#another is I was giving birth in the woods and I passed out midway and woke up to find the baby gone

[cryptidsloth]

My brain keeps supplying my dreams with pregnancy nightmares what does it mean

[thatdarkdivide]

asami alluard / task 011.

Basics:

Name: asami alluard Nicknames: asa, mia, mimi (by sora)  Birthday: 20 feb Age: sixteen Pronouns: she/her or they/them Sexuality: bisexual  Siblings: eriko alluard, sora alluard  Other Family: edward alluard, lucille alluard 

Wizard Fun:

Hogwarts House: gryffindor Year: sixth  Clubs: art, knitting, care of magical creatures  Favorite Class(es): care of magical creatures  Least Favorite Class(es): literally all the others  Pet: i mean she has a cat, but let’s be real she’s adopted all the animals  Blood Status: muggleborn  Species: human Patronus: asami actively refuses to find out what it is because she thinks it means she likes that animal more than another even though that’s not how it works Boggart: a dead creature, typically a bird  Wand type: cedar, unicorn, supple Affiliation: neutral 

Appearance:

Height: 5′ Hair Color: black Eye Color: brown Typical Hair Style: long dark Fashion Style: she wears a lot of lace and black  Distinguishing Features: he’s very tan

Biography: death tw, bullying tw 

It has been said that the Alluard family once had ties to French royalty, but why they fell from grace was a mystery. Some say they were found practicing witchcraft in the woods, meanwhile others say they aligned themselves with a foreign power betraying the royals. With what remained of their riches, they fled and settled down in England, where they’ve been ever since. They might have lost power in France, but they found their place in England. Through the years, they’ve gained back their power and influence. When Edward Alluard met Lucille Bryne he became smitten and despite both families cautioning against it, less than a year later, they were married. Edward soon took over the family business with his charming wife by his side. They tried for years to conceive a child, but when that failed, they turned to adoption. It didn’t take long to find three children to bring home. Eriko the eldest at the age of thirteen, Asami in the middle at the age of four and Sora the youngest merely a year.

For their close proximity in age, Asami and Sora were never close. Her brother always seemed so intent on doing something when Asami was perfectly fine being on her own. Luckily the manor was large enough that her brothers had a place to roam and explore, while Asami stuck to inside the manor. She took after Lucille — quiet and content with staying at home. While she loved her brothers, she found them exhausting. However, she grew up knowing how important family was supposed to be and regardless of her sibling’s boundless energy, she did love them. Eriko never talked about what happened with their birth parents and accepted the Alluard family as his own; so Asami followed suit, even if she was curious — her own memories betrayed her and she couldn’t recall what happened. Her parents were always busy, though they made time for their children. Her father never wanted them to feel as if his work was more important than his family. Asami grew up comfortable money wise and not lacking in love.

There was always something different about Asami. Unlike her brothers, most of the children at their school stayed far away from her. However, animals always seemed to come up to her. She could even calm feral cats if she found them. The other students always thought she was weird, as there were other incidents. One of the biggest episodes was when she was eight, a cat came wandering up to her and a boy began making fun of her. Asami swears the animal must have read her emotions somehow because the creature launched himself at the student. Though neither the boy or Asami ever admitted what happened, a part of her knew that it was her connection to the creature that had made it attack the boy. She refused to admit her suspicions to her parents though and accidents kept occurring. It wasn’t until three years later that she finally found out what was different when a representative from Hogwarts showed up on her eleventh birthday saying she was a witch. Asami realized that it explained so much. Her parents immediately had reservations, but they wanted Asami happy, so they let her pack her bags and head off to school.

Almost instantly she found a second home at Hogwarts. She was surprised at being sorted into Gryffindor, though understood the hat’s reasoning for it; despite longing to be a Hufflepuff, she settled into the lion’s den quite well. Although she spent much of her childhood inside reading books, this new place was a struggle for her. Asami’s grades were never anything to brag about. She excelled in other areas, finding the castle’s occupants interesting and different. It was at Hogwarts where she began to blossom. Her love of animals and her affinity towards the arts were something she wanted to explore within these walls. As far as peers went, Asami spent most of first year learning all she could about a magical school from her housemates, she began expanding her social circle by second year. At the end of her first year, Asami marched up to the headmaster’s office and demanded she be allowed to take care of magical creatures next year. She had an entire list of reasons why, though it was agreed that she was both responsible enough and if she kept her grades up, she could take care next year.

Midway through her third year, Asami woke to a school owl giving her a letter. Her brother had written that their parents had died. Thankfully, at twenty two Eriko was old enough to care for them and the house as well as the fortune was passed onto him until Asami and Sora were responsible enough to handle their portion. With no other family other than her brothers, she knew that the bridge that had always been between them needed to be fixed somehow. Although she had some issues with her parents, she did love them. The rest of third year was rocky for her and she struggled to keep up with her peers in her classes. That summer, she took the proper time to mourn and eventually got past the grief of losing her parents. Asami came back with a fresh attitude her fourth year, although remains somewhat guarded about her home life.

The best place to find her is outside with the animals or painting somewhere on campus. Where she won’t talk about her family trauma, she will talk someone’s ears off about animal rights. As tensions begin to rise within the wizarding world, Asami feels almost conflicted about the war. People are fighting for the rights of muggleborns like herself, but who is standing up for he half breeds? She finds herself wondering more and more about werewolves, vampires, and veela’s rights regardless of her own being put into question. She isn’t sure she’s ready to make a decision or will ever be ready to make a decision; but she is sure of one thing: animals are just as important as people.

[ofbloodandfaith]

Day 4 of 30 days of Apollon

A favourite myth or myths of this deity

I have three favourite myths featuring Apollon

1.The slaying of the serpent Python which guarded the oracular shrine of Delphoi (Delphi). 

Homeric Hymn 3 to Apollo 356 ff (trans. Evelyn-White) (Greek epic C7th - 4th B.C.) : "Straightway large-eyed queenly Hera took him [Typhaon (Typhoeus)] and bringing one evil thing to another such, gave him to the Drakaina (Dracaena) [Python]; and she received him. And this Typhaon used to work great mischief among the famous tribes of men. Whosoever met the Drakaina, the day of doom would sweep him away, until the lord Apollon, who deals death from afar, shot a strong arrow at her. Then she, rent with bitter pangs, lay drawing great gasps for breath and rolling about that place. An awful noise swelled up unspeakable as she writhed continually this way and that amid the wood : and so she left her life, breathing it forth in blood. Then Phoibos (Phoebus) Apollon boasted over her : ‘Now rot here upon the soil that feeds man! You at least shall live no more to be a fell bane to men who eat the fruit of the all-nourishing earth, and who will bring hither perfect hecatombs. Against cruel death neither Typhoios (Typhoeus) [her consort] shall avail you nor ill-famed Khimaira (Chimera) [her spawn], but here, shall the Earth and shining Hyperion [Helios the Sun] make you rot.’ Thus said Phoibos, exulting over her : and darkness covered her eyes. And the holy strength of Helios (the Sun) made her rot away there; wherefore the place is now called Pytho, and men call the lord Apollon by another name, Pythian; because on that spot the power of piercing Helios made the monster rot away."

Homeric Hymns 3 to Apollo 300 ff : "But near by [Delphoi (Delphi)] was a sweet flowing spring, and there with his strong bow the lord, the son of Zeus, killed the bloated, great Drakaina (Dracaena), a fierce monster wont to do great mischief to men upon earth, to men themselves and to their thin-shanked sheep: for she was a very bloody plague. She it was who once received from gold-throned Hera and brought up fell, cruel Typhaon [Typhoeus] to be a plague to men."

2. His music contest with the satyr Marsyas who lost and was flayed alive.

Pseudo-Apollodorus, Bibliotheca 1. 24 (trans. Aldrich) (Greek mythographer C2nd A.D.) : "Apollon also slew Marsyas, the son of Olympos. This fellow had come upon the flute which Athene had thrown away because it made her face misshapen, and he proceeded to face Apollon in a musical contest. It was decided that the winner could do whatever he wanted with the loser. During the contest Apollon played lyre in a reverse position, and invited Marsyas to do the same. But Marsyas was incapable of this feat, and so Apollon won. He finished off Marsyas by hanging him from a lofty pine and flaying him."

3. His love for the youth Hyakinthos (Hyacinthus) who was killed by a discus throw and transformed into a flower.

Ovid, Metamorphoses 10. 162 ff (trans. Melville) (Roman epic C1st B.C. to C1st A.D.) : "Amyclides [Hyakinthos son of Amyklas], too, Phoebus [Apollon] would have placed in heaven had drear fate given time to place him there. Yet in the form vouchsafed he is immortal. Year by year, when spring drives winter flying and Aries succeeds watery Pisces, he rises from the earth and in the greensward brings his bloom to birth [as a flower]. He was my father's [Apollon's] favourite, and Delphi, chosen centre of the world, lost its presiding god, who passed his days beside Eurotas [in Lakedaimonia] in the martial land of unwalled Sparta, and no more esteemed thither or bow. Forgetting his true self, he was content to bear the nets, to hold the hounds in leash and join the daylong chase through the rough mountain ridges, nourishing his heart's desire with long companionship. One day, near noon, when the high sun midway between the night past and the night to come at equal distance stood from dawn and dusk, the both stripped off their clothes and oiled their limbs, so sleek and splendid, and began the game, throwing the discus; and Phoebus first poised, swung and hurled it skywards through the air, up, soaring up, to cleave the waiting clouds. The heavy disk at longest last fell back to the familiar earth, a proof of skill, and strength with skill. Then straightway Taenarides [Hyakinthos], unthinking, in the excitement of the sport, ran out to seize it, but it bounded back from the hard surface full into Hyacinthus' face. The god turned pale, pale as the boy himself, and catching up the huddled body, tried to revive him, tried to staunch the tragic wound and stay the fading soul with healing herbs. His skill was in vain; the wound was past all cure. And as, when in a garden violets or lilies tawny-tongued or poppies proud are bruised and bent, at once they hang their heads and, drooping, cannot stand erect and bow their gaze upon the ground; so dying lies that face so fair and, all strength ebbed away, his head, too heavy, on his shoulders sinks. ‘My Oebalides [Hyakinthos],’ Phoebus cried, ‘laid low and cheated of youth's prime! I see your wound, my condemnation, you my grief and guilt! I, I have caused your death; on my own hand, my own, your doom is written. Yet what wrong is mine unless to join the game with you were wrong or I were wrong to love you well? Oh, would for you--or with you--I might give my life! But since the laws of fate forbid, you shall be with me always; you shall stay for ever in remembrance on my lips, and you my lure and you my song shall hymn. A new flower you shall be with letters marked to imitate my sobs, and time shall come when to that flower the bravest hero born [Aias] shall add his name on the same petals writ.’ So with prophetic words Apollo spoke, and lo! the flowing flood that stained the grass was blood no longer; and a flower rose gorgeous as Tyrian dye, in form a lily, save that a lily wears a silver hue, this richest purple. And, not yet content, Phoebus (who had wrought the work of grace) inscribed upon the flower his lament, AI AI, AI AI, and still the petals show the letters written there in words of woe. And Sparta's prince in Hyacinthus, her son, endures undimmed; with pomp and proud display each year his feast, the Hyacinthia, returns in the ancient way."

Quotes all link to theoi.com

[all-the-love-harold]

Chapter 13 - Aren’t They Lovely?

Master Post 

Previously: 

Poppy’s mind was racing as they made their way to Gemma’s house, and the tightening pains in her stomach only got worse. 34 weeks was still too early to have this bub, better than 27, but still not long enough to keep her safe. And today was Emily’s day, Oscar’s day. Poppy didn’t want to take that away from them. But as each shooting pain got more intense she knew she wasn’t going to be able to keep it a secret much longer. 

 “Walk in your rainbow paradise….”  The first lyrics of Adore you echoed around the car and Poppy knew she wasn’t going to be able to keep her contractions a secret now. 

 “Mummy this is daddy’s song and you’re not dancing�� Oli said from the back seat, throwing his hands in the air while Harry sang along. 

 “Yeah Mummy” Harry said accusingly 

 Poppy sighed and turned the music down “Now don’t freak out” she said “But I think I’m in labour too”

 It took everything within Harry not to slam on the breaks at that point, but he took a deep breath and tried to overcome the shock. 

 “Ok” he said slowly “Do we have time to drop Oli off or am I going to the hospital now?” 

 “They’re not going to be able to stop it today H” Poppy said “Dr Marshall said that last time,” 

 “I know” he nodded “so what do you need? Do you need me to drop Oli off, or do you need to go now” 

 “We can drop him to Gems if we’re going to be quick” Poppy clutched her stomach 

 “Why don’t we get Gemma to meet us there?”  Harry suggested and all that Poppy could muster right now was a nod. 

 The rest of the car ride was silent aside from Harry explaining to Oli what was happening now. Poppy was wishing that she'd paid more attention in the birthing classes now that she was actually in labour, although she still knew that she wouldn’t be delivering naturally anyway. Which only had her wondering how on earth she was going to look after two newborns and a four year old while she recovered from a c-section.

 ****

Soon after they arrived at the hospital Poppy was taken to her own room and a midwife had come in to see where her labour was at. Since this was Poppy’s second baby and sixth pregnancy, her labour was progressing faster than the midwives would have hoped given that it could be dangerous for her to give birth naturally. 

 “You’re at 8cm love” the midwife said in a very soothing welsh accent “But your waters haven’t broken yet so we should be able to wait for Dr Marshall to get here ok” 

 Poppy nodded, midway through another contraction squeezing Anne’s hand as tight as she could. 

“We’ve got a monitor on baby too love, so if she goes into distress we’ll get you straight off to surgery” 

 “Do you know how long the doctor will be?” Anne asked 

 “No more than an hour” the midwife smiled “Emily’s my patient too, so I’ll let your husband know what’s happening here and I’ll come back and update you on Emily too” 

 Poppy and Anne both nodded and thanked her as she walked out of the room. 

 “Thanks for being here” Poppy said to Anne 

 “It’s my pleasure love. This is why I’ve been in London for the last few weeks” 

 “You’ll be the first person to meet your granddaughter” 

 “It’s an hon-” Anne started but stopped as there was a gush of water over Poppy’s bed. Thinking quickly, she pushed the buzzer to call in a midwife and began comforting Poppy through another contraction. 

“I want the drugs” Poppy cried as the midwife walked in “It hurts, Please give me the drugs” 

“Her waters have broken” Anne said softly to the midwife 

 “Ok lovie, let’s have a quick look to see where bub’s at and then I’ll call the anaesthetist,” 

 Poppy nodded and she began her exam. “Ok,” she sighed “I don’t have good news I’m afraid, your waters have broken very late love, it’s too late for an epidural, bub’s coming very fast there’s no time for surgery either, you’re going to have to push” 

 “I...I … I can’t” Poppy said “I’m not supposed to” 

 “I know love” the midwife said sympathetically “But we’re going to make sure everything's ok, I’ll call for a doctor and we’ll get your baby here safe and sound”

 Poppy nodded through her tears “Where’s Harry?” she said “I need Harry”

***

 “Ahh fucking hell this hurts” Emily screamed. She was 9cm dilated now and the baby was at 0 station, which the doctors said meant that she was just about ready to deliver. 

 “You’re doing great Em,” Harry said, checking his watch to see if he needed to go back to Poppy’s room yet. 

 “You did this to me” she screamed 

 Harry laughed nervously, looking towards patricia for support “Maybe I should go” he said 

 “Give her five minutes” Patricia said 

 “I’ll go check on Pop” he said, walking out of the room. 

 Poppy was down the hall, in another labouring room, waiting for her waters to break so that they could take her to surgery. He broke into a run so that he could get there quicker and he burst into the room more abruptly than he’d planned. 

 “Hi” he said awkwardly to everyone in the room who was now staring at him “what have I missed” 

 The midwife who he’d seen in Em’s room earlier was now attending to Poppy and looked puzzled to see him here. 

 “Weren’t you with Emily Wood an hour ago?” She asked 

 “Yeah” Harry nodded “she’s our surrogate, Poppy wasn’ t supposed to be able to get pregnant, but here we are”  

 “Riiiight” she said “so Poppy is your wife?” 

 “Yes” Harry nodded 

 “Ok then” the midwife said “well she’s fully dilated and baby’s to too low down for a c-section, the doctors on their way” she turned and left the room. 

 Harry’s eye’s had widened “fuck” he breathed “are you ok Pop?” 

 Poppy was too busy breathing in the happy gas that helped ease the pain to respond. She simply held her hand out and ushered him over to her. He held on tight and eased her through each contraction. 

 Anne had been with Poppy while Harry was with Em, but now he was here she sat back and watched the two of them. She felt quite out of place now, but her heart swelled with pride as she watched her son, so calm and collected, comfort his labouring wife. It was like nothing else in the world existed, just the two of them and that baby. The five minutes that Harry had promised Em had well and truly passed by the time he even thought about going back, but the doctors had just arrived and he couldn’t leave Poppy now. 

 “Mum,” he whispered as the doctor spoke to Poppy “can you go check on Em?” 

 Anne nodded “of course” she rested her hand on his back and planted a kiss on cheek “Good luck H, you’re about to be a dad” 

 Harry’s stomach dropped, he was about to be responsible for two more little lives. He was about to have a daughter, a little girl to show the world to.  

 “Alright Poppy” the doctor said in a gentle tone “on the next contraction I’m going to need you to push” 

 Poppy nodded, taking deep breaths to fill her body with the oxygen it needed to get through the next contraction. 

 “Ok Poppy, now’s the time you need to push” 

 She took a deep breath and held tight onto Harry’s hand squeezing harder and used her entire body strength to push. 

 “You’re doing great, Poppy” the doctor said “one more big push in the next contraction and you can meet your little girl” 

 She was so close to holding that tiny little baby in her arms all she had to do was one more push, one more push and she was going to be a mum, again. 

 The contraction started and Poppy used all of her might to push, squeezing Harry’s hand so tight it turned purple and all of a sudden the whole room cheered. 

 “Welcome to the world little one” the doctor said, but there was no crying, and Harry had noticed that the baby looked a little blue 

 “Is she ok?” He asked, voice shaking from all the emotion. 

But the doctor didn’t respond to Harry, he simply lifted the baby and took her over to the crib in the corner. 

 “What’s happening H?” Poppy asked weakly 

 “I don’t know Pop” he admitted, still keeping his eyes on the baby “she’s not breathing” 

 But just as quickly as she came into the world, Florence Anne started to cry and then whole room breathed a sigh of relief. 

 “Happy Birthday baby girl” the midwife cooed, wrapping her up in a blanket way too big for her 

“Meet your mumma” Poppy held her arms out and the midwife laid her straight onto her chest and right then Poppy’s whole world felt complete. 

“Hiya baby Flori” she cooed and planted about a thousand kisses to her forehead “I’m so happy to meet you” 

Harry knelt down next to the bed and kissed the baby’s cheek “Hi little girl” he said “We’ve waited so long for you” he turned to Poppy and planted a gentle kiss to her lips “Thank you” he said “you did great” 

Poppy smiled, unable to take her eyes off Florence “How’s Em?” she asked 

“Fuck” Harry said under his breathe “Em… she was about to… but then you…. Shit… are you good if I go check on her?.... I’ll send mum in” 

“Yes” Poppy said a little too enthusiastically for someone that had just given birth  “go” 

 Harry turned and ran out of the room and down the hall, past a midwife that looked at him like he was a maniac and he burst into Emily’s delivery room just as little Oscar entered the world. Anne and Patricia were holding Em’s hands as she pushed and they both looked at Harry with the tiniest bit of disgust over his timing. But Oscar's cries echoed around the room before they could say anything. 

“Here he is” the doctor said, lifting oscar up and handing him to Emily 

“Give him to Harry” she said turning her head away so that she didn’t look at him . 

Harry was frozen in his spot. Right there in front of him was his son. His son that he had waited so long to meet, and he couldn’t move.  Maybe it was the shock. Or the stress that he’d been feeling since Poppy went into labour. Or maybe it was that this morning he woke up expecting to go to bed without two newborns, but they were both here and he wasn’t sure it felt real. 

“Harry” Anne said gently, putting her hand on his shoulder “Harry, hold your son” 

“Dad come over and cut the cord” the doctor said, holding the surgical scissors out to him 

Anne gave him a little push forward which brought him back down to earth and he took the scissors from the doctor. 

“Right there between the two clamps” 

Harry clenched the scissors tight and cut the spongy tissue

“Here he is” the doctor smiled “Hold you son” 

Harry took the baby in his arms and his eyes filled with tears  “Hi my boy” he cooed “I am so happy to meet you”

 **** 

 The two babies slept soundly in their hospital cribs and Harry and Poppy couldn’t stop staring at them. They finally had some alone time, since Emily had decided to go back to her room for a nap and Anne had gone to pick Oli up from Gemma’s house. 

“Look at his chubby little cheeks” Poppy said staring at Oscar 

“Look how tiny Flori’s hands are” Harry responded, wrapping his arms around Poppy and kissing her on the forehead “I am so proud of you Pop” 

“This is certainly not what I had planned for today” she admitted “But it’s so nice to have them here” 

“We have three kids now” Harry sighed “3! We’re outnumbered” 

“Nah” Poppy shook her head “We’ll have Addie” 

“Have you told her yet?” Harry asked 

“No” Poppy shook her head “If you can find my phone though I’ll send her a photo” 

 “Their very first photoshoot” he giggled as he started searching the room for Poppy’s phone. 

 It felt strange to Poppy to be left alone with the babies, not that she wasn’t capable of looking after them, but they were so little and there was two of them. And Flori was having trouble feeding because she was early and Oscar didn’t like the formula the hospital provided. Part of her wanted to go home and get settled into a routine, but most of her wanted to stay here in this bubble, with the babies and Harry and Oli. Just in this room. Safe. 

 “Here it is” Harry said “ it was still in your pocket”

Poppy let out a small laugh “Everything did happen very quickly”

He nodded “Yep. I didn’t think we’d be here this morning” 

“Me either” Poppy shoved the phone into Harry’s chest “I’m going to put them in the same crib” she said, picking Flori up gently. 

“Hi Flori girl” She cooed “Meet your brother Oscar” 

“Oscar” Harry said softly “meet your sister Florence” 

Both babies let out small, contented cries, and Poppy started crying tears of joy. 

“You take the photo H,” Poppy giggled through her tears “I can’t see” 

“You’re a mess” Harry laughed “But you gave birth today, so it’s excused” 

“It’s excused for the next eighteen years, Styles” 

Harry snapped the photo, and sent it off to Addie. 

 Look who made an appearance tonight 

Florence Anne Styles, Born at 8:47pm 3/10/21, weighing 5 pounds 

Oscar William Styles, Born at 9:01pm 3/10/21, weighing 9 pounds. 

I guess we do have twins!

[askmicrowaveayem]

Boink! The Gaster Brothers Pt. 26

[Previous]

[Archive] [Cast]

Rage only stopped working when he saw the kids at the fence, heading upstairs long enough to tell his brother where he was going before slowly heading out towards them to tell just one more story and send them home.

--

The children cheered when Rage arrived, already bouncing and giddy to hear a story.

“Tell us the best story you have!” One said, knowing this was the last day they had with the strange Gaster Brothers, the Gaster Brothers that needed to be feared and wary of.

But they weren’t.

One was an energetic storyteller, always full of energy and charisma. The other was a silent, awkward sort of brute, only really ever speaking when something caught his interest.

They were fun. They killed humans and kept them safe.

--

“The best story I have?” he said, settling down in his spot, frowning and thinking a little. “That’s a pretty tall order… Hm.”

He leaned forward a little, thinking hard. “...I can tell you how my brother and I first met, if you want.”

--

A chorus of ‘yeahs’ and ‘oohs’ followed.

Dings, finished with his armor, walked outside to settle next to his brother on the fence like he had the day before.

--

Rage smiled a little at their reactions, leaning forward and beginning to speak.

“This is my family now,” he began, “but when I was young, I didn’t know them. I had a different family. A human.”

--

Some of the children made noises of distress. “Why!?”

“What happened to your real parents?”

“You’re not really brothers?”

--

“We are really brothers,” he said, stressing that. “We just started out separated. The human had stolen me from my birth family when I was very, very little. I didn’t even realize there was something wrong for a very long time. He used to tell me all kinds of lies, about where we were, about what was normal, about how I was supposed to treat him... “

--

“What did he do?” One asked, the rest captivated into silence as Rage spoke, some sitting and leaning forward, grasping their feet or curling up comfortable in the grass to listen.

--

“He made me work for him,” Rage said, this story being told much more softly than his others. Told in the story of hushed, whisping voice that he usually used for horror stories around campfires. “I cooked all his meals and I scrubbed the whole house each day; I took care of his animals and mended his clothes. And when he wasn’t happy with what I’d done, he’d beat me with a gemstone cane until I’d flake with dust.”

--

“That’s terrible…” A little girl mumbled, curled a little tighter on herself.

“Humans are terrible.” Another added, looking over at his friend with a frown.

--

Rage nodded in solemn agreement.

“And that’s when I met Dings.”

He leaned forward a bit more. “He came out of the woods one day, lost and trying to find his way home. And my m.. my boss, he.. He thought, ‘why, it worked so well the first time--I’ll have myself two little skeletons to order around now!’”

He glanced over at his brother, trying to subtly gauge how he was receiving the story. If he needed or wanted Rage to stop or change things at all.

--

Dings didn’t have such an averse reaction to talking about the merchant like his brother had. Sure, it had been terrifying and horrible and he had permanently lost some of his original vision from the blow, but… it was also how he met his brother.

His brother was the best thing in his life.

So he didn’t hate this story.

Dings offered his brother a rub on his shoulder blade.

Tell the story however you want.

He didn’t mind it.

--

He relaxed a little more at the hand on his shoulder blade. Gave his brother a flicker of a smile, and turned back to the children, continuing without a pause.

“The human made me help hurt him, trying to trap us both there with him…”

He told of how the merchant had tried to hold Dings captive for a while. Tried to put him to work. How Rage had been caught in the middle, conflicted over what Dings told him and what the human wanted him to do.

He made it sound like a spell, what the merchant had done. Like he’d been trapped under words and duty, bound to this human, with only Dings--young, he mentioned. Younger than Rage was--only Dings able to challenge him. Only Dings able to tell him to unhook the shackles, and have Rage listen.

Fear was its own kind of magic, he supposed.

So he made his fear and conditioning into a binding. A spell that kept him anchored to the merchant’s wishes. Ignorant of the world around him.

This was another heroic story, he realized, midway through explaining how Dings had broken free and begun to run, but had come back for him. When the beating began, Dings had come back and fought the merchant.

This was another heroic story.

He grinned a little, because it wasn’t a lie.

--

The children listened with rapt attention, some leaning forward with their mouths open and others curled up tight, hiding their noses behind their knees while they looked up at the Gaster Brothers, occasionally flicking tiny little eyes to the carved skeleton sat beside their storyteller.

It was hard to imagine this silent, stoic monster as a young child.

Dings listened too, but he kept his gaze downward. He interlocked his fingers and listened to his brother’s tale, slightly surprised at how little he was embellishing it.

He didn’t see it as heroic. He didn’t see how he had saved his brother. He hadn’t fought the merchant, only distracted him and received a more brutal beating in exchange.

There was no way he could have thought about running off and leaving Rage to live like that. It would have haunted him forever.

--

Here was a secret:

All Rage’s stories were true. Even the ones he’d heard when he was young and never found again. Even the ones he embellished or made up on the spot. He wasn’t a liar. He hated liars. Hated people who held you in the dark until it suited them. Who warped your perspective around until you didn’t know if you were a real person or not.

So all his stories were true, even if the only thing that had really happened was the certain knowledge that he could he left behind. That the little skeleton in the woods could’ve easily heard the shouts and been frightened, sprinting as far away as possible, and no one would’ve ever blamed him. Because Rage could never leave the people he was bound to, but he could be left behind and tossed aside like garbage if they didn’t want him anymore.

For Dings, he wouldn’t even have had to be kicked to the ground.

But Dings had come back for him and been hurt trying to save him.

And Rage told them that. Told them about Dings fighting so hard he’d become exhausted, about the human taking advantage of that and knocking him unconscious.

But it had proven to Rage that there were two people he could care for, and only one of them he wanted to.

He said he fought the human off.

Left it there.

--

The children all paused, silent as the story was beginning to wind to a close.

“... What then?” One asked, knowing that the story surely couldn’t have ended there. They still weren’t home, Dings was left unconscious, there had to be more, right?

Dings said nothing. Didn’t correct his brother when he said he fought the merchant off, didn’t correct anything about the story, but feeling as though his own role was embellished.

He wasn’t a hero, not even for helping Rage get out of that situation. Rage had killed the merchant for good while he lay passed out in the dirt after screaming so hard he found his voice. Just a scared little kid who was willing to accept pain in replacement for someone else he barely knew. Who he thought deserved so much better.

--

No one had ever thought Rage deserved better. Not until Dings.

“I killed him,” Rage said, finally, voice dipping into being ragged. “And I stole his cart and his animals. The ones he’d been making me care for my whole life--and I brought him home.”

He was trying to smile, but he kept wavering.

“We were traveling for so long, looking for his home, that the stars started changing above us, until finally, Dings saw something he recognized in the woods.”

“He took me home. His parents took me in; taught me how to fight and survive as something more than just a slave.”

The word slipped out.

He hadn’t used it before. Not in this story. Not in years.

It rang loudly in his ears as he said it, even if his tone remained steady.

“They let me be his brother.”

--

Dings looked at his brother then, the word snapping his attention upward. An arm reached out, wrapping around his brother’s shoulders and squeezing them.

“You were always my brother.” He said, voice deep and scratchy, “We just didn’t know it until we found home again.”

--

Rage hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t expected anything nearly so emotional out of his brother, even when they were alone and talking. For him to say that in front of so many people, he--

Rage turned and laughed, very faintly, giving his brother an affectionate head butt.

“...yeah. You’re right. I fucked up that detail, I guess, huh.”

--

Dings smiled, head tapping him right back. “Yeah.”

There was no doubt that he was shy around crowds and people in general, didn’t like bringing attention to himself and tried to remain stoic and detached while around others. But… he felt his brother needed to hear that. It’s what he believed, truly, and he wanted to say it while the moment was right; crowd of children in front of him be damned.

“Did you ever find your real parents?” One asked once the story was over.

--

“Yeah,” he said, huffing a little but still grinning down at the kids. Grinning a little more genuinely than he had earlier that morning. “Dings’ parents are my real parents, now. I don’t need any other ones.”

--

“Good answer.” Dings said, grinning.

With the story over the children started to murmur to themselves, some saying how humans were scary, or how they couldn’t picture Dings as anything more than a scary-looking behemoth of a skeleton.

--

“I can’t picture him as anything other than that scrawny little babybones who tried to protect me, so I guess that’s fair,” Rage said back, “But that’s it. My best story.”

--

The children gave their approval, grinning and some clapping.

“Do you have any others?” One asked, happily willing to sit in the grass all day and listen to Rage’s stories.

--

“I have plenty others,” he said, grinning down, “but I also have limited time here. It’s our last day, and we have to go get ready. But there’s always going to be plenty more stories around, you know? Maybe if you offer to help Ms. Vrinda around while we’re gone, she’ll be able to tell you a little more.”

--

A collection of ‘awws’ and whines followed.

“But Mrs. Gaster is scary!” One kid said.

Dings couldn’t help himself, his head tilting back and laughing fully, nearly falling off the fence.

--

A lot of the children stared, wide-eyed. Though they’d long overcome their fear of Dings, they were used to his being quiet and stoic, and his sudden laughter was the last thing they’d ever expected!

Rage snorted, but nodded in agreement, reaching over quickly to grab Dings’ shoulder and stop him from falling all the way off the fence.

“Hah! How do you think she raised two things like us?” he asked, grinning. “She’s just fair.”

--

Dings was still laughing and wiping at his eyes as another child fought through the shock of watching him cackle to ask; “Is she the one who taught you how to fight?”

--

Rage kept holding his shoulder, his grin widening.

“She sure is,” he said, “Kept us alive that first year in the army.”

--

The children ‘ooo’d’.

“Is she strong?”

“That’s why she’s so scary…”

“Can she teach me how to fight?”

--

He huffed and shugged. “She’s definitely strong! But you’d have to ask her yourself if she’s willing to teach you. After all, how can she teach you if you’re too scared to even speak to her?”

--

“I’m not askin’ her.” One said.

“I am!”

“You’re crazy.” Dings’ laughter was subsiding, a low ‘aaaaaah’ leaving his mouth.

--

Rage looked over at his brother, grinning. “You think these kids are going to piss her off, or can they actually make it?”

--

“I dunno but I don’t think mom’ll teach any of them.” Dings said, grinning.

“What!?” One shouted.

“Why not?” Another asked.

--

Rage shrugged, “that’s her business if she doesn’t want to teach you. Can’t your parents teach you some, or aren’t there any veterans in this town?”

--

“My dad is.” One said, “But he can’t teach me. He lost his leg.”

Dings frowned.

--

Rage frowned to, pausing and looking over at his brother.

“...hey,” he said. “...what’re you thinking?”

Were they thinking the same thing?

Rage’s arms shifted his grip on the fence.

--

“I’m thinking a few things.” Dings said, glancing at his brother, waiting for him to say what he had in mind.

--

Rage looked down at the kid who had spoken. “Why’s his leg stopping him. It too high up for him to use a cane or something?”

He’d seen plenty of monsters with false feet or peglegs, but all of them had lost their legs below the knee.

--

“He uses a cane but can’t get around very well.” The child said, standing up and pointing to where his father’s leg stopped, in the middle of his thigh.

--

Rage turned to his brother again. “I’m thinking a knee joint can’t be too complicated, right?”

--

“Nope.” Dings said, slipping from the fence.

The little boy looked between them, “We can’t afford a fake one like yours though. Dad says it’s too expensive.”

--

“Dad can pay us by teaching all you crazy kids to defend yourselves,” Gaster said. “And you can repay us by promising if there’s ever humans in this area, you don’t give them an inch, got it?”

Maybe they couldn’t help Vrinda with chores, but they could still defend the area she lived in, even if they didn’t realize that was their purpose.

--

The child smiled and nodded, “Y-Yeah! Okay!”

A few of the others sounded excited about being taught how to fight and defend their little town if humans ever came to attack them.

Dings waited for everything to calm before he looked at the child who had talked of his father. “Come back here before supper. I’ll have everything finished.”

--

Rage grinned, watching the children shuffle about.

“Get lost for now, though. The quicker you go home, the quicker my brother can get to work, alright?”

He slid off the fence and began to good-naturedly shoo the children off.

--

The children began to disperse, calling back to them as they walked down the road to their houses, thanking him for the stories and telling him he had to get more and come back to tell them all the cool things he did.

Dings watched them go, then turned and headed into the house to grab his notebook and start to work.

--

Rage watched him go, seamlessly taking over any chores Dings had volunteered to do today so that he could work instead.

There was a part of him that had wanted to talk. To bring up the story. To thank Dings.

Instead, he just let him work, calling him for lunch but otherwise leaving him undisturbed.

--

Dings would only have to work for a few hours before he was finished, eating lunch as it was brought to him, pencil in hand while the other shoveled food into his mouth.

When he was finished he ripped off the page and fetched some of their stolen gold and shoved the paper in the bag with it before setting it on the table for when the child came by in a few hours.

--

Rage ate lunch by his brother, watching him work and relaxing to the sound of the pencil. When the paper was ripped out, he looked up a moment, grinning.

“Already got it in the bag?”

--

“Yep.” Dings said as he placed it nearby. “I already know the ones that make your arms by heart, and your fingers were a lot more complicated. A leg isn’t hard to come up with. They’ll just need to get the exact measurements down.”

He settled beside his brother to finish their lunch and relax a little.

--

“Mind if I see?” he asked, leaning forward a bit, curious.

He might not have been the nerd his brother was, but he still liked to see things and know how they worked.

--

Dings handed the page over.

It was a very basic wooden leg with a joint at the knee and ankle, a comfortable nest at the top lined with fur much like Rage’s arms to make sure what was left didn’t grow irritated against the wood and some straps to help hold it up.

The woods written in the side were lightweight and cheaper and there was no metal to be heard of.

Hopefully this monster would never have to fight again. Would never have to use his leg for something as strenuous or dangerous as the things they did.

The runes were similar to the ones on his brother’s prosthetics, only a few changes here and there to keep things simple. Connecting one joint to another was the most complicated thing about it, and with only two joints to worry about that showed.

Rage’s wooden hands were absolutely covered in runes.

This only had a few, most clustered around the knee and ankle.

--

Rage looked it over, nodding, only having one comment to make. Even then, he was a little hesitant about it, not wanting to make it sound like he was doubting his brother’s genius.

“...should the foot be wider, though? Since he won’t be used to balancing on it anymore, and it’s not going to be like my arms, where if I fucked up, it would be fine. A wider-than-natural base might help him stay upright more easily.”

--

Dings blinked and looked at his work, chewing slowed as he listened to his brother’s suggestion.

He slid the paper back towards himself, scrawled an arrow pointing to the back, and flipped it over to start jotting down different foot designs, taking his brother’s suggestions to heart without a word.

--

Rage sat back, smiling a little as his brother made alterations, glad he’d been able to help somewhat.

He finished up his lunch and wondered what else they were supposed to do now, for their last day.

--

Dings did much the same, finishing lunch and then the few extra foot designs before sliding the paper away towards the bag of gold.

“... I liked your story today.” He said after a moment.

--

He blinked, surprised, then smiled a bit.

“...thanks. I wasn’t really sure if you’d be fine with me telling it at first…”

--

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He asked, a little confused.

--

“...” Rage looked down, considering his words.

“....you were so scared, back then,” he said. “...I didn’t think you’d want to remember it.”

Rage certainly didn’t like to remember it. Most of it.

It made him feel disgusting inside. Like something rotten at his core had been placed there for a long time and left to fester. And he remembered it every time he hopped to fulfill an order without thinking about it. Every time he thought of something he liked, and remembered a time with the merchant when he’d been so happy to be given a home.

--

Dings blinked, looking at his brother for a moment before looking down at the table, at his carved arms.

“... Yeah. I was.” He admitted, “But it’s over now. I got something great out of it.” He looked at his brother again. “I’m not scared of it anymore. I’d be more scared to think of what would have happened if we had never met.”

--

He smiled faintly, laughed a little shakily.

“We already talked about that, didn’t we?” he said, pushing humor into his voice, even when he felt none. “You’d probably have wandered home eventually, and I’d still be with him. Maybe the humans would’ve spared me when the war started, since I was clearly such a…”

He lost his voice, unable to complete his sentence. Unable to find a word.

--

Dings didn’t smile. Didn’t find the humor or let his brother deflect with jokes.

He reached out and grabbed his brother’s shoulder, rocking him a little.

--

Rage’s grin faded. Left just a hollow smile on his face.

He looked at his brother, refusing to let the tears that wanted to whell up do so.

It was stupid to get so emotional over this. It had been years. More than a decade. The vast, vast majority of his life that he could remember had been spent away from the merchant, so there was no reason for it to affect him so much randomly, years later, when he was long dead--

He leaned into his brother’s grip, trying to keep the smile on his face.

“...you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. You know that?”

--

Dings had lived with his brother long enough to know that the memories with the merchant were, undoubtedly, what affected him the most. Just the way his smile didn’t reach his eyes when it was mentioned, the way he held himself or deflected with jabs of humor about it.

It didn’t bother Dings anymore. Seeing his brother weak and near death with no arms was what bothered him the most, was what haunted him to this day. The manacle, the prosthetics.

“... Yeah.” He said, pulling his brother closer to hold him against his chest.

Sometimes he wished his brother would just cry about it. Just talk about it. He would never force him to, but he hoped that maybe if he did, it would help somewhat.

Just like he had cried after they had parted with Grillby, when they were finally alone and his brother was well enough to walk and feed himself. He had cried then. Cried that his brother had been put through such hell and he had gotten there too late to save his arms.

--

Rage leaned against his brother’s chest.

He didn’t mind being smaller than his brother, not really. He was proud his brother had grown so tall, despite the rough times that might have tried to stunt him. Proud that his brother looked so much like their dad. Was as clever and sharp as their mom.

But times like this, he. He especially didn’t mind it. Being able to lean against him, and have arms around him, and feel small and safe.

Even when he’d been taken in by Vrinda and Trebuchet, he hadn’t been held often. He couldn’t actually think of a time when he’d really been held by either of them, not because they didn’t care, but--

But because he’d already been a man when he came to them. Already sixteen. Naive and inexperienced and gullible, yes, but still an adult.

He’d never been a child. Never been allowed to be hugged. Never supposed to cry--the little bit he’d done those first, early weeks were an exception, he’d realized.

Besides. It hadn’t been so bad with the merchant, before he knew he’d been lied to. It hadn’t been so bad, and he always knew what he was wanted for, and honestly, how could two years of scrubbing floors linger in his memory more powerfully than six months in a dark box, listening to his comrades dying one by one?

But he’d already been on the front lines. Already grown used to death. Already known he couldn’t trust humans. Already expected the worst from them. Already--

He took a slow, shallow breath, and relaxed against his brother. Closing his eyes and enjoying the hug for what it was worth.

Dings was the one who deserved to be upset about these sorts of things, abandoned in wartime for over five years and still finding him, still saving him for a second time.

How’d he ever deserved such a brother?

“I’m glad I’m your brother.”

--

Dings would continue to hold him, a hand gently rubbing up and down the parts of his brother’s arm that remained.

During his life before getting lost he had been happy. He had been kind. He had friends. The weeks and weeks spent with that merchant had been horrible, certainly, but… they were just a bad memory. A bad memory that had turned into something wonderful.

At first he had hated Rage for helping that horrible man, blamed him just as much as the merchant. But as time drew on he saw it for what it had really been; a confused and scared kid years older than himself who had been lied to and manipulated and thought he didn’t have a choice.

It was that realization that had made him decide to save him.

But he was only a little kid back then. He couldn’t speak or yell or go for help. All he could do was plan and plot and try to get the older skeleton to go along with it with pictures and charades, to try desperately to tell him that it wasn’t what life was supposed to be.

So he fought on Rage’s behalf.

He knocked over the wagon. He accepted the carving in his hand and then the crack in his skull if it meant that, maybe, they could get out together.

Because he didn’t want to be alone. He never, ever, in all of his life, wanted to be alone.

He had been happy before getting lost, before Rage had come into his life, but after he had been even happier. Dings had never expected to get a brother, but when he did it was the most amazing thing in the world.

A brother to protect him. A brother to tell him stories. A brother who tried so hard to learn how to sign so they could communicate during those early days. He always had his friends and his mom and dad, but he had never had someone quite like Rage.

Seven full years of sleeping together, eating together, training together, reading together, and playing together.

Watching him go after that first year of war had been the worst moment of his life. Worse even than pulling him out of that prison.

Because then he was alone.

He had Tybalt, but he was just there to protect him, to get him through the war in one piece like he promised, to try and make sure he would be okay.

But he wasn’t his brother.

Dings hadn’t made a friend until Grillby and even then it wasn’t a very deep friendship. Rage was, truly, the only friend he had.

He pulled his brother a little tighter, held him a little closer, brought his skull down to touch his.

“I’m glad I have a brother.” He said, voice as soft as he could manage despite how deep and scratching it had become.

--

Rage snorted a little, accepting the touch.

“What,” he said, grinning faintly. “not even picky about what brother you have?”

--

Dings couldn’t stop himself from grinning too, “Shut the fuck up you know full well what I mean.”

He clinked his skull onto his brother’s and squeezed him enough to push some of the air out of him. “Accept my love you scrawny little shit.”

--

The air pushed out of him in a huff, and he only grinned wider, accepting the pressure happily. “If I say, ‘no’, will you let me go?”

--

“That will just make me hold you tighter.” Dings smiled.

--

“Hm,” he said, letting his head flop on Dings’ chest. “No.”

--

As promised, Dings held him tighter, squeezing a little more of the air out of him.

--

Rage just laughed with what little air he had, his feet threatening to come off the floor.

“Shit, how tight are you going to go? Ha.”

--

“The tightest.” Dings said, forcing his voice lower and more foreboding, which wasn’t a very hard task. Then, his eyes widened.

He got an idea.

Dings stood abruptly, still carrying his brother wrapped in his arms as though he weighed nothing, and started to race with him out the door.

--

Rage’s eyes widened and he yelped, trying to hold onto his brother tightly as he was carried suddenly out the door.

“Wh-what are you doing?!”

If Dings dumped him in a water trough, he was going to kill him.

--

Dings didn’t reply, racing around the house with his brother until he found his mother and father tending to the garden.

He stopped dead, waiting for them both to look at him oddly, holding his older brother against his chest.

“It’s race time!”

He had almost forgot.

--

Rage stared up at his brother with as much incredulity as his parents before bursting into strained, puffing laughter.

“Did anyone even explain to Dad what you mean!?” he said, trying to worm out of his brother’s arms.

--

Dings set his brother on his feet now that his message had been relayed. Treb straightened up, blinking in confusion.

“Oh my-” Vrinda rolled the lights of her eyes before turning to her husband, “They want to race and see who can win a race with Rage carrying Wingdings and me carrying you.”

Treb stared, ‘... With magic?’

“No magic!” Dings yelled.

--

“Can I use my arms?” Rage asked, swaying a bit as he was set down. “I want a rule change so I can use my arms.”

--

“I think it’s fair you can use your arms.” Dings said, nodding sternly.

Their mother scoffed, “Now this isn’t fair at all.”

--

“But Dad probably weighs nothing!” Rage said, pointing at him. “Look at those bird bones. No offense, Dad.”

--

“Total lightweight.” Dings said, folding his arms.

Treb looked down at himself and before their mother could protest any further, Dings grabbed his brother and lead him towards a clearing a few feet away where they could start.

“Come on, we’re doing this.”

--

Rage stumbled after him but quickly got into position, stopped, stood again, and asked. “Where are we even racing to!?”

--

“That tree and back.” Dings said, pointing outward. It wasn’t too far away, thankfully.

“This is ridiculous.” Vrinda said, getting into position with their father.

--

“And yet, here we are,” Rage said, getting into position with his brother and waiting for the shout to start.

--

Dings waited for their parents to get into position before climbing onto his brother’s back. “And… go!”

… Vrinda really had no hope of ever carrying their father.

--

Despite asking for his arms, Rage once again just braced them against his legs and took a few wobbling steps forward.

“...Dings, I think you’ve thought this into something a lot more exciting than it’s really going to be….”

--

“What’re you talkin’ about? I’m fucking pump-” He fell dead quiet as he watched their father run passed them with Vrinda sitting pretty on his shoulder, cackling.

--

Rage watched too.

“Okay. No.”

He dumped his brother on the ground and climbed on top of him.

“ONWARD, STEED!”

--

Dings had the same idea, hitting the ground already on his feet and scrambling to get his brother onto his shoulders before taking off running towards them. He wasn’t fast, and carrying his brother wasn’t nothing, but he was used to fighting in a full suit of armor.

And their father was known for being slow. “Cheaters! Cheaters!!” He yelled, quickly catching up to their parents.

--

Rage had another idea that involved a blaster, but it would have to wait, since his brother wasn’t in full armor. Instead, he just clung on tight, pressing himself down and trying to cause as little wind resistance as possible.

He made faces at them as they caught up.

[nubuneso-blog]

​Excerpt: "A Fine Romance" by Candice Bergen

The following is an excerpt from the new memoir by Emmy Award-winning actress Candice Bergen, whose first book was the 1984 memoir, "Knock Wood," about growing up the daughter of ventriloquist Edgar Bergen. In "A Fine Romance," published by CBS' Simon & Schuster, Bergen writes about the romances of her life, the most precious of which is the one she shares with her daughter, Chloe Malle, born when Bergen was 39. In the excerpt below Bergen writes about the birth, which perhaps set a record for epidurals: It was midway through October 1985, as I waddled in a huge plaid tent dress through the ground floor of Bergdorf 's. I'd put on almost fifty pounds since becoming pregnant. A woman kept peering at me, looking away, looking back. Finally she approached. "You know, you have Candice Bergen's face." "But not her body," I said.

Simon & Schuster Old friends saw me lurching along the street and burst out laughing. I scowled back. Would this baby be born in a hospital or at SeaWorld? The due date was the second half of October. I'd been hoping she'd arrive on Halloween, which was the day after my husband Louis Malle's birthday. As the date grew closer, then passed, I went in for a checkup. Whoever was in there, she was hyperactive, that much was sure. She somersaulted and flipped around. Then she landed wrong. Her feet were tangled in the umbilical cord and she was upside down and feet first. There was a high risk of her cutting off the supply of oxygen and nutrients. A risk of brain damage. My obstetrician, the ironically named Dr. Cherry, was an affable, easygoing guy, but he grew concerned after the recent sonogram. "We need to think about scheduling a Cesarean," he told me. Meanwhile, I was to go home and stay in bed with my feet up. No activity. That would be interesting, as Louis and I lived in a two-story loft and were having people for dinner that night. That was the beginning of the real bonding. Until that point, I'd kept a bit of distance, thinking of the baby as a kind of invader in my comfortable routines. I'd dragged my feet about preparing her room. No longer. It was ready, wallpapered in tiny pink rosebuds. I'd bought a white rocker and a white crib with pink ticking on the mattress and bumpers and found a pink Kit-Cat clock whose eyes and tail moved rhythmically back and forth. Now the Alien was in jeopardy. I could not lose her. Louis and I had been invited to a state dinner at the White House in honor of Prince Charles and Princess Diana. It was the big wingding of the fall, and the royal couple was causing quite the stir. It was possible we could make it if the baby was prompt. The dinner was November 6. I figured we could take the train with the newborn and a baby nurse and stay in D.C. for a night. I would look like a blimp, but we could attend. As the date inched closer and there was no sign of a baby, I called Nancy Reagan, who has been a family friend all my life, and apologized for the delayed response. "Mrs. Reagan, she's not moving," I told her. She couldn't have been sweeter. "Well, they'd love you to be there, Candy. Let us know when you can. Of course we understand." What I didn't understand was where this baby was. What was keeping her? At almost two and a half weeks past the due date, Dr. Cherry told me he'd decided to extract the baby by Caesarean in three days; he was afraid she might have "exhausted prepartal nutrients." Apparently my amniotic fluid was drying up. She was running out of snacks. The Kit-Cat clock was ticking. I was not in the market for abdominal surgery. I wanted to have this baby naturally. More or less. I did the few primitive things that were suggested to induce labor. Three of my closest girlfriends took me out to dinner and I ate the spiciest things on the menu, hoping to bring on contractions. Sweat streamed down my tiny head and pooled under my newly enlarged breasts. Nothing. I heaved my 180 pounds sixteen floors up to my apartment to see if that would get her moving. Zilch. Louis was giving me a wide berth; I was getting testy. Louis and I went to Mount Sinai Hospital the next day, November 8, 1985. The surgery was scheduled for 3:00 p.m. We were shown to a pre-op room and I undressed and got into a gown. They gave me oxytocin as a last gasp to start contractions. No dice. The baby was dug in. Dr. Cherry came in with the anesthesiologist and introduced him. He had clammy hands and a mustache that screamed "Shave me!" This was not a guy who seemed cool under pressure. He recognized me and appeared nervous. This was the guy who was going to give me the 52 Burrito dates dreaded epidural? Women had been warning me about this shot, which is given in the base of the spine and is generally successful at blocking pain, except when it results in paralysis. The anesthesiologist told me to curl http://russian-dating.com/ into the fetal position, which I did, but I was babbling incessantly, compulsively. I am not a good patient. The anesthesiologist also seemed stressed. He mentioned a movie I was in. I was freezing and shivering and the needle looked like a harpoon. Finally, he managed to give me the epidural, and I was wheeled down the battleship gray hall into the operating room. Louis walked beside me in his gown. The nurses erected a discreet sheet to screen any activity below the waist. Louis sat by my head. They started to swab me but I could feel it, and then I really panicked. The upside of the epidural was, I wasn't paralyzed. The downside was, I wasn't numb. Hey, guys, I'm not numb! I CAN FEEL EVERYTHING! This was a definite crick in the procedure. "Give her a shot of Valium and administer another spinal," someone said. I resumed the fetal position. The anesthesiologist came at me with another harpoon. I wondered, Is this really the best guy you got here?!? Things got blurry; then I got a third epidural. Enough medication for a rhino, which in a sense I had become. I was groggy beyond belief, but I could still feel a prickling in my legs. I might have heard the word paresthesia. Was I going to feel it when the surgeon cut through my abdomen? Because I would not be okay with that. I was stoned and ranting and raging. http://www.cbsnews.com/news/excerpt-a-fine-romance-by-candice-bergen/