During their private discussion, the general Single Dad chat had gone on.
xVerity: That’s wonderful news. Congratulations, Gwynn!
LoveHarley: aww :)
LoveHarley: Single Dad Baby Shower???
GlitterDoctor: At this point you and Simon should just move to Aurora, Harley. Between all the weddings, baby showers, housewarming parties, and shenanigans, you’ll be spending more time here than you would be in LA
LoveHarley: maybe
LoveHarley: Glit im sending you a txt
The lull in the conversation gave Damien a perfect opportunity to dive back in.
KnotMyProblem: Is anyone else having a hard time getting over the fact that Gwynn called me his son?
Gwynning: You’re right. It is a lot to get over
Gwynning: The only saving grace is…
KnotMyProblem: don’t you fucking dare, Pops
Gwynning: I never had to deal with your placenta
The fleshiest, flabbiest, most nightmare-inducing placenta appeared on the screen. What was worse was that it was cupped in and overflowing from someone’s hands.
Willingly.
There wasn’t a set of handcuffs or a cattle prod to be seen.
Damien almost threw his phone.
KnotMyProblem: THAT IS AN ACT OF HOSTILITY IN AN UNEASY TIME OF PEACE
Gwynning: Oh dear. Placenta-bot, you’ve gone and got us in trouble now.
The placenta-bot cheerfully generated another picture of a placenta. This one was labeled, because why the fuck not? Damien hadn’t known that placentas had motherfucking membranes that, when opened, revealed an even more disgusting fleshy interior made up of “grooves” and “cotyledons,” but he sure as shit did now.
KnotMyProblem: FUUUUUUUUUU
KnotMyProblem: .
KnotMyProblem: .
KnotMyProblem: .
KnotMyProblem: .
KnotMyProblem: .
KnotMyProblem: .
KnotMyProblem: .
KnotMyProblem: .
KnotMyProblem: .
