. Since Lina already technically died and I arranged her funeral, I know for later, but...” Not everyone got that dress rehearsal, shall we say. “I am, I am,” Garrett sighed. “The moment Trevelyan announced the news she punched me. I might have to brace myself for another expression of hostility.” Not to mention she had just received that letter from Varric, literally, from her dreams. Last thing he wanted to do was bombard her with it all at once, but he’d sort it out with her all on a quiet night. At least he could mostly sell the entire discussion on how it all needed to be done anyway though Isabela would know the underlying reason, her brain wasn’t liquid. “Anyway, apologies for the very depressing talk. All will be well. Even if the sky rips open and does its demon spewing.” He’d heard once before that the ground already opened up and did the exact same thing so, on the bright side, Orange County had experience. Perhaps next time it’ll be monsters from the sea? Mix it up a bit. He leaned forward from his comfy crevice of the Firestarter couch and pulled another slice. “Whatever happens, I won’t ever leave you,” Hawke winked. “I hear your makeup might smudge.” “It would, and I don’t even wear makeup - so consider yourself lucky.” For his general trolling behaviour, Hawke received a kick to the back of the shin - a light one, and it was the closest place since Wisdom’s arms were full right now. As soon as Amelia went into the bassinet, with a soothed and less agitated tummy, he was going to indulge in another beer. Especially given the subject matter - it was depressing, albeit necessary to talk about those ‘in case of death’ things. Very few lived forever, and who would want to? He supposed that the sky ripping open was as good of an OC event as any - bring on the demons, you strange stew pot of metaphysics. “Don’t say ‘if,’ because you know it will - but we’ll get through it, like always,” he smirked. Then that smirk turned into a grimace. Because it suddenly smelled like shit, and he meant that in the most literal sense. Constipation over! Rejoice! “Aren’t you a talented little ladybug?” Pete cooed at his daughter, so proud she’d managed to push out a good one. Hawke would merely interpret that kick in the shin as Wisdom’s own, charming way of playing a romantic game of footsies. He felt it deep in his heart, he really did. “Look at you, so optimistic - guess you don’t have to do the brooding bit to get the ladies now that you’ve got one and a half?” Though, wait. Why was he suddenly complimenting - oh. Oh. Oh. Maker’s cock n’ balls, that fucking smell - was that?? It was, he could smell it from here and he was both appalled and morbidly impressed. Amelia reeked of something particularly shitty, that smelly little one. “Andraste’s twat, what are you feeding her? Egg salad? Burritos?” He’d offer to help take the load off his hands but...no, Pete seemed like he could tackle that particularly nappy himself just fine. The Champion believed in him. How nice of Godfather Hawke to volunteer for nappy duty - no wait, really, just keep your bum right there, mate. No need to get up. “Well, if I said we’re all doomed, that wouldn’t be a good example set for my spawn, would it?” he chuckled, and carefully carrying the laden-down-with-crap cargo, went to get Amelia something fresh to cover her bum with. He’d just as well set the soiled one on fire, but rather, disposed of it in the proper way. Phew. Felt like he’d changed at least one-thousand of these things since her birth, though he was a pro by now, so that was a positive? Then he returned, having placed Amelia in her bassinet so she could finally get some shut-eye now that the constipation nightmare was over. For now. To celebrate, another beer was cracked open and gratefully chugged. Perhaps now they’d have a moment of quiet. Godfather Hawke knew how prune juice worked. It’d be a continuously explosive process, and Amelia would be sufficiently cleaned out - while these bombs were dropping, it was only polite to give Wisdom the first one of the series? “I’ll catch the next one,” he snickered, the grin that stretched across his face letting those dimples show. “Or perhaps I’ll conveniently leave before the next one drops, we’ll see.” It probably wouldn’t take long for the second change. Babies had small tummies like that - all that constant eating and shitting they did because they didn’t have the adult organs to hold it all in for prolonged periods of time. But he’d keep his friend here some manly company while the ladies slept. He half-expected to tuck the entire family in bed at the end of the night at the rate this was going. Garrett would snap a picture of all of them snoring, that was a promise. |