#even though i knew near certainly i would like ten and also the nine-ten transition wasn't too harsh

[aq2003]

Have you seen anything about the 11th doctor yet? I mean clips and such if not actual eps

Thoughts?

i know virtually nothing about this guy besides the fact he's played by the guy from morbius and that he is so audhd coded it's unreal and that he met ten one time (?????) . i think he is funny however i have put myself in doctor who timeout until november so i will probably just be nine and ten (and fourteenposting) until then

[mrsrcbinscn]

Baby Hour || March 3, 2021

Takes place March 2-3, but it’s been done for over three weeks and I’m posting it early just so it can be here

feat. @laszlowrobinson​ and old Petunia and Cornelius

cw: childbirth, not super graphic but like, discusses what you’d expect

-

March 2nd, 2021

5:03 PM

FRANNY:

 One thing nobody tells you about being pregnant is how difficult it got towards the end solely on account of your own head. Franny could deal with the discomfort and having to pee nine times an hour, because ultimately, that was nothing compared to the waiting. Franny was counting down the days until her March 11th due date and it had long since stopped being a fun, cutesy thing to post on Instagram. 

 Now she was just mad. She wanted to hold her baby already!

 Sovanna had been considered full term for like a week! It’s been safe for her to come out so why not hurry up and be born, huh? 

 Franny sat at the breakfast nook, sipping at some orange juice, and running a hand over her belly. God, she couldn’t see over this thing almost. She couldn’t wait to feel sexy again and not like Saturn. Still, she couldn’t say she was exactly miserable. Even at her advanced maternal age (hey, only forty-one!) her pregnancy had gone well and both she and Sovanna were in excellent health. Beyond excellent, even! Dr. Leonard even said that despite the initial concern for a c-section being required due to her lopsided uterus, Sovanna was positioned right where she needed to be for a vaginal delivery to be possible. 

 She’d done it— almost. After twenty years of trying and being heartbroken when her body refused to begin to or continue to create life, her second child was coming. Soon, she’d get to cuddle her little girl to her chest and let her suckle at her breast and she would get to watch her second little baby grow. 

 How lucky she was to get that privilege again so long after Wilbur had been small. 

 “Cornelius, will you tell her to hurry up?” Franny whined. “Maybe she’ll listen to you. She’s being stubborn and not just being born already.”

 CORNELIUS:

Cornelius had taken a few months off. A few months being, the first half of this whole year. It had come sudden to those he worked with, but the transition itself had been smooth thanks to his team. Honestly, a lot smoother than his anxiety filled brain had thought it would have gone. But he was pleased. And they kept him updated if there was an emergency of sorts that might need him.

 Thankfully, there had been none.

 He’d been using the time to continue to prepare for the baby, but to address his lackluster job as a partner and father. He was trying to spend more time with just him and Franny before they had a crying baby on their hand, but also with trying to reconnect with Wilbur. 

 Honestly, it was nice to take time off. Really, take that time. He didn’t realize how much he needed it.

 Infact, he was catching up on some reading he’d put off for years now when Franny spoke. He looked up, and smiled fondly. “I’m sure I can’t exactly make the call on that,” He laughed. “But - alright. Sovanna, don’t you want to join us already? Your mom is getting impatient.”

 FRANNY:

 When Franny didn’t immediately feel any sharp pains in her sides, she took that as a resounding no from the little one. 

 She chuckled and smiled down at where miss stubborn was hiding and shook her head. “That’ll be two middle fingers up from her, Dad.”

 With a sigh, Franny stood from her chair and reached up to tug her hair out of its ponytail. She’d taken a shower this morning, but even in March she felt burning hot at all times, and sweat enough to need at least two showers a day. Today, probably three.

 “I’m going to hop in the shower. Then I’ll figure out what to do for dinner.”

 Franny winced as right as she was finishing up her shower the now familiar ache in her lower back began to bother her. Sovanna must be beating up her sciatic nerve again, she thought. Pregnancy was much more painful that she’d ever anticipated. The discomfort was a known fact, the ouch was just a mean surprise nobody prepared you for. 

 As she dried off best she could with her nine months pregnant limited range, her sciatic nerve made sure to send occasional reminders that there was a baby in there making it very unhappy. Jesus, what can she do about it, huh? Not like she can command Sovanna to be born. Childbirth wasn’t like crying-- nobody can do it on cue.

 5:45 PM

 “I don’t know what to do for dinner. I’m not hungry at all.” She complained, flicking up the kitchen faucet’s handle and sticking a finger under the flow of water to wait for it to warm up. “Maybe I’ll do something with the butternut squash we’ve got. That requires effort.”

 Franny’s back, feet, and every other bit of her was telling her to sit down, relax, don’t bother with dinner.

 She made to turn back to Cornelius after washing her hands to start cooking when the dull pain in her sciatic nerve spread to her sides...and as she winced and gripped the countertop, she thought maybe it wasn’t her sciatic nerve at all. Franny’s eyes met his and she just muttered, “Back pain.”

 Probably, right? She wasn’t due for another week. Wouldn’t it hurt worse if it was actually time? And shouldn’t her water break?

 They probably still had a few days to go.

 CORNELIUS:

Cornelius was focused on his book, highlighting a couple of lines that stuck out to him. Maybe Wilbur would enjoy this, he thought to himself. They could go back to discussing robotics more like when he was younger. He’d like that a lot…

 A smile came to his face as he played back the memory of him and Wilbur in the lab, trying to keep up with his son's questions. He wondered for a moment if Sovanna would have any interest in science. He glanced up after another stroke of his highlighter with a hum. “You know, you don’t have to worry about dinner. The twins are offering to make…”

 He didn’t finish though. He trailed off as the words died on his tongue and his brows raised curiously at Franny. Back pain was usual, he learned, with pregnancy. In fact, a lot of pain was usual. But how she was now gripping the countertop and looking at him...the way her brows furrowed together…

 Something was nagging him in the back of his mind, but everything he’d read or seen talked about water breaking and - and wouldn’t you know if it was time to have a baby? He was a man, after all, so he wouldn’t know that feeling. But he assumed a woman would know - right?

 “...are you sure, dear? Maybe you should sit down.”

 FRANNY:

 Franny exhaled heavily and nodded, resting a hand over her belly. Yeah, sit. That was probably for the best. She really didn’t need to be super wife right now, not when she was bound to birth a baby any day now.

 “I’m fine. I think, anyway.” She smiled, though it wasn’t quite convincing. “I’m going to try and get comfortable on the couch, I’ll shout if I need anything.”

 She pressed a kiss to Cornelius’ cheek and wandered into the living room and unplugged her phone from where it had been on the charger, only to change her mind about checking e-mails. Her brain was taking maternity leave early, thanks.

 After a good twenty minutes of trying to get in a comfortable position, Franny threw her hands up and accepted her lot in life as an uncomfortable pregnant lady. And for a minute or so, that was fine. Until once again the pain she’d felt in the shower and in the kitchen struck again.

 “Fuck,” she hissed, clutching her side. “Ow.”

 PETUNIA: 

 Petunia had been doing her best to be a mediator in the house as of late, a funny idea if you asked her. What with Wilbur going through so much at school and needing a shoulder to rest his weary head upon and both Franny and Cornelius definitely needing someone to talk to about pregnancy and childbirth, she found that it was.. kind of nice to be needed this way. She certainly couldn’t complain.

 Petunia had been watching a stupid house renovation show just to have some noise on in the background while she texted Seamus about what he and the boys were up to for the weekend. She thought it was rather amusing, watching him run around with those youngsters. Lachlann certainly helped both sides with how charmingly youthful he seemed.

 She’d greeted Franny with a small smile when the woman had first sat down but, now, after twenty minutes of her niece-in-law’s fussing, Petunia was rather curious as to what the young woman was doing. Certainly, pregnancy had been uncomfortable once she’d grown about as large as Franny was but it didn’t usually--

 Oh.

 “Franny, dear, how frequently are your twinges acting up?” Petunia asked, attempting for nonchalance. “Have you been keeping track?”

 FRANNY:

 “Jesus, Petunia!”

 Franny damn near jumped -- see, a part of Franny’s brain registered Petunia’s presence ages ago. A part of her brain waved in greeting before she sat down. Most of her brain already forgot.

 “Uh, what?” Franny thought about it for a moment as she nervously played with her hair and frowned at her split ends. Christ, she needed to get Petunia to fix that Yesterday. “I don’t know.”

 There was the shower, after the shower, in the kitchen, and now...about an hour and fifteen minutes had elapsed from the first one until now. (Granted, Franny can’t do math so she was just guessing.)

 “A few times an hour, maybe?”

 PETUNIA:

 Petunia smiled gently when Franny jumped, attempting at not laughing. She knew she tended to sneak up upon people at times. It was a big house and people expected not to run into people not too terribly often despite the number of people living there.

 She mulled over the information, recalling how often she had been encouraged to wait before heading to the hospital. She’d been told about five to ten minutes between each contraction. If it was a few times an hour Franny probably still had more time, should her hunch be correct.

 Of course, these could always be Braxton Hicks contractions but better to go in than pretend they weren’t happening.

 “Well, dear, we need to start timing them. They’re going to need to know at the hospital, after all.”

 FRANNY:

 Timing them, why? Franny almost asked.

 Instead she said, “At the hospital? Why would I need-- oh. Oh. Wait, you don’t think…? Do you?”

 Her water hadn’t even broken, isn’t that like, sign number one you’re in labor? Then again, didn’t some women say the doctor had to handle that at the hospital? This was too stressful, why can’t the baby just manifest into her arms like Christians teach their kids babies do.

 “Should we tell Cornelius now or wait? He’ll want to go to the hospital right away, I think he’s more worried about me than I am.”

 PETUNIA: 

 Watching Franny’s realization was, well, funny. Petunia certainly hadn’t watched that many ladies go into labor since she had well passed her own carrying age. When her friends back in L.A. or New Zealand had done so everyone had been freaking out and screeching and making a huge deal of it... only to be sent home because they had gone in much too early and the moment had been ruined time and time again.

 She would try not to do that to Franny.

 “It’s entirely possible, darling. A week or two early is rather common, after all, and if they’re coming as frequently as you claim then.. I imagine you’ll be seeing little Sovanna rather soon.” Petunia shrugged. As excited as she was to meet the little one, she knew that she had to be the calm one since, well, she didn’t imagine Cornelius was about to be.

 “I would say we need to start the timer now and, if it’s in ten minutes, we’ll go grab Cornelius. I don’t want to cause any unnecessary trips or any unnecessary fussing. Believe me, the trip home because you’re not far enough along is rather irritating.” She’d been so disappointed when that had happened with Laszlo.

 FRANNY:

 “You think? It might be baby day? Oh, I hope so. I’d hate for Cornelius to spend his birthday at the hospital tomorrow.” Though, if it was spent at the hospital waiting for Sovanna, maybe he’d forget it was his forty-fourth birthday at all.

 God, she hoped they got to meet Sovanna soon. She’d been pregnant long enough! Now she just wanted to hold her baby and feel her warmth in her arms. It’s been baby o’clock!

 “I just want to cuddle her to my chest already, it’s been long enough. Too long, if you count how long we’ve wanted her.” All the pain she put herself - and her husband - though over the years, finally, was paying off with their second child coming.

 She waited, tapping her foot with nerves the entire time, as they waited for the next twinge of pain. Ten minutes came and went -- but not fifteen. Twelve minutes after Petunia set her phone timer, Franny inhaled sharply and nodded as if to say ‘there it is!’ 

 PETUNIA:

 “Darling, I think Sovanna’s decided it’s time and she’s trying to steal daddy’s spotlight for birthday excitement,” Petunia teased. Certainly sounded like a Robinson with that go-getter look-at-me spark. They weren’t exactly a subtle crew, Cornelius being the most subtle of them all and still managing to be the center of attention.

 Petunia squeezed Franny’s arm as they waited, her eyes flickering back and forth from the timer to the pregnant woman before her. Ten minutes passed and Petunia nodded solemnly. So not quite the time, yet. Once they hit twelve and the surge began again Petunia stopped the timer and stood up.

 “Alright, you tell me when it stops so I can start again. You’re doin’ great, sugar.” She knew it wasn’t easy to wait, Petunia’s patience had always been thin even before the curse. “I think little Sovanna’s gettin’ ready to meet you.”

 FRANNY:

 “Am I? I feel like I’m --- I should be losing my mind right? Why am I so calm I mean, I’m shaking a little, my hands. But other than that.” Was she somehow not taking this seriously enough?

 Should she be shouting and demanding to go to the hospital?

 No, reasoned the logical side of her brain. Petunia had two babies, she’d kick you out the front door herself if she thought it was time to get doctors involved.

 “...okay, it stopped.” Franny said through partially grit teeth.

LASZLO: 

Being the irresponsible person that he was, Laszlo had come home from school and promptly crashed on his bed for a nap. Because at any given opportunity to sleep, he was going to ensure to take it. 

 When he woke up, with blurry eyes and wrinkled clothes, he shuffled down stairs. His first stop had been the kitchen to grab a glass of water, chug it, and then refill it before ambling off to figure out where everyone else was. 

 This didn’t take too long. But in a house with this many people living in it (even if the place was huge) it never did. Unless they were all trying not to be found for one reason or another.

He sat down with Franny and his mum— oblivious to whatever it was they were doing. His attention was what was on the television, watching as some person with good teeth was talking to the camera about...what? Cabinets?

 “Which one is this?” he asked, gesturing to the screen with his glass full of water that lapped worryingly at the sides. 

 PETUNIA:

 “Truthfully, Franny, it’s not all that exciting until you are actually at the hospital. This part, the less frequent surges --because people call them surges now to sound more positive-- is the boring part. You’re also probably in shock.” Petunia patted her shoulder, glancing over at her son that had joined them. He seemed.. out of it, seemed as though he were a little sleepy.

 Petunia set the timer again at Franny’s announcement, setting the phone back onto the table with an encouraging smile. “You’re doing great, sweetheart. It’s almost time.” She knew that it was scary, her proof that she could point to was just beside her as she spoke.

 She reached out to touch his hair gently, just as she had done so frequently as he’d grown up. “You need a haircut again,” she mused. “It’s a house flipper or something,” she answered his question with a roll of her eyes. “Surprised you’re not more excited about Franny right now, love, or is this a brave face?” The question was posed with a quirk of her brow.

Must’ve been a long day.

 FRANNY:

 “Oh, well it's hardly exciting at this point. They could just be a false alarm too-- my water hasn’t even broken yet.” 

 Franny had a habit, or, a talent perhaps, of saying things right before they ultimately did happen. ‘At least it’s not a tornado warning’ Franny said when a tornado watch flashed across the TV screen in high school; only for sirens to go off minutes later and her whole family huddled in a bathroom. ‘At least Wilbur didn’t catch the flu’ she said more than once, after she, Cornelius, and his parents all battled the seasonal flu, only hours before Wilbur finally showed symptoms.

 ‘My water hasn’t broken yet’ Franny said, right before she got the feeling that she’d just peed herself right on the couch. She blinked, gasped ‘oh’ and looked up at Petunia.

 “I...either I peed my pants, or...I spoke too soon.”

 LASZLO: 

Laszlo hummed, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to understand why everyone was so up in arms over a certain type of granite that was out of stock. This same confused expression held at his mum’s odd question. Brave face? Why would need to have a brave face? 

 It was a Tuesday evening. There didn’t seem to be anything special about that. 

 But before he could ask what it was she meant, Franny spoke, making Laszlo choke on the sip of water he’d just taken. He sputtered, sitting up to try catching what liquid his coughing fit was trying to expel. 

 “I’m sorry, but what?” His head went back and forth between his mum and Franny, as if they were in the middle of a tennis match, before stopping to stare straight ahead. “Which one of you wants to try to explain what I’ve just walked in on? Because I’m assuming it’s not to do with redecorating!” 

PETUNIA:

 Ah, Franny had jinxed herself and Petunia, who was sharing the space on the couch grimaced as the world decided to choose irony for them. She scooted half a spot away and tried to assess the situation. So the surges were about twelve minutes apart and now her water had broken. She hummed as she mulled over the information. The question was whether or not she was going to be rushing this.

 As Petunia opened her mouth to respond --though what that response would be she did not know-- Laszlo finally seemed to grasp what was going on around him for half a moment. She couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled from her lips at her son’s antics. She didn’t mean to laugh at him, didn’t mean to embarrass her sweet baby like that, but he certainly had been slow on the upkeep.

 “Franny’s in labor, Laszie,” Petunia explained gently. “Her water’s broken, we’re recording the time between surges, it seems little Sovanna’s on her way.” She sighed, turning her attention back to the woman in question. “Deep breaths, darling, and I know a lovely shop in NTO that’ll be able to clean the couch.”

 FRANNY:

 Right, so Franny was going to ask Petunia to go and grab Cornelius soon anyway. It’s not like she was going to exclude her husband from his part for much longer, she just knew how much he worried over her, and loved her, and cared about her. He would have wanted to go to the hospital right away and like Petunia said, they could always tell you to just go home if you weren’t far enough along.

 And Franny was much too pregnant and far too uncomfortable to climb in and out of a car multiple times today, thanks.

 But then her water broke on their relatively new couch (less than two years old meant new) and Laszlo was there and if Laszlo was up to speed, Cornelius should be too. 

 “Um, Lasz? Can you...grab my husband? He’s reading a book at the breakfast nook.”

 LASZLO

For a few moments all Laszlo’s mind consisted of was a flurry of rapid: ohmygodohmygodohmygod— then it settled and focused in on the fact that the baby was coming!

 Which alerted the part of his brain that said people need you to not be a clown right now, pack up the court jester bells for tonight. Jokes would only be used when necessary from this moment forward! ...probably! 

 “Right! Yeah! I can—“ He stood, circling around in one spot like a dog as he tried to work out what to do first. Walk? Set down water? Say?? Words? Laszlo put the glass of water down, giving it a loving tap that told it he would be back for it sometime in the future before taking off to go get Cornelius. 

 Then he stopped, turned right around, and made his way around the back of the couch so he could grab Franny’s head and place a kiss on the crown. “Thank god she’s early, I dunno how much longer I could have held out.” 

He went to leave again, giving his mum two thumbs up before disappearing in the right direction this go around. 

 Moments later he slid on the tile, catching himself with both hands on the table by Cornelius. He plucked the book from his cousin’s hands, tucking it under his arm. “Good news! Franny’s in labor! Bad news! Well—Franny’s in labor. So come on, let’s go, up and at ‘em! You get your wife and I’ll get everything else.” 

 CORNELIUS: 

Cornelius had actually just finished his book. It had been a good read. He was glad he hadn’t forgotten about it after all these years when he added it to his reading list. A list he had assumed he wouldn’t touch until retirement. But now, he had time. He had a lot of time. So much so, he almost didn’t know what to do with it.

 Little did he know that maybe the rest of that list would have to wait for retirement.

 And when he was contemplating what to do next, which was maybe head to the lab, Laszlo literally slid in, giving Cornelius a start as he snatched the book from him. “I - what?” He started, the words storming his mind like knights storming a castle.

 And then, they broke in. And then - it clicked!

 “Shit! Franny!” He said, jumping up, knocking over his cold coffee in the nook without noticing and moving towards the door - then running back in to lean in the doorway. “Where is she?” He asked frantically, his eyes searching his cousin as if the answer was written on him. “And where - where’s Carl?”

 “Here! Laszlo and I will get the baby bag as I call the doctor!” The noodly, yellow robot said as he seemed to appear from the other end of the kitchen, wearing an apron with cleaning supplies stuffed in the pockets. “I’ll tell Wilbur too!”

 FRANNY:

 “I knew that’d be the reaction,” Franny said, chuckling as she looked over at Petunia. “Oh, Wilbur won’t want to know he’s- well, I suppose you should. I’m fine! Uh, I mean, it’s really not that ba--aaaad, okay, I lied.”

 As another contraction hit, this time it was properly painful, Franny clutched the arm of the couch with one hand and tried to make herself stand up to make for the car. She was not going to pull a Seth Myers’ wife and accidentally have this baby at home, nope. Franny gripped Petunia and Cornelius’ arms to steady herself to make it to the car.

 “Uh, Petunia. I think it's best you drive. These two are losing it and I’m in labor so that leaves you.”

CORNELIUS:

“I’m not - I’m not losing it,” Cornelius sputtered. But that was wrong. He was. He was unraveling, unsure what to do despite having read up and prepared for this moment for some time now. All that mental training and preparation had gone out the window. “...but yes. Petunia. You drive.”

 And she did. There was no time to call anyone else to do it, and she was the most level headed person here. So they piled into the car, Cornelius doing the only thing that could keep him calm and counting between Franny’s contractions. Her face twisting in pain every time definitely made his heart leap into his throat, unsure what to do.

 Except counting. Even now, numbers were his friend.

 The trip to the hospital of course was short and they quickly got Franny admitted, Cornelius following along wherever the doctors wheelchaired his wife too.

FRANNY:

10:15 PM

 “Four hours. Four hours we’ve been here and the doctor is telling me I’m only four centimeters?” Franny hissed as she paced the room. “Ouch!”

 No, she wasn’t bitching about a contraction, although, that wouldn’t be far behind probably. That yelp was because she was gesturing far too wildly and she smacked her hand right into the cabinet where her personal items were kept.

 “That’s not even halfway.” She whined, and was about to keep bitching until another contraction hit, making her gasp in pain and lean against the wall. “Fuck,” she grit her teeth and dug her nails into the palms of her hands, as if that could possibly trick her brain into focusing on that pinprick pain than the pain of labor.

 Cornelius asked her once an hour so far if he needed to call the nurse for an epidural.

 If my mother could have me at home without one, I can do it without one, she’d said the first time.

 Slowly that confidence was waning. 

 CORNELIUS:

Cornelius jumped up - he’d been rather jumpy since they’d gotten to the hospital - and rushed to her side to check her hand. “Please, be careful, dear…” He said, flipping her hand over before looking at her. “Why don’t you sit?”

 Then she made that all too familiar face. It was the one she’d made with each new contraction, bracing herself against the pain, but it was always unexpected. It made him pull his own concerned face, looking to her stomach. Then back to her eyes.

 By the second hour, he’d learned to stop asking if she wanted a nurse. He knew she’d be very vocal when she wanted one.

 “Come on, sit,” He encouraged, trying to usher her back to the bed. “You may as well get comfortable. I don’t know how long we’re going to be here…” 

LASZLO 

With the news all settled into everyone’s heads and the baby bag with the parents of said baby that said bag was prepped for, Laszlo knew he had nothing more to do. Which was awful. He was so terrible with waiting. Usually he would pass those times by simply sleeping it away. This was different though, since his excitement and worry made him all jittery. He couldn’t even sit still in the waiting room. 

 And even though everyone had said it would probably be for the best that he just wait it out at home, come when t he knew he would just be doing the same thing there. At least at the hospital there was some sense of comfort at being in the same building. He’d walked the halls (that he was allowed into) a few dozen times, had spoken with several other people waiting for news or an appointment, and gone through at least 100 levels of Unblock Me on his phone. 

 At the next hour mark he popped up from his seat and slipped passed to go find Cornelius and Franny’s room. He gave the door a little knock before opening it wide enough to stick his head and arm through to wave. 

 “Hi. Sorry to bother, but um— well can I get either of you anything?” Laszlo looked back and forth from his cousin to Franny and back again. “Anything at all? Even if they’ve already forbidden it? Maybe especially so, then it might give me more of something to do than wear holes in their floors.” 

 FRANNY: 

 Franny reluctantly agreed to sit down, biting back a comment about how there was no such thing as comfortable right now. 

 Another thirty minutes passed, her general discomfort periodically interrupted by contractions and Franny would grip the bed or Cornelius’ hand and hiss. 

 Laszlo poked his head in right in the middle of one and Franny just snapped, “Drugs! One of you get me the goddamn drugs or I swear to god Cornelius, I am never having sex with you again!”

 She grit her teeth as the pain began to subside — for now. 

CORNELIUS:

Cornelius looked to Laszlo when his head popped in, ready to ask for maybe a coffee from downstairs to keep his younger cousin busy, when the grip on his hand grew vicious. He jumped, and looked to his enraged wife, eyes widening. His head then turned back to Laszlo.

 “Uh, yes - I’ll go get the doctor, dear,” He said, quickly standing up and walking to the door, looking back to her then Laszlo before shoving him lightly towards her. “Here, take a seat with her for a moment, I’ll be right back!”

 And then he made a mad dash around the halls to find their doctor.

March 3rd, 2021

2:40 AM

FRANNY:

 “Eight and a half centimeters.” Dr. Brenneman had said when he checked thirty minutes ago, and Franny breathed a sigh of relief that there was only a centimeter and a half to go until it would only be a matter of minutes until she got to hold Sovanna.

 He sent the nurse who’d accompanied him to tell the rest of the delivery nursing staff — and the two medical school students Franny had agreed to observe her labor and delivery — to come back in the room. With Cornelius holding her hand and Laszlo and her brothers huddled together against the window, offering moral support from a safe distance, it all felt realer than ever had before. 

 Franny laughed and, courtesy of the pain meds, forgot all her inhibitions when she said, “You know, I should be really embarrassed that like six strangers have stared at my vagina in the last seven hours. But I don’t care!” She clapped a hand to her mouth and chuckled behind it. 

 “Ten centimeters.” Dr. Brenneman announced, unphased by Franny. “Okay, once the baby crowns you can start pushing, I’ll tell you when.”

 CORNELIUS: 

With Franny medicated now, Cornelius could stress and panic enough for the both of them. It was really happening. Sovanna was about to be here any minute and he still felt so nervous. He glanced up to the window, getting a nod and a thumbs up, before looking back at Franny.

 “It’s all medical, dear, no need to worry anyway,” He said. “Nothing really to worry about…” He said, patting the hand he held gently. Quietly wondering if it was about to have the life squeezed out of it. His heart was pounding, and when the doctor gave the update, it seemed to get louder. 

 Could anyway else hear that?

 He looked to Franny then the window then the doctor. Then once again, back to Franny. “Ready, honey?”

 FRANNY:

 Ready?

 It was such an innocent question and until Cornelius asked, she would have said yes. Yes of course she was ready. She was ready to hold her baby, and ready to not be pregnant anymore, and ready to be the mom of two awesome kids, she was ready. And she also wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready to bring her sweet little baby into a world that could be as cold as it was wonderful, she wasn’t ready to face the reality that eventually her daughter would grow up just like her son and eventually go into the world all on her own.

 Franny didn’t answer and instead lightly shook her head, about to mutter about how she wasn’t sure, but then the doctor told her it was time to push and her body somehow knew exactly what muscles to focus on and there was nothing at all on her mind except channeling her strength where she needed it.

 Dr. Brenneman coached her through a few attempts, until Franny began to cry tears of frustration.

 “I’ve been doing this forever!” She hissed, flopping back against the hospital bed. The epidural took away much of the pain but the discomfort of having part of a tiny person pokin’ outta you was still present.

 “Pushing is a one step forward and two steps back situation, Miss,” said one of the delivery nurses, a tattooed young man from Ireland named Sean. “You’re going great!”

 “It doesn’t feel like it. Cornelius-” Franny actually didn’t have anything to say after his name. She whined her husband’s name all pitiful and defeated, like she was about to beg him to do something, anything.

 As if he could. Childbirth was a wild ride.

 “Come on, we’ve got part of her head, we just need to get the shoulders and we can pull her out.” Dr. Brenneman urged. “Push!”

 Franny’s deathgrip on her husband’s hand grew ever tighter and she followed the doctor’s command. One more, one more, she told herself -- over and over. 

 “I c-- I can’t, I can’t.” Franny said at one point, but Sean pouted and clapped back, ‘yes you can! Are you a badass or not?’ “Watch it young man, I’ll kick your ass!”

 “Gotta push that baby out first.” Quipped one of her brothers -- she didn’t know which -- from their spot over by the window.

 “Fuck you, Art!” She decided it was probably Art.

 A beat.

 “One more push, come on, you can do it!” Said Dr. Brenneman.

 Franny closed her eyes, sat up at a different angle that just felt like she’d be able to focus on those muscles better, and after that she didn’t remember anything else until she fell back hard against the pillows and a froggy cry broke through the excitement of the room.

 “I’ve got her!” Exclaimed Sean the Irish nurse.

 CORNELIUS: 

Cornelius almost toppled over from Franny’s grip on his hand. When had she gotten so strong? And would he be able to use this hand after this? Both of those questions would have to wait for later though, because right now he had to focus on his wife, trying to soothe her and encourage her to keep going.

 “Almost there...almost t-there!” He said, his voice rising on the last word from another strong squeeze from her grip.

 It felt like forever, but when he heard the cry, the scream, he sighed in relief before his heart soared. That was her. Sovanna. And she had a pair of strong lungs on her it feels like. He moved closer, wanting to get a look at his little girl as the umbilical cord was snapped. And then she was handed off to Franny - still a mess, but there.

 She was there, after all this time.

 Something in his heart squeezed. He looked up to the window, then back to Franny. Then to his daughter, realizing just now that he was crying. “Hi...honey. Hi, Sovanna…” He said, his voice hoarse from tears as he leaned over them. 

 FRANNY:

 Sovanna was placed in her arms and Franny felt the warmth of the little human that had been tap dancing on her bladder for the last nine months. Her crying quieted a little, to softer, small sounds of ‘what the hell, did I just do a getting born?’ and she wiggled as if to try and get closer to her mother. 

 A sob caught in Franny’s throat as she cradled her daughter to her chest and gazed down at her, still a mess because she’d only just come out of her. That’s her! The little human Franny had been growing inside of her for most of 2020, here she was. Now Cornelius could experience everything that she got to and it wasn’t from the outside as her partner anymore. 

 Franny turned to kiss Cornelius’s cheek before she kept staring at Sovanna. “She’s so little, I — are these even hands? Look how small these fingers are. That’s such a cliche thing to say, toes and fingers...but look! Cornelius, she’s here.”

 By the time she finished, she was crying too. 

 Messy as Sovanna still was, she couldn’t help but kiss a spot on her head that looked pretty clean even before Sean the nurse had time to move in with a towel to dry the baby. 

 “She’s breathing just fine,” Sean explained. “So we don’t have to take her to assess her, she can stay right here. Do you plan to breastfeed?”

 “Uh, yes?” Franny only sounded uncertain because she was still wrapped her head around the whole Sovanna was just born thing. 

 “Have you before?”

 “Our son is adopted, no.”

 Sean suggested Franny open her hospital gown so he could explain to her how to get Sovanna to latch once she got hungry and reminded her to just call for a nurse if she was having trouble. 

 “She’ll wiggle her head from side to side probably when she’s hungry. That means she’s looking for where the food is. Watch out for that, and that’s all you need to hear from me.”

 Someone promote that young man, Franny thought. 

 After the medical staff cleared the room and Gaston gestured for Art and Laszlo to follow him out to give them a minute, Franny did as nurse Sean suggested and laid down to just let Sovanna lie on her stomach with her gown open for skin-to-skin bonding time. 

 Eventually, Sovanna did start to wiggle about and inchworm her way to Franny’s breast for a snack. 

 “Oh, sweetheart, I was just about to tell your father to hold you,” Franny said, chuckling as she helped her latch on. “Fine, but don’t make him wait too much longer. Daddy loves you very much and is anxious to hold you and kiss you.”

 As Sovanna snacked, Franny finally began to feel tired and also process what just happened. 

 “I just had a baby,” she laughed, pointing down at Sovanna. “We made and my body grew a whole baby, and she’s right here. God, birthing a baby is exhausting, zero out of ten stars. And— oh! Cornelius, it’s your birthday! It’s March 3rd. Oh, she was born on your birthday! Hear that Sovanna? You’re Daddy’s birthday present this year.”

 Sovanna must not have been very hungry because after a short while she decided she was full and went back to quietly lying on her mother’s chest, just staring wide-eyed at nothing. 

 “You wanna say hi to Daddy? He’s been very patient. You’re gonna like him, he’s the best and your mommy loves him soooo much.” Franny tapped Cornelius’s hand and whispered, “I think you’re good to hold her now.”

 She waited for Cornelius to take her and ran her other hand over the light wisps of hair Sovanna had been born with and chuckled when she realized they were curly. “Aw, I think she’s going to have your messy curls. Look.”

 CORNELIUS: 

Franny just had a baby. 

 And was somehow still forming full sentences like it was nothing. Along with jokes. Somehow, she was still surprising him to this day.

 But nothing could surprise him more than actually seeing his own child in her arms. Wrapped up and resting quietly. Very different from the bloody, crying image she’d first been when brought into the world. Then again, he supposed they all looked like that in the beginning.

 That was not the point though, Cornelius.

 Franny held her out to him. He took her into his arms. His daughter. It felt like when he first held Wilbur. Tears and all running down his cheeks as he stared into her little, peaceful face. He saw mostly Franny, but the curls were definitely his.

 “Sorry, Sovanna...I know those are going to be annoying…” He sniffled out, barely able to keep it together.

 FRANNY:

 Franny was not a sympathetic crier, not usually, but A. she just had a baby, and B. Cornelius rarely cried, but when he did, Franny did under the most normal circumstances, let alone right after giving birth to their second child. Her eyes watered as she watched her husband meet their daughter. Just like when they first got to hold Wilbur she thought, he’s going to love her so much.

 As if he didn’t already. Sovanna already had that man wrapped around her tiny, tiny finger. He was doomed.

 “I could just stare at you two forever.” Franny muttered with a tired chuckle. “You’re head over heels for all 46 centimeters and 3.2 kilograms of her.”

 She tried to sit up but winced as she felt just enough pain to tell her to not even try. She had, she reasoned, just given birth and did deserve to just lay down. 

 “I can’t wait until we can take her home and I can hangout with both my babies at once.”

 Because yes, even while experiencing this big emotional Sovanna-centric moment, she was also thinking about her son and how much she loved him and loved being his mother. Franny was starting to worry she might realize his fears of loving Sovanna differently since he insisted that it would be so. Now that they were holding their little girl, however, Franny could say with confidence that holding newborn Sovanna felt just like meeting Wilbur. The only difference was how they came to be in their arms. 

 “Happy 44th birthday darling, enjoy an entire baby.” Franny joked, barely stifling a yawn. She pouted and whined, “I wanna stay awake and admire my hard work, but I’m so tired. How’re you awake, little lady? Ain’t bein’ born exhausting?”

 Sovanna did not understand English yet so she only responded by staring up at her father and making a couple content baby sounds. 

 “Mm, yes, that’s fair. Gazing lovingly at your daddy is my favorite hobby too. He’s very easy to look at.” Franny winked at him — oh? We’re flirting not an hour after giving birth? Okay pain meds, go off. 

[jarienn972]

A Simple Spell - Chapter Eleven

A Captain Swan Supernatural Summer Tale

I managed to finish up this latest chapter of my @cssns​ story before the insanity of the holiday starts and it picks up right where the last chapter left off with Emma and David heading out to search for the missing Killian Jones. My original plan had this as part of Chapter 10, but I decided to expand it and make it a stand-alone chapter. Emma's anxious to locate Killian but there’s going to be a surprising clue along the way that may provide a link to the past.

Many thanks again to @cocohook38​ for the amazing artwork above and to @lassluna​ for all of her beta reading assistance along the way

Read from the beginning on Tumblr: One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten      Also on  AO3 and FF.net

In her short residence here in Storybrooke, Emma had only been this far down Highway 3 once - when she had been in pursuit of an intoxicated driver who struck a pedestrian in front of the church. She knew it was a narrow, two-lane road that meandered through the farmland on the outskirts of town before asphalt transitioned to gravel approximately three miles beyond Anton's farm. She was also well aware of the rumor that a fae community existed out here amongst the trees, but Emma was convinced that story was pure fiction. Even in this magical town, sometimes it as hard to draw a line between reality and fantasy.

Halfway into their drive out to the rendezvous point, Emma's phone rang with the return call from Belle. David asked if Emma would utilize the speakerphone so that he could hear the librarian's response as well.

"Good morning, Belle," Emma answered, immediately pressing the speaker button. "Thank you so much for returning my call so quickly."

"Of course, Emma. I would have called sooner but it took me a bit to find all of the information that you asked for," Belle replied.

"No problem," David assured her. "You're right on time. We're just about to meet with the search party, but since we're going to run out of cell service soon, what were you able to find?"

"Well, there are three registered properties with structures listed in the town records. There are a couple of other parcels of land with registered owners, but since they didn't have any dwellings or other structures registered, I focused on the ones that did," Belle explained over the growing static. "I emailed you and Emma the list with what details I could locate."

"Perfect. Any idea what sort of structures we're talking about?" David asked.

"They're listed as dwellings so my guess would be cabins or small houses. All were listed as being less than 1000 square feet," Belle told him.

"That's a huge help, Belle. I'll have Emma take a look at the email since I'm driving."

"Please let me know if you need anything else. Oh, and Emma - I'm still researching what you asked about your mother. I'll let you know if I can find that answer anywhere," Belle promised.

"Thanks for everything, Belle," Emma replied as she disconnected the call, her service signal down to a single bar.

"See if you can get that email opened up before the signal disappears," David instructed, as if Emma hadn't already thought of that.

"Already on it," Emma stated as she pulled up her work email folder and found the message from with its attachment. Her phone display still showed that single bar as she managed to download the file before service vanished. "Got it!"

She waited until David eased the Sheriff cruiser to the side of the gravel road in front of the Gardner's farmhouse since the tiny screen was too difficult to read while bouncing around on the crumbling road surface. When she could finally take a look at it, she hesitated for a minute, instead surveying the field and the people gathered in it. David was already scrambling out of the car to coordinate with the search party and she recognized most of the faces. Regina's boyfriend, Robin and his best friend, John Sherwood were here and she also spotted Leroy and a couple of the other miners. Graham pulled up and parked behind the cruiser in his 4x4 that would aid them with off-road capabilities.

"What did Belle's email reveal?" David asked her as he poked his head back into the car wondering why his sister was still sitting in the passenger seat.

"I'll know in a second," she replied. "It was kinda hard to hold onto my phone, let alone read the screen, when you were bouncing us all over the place. Did you try to hit every pothole on the highway?"

"Yeah, it was intentional," David huffed. "Seriously though, before we set off out there," he pointed his index finger in the direction of the treeline, "I want to know what sort of buildings we could encounter and where they are in relation to our search area."

"Just as Belle said, there are three dwellings listed. No surprise that one of them is John Sherwood's cabin. The second is a dwelling of unknown dimensions listed as under construction. Sounds like a potentially good place to hide somebody you don't want found…" But just as Emma made that comment, her gaze fell onto the third property listing, a moderately sized dwelling of approximately 900 square feet, but it wasn't the physical description or the location that drew her attention, it was the name of the registered owner.

Ozmund Welch.

She tried to shake off the coincidence, but she couldn't. Was there a correlation between this property's owner, Ozmund Welch, and her mother's mysterious suitor, Ozzie? Ava had described Ozzie as having vanished in a puff of smoke the moment she'd kissed him, but had he actually been real? Real enough to have built a cabin in the dense woods on the outskirts of Storybrooke or was the name similarity merely chance?

"Something wrong, sis?" David's question brought her back to the present. "You planning to stay in the car or are you going to get out of there and tell me about that third property?"

"I'm coming… Just had a little bit of weird deja vu."

"About searching the woods for your would-be pirate boyfriend?"

"Really, David?" Emma wasn't pleased with her brother referring to Killian as a pirate yet again. "Once and for all, he's not a pirate and no - that isn't what triggered it. This name… The third property owner listed is what caught my eye and gave me a weird feeling - someone named Ozmund Welch."

"Okay… what's so strange about that?"

"When I was leafing through mom's journal, she referred to the other man she was dating as Ozzie. He was the one she ended up choosing and caused her to lose the challenge, and of course, her powers. Ozmund. Ozzie. They sound a lot alike and it's a weird coincidence…"

"And you think there might be some correlation?"

"I don't really know," she sighed, knowing the probability was slim considering the rest of the information Belle had provided. "There's only one big problem with it - according to Belle, the structure was built and registered in the 1920s."

"I don't think your mother was really in to older men…"

"No. Certainly not based on the description she gave in her journal entries."

"Father and son maybe?" David suggested as Emma clambered out of the cruiser.

"I guess that's possible. Or it's possible that it really is just a coincidence." She tucked her phone away into her jacket pocket as she pushed the car door closed. "It's just weird…"

"Then why don't you and I take that particular property? If you've got any sort of suspicion about that property, we'll go with it."

"Okay. According to the property listing, it's located about a quarter of a mile from John's cabin. I copied all of the coordinates into my phone."

"Alright then. Let me go hand out assignments and get this search and rescue underway. That's in one of the more remote sectors so how about you go commandeer a couple of those ATVs?"

**********

Emma had never really considered herself to be the outdoorsy type so this trek through the forests of Eastern Maine riding an all-terrain vehicle was quite out of her element. By the time they reached the edge of the Welch property, they could both see the single-story wooden frame house that, at first glance, appeared well-kept, but vacant. As they got closer to the house, they began to see signs of recent occupation. Weeds had been cleared from the dirt road to the entrance as well as from a path to a small shed beyond the house.

With a reminder from David that they couldn't enter the property without permission from the resident or a search warrant, they parked the ATVs and started surveying the perimeter. Little seemed to have changed about the premises since it had been built nearly a century ago. They saw a neat stack of firewood next to the shed but no visible power lines connected to the building. Whoever resided out here definitely enjoyed living off the grid. The windows of the cozy house were covered with decades worth of grime, making it difficult to peer into the interior. If someone was living here, cleaning their windows to allow sunlight inside wasn't a priority which led credence to the probability that it was currently uninhabited.

"Looks vacant," David said as the siblings regrouped near the front door. "But it's almost impossible to see inside."

"Something isn't right," Emma insisted. "It may look vacant, but that wood pile over there isn't overgrown with weeds. There isn't any smoke rising out of that chimney right now, but my gut says there will be signs of a recent fire."

"Kinda hard to determine that from out here," David reminded her. "And one of the neighbors could be using the wood."

"Are you serious, David? Do you really think that someone out here would want to traipse through the woods to stack wood at an abandoned house? That makes no sense whatsoever."

"Just offering up possibilities."

"Well, it's pretty obvious that the bigger possibility is that someone has been secretly living here. It's rustic, but that doesn't mean it isn't livable. I don't know if Ozmund Welch is still living out here in the boondocks, but I'm quite sure someone is."

"Don't tell me - your gut is now telling you that this would be a good place to hide someone?"

"What? You don't think so? Come on, Dave - it's in the middle of nowhere and looks abandoned… Where would you hide a person you don't want found?"

"Em - you know the rules…"

"And this is a magical town where most rules don't even apply! David, my intuition is telling me that there's more to this place than meets the eye."

"You can feel your Captain boyfriend nearby?"

"I wish my instincts were that specific," she scowled at him, "almost as much as I wished that the locator spell came with GPS coordinates. I just know that there's something very wrong here…"

David pondered her plea for a moment. As Sheriff, he was tasked with upholding the law, not breaking it, but at the same time, if Captain Jones was here, being held against his will, rescuing the missing man should take priority. It was just that it all rested on his sister's gut feelings, not actual evidence…

"Okay, okay," he relented. "If you think this place is suspicious, let's go find out. Can you get that door open or were you planning to break it down?"

"Very funny," she scoffed as she withdrew her wand from inside her jacket. "Good thing I brought this along. Pretty sure a little magic can open that lock…" With a flick of her wrist and a swish of her wand, she recited the Latin phrase to open the door. "Recludo!"

David led the way once the door was unlocked, inching it open cautiously as he scanned the interior with his flashlight held in his left hand and his weapon clutched in his right. Emma followed at his heels, sweeping the beam of her flashlight around what looked to be a combination living room, kitchen and dining room. The room was sparsely furnished. A faded, but garishly upholstered sofa occupied a space facing the fireplace and a matching chair with worn wooden arms sat beside it. On the opposite wall, there was a makeshift kitchen featuring a sink with an ancient water pump, an old fashioned wood-fired stove and a two door cabinet hanging over the sink. At the other end of the building from where they stood, there was a wooden table with two flanking chairs and a narrow hallway leading to two doorways.

Emma took a few steps towards the fireplace while David immediately headed to the first of the two doors in the rear of the house. Her eyes were drawn to the mantle where a set of random books sat atop it, flanked by two heavy stone bookends. She recognized a few of the titles as books she'd been forced to read in school but there were others written in languages she didn't recognize. She also instantly noticed rectangular voids amongst the dust and cobwebs as though something had been removed recently.

She held no doubt that someone had been here.

David pushed open the first of the doors off of the rear hallway revealing a small, unoccupied bedroom containing only a spartan double bed and a plain, five drawer pine chest of drawers. He discovered the second door led to a primitive bathroom with a pedestal sink and an old claw foot bath tub. There was no toilet visible so the well-maintained path behind the house meant that the shed was likely an outhouse. In neither room did he find evidence of anyone being held unwillingly. Maybe Emma's instinct had been wrong…

"There's no one here," David announced as he strolled back into the living room area.

"Someone's been here," Emma assured him, pointing to the mantle. "Stuff has been recently taken off of that mantle. There are several areas with no dust."

"So? Someone might still be using the cabin, but Emma, there isn't anyone here right now, willing or unwilling."

"We're missing something," she insisted, combing her fingers through her hair in frustration. "We have to be…"

"It's a pretty small place, Em," David reminded her as he crossed through the center of the room toward his sister. "What do you think we might possibly be missing?" Emma shrugged as she turned to face the front door, ready to concede defeat - until David stepped onto the worn, heavy wool rug in the middle of the floor. He took two strides onto the rug when Emma's alert ears picked up a distinct change in the sound his footsteps were making.

"David - do that again," she ordered as she spun to face him.

"Huh? Do what again?"

"Take a step backwards, then forward again," she instructed her bewildered brother.

"Why?"

"Just humor me," she said as David rolled his eyes skeptically. He shifted his weight back one step and then another towards Emma, this time noticing the change in tone.

"There's something hollow here," he announced, tapping his foot a few times on the spot to confirm what they'd both heard.

"That's what I thought," Emma smiled as she hurried over to David. He kicked the well-trodden rug away to reveal a recessed trap door concealed beneath. "Well, well… what do we have here?"

"A trap door," David stated the obvious. "Maybe there's a basement or an old root cellar underneath?"

"What a great place to hide someone," Emma said, repeating her earlier words. David ignored her as he stooped to grasp the reinforced edge of the plank trap door. Emma kept her weapon trained into the void below as he raised the panel but there was nothing visible in the dark space except a rough-hewn wooden staircase leading deeper into the recess. Emma directed her light into the inky blackness of the stairwell, seeing that there was a narrow panel door at the bottom which was secured with a rusty padlock. "I see a doorway down there with a lock on it."

"I'm guessing you can open that one too?"

"Piece of cake," she grinned hopefully as they descended the steps. Reaching the bottom, Emma tucked her weapon into her hip holster, trading it for her wand while David maintained a tight grip on both flashlight and weapon. Her magic made quick work of the padlock and as David kept the flashlight beam trained on the door, she eased it open. A tiny room bathed in darkness lay beyond the wooden door and Emma crinkled her nose in disgust as the wafting odors of damp cement and moldy earth assaulted her senses. But she was also smelling faint traces of something else in the mix - the coppery scent of blood and the sweetness of the rum she'd partaken of last night. "Killian?" She called out to him. "Killian? Are you here?"

She heard no response as she retrieved her own flashlight, switching it on to find the limp figure curled up on the dingy concrete floor in the center of the room.

"Killian!" she exclaimed, dropping to her knees on the dusty floor beside her unconscious friend, placing the flashlight on the floor next to her knees. He was lying on his right side and even in the dim light, she noticed something shiny was protruding from his left shoulder. She wasn't entirely sure, but it appeared to be his hook.

"Is that Captain Jones?" David queried, keeping a watchful eye on the trapdoor above as Emma checked on the person locked in the dark cellar.

"Yes and I think he's hurt. It's too damned dark in here, though." She needed more light and she remembered one of the first spells Zelena had taught her. Grabbing her wand, she held it above her head and recited "Inlumino!" Instantly, a series of twinkling, floating orbs began to swirl overhead, illuminating the dank room so that she could positively identify Killian and take a preliminary assessment of his injuries.

"It's him!" she shouted to David.

"What's that sticking out of his shoulder?" David wondered, staring quizzically at the glint of shiny metal. "It looks like some kind of hook…"

"It is a hook," she stated. "Killian sometimes wears it as a prosthetic and somebody plunged it pretty deep into his shoulder." David wanted to make a comment so badly about a ship captain wearing a hook for a hand, but he held his tongue as he recognized the concern evident on his sister's face. She had carefully rolled Captain Jones into his back and was pressing her index and middle fingers against his neck. "He's unconscious. He's got a pulse, but it's weak and a little slow. His skin is pretty cool to the touch so I'm pretty sure he's been in this cold basement for hours."

"Is he breathing?"

Not sensing any rise or fall of Killian's chest, Emma leaned in closer to his face, hoping she would feel the warmth of his breath exhaled against her cheek. As she lowered her face above Killian's slightly agape mouth, for a split second, her lips brushed his and she felt a little spark. It wasn't unlike the static shock you'd get when touching a metal surface after running across a carpeted floor in your socks but in the heat of the moment, it never dawned on her that she shouldn't be experiencing any static electricity shocks down here. She mentally dismissed any thoughts of the shock as she felt a soft puff of air against her skin.

"He's breathing, but just barely," she informed David who was immediately on the radio calling for a remote rescue unit. There was no way the two of them were going to be able to maneuver an unconscious man out of that root cellar and back to the road without assistance from the other teams. "Hang in there, Killian. Help's on the way," she assured her friend as she gently caressed his stubbled cheek

[politicalmamaduck]

The Last Shot

A Smuggler Ben Solo/Dark Side Rey arranged marriage fic for @the-reylo-void. Many thanks to @rapturousaurora for betaing, @cosetteskywalker for the above moodboards, and @aionimica for her drawing of Rey in her wedding dress!

Read it on AO3 here, and listen to the playlist here!

Chapter Twenty Five: Darkness Rising | Chapter Twenty Four: The Betrayal | Chapter Twenty Three: Stay | Chapter Twenty Two: The Storm | Chapter Twenty One: The Fulcrum | Chapter Twenty: In Darkness | Chapter Nineteen: Rey’s Dream | Chapter Eighteen: Jakku | Chapter Seventeen: The First Flashback | Chapter Sixteen: The Rendezvous | Chapter Fifteen: Tatooine | Chapter Fourteen: The First Mission | Chapter Thirteen: Goodbye to Naboo | Chapter Twelve: The Wedding Night | Chapter Eleven: The Aftermath | Chapter Ten: The Wedding | Chapter Nine: Naboo | Chapter Eight: The Time in Between | Chapter Seven: The Negotiations | Chapter Six: The Duel | Chapter Five: The Discovery | Chapter Four: The Bargain | Chapter Three: The Bounty | Chapter Two: The Meeting | Chapter One: The Treaty

The depths of space had never felt so empty and lonely to Ben Solo before, even in the worst of his childhood nightmares, migraines, and depression. He had become accustomed to his wife’s presence, both in the Force and by his side, and he felt cold, bereft of that heat and passion. He had wanted to continue to get to know who Rey Palpatine truly was behind the mask and armor she had constructed for herself. Instead, he focused on making it safely to his destination, tinkering and re-tinkering with the Falcon until he landed on a quiet, secure landing pad attached to a nondescript apartment building mixed in with middle class housing far enough, but not too far from the galactic center.

“By the light of Lothal’s moons. Kira has abandoned the nest. Repeat: Kira has abandoned the nest. Target’s current location and destination unknown. Fulcrum over and out.”

As soon as Ben went to ground on Coruscant, he commed his mother on the encrypted channel and checked to see if Rey had sent him a message. She had not, but he did note that the Falcon’s pod was so distinctive that if she were picked up by a large freighter or carrier, it would certainly make news, though it hadn’t as of yet. The Corellian calligraphy reading “Property of Han Solo” was certainly not a typical escape pod marking.

He double and triple checked the locks and encryptions on the Falcon, checked his comlink and the HoloNet again, then went to a lower level market for supplies where no one would question the dark, hooded cloak covering his face, nor the blaster visibly strapped to his side. His wife was dangerous, volatile and unpredictable, and he had a distinctly bad feeling about her intentions toward him.

He hurried back to the apartment as quickly as possible while trying to make it look like he wasn’t hurrying at all. He arrived just in time to start putting away his fresh fruit when his mother commed back.

“Ben, what happened?” Leia Organa’s tone was that of a worried mother, not a general to one of her intelligence officers.

“We arrived on Chandrila at the end of the battle. Rey was less than pleased to discover that no one had demobilized as planned and stormed out, accusing me of lying to her by omission.”

“We must ensure that the HoloNet doesn’t discover she’s missing. You two are supposed to be off adventuring the galaxy together. We can’t let her rejoin the First Order.”

“I don’t think she will. As angry as she is with me, she’s angrier about Snoke’s lies and betrayal. What about the broken treaty?”

“She should be angry at Snoke. Let us worry about the treaty. You worry about finding Rey,” Leia said, frowning and looking down. “There is some good news. Commander Dameron was able to lead the defense of the planet as a diversion, and several cruisers full of refugees were able to escape, along with much needed supplies. Your father was also able to pick up a shipment headed for Arkanis and divert it our way.”

“Thanks, Mom. How many dead and wounded?”

“More civilians than we were hoping. A lot of Hanna City was destroyed. We’re sending a medical frigate to take as many of the survivors as we can.”

“And where will the government go next?”

“We’re not sure yet. Perhaps Brentaal; it’s a good location.”

“Stay safe. Keep me posted. I’ll check in on the network once I leave Coruscant.”

Leia nodded. “May the Force be with you.”

“May the Force be with you, too.”

Ben sighed and ran his hand through his hair after the transmission ended and he set down his comm. His father had certainly turned a profit from the disaster. That wouldn’t look good if the news were to get out, and would make Rey even angrier. He took a deep breath and forced himself to concentrate, reaching out for the Force presence he knew to be his wife’s.

He felt nothing. She was nowhere near Coruscant.

Think, Ben, he told himself. Where would she go? Not back to Jakku. Not back to the Supremacy or the Finalizer. She wouldn’t risk Snoke or Hux discovering her secrets. Who could she trust?

The Knights. Who they had dropped off at the Ring of Kafrene.

He grabbed his comm once more and put out a signal to track all transports leaving the Ring of Kafrene over the past two days and for the next three, just in case. He refreshed the news yet again, then hurriedly ate one of his fruits and re-packed his belongings, checking the apartment once more to ensure he left no trace of his presence or that there were any tracking or listening devices installed anywhere. He packed the remainder of his food supplies in his bag, wrapped a scarf around his neck and donned his cloak again, then locked the apartment up behind him.

He would take a common passenger freighter back to the Ring of Kafrene, and obtain an unmarked ship from there, if he couldn’t find Rey or any of the Knights. He inwardly cursed himself for not trying to discern where Rey was sending her Knights after they split up. What had they been doing for Rey during the treaty negotiations and the wedding? Looking for Dark Side artifacts and evidence of her parents? That seemed a likely answer, and one that would meet with Snoke’s approval, at least the former half. Perhaps he was too arrogant to realize Rey would ever uncover the truth of who killed them.

Deep in thought as he headed to a bustling transit center, Ben Solo neglected to look like he wasn’t walking with a purpose and didn’t disguise his distinctive stride. The blaster at his side was no impediment to a masked being who shot him with a tranquilizer dart, then hurried out of the shadows to pull a black fabric bag over his head as he fell to his knees. Ben struggled, but couldn’t move his arms as quickly as he wanted, couldn’t reach his hidden lightsaber or the blaster.

He had no clues as to who had captured him, nothing but that uneasy feeling as the darkness of a drugged sleep claimed him and he felt himself being hauled away.

[thecollegefootballguy]

My Trip to the 2019 College Football Championship Game!

The 2018 season had its ups and downs but after all of that excitement it became clear that two teams were the obvious choices to play for the National Championship. Alabama and Clemson went a perfect 12-0 in the regular season and won their respective conference championships. They then plowed through their semifinal opponents with ease, setting up a title game that would be completely undisputed, featuring the only two choices to be called the best team in the nation for the 2018 season.

Maybe the matchup was boring, after all there are 130 teams in the highest division of football and for the fourth straight year the winner of national title was going to be either the Alabama Crimson Tide or the Clemson Tigers. Boring yes, but they’re in the game because they’re the most deserving. Plain and simple.

It did seem like people were getting a bit fatigued for this fourth go-around. After all, ticket prices started to fall once Notre Dame and Oklahoma got knocked out of the running. Though I’m sure a lot of it also had to do with fans of these Southeast universities checking the cost of travelling to the Bay Area on short notice after the match was set and thinking twice. Their loss was my gain.

I was born and raised in the San Francisco Bay Area. I moved to San Diego to attend SDSU and spent a good 5 years in sunny SD before moving back up to the Bay around this time last year. It was quite a fun coincidence then that the College Football National Championship Game would come to Levi’s Stadium the year that I made my return. My dad--who introduced me to college football and sports in general--and I had been planning on going until the cold reality of paying $1500 per ticket hit us in the face. It was a nice thought, but ultimately too hard to swallow. Then, in late December, the prices started to fall. I wish I could say we waited until they bottomed out around $150, but we were too excited to have that kind of patience.

Just to be cautious, we took public transit to the game. We knew that it would be a hassle to drive to the stadium, it turns into a zoo when we went to 49er games. Plus you never know what kind of state you’re in after being around football for most of a day. We took the Caltrain, the SF to SJ commute, down from our station and my dad began chatting up a nice couple from Huntsville, Alabama in the seats across from us. Their son was in the band and they were nervous about the game. My dad told them not to worry, he was fully confident in a Tide victory. They asked me and I said I wasn’t that certain.

We changed over to the VTA, the local light rail, along with the Bama couple. My dad gave a guided tour of the Silicon Valley offices that we passed to the couple, who snapped pictures at the nondescript, box shaped buildings where Google, Amazon, Yahoo, and Youtube make their magic happen. At the Great America stop we bade them goodbye and good luck, and sauntered over to the pregame tailgate. It was around noon and the game wasn’t going to start until the evening.

We slipped through the still rather small-ish crowds, past the ESPN booth and its caravan of buses, and made our first trip to the beer and merch stands. I had to pause and admire one of the food areas: there was brisket and pulled pork for the Southerners who made the trek but also crab fries for the locals. We wandered around as the crimson and orange fans kept filtering in. Every once in a while we’d encounter the odd unaffiliated passerby, most of them wearing PAC-12 shirts and occasionally the out of place Silicon Valley techie taking in the scene. I got a few compliments on my SDSU sweatshirt. One kind old Alabama fan stopped me and asked if I went to South Dakota State, he had kids and grandkids who went to the USD. I had to let him down gently.

We got our pulled pork and crab fries, whose preparation likely pleased few of the fans in attendance, and went down to a tented area with tables to eat. I spotted perhaps the only open table in the tent the same time as a Clemson fan and we agreed to share. He was a nice guy and was at the game with his parents and uncle. We chatted for a while about various sports history moments that a Clemson man could share with a Bay Area family. Dwight Clark was mentioned more than once (later that night we passed by his statue on the way out). His group came over after a while, having spent time in the now considerable lines forming around the food and drink. After a nice half hour or so of conversation we went our separate ways, but not before my dad and I were gifted the famed $2 bills, with a perfect orange paw print stamped in each one.

We spent the next few hours hanging out, waiting for the game to start. We bought merch, bought drinks, and watched the predominantly orange crowd start to buzz with a nervous energy. Alabama fans were concentrated on the other side of the stadium. I checked twitter and felt tried not to feel angry that my favorite accounts were making fun of the projected low attendance. It seemed like every Greenville, Mobile, and San Rafael resident who made the trip was having a good time. Then again, the game hadn’t started yet.

I’ve written nine paragraphs and the game hasn’t begun so let’s fast forward a bit. My dad and I were comfortable in our fancy indoor digs but we just had to be outside for kickoff. We walked the long way around the stadium and up and up and up to out seats. We were one row below the highest in the house, and smack dab in Tuscaloosa West. The anthem and flyover went off without a hitch, and suddenly we had a football game on our hands. Oh yeah, and the stands were full after all of that fuss made by the press.

Clemson’s first drive isn’t worth mentioning but Alabama’s certainly was. On the Crimson Tide’s third offensive play of the game Tua Tagovailoa, undefeated in his college career, gave up a shocking pick six to put the Tigers up 7-0. No matter, on the third offensive play of the second drive, Tagovailoa threw a bomb to Jerry Jeudy to even things up. Then on four plays the Tigers scored. And Bama marched right back down the field.

We watched the first four drives of the game, which was turning into a very unexpected score-fest, high up in our seats before we began to make our way to warmth of the United Club.

[Redacted because we snuck in to a better part of the stadium and I can’t say how]

It’s a good thing the first quarter turned out to be so long, we didn’t actually miss a whole lot. The game was developing in a strange manner. By the time we got indoors and got some food Clemson had grown their lead to 28-16 midway through the second quarter. My dad noted that the Tigers hadn’t actually stopped Alabama on any drive. The Tide had scored two touchdowns, kicked a field goal, and Tua had thrown two very ill-advised passes that were intercepted. It definitely felt like a near-even game, with Bama slightly outplaying the Tigers but nothing to show for it.

In the last minutes of the first half Clemson finally got a stop and not for the last time either.

Halftime was spent indoors away from the marching bands. The only college football tradition I’ve never enjoyed went totally ignored on my end. A million dollar band can’t buy my attention, my apologies to that nice couple from Huntsville.

The third quarter was surreal. Suddenly Alabama couldn’t score to save their lives. The Tide spent minutes and minutes grinding out drives that went nowhere against a defense that had solved them. The fake field goal was just the beginning. Bama couldn’t convert on 4th down in three straight attempts. Meanwhile Clemson made every possible (and perhaps impossible) play conceivable to score. The scoreboard crept up from 31-16 to 38-16 to 44-16 before the third quarter was even up.

Back in the United Club, we were again sitting in a predominantly orange part of the stadium and the atmosphere was charged. When the Tigers began to pull away the feeling was a nervous excitement, then giddiness. By the fourth quarter it was absolute delirium. It wasn’t just obvious that Clemson was going to win, it was obvious that they were about to absolutely embarrass the alleged best team in football. The Alabama machine, the dynasty of the 2010′s, was being completely humiliated on the biggest stage in the sport. 

This wasn’t some flukey upset like the A&M, Ole Miss, and, yes, the earlier Clemson title in years past. This was a mauling. Nick Saban’s Alabama hadn’t lost like this EVER. This was Saban’s best offense on what looked like his best team and they were getting lapped by the understudy. Dabo Swinney, a former backup wide receiver for the Tide, had built--essentially from scratch--a program that could BTFO of Alabama on a good day. And it was a pretty good day for those Tigers.

And we still had the fourth quarter. It passed pretty quickly. Alabama was still futilely grinding out long drives that went nowhere, but now Clemson joined in bleeding the clock dry. They could've hung 50 on Nick Saban’s Crimson Tide if they’d wanted to, but against the wishes of the more vindictive (and scorned) fanbases, the Tigers pulled the plug. The last few minutes were a bit of an anticlimax, the game had been won, some time just had to be spent to make it official.

The confetti cannons sprayed out the orange and the Clemson band played, though I never got a handle on what the cheer was. If it was fun for an outside observer it must have been exultant for the tens of thousands of Tiger fans who made the trip, and the thousands more who were watching on tv.

I’ll cut my travelogue short here. I stayed for another hour enjoying myself before my dad and I slowly made our way home. The denouement felt good but is hard to verbalize.

What I would like to say is a great, big thank you to all of the Alabama and Clemson fans who traveled so far to see their teams play. I had a great time and both fan bases were perfectly charming the whole way through. I’ll forgive the one bit of bad behavior I saw when a despondent Tide fan in a sea of orange had words with a guy in an OU sweatshirt who was hollering his way. I doubt I could’ve composed myself any better. If looks could kill.

I couldn’t fit this in anywhere else but before I go I must comment on the weather. It rained buckets the days before the game and hasn’t let up since. I’m sure it dampened the plans of most of the tourists who came out in droves, many of whom had never seen the Golden State before. But, just like the Rose Bowl, whenever there’s a special game to be played, clear skies of sunny California suddenly appear. There’s some kind of magic attached to it, I’m certain.

It was a strange feeling watching that game. For once in my life I was watching sports without a vested emotional interest. It was a very liberating feeling going in without a nauseous nervousness or the thought of “what if?” permeating the game.

Thank you all for reading if you made it this far. This was a pretty singular moment in my life as a college football fan so I wanted to cover it properly and give all of my thoughts. I hope you don’t mind the extra details, I’m sure you were watching it yourselves so you didn’t need the straight retelling anyway.

I should also probably thank my dad for getting me into football, paying for my college, and buying the tickets.

-thecfbguy

[weather-witch]

by Inga Berenson It was a hot summer morning. I was nine or ten, riding my pony from our farmhouse toward the barn where my father was working. This was the first time I had gone riding since a string of bad falls had caused me to lose my nerve, but I loved riding, and was determined to be back in the saddle. So far, things were going well. The gravel road between our house and the barn was about a mile long, and I was halfway there. My usually cantankerous little mare was being perfectly docile, but I was approaching the house of a quirky neighbor who kept a menagerie of animals – donkeys, zebras, buffalo, and a gaggle of dogs that barked at every passing car. I was mostly worried about the dogs and how my pony would handle the barking – it sometimes made her nervous, but there was no dog in sight as I rode past the house. I was thinking I was home-free until I heard a commotion from the paddock across from the neighbor’s house. I looked around and saw a giant draft horse push through a dilapidated wire fence and come galloping toward me, neighing and grunting in what I later understood to be equine lust. In an instant he was beside us, rearing and pawing his great, hairy hooves in the air near my face. I thought that was the end of me and my pony. Then all of a sudden I heard my mother’s voice. I looked around and found her running toward us, yelling and hurling gravel at the big horse. She distracted him just long enough for me to hop off. My pony raced off into the safety of some low-hanging trees, and the neighbor came running out of his house to capture his oversized horse. As I stood there, weak-kneed from my near-death experience, I saw my mother’s car parked a few yards down the road, the driver’s-side door still open, and I knew what had happened. She had been worried about me, so she had followed from a distance, just to be sure I made it okay. I’ve been thinking about that story a lot lately. It was about four years ago that my daughter first told me she thought she might be trans. I believe her story is a classic example of social contagion, since she had never expressed any discomfort with her sexed body until she got Tumblr and DeviantArt accounts and began spending all her time on her phone. Since then, I have felt a bit like my mother, standing in the middle of the road, hurling gravel, trying to protect my daughter from an ideology that has sought to convince her that she was born in the wrong body. I am fortunate. Unlike some of my friends with kids who became convinced they were trans, I feel reasonably confident that my daughter will not medically transition. She desisted from a social transition more than a year ago, and she told me recently that she no longer identifies as trans. However, she still has many friends in the gender-queer community, and I know we’re not out of the woods. When she turns 18 in a few months, she may exercise her right as a legal adult to start medical transition, and there won’t be anything I can do to dissuade her. This worries me greatly. So, as a matter of self-preservation as much as anything, I’ve been asking myself, what if she does transition? How will I cope? The short answer is I don’t know, but I certainly won’t disown her or ask her to leave my home. In fact, of all the many gender-critical parents I know who have trans-identified children, I know absolutely no one who has disowned their child or kicked them out of the house. I’m sure it must happen, but I don’t know any. Of course, all parents say things they regret – especially during the highly charged arguments with teens who are demanding immediate medical interventions. In one such argument, one of my best friends even told her then-trans-identified daughter to get out, but she immediately regretted it, took it back, apologized, and asked her daughter to stay (which she did). I also know at least three mothers who have lost contact with their trans-identified children, but in those cases, the kids themselves severed the relationship, not the parents. In fact, the mothers continue to try to reconnect with their children, despite being repeatedly rebuffed. Although I know I won’t disown or reject my daughter, I also know that I won’t affirm her decision to transition. It’s not really that I’m deciding not to; I simply cannot bring myself to do it. It would be dishonest for me to call her my son when I don’t believe she’s male. Plus, I don’t think it’s helpful for me to allow my daughter to dictate how I define words like “male” and “female.” Does this mean I love my child less than the mothers who affirm their children? Since I cannot occupy the mind of any of these other mothers, I guess I’ll never know. But I do know that my love for my child is so deep and strong that the idea that she has been misled to believe that her body is wrong depresses me to no end. I am angry — bitterly, bitterly angry that this ideology has taken up almost four years of her life so far and god only know how many more years it may take. Maybe the reason some parents affirm their children’s transgender claims and some parents question them lies in the parents’ own experiences of puberty. When my daughter felt embarrassed about shopping for bras at 13, I was not surprised because I remembered that feeling vividly. I hated it. I hated knowing that people could see my developing breasts and the outline of the bra straps under my shirt. I especially hated the very feminine bras – the ones with lots of lace and little pink bows where the cups joined in the middle. They made me feel vulnerable and exposed and miserable.  I also know I got over it – for the most part, anyway. Trans activists claim that the number of trans-identifying people has increased so rapidly not because there are more trans people today than in the past but because society has become more accepting and they are no longer afraid to come out. But if this were the case, why are the greatest increases occurring in the population of female teens? Why aren’t middle-aged women like me queuing up for hormones now that we can come out? To me, the answer is clear. Women like me had a chance to come to terms with our bodies and accept ourselves as we are. My daughter didn’t have that chance because an insidious ideology was waiting in the wings to convince her that her feelings about her body meant that it was wrong. But maybe the mothers who readily affirm their children’s trans self-diagnoses didn’t have this experience at puberty. Maybe they were lucky enough to sail smoothly and happily from childhood through puberty, unambiguously pleased to watch their bodies go from child to woman – so, when their children expressed unhappiness about their developing bodies, they were genuinely puzzled and could only agree their kids must have been born in the wrong body. Whatever the reason for the difference between those parents and me, I resent the fact that the mainstream media will tell their stories, but they won’t tell mine. I resent the fact that my daughter looks at those parents and wishes I could be like them — because I never can be. If my daughter does eventually decide to take hormones or undergo surgery to medically transition, the only way I could fully support it is if I had clear scientific evidence that she had a condition requiring such an invasive treatment. If there were a definitive medical test – a brain scan, for example – that proved my child’s distress arose from an incongruence between her brain and the rest of her body that could only be alleviated by transition, I think I could go along with it. But there is no such test because individual brains don’t break down neatly into pink and blue categories. Sexually dimorphic brain features are subject to averages just like other physical characteristics. In general, men are taller than women, but if you plot their height on a bell curve, you will see lots of overlap between the sexes. You’ll also see outliers on the “tails” of the bell curve—6’4’ women, and 5’1” men. This is true with psychological and neurological traits, too. Also, trans activists justify their born-in-the-wrong-body claims by pointing to a few studies which indicate that the brains of trans-identified people are more similar in some respects to the opposite sex than their natal sex. But these studies do not control for many factors, including sexual orientation, and we know already that people who are same-sex-attracted have some brain features more similar to the opposite sex. Without tools to reliably predict who will benefit from transition, I simply cannot support medical interventions for young people whose brains have not fully matured (generally understood to be around age 25). I want desperately for my daughter to accept her body and to avoid the irreversible changes and the many health risks that are inherent in medical transition. But she will soon be 18 years old, and she will have the power to transition no matter what I want – even though she is still at least seven years away from brain maturity. There’s a real chance that she could. Would that be the end of the world? No, I know that it wouldn’t. As worried as I am about this outcome and as fixated as I’ve been on preventing it for four years, I do have to remind myself that her transitioning would not be the worst thing that could happen. Plus, I will still be able to hold onto the hope that she will detransition before the hormones can cause too much damage to her long-term health. Every day it seems that I read about a new detransitioner. More and more young people are saying enough is enough. They are reclaiming their bodies and their lives, and I find their stories inspiring. A few days ago I watched a video in which four young women, who formerly identified as trans, answer questions about their experience and share their insights. Their video gave me hope for a couple of reasons. First, they acknowledge the role that social contagion plays in driving the huge increase in kids (especially girls) who are identifying as trans today. It takes real courage to speak up and share stories that contradict the popular understanding of why people transition. These stories not only challenge the narrative of why people transition; they also show that, for many young people, transition does not make their lives better. But another reason that video gave me hope is that I can see these girls are all okay. In fact, they’re better than okay. They are strong and smart, and they are living with purpose and a sense of future. They reminded me that transition – even medical transition — is not the end of the world. Three of the girls were on hormones for more than a year. Their voices are changed, but they are healthy and well, and that’s a beautiful thing. Detransitioners have been giving hope to me and other parents for many years, but the relationship between the groups has been difficult at times. Some detransitioners have understandably resented how parents sometimes try to use their stories as cautionary tales to warn their kids about the dangers of medical transition. A big part of the problem is the language people sometimes use when talking about medical transition. For example, referring to the bodies of detransitioners as “mutilated,” their voices as “broken,” or their stories as “heart-breaking” has not been helpful. One of the most powerful and positive messages of the gender-critical movement is that no one is born in the wrong body. Gender-critical parents like me are constantly trying to encourage our kids to accept their bodies just as they are. Yet I believe we need to extend that same acceptance to all bodies – even bodies post transition. To feel good about themselves and their lives, all people need to be able to accept themselves physically and mentally, and words like “mutilated” don’t help them do that. Online, the interactions between detransitioners and parents has also been a little rocky at times because parents sometimes overstep boundaries that detransitioners need to be healthy. Parents often reach out to detransitioners for help with their personal situations – to seek parenting advice and guidance. But most detransitioners who speak out publicly are quite young; they don’t have children and they aren’t parenting experts, nor is it fair to saddle them with the responsibility of helping us. They’re dealing with their own issues, are often most focused on helping each other, and they don’t (and can’t be expected to) understand the situation and struggles of parents. What’s more, many have written or vlogged about their own, often fraught, relationships with their own parents, so when other parents reach out to them, they can feel ���triggered” by being reminded of their own family relationships. These young people are still maturing and processing what their transition and detransition mean to them. They need time and space to be able to do that, and desperate appeals from parents they’ve never met, for help with kids they don’t know, could interfere with that process. Also, detransitioners are not a monolithic group. Not everyone who detransitions regrets transitioning. Deciding that transition is not right for you and regretting transition are not necessarily the same thing. Detransitioners who do not regret their transition naturally resent it when people use their stories to make a case against medical transition. At the same time, those detransitioners who are willing to speak out about the harms of transitioning and the power of reidentifying with your birth sex can be powerful allies in the fight to raise awareness about the regressiveness of gender ideology and potential harms to other young people – whether we’re trying to raise this awareness in the culture at large or just in our own homes. I hope my daughter will listen to the stories of some of these detransitioners and decide to first try some other strategies for becoming comfortable in her natural body. If, however, she does eventually transition, I hope she can be honest with herself about it and accept that she can never be male – however much she may be able to look like one. I follow several gender-critical trans women on Twitter. Although they have sought medical intervention for palliative reasons, they acknowledge they are male and support sex-based protections for women. They don’t demand that the world repeat the mantra that trans women are women. They have a healthier outlook on the world and a healthier sense of self because they aren’t trying to change anyone’s perception of material reality (like male and female).  I appreciate the courage they are showing. Their stance as gender critical has cut them off from the support of the larger trans community, which regards them as heretics and traitors. And it must be noted that they’re not universally accepted among women who are gender critical, some of whom regard them with suspicion. Of course, my daughter may never come to recognize the bill of goods she’s been sold. She may transition, remain transitioned, and remain committed to an ideology I find regressive. If that’s the case, it will be my life’s task to love her and support her in spite of these things. But that doesn’t mean I will ever abandon my own sense of reality, because doing so would be inauthentic, and parents should not have to subordinate their own authenticity to their children’s quest for it. What I can do is look after her, help her financially to achieve non-transition-related goals, cook her favorite foods, hold her hand when she’s feeling down. I can even go out of my way to avoid gendered language so as not to provoke or upset her, but I simply cannot utter beliefs I don’t hold. Our relationship needs to be based on mutual respect. I must respect her autonomy, but she must also respect mine. Also, I want my daughter to understand that it’s ok for other people (even her parents!) to disagree with her and hold different views; that doesn’t mean we don’t love her. Far from it. I want my daughter to be strong and resilient enough to face the reality that life will be full of other people who disagree with her for any number of reasons. I’d rather she learn resilience than fragility that is triggered whenever she encounters disagreement or disapproval from others. I feel such a sense of solidarity with the other gender-critical moms I’ve met here on 4thWaveNow, on Twitter, and in real life because they’ve seen what I have seen – that this ideology has made our children less resilient, it has alienated them from their families, their former friends, and, worst of all, their own bodies. Most of us have watched as our children went from well-adjusted kids to teens preoccupied with online worlds, feeling oppressed and seeking medical transition. For our efforts to call attention to the regressive nature of the ideology, we have been called “bigots,” “transphobes,” even “Nazis.” So-called gender therapists gaslight us and pretend to know our children better than we do. And some journalists, blind to their sexism, have dismissed us (in one case, as merely a “bunch of mothers”), despite the advanced degrees and professional careers many of us hold, not to mention the voluminous research we have done to educate ourselves about this particular subject. And, yes, we have made mistakes. We are certainly not perfect. There are so many things I have said to my daughter that I wish I could unsay or at least say differently. There are so many times when my strong emotional reaction to things she was telling me created a barrier and shut down communication between us. Of course, she has said things that hurt me too, but as her mother and the adult in the relationship, I rightfully bear a larger share of the burden to try to make things right between us. I can’t change the past, of course. What’s done is done. But I do know this: My mother has been dead for more than 20 years, but I think about her every day. She was far from a perfect parent, but she loved me fiercely. The love she gave me in the first 30 years of my life still sustains me today. I know that now, in a way I didn’t fully understand when I was younger. I don’t know what the future holds for my daughter. My fervent hope is that she will reject the idea that she needs to change who she is, but whether or not she does, I hope one day she will look back on my resistance to her transition as the act of love that it is. I hope that her knowledge and memory of the fierceness of my love will sustain her, as my mother’s sustains me.

[consciousowl]

Moral Dilemma: Should I Pull The Plug?

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me.

Psalm 23

At some point in your life, you may face a messy predicament that you will be morally obliged to resolve, despite your overwhelming desire to escape it. You will be placed in the position of deciding, not your own, but another’s, fate, one whom you truly love.

Let’s say your father is critically ill, and has fallen into a coma with less than one-percent chance of recovery. You never liked discussing this type of thing with him, so you don’t have a good reading on his express wishes. The daily hospital bills are devouring his estate and about to eat you alive. He told you a few months back that he had a good life and loved you very much.

The attending nurse and physician consult with you on what should be done, since you are next of kin. They ask you if he signed a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate agreement). To the best of your knowledge, he did not. They suggest your father could go on that way for months. When do you choose to remove life support?

Academically, this is one thing. Clinically, it is quite another. Are your ready to pull the plug on the very man who conceived you, who throughout his entire life did everything he could to make you happy?​

What Is a Moral Dilemma?

A moral dilemma is any predicament where you are presented with two distasteful alternatives, neither of which is acceptable to you. You may be obliged to choose between the lesser of two evils. Typically, you are pressed for time and must reach a decision that has great consequences for yourself and others.

You look into all the rulebooks, but nothing is written in black and white. You are awash in shades of gray. You wrack your brain to see if there is anyone to whom you can pass the buck, but no one shows up. You genuinely want to do the right thing, but you don’t have a clue.

You keep negotiating for more time. You reach out to friends and family for guidance, but your priorities are not their priorities. You just don’t have enough information to reach a rational decision. In the end, you must simply choose. You do what you do, and you don’t do what you don’t do.​

Pulling the Plug: The Legal Options

When people face death and are in great pain, or they have definitely expressed a will to die, the federal government has little to say. State governments take varying positions.

Pulling the plug applies to cases where people are being kept on life support, without which they would almost certainly die in short order.​

“Do Not Resuscitate” applies to people who are close to death. Hospitals will often implant tubes in the nose and mouth and artificially keep them from dying, regardless of the discomfort.​

Assisted death applies in the few states that legalize this. A patient, after careful consultation, has advised his physician that he would like to die. With his consent, the medical doctor offers poison pills that will quickly bring about the patient’s demise. It is all up to the patient to take the pills and swallow them. If they do, the attending staff will do everything in their power to make the transition as painless as possible.

Lethal injections are outlawed in no uncertain terms. They apply only to states with capital punishment. It is considered a relatively painless way to die, as opposed to a firing squad, hanging, a gas chamber or an electric chair. However, medical use of lethal injections is under vigorous debate. This would be where the medical doctor directly seizes the initiative in bringing about the death of a patient.​

The Ethical Side of a Moral Dilemma

For generations, physicians took the Hippocratic oath before entering their practice, which promises never to use medicine to bring harm to another. To bring about death to a patient goes against every single impulse of a good doctor. He is thoroughly trained to do everything humanly possible to keep his patient alive. If the patient dies on him, he typically considers it a moral and professional failure.

Western religion comes down emphatically against causing death to another human being. The Ten Commandments enjoin, “Thou shalt not kill.” The Sermon on the Mount directs us to “Do unto others that which you would like done unto you.” This is rarely applied to plants and animals; it is interpreted to mean, “Do not murder.”​

The Western philosophic and religious traditions oppose suicide, supposing that human beings don’t have the right to take the very life that was given to them. The commitment is to mitigate pain whenever possible, but to let nature take her course. As Werner Erhard once put it regarding suicide: “You don’t have permission.”

Reaching Out to Others

Having friends and relatives, along with myself, undergoing such moral dilemmas, it absolutely works to gather the thoughts and opinions of those we can count upon, whether or not we agree.

When a loved one is nearing his or her demise, it may be appropriate to take your friend out for a few drinks and let him get it all off his chest. One is typically under a great deal of pressure and highly distracted, needing context and comfort in order to move forward.

Very often chaplains and clergy, who are trained to advise and console people in these kinds of situations, are invaluable. I can tell you from personal experience that not all of them are moralistic. Most often, they are very good listeners, helping you sort out your own feelings, making positive suggestions, and give you constructive suggestions.​

Saying Goodbye to My Sister

Recently, my elder sister, under disability for decades and living in a group home, began to decline in health, becoming progressively thinner, even though she ate well. On top of this, she became demented, losing her memory to the point of finding it difficult to speak, because she lacked the words. She even deteriorated to the point where she could no longer recognize me.

Her caretaker, who had become like a mother, suggested we take her to hospice care. While I was reluctant at first, the hospice facility had it totally together. When signing the required documentation, I had to decide whether or not to resuscitate my sister in the face of terminal illness. My sister was taken to a long-term care facility essentially to die.

We immediately prepared for the worst, and began planning her memorial service and funeral. Ironically, my sister got better for a while and actually held out for nine months. Her caretaker, who knew my sister far better than I ever did, visited her weekly. When my sister rapidly declined, the facility was frantic to have me intubate her. Her caretaker and I held to our original decision to allow her a natural transition.​

Dr. Eben Alexander: Resurrection from a Coma

A prominent, secular neurosurgeon on the East Coast lived a successful middle-class lifestyle with wife and kids. Dr. Alexander went to Jerusalem and inadvertently contracted a strange virus there. He was OK for a while, but then suddenly declined into a deep coma.

Dr. Alexander’s family and friends were shocked. Since he was widely loved and still only in his midyears, they kept a continuous vigil in his hospital room for an entire week. He was practically brain-dead. If he ever recovered, he would remain a vegetable all his life. On the seventh day, Dr. Alexander’s son cried out to him, as the family was considering withdrawing life support. Dr. Alexander flinched. That was enough.

Dr. Alexander eventually recovered his memory and all his mental faculties. His daughter encouraged him to write down his Near Death Experience, which became the bestseller, Proof of Heaven.

Dr. Alexander had visited another world, which seemed even more real than this, with gorgeous forests and waterfalls. He heard rapturous music, more exquisite than anything he had ever imagined. He even met his young, long-lost sister who had passed away much earlier without his knowledge. His lovely sister acted as a guide throughout the journey.

Dr. Alexander has devoted the rest of his life to let the whole world know that there is life after death, it is truly glorious, all is forgiven and Whom and What we call “God” is Absolute Love.

The Spiritual Side of a Moral Dilemma

Several years back, I, myself, went into the hospital for an operation. My stay was extended for a couple of weeks. I had the very strange experience of being surrounded by love, even before the procedure. Afterward, I had the good fortune to be transported to a first-class intensive care unit, and to experience love from everyone who attended me. My true friends were also totally there for me, so I never felt abandoned.

During that memorable visit, I encountered a type of love that I consider absolute, which resonates with Dr. Alexander’s experience. While I was not in a coma, that love continued for hours and days. God was never more present to me, and inwardly spoke to me on an almost continuous basis.

I got very clear that the divine love and presence are not dependent in any way upon circumstances.​

The divine love and presence are not dependent in any way upon circumstances.

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If we look at life as a school for divinity, we begin to realize that all the dilemmas we encounter are means for us to grow in wisdom and compassion. As Dr. Deepak Chopra puts it, we are gods and goddesses in embryo. We are being brought into the image of the Avatar, the Bodhisattva and the Messiah.

Finding Peace with the Universe

You may go through any number of moral dilemmas in your lifetime. Don’t worry. They are there to help you grow.

All that is required of you is a willingness to do the right thing, and openness to guidance.

Every one of us is at all times doing what we genuinely think is the best thing to do under the circumstances. Our Source simply doesn’t keep points. All is forgiven.

You will find that when you open up and channel your Creator, you need no longer trouble yourself. You will start to listen and to trust the Inner Voice. You will always go with your gut. Like a pilot cutting through the storm and arriving at the Eye of the Hurricane, you will experience an indescribable peace that no one and nothing can ever take away from you.​

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