#fighting back tears as we speak because my niece is taking a nap next to me and shes SNORING like she used to when she was a toddler and

[kk0n]

😭

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

Damian Wayne x GN!Superpowered!Kyle!Reader

imgayandilikeit said: Damian x Catwoman nephew/niece ( if you use the "boy/girl" is kinda better when using "they , them" ) with power to turn in to black cat (I'm cat person ) and can manipulation shadow

Okay imma give a whole scenario about how the two of you meet because I can

Selina Kyle or Cat woman had taken you in after her sister and brother in law died

You had superhuman abilities of shadow manipulation and shapeshifting into a cat

She often took you out in the field to assist her in jobs

One day you ran away from home because you had a huge fight with your aunt

She thought that you couldn’t handle yourself

And you wanted to prove her wrong

But as the night ended, you realized that she was right

A gang had recognized you from the time that you had stolen an artifact that they were keeping

And they decided to teach you a lesson

And broken and bloodied you tried to crawl out of there but turned into a cat, so you’d be able to move better

That was how you met Damian, as Robin

The boy whose heart bled for animals

The second he saw you, scared and hurt on the cold concrete, he picked you up, wrapping you in his cape before taking you back to the Batcave

You already kind of knew that Damian was Robin and Bruce was Batman because of your aunt

But what was a surprise was that he tended to you himself instead of Alfred

The next few days that you stayed with him was puzzling

You were too scared to be left alone because his house was huge

Even though your instincts said that your Aunt would be happy with you if you stole something and returned you were too scared

You didn’t want to return home to your aunt angry

So, you thought you would give her a few days to cool off

And those days you spent with Damian

He thought you were an extremely unique cat 

Which was fitting because you thought he was a weird kid

I mean he had a cow and a turkey

If you weren’t with Damian, you were with Titus, just stretching comfortably around his legs and napping beside him while he stood stiffly trying to make sure nothing would harm you

You’d follow Damian around all day, using your shadow travelling to catch him off guard sometimes

Like when he’d go down into the Batcave, he’d leave you outside, but you’d travel through the shadows and find him inside

He was unusually caring for you and that’s what made your heart melt

You found yourself slowly gaining a crush on him

Which was kind of embarrassing because you were a cat

He doesn’t find out who you are until one day Selina shows up at the manor, almost in tears

You’ve missed her but you were scared that she would be mad at you, so you stayed hidden in a corner

“My charge, Bruce. I can’t find them anywhere. It’s been days and I’m afraid—”

Her voice breaks and it’s then you run out, shifting into your form and barrelling into her arms

“Auntie!”

I don’t wanna go into details about how you two get together because it’s boring

As a couple you find yourself more comfortable to shift in front of him

More often than not, when he’s busy, you phase into a cat and nap on his lap

He’s so not surprised when he comes back home from patrol and sees you napping on his bed

He loves to hold you when you’re a cat and no one can tell but he’s totally doing baby talk in his head

Titus loves you as a human as well, but you spend a lot of time with him as a cat

Damian likes to tease you sometimes by asking if you want a can of fancy feast instead of a burger

Or he’ll give you a bowl of milk instead of a soda

But ha ha jokes on him you’ll just shift into a cat and drink it and then go and sharpen your claws on his clothes

You try and scare him by shadow travelling

But he always senses you before you can

It freaks the rest of his brothers out though

Speaking of his brothers, they can’t believe that he’s dating the charge of Cat Woman

Especially after the scolding he gave Bruce when he dated Cat woman himself

They take every opportunity to tease him about it

You don’t steal anymore as per Damian’s requests

Except his clothes ofc

“Of course, I won’t have to steal because when I marry you, I’ll have all your money.”

And Damian’s reaction is either to quietly blush or smirk and agree

You can never tell with him

He sometimes thinks that you have the capability to be a superhero, but he’d never tell you because he doesn’t want you getting ideas

If you do decide that you wanted to be a vigilante, he’d support you and train you

But he’d much rather have you be safe at home

That doesn’t stop you from giving your input during missions and such

But that’s wayyy after you both start dating and Bruce is completely cool with you

Sometimes he forgets that you used to live in a life of crime, but he gets reminded in the most peculiar ways

“OHMYGOSH! Is that Stuart!? Put me on speaker phone!” You shouted, yanking off the com link from Tim’s head

“Stuart! Hiii~ It’s me (V/N)!” You squealed to the man that was about to bash in a couple’s head with a lead pipe before Damian came in to stop him

And Damian would just watch, extremely perplexed as you the two of you chattered like monkeys

“How the hell do you know each other?”

“Oh, we used to mug people together!” You said vaguely, “How are you? Is business good?”

“Don’t encourage this!”

[selfwriting-sugarquills]

70 George Weasley headcanons in celebration of 700 followers!

A/N: I hate to repeat myself but I do still love and appreciate all 700 of you! Thank you for reading my stuff and here’s to 700 more! <3 

Find the 70 Fred Headcanons: Here 

George is well known to be the brains behind the twins’ operations. He sorted out finding the location for the shop in Diagon Alley, he came up with most of the names for their products, even if Fred came up with the idea for the product itself, and for the longest time, he was the one who sorted out sales and orders for stocking their wares as well as overseeing the owl post-service while Fred sorted the more practical parts.

It might sound crazy, but if you ask George, he didn’t actually like Fred very much until they were about eight or nine years old. George was a lot more quiet and emotional than Fred and frankly, probably feared his mother more than his twin, and so George always thought Fred was too brash for his liking. Eventually, as we know, Fred’s crazy ideas rubbed off on George, and he started liking his twin more and more until they became the inseparable duo we know and love today. Mostly this was because the two found out how well they complimented each other, which meant that whatever they got up to turned out a lot better than when they’d attempt the same alone. 

Fred added an extra oomph to their escapades, daring to aim just a little higher, and George was sensible enough to make sure that a little higher wasn’t too high. 

It’s only their older siblings who noticed this change and remember the times where Fred and George didn’t get along as well as they did, which is why Bill, Charlie and Percy tend to treat the twins more as individuals whereas Ginny and Ron are more likely to see them as a duo. 

Since George is more sentimental, he’s also the bigger worrier. Did they like that joke? Did that prank go too far? Is this worth it and what are we going to do if it isn’t? He’s usually also the twin who’s more likely to step back and apologise to anyone they’ve pranked or teased, not liking the idea of upsetting someone.  

This also means he’s incredibly considerate concerning relationships, he’s not afraid to voice his concerns and worries. If his s/o is struggling with something, he notices, worries and tries his best to support them. 

Essentially, if their s/o is upset: Fred is more likely to make a joke to make them laugh and take their mind off it, George is more likely to take them aside and talk to them about it, letting them let their feelings out for as long as they need, he’ll listen for hours if that’s what his s/o needs. 

Speaking of letting feelings out: It’s been pondered if the reason George is the better beater, despite Fred being the more brash and extreme of the two, is because he uses the quidditch pitch as an outlet for his aggression and considering his anger doesn’t just involve beating bludgers but also resorting to elbowing people in the face (or beating Malfoy up) I’d say that this is incredibly true for him. Most people share the opinion that if something angers George, he’d let it build up until he explodes (myself included) and playing quidditch is a good way to let off steam without it being directed at anyone in particular, making him extremely violent on the pitch, though after every game he plays, he’ll probably be in his most zen and relaxed state of mind.

I do also like the idea of George being very emotionally mature in the sense that he knows how his feelings tend to build up, and since George is also a worrier, he probably doesn’t like the side of him that explodes in people’s faces and yells until he’s done being angry, so: He does try to confront his feelings as soon as he feels them so they don’t get a hold on him. If he’s angry with you, he’ll tell you, if he’s upset because of something that’s happened he’ll tell you. If he doesn’t and seems all quiet and broody (cause he’s not a saint and sometimes he doesn’t confess his feelings) then it’s probably a good idea that you ask him about it. 

George is also not afraid to cry, or at least he’s not as afraid to show it as Fred. He actually cried quite often as a small child, as Fred will happily remind him. The only times George will hold his tears back is when he doesn’t want to make the people he loves the most worry, like when he lost his ear. 

He was so close to crying he thought his throat would split open but he kept it in while his parents and Fred were there; he couldn’t bear to worry his mother more. Not to mention Fred for that matter. Instead, he waited until he was allowed to take a shower and let it out as quietly as he could, though little did he know Fred was standing guard on the other side of the bathroom door, crying as well. 

George doesn’t want a lot of children, he’s so used to the large family dynamic. It’s not that he disliked having many siblings but he’d prefer to have a few kids, three at most and be able to spoil them rotten. 

George has only broken one bone. It was his collarbone from a bludger. Besides that, he has dislocated his arm once due to hitting a bludger too forcefully from a wrong angle and sprained his ankle from landing too quickly more times than he can count. He’s also been concussed from taking bludgers to the head twice. 

George is actually a bit of a neat-freak. He likes having things in order and in the right place so he doesn’t lose track of things. He can’t put too many things in cupboards because if he can’t see them he’ll forget he has them and buy more and more (cause ADHD, baby), so instead he keeps things where he can see them, though in racks and specific orders which Fred often messes up.

Generally, once they moved out, George was better at doing the housework and he didn’t mind at all. Doing all the housework means it gets done the way he wants it done. 

His favourite season is winter and his favourite holiday is Christmas because it’s “a time for family”. 

George prefers Molly over Arthur (though it’s a tough pick), and he especially loves spoiling her once the shop takes off. He’ll buy her gifts often and always writes to remind her how much he (and Fred) appreciate her. 

He’d never admit it but he also does this as a way of proving himself to her. It really hurt him in those years where Molly would disapprove of his and Fred’s plans and even when he found success he still grappled with the feeling of his mother not being proud of him, despite her telling him that several times. All this just added to his disliking of Percy when he was at his going through his insensitive-git-phase.  

 George’s favourite time of day is the evening. When everything’s quiet and still he can concentrate better. He wrote most of his essays and came up with most products for the shop during this time. 

George loves intimacy. He’s not big on PDA. Cuddling alone together, being all tangled up in each other and having whispered conversations when everyone else is asleep are more his thing. 

He does love being close to you in public though, he’ll sit next to you, hold your hand, have an arm around you, lean his head on yours, bump his knee against yours under the table if you’re in a lesson or at a meal together. Small yet intimate touches are George’s romantic love language. 

George’s favourite sweet is chocolate. Anything with chocolate is good. If there’s caramel or coffee involved too then even better, mint is also accepted (his favourite flavour of ice cream is mint chocolate chip and he will fight you on why it’s the superior ice cream flavour) 

George prefers tea over coffee and drinks AT LEAST two cups a day but can easily have up to four or five depending on how long his day is. 

George takes a lot of naps. He’d occasionally nap at Hogwarts, like most students. He really started after he lost his ear because Molly kept fussing over him and forcing him to go lay down and rest, then it became even more of a regular thing after the battle of Hogwarts when he’d stay with Fred at st. Mungo’s, while he got better, and then when Fred forced him to go back to work because “sitting here, is not going to make my leg work, now go make us some galleons you git!” he’d work the shop mostly by himself, well, actually completely by himself beside his employees, which was still a small team at the time and he’d often just have to excuse himself to go upstairs and take 30 minutes to nap before he’d pass out from exhaustion. 

George struggles with some sensory problems since losing his ear, he gets a faint ringing sound in his ear every now and then, and though he can hear out of his missing ear, it’s less than his other one and he struggles determining where sounds are coming from which is distracting sometimes. He also got a bit of vertigo every now and then as well as some nausea for the first few years after he lost the ear, it got better and better and today it barely bugs him, though he gets dizzy easily.

On the subject of the ear: George enjoyed telling his nieces and nephews (and heck his own kids too) these wild stories of how he lost his ear: he paid it as a toll to an ancient spirit to gain superpowers, it froze off on a particularly cold camping trip with their uncle Fred, a bludger blew it right off, he was possessed by the spirit of van Gogh…. the list goes on. 

George was also slightly self-conscious of his ear for a while, he often worried if people were grossed out by it, though with time he forgot about it more and more until he hardly noticed it himself. Now he doesn’t notice if others notice and frankly, he couldn’t care less if they do.

Fred and George mention in OOTP that they took turns testing products, George tested puking pastilles and ended up taking several days off because of what Madam Pomfrey thought was a bad case of the stomach flu, nosebleed nougat (he said himself how it kept bleeding and at that point he let Fred do more testing because Madam Pomfrey was starting to get wayyy to suspicious of him having some terrible disease that was thought to be long gone) and fever fudge though Fred also tried that one. 

George takes after his mother as a parent, his platonic love language is definitely cooking for his kids, making them hot cocoa and baking with them during Christmas breaks. 

Does he fuss over his kids as Molly does? Noo, absolutely not no. no way. no. no. (yes)  

George’s boggart is being left alone. 

Despite that, he hates it when people assume that he and Fred are interchangeable and incapable of being without each other. He loves his friendship with Fred, he’s very happy to be his twin but he’s still his own person and it would be nice to be seen as such and not just “one of the Weasley twins” 

Mostly his hatred of being seen as “one of the Weasley twins” stems from the fact that people always assume Fred first, meaning George has been mistakenly called Fred more times than he can count. 

George is very timid, to begin with, in any relationships because he’s worried his s/o wants him to be like Fred, and that they don’t really care about him as a person but see him more as an asset or “the next best thing to Fred” Which is also why he’d never marry Angelina after she’d dated Fred, even if it was just for a while. 

George spent his first salary from the shop on a gift for his mother, a necklace, and a mixed bag of sweets from Sugarplums'...He knows it’s stupid but he just wanted to buy as much candy as he wanted without feeling guilty about spending money for once. 

George is not squeamish what so ever. He has got a stomach of steel. It’s almost kind of freaky how unfaced he is but then again, he did invent and test puking pastilles and a product called you-no-poo, so he’s seen a lot.

George’s favourite dates are movie nights and going for ice cream. 

George (and Fred) regularly attends quidditch matches, they also love to go back to Hogwarts to watch their kids play (you know at least one of their kids would be into it, considering the Weasley’s history with the sport) and they always yell out their support v e r y loudly. 

George really likes wine. The older he gets he appreciates it more and enjoys talking about it without any knowledge on it at business dinners, he’s impressed quite a few potential clients and business partners by giving them a long tirade about wine, without a single thing of it being necessarily true. 

George (+Fred and Lee, lol) experimented with eyeliner for a short while, they stopped because it was quote-unquote: “too much work” which made a lot of their female friends roll their eyes because, oh you’ve no idea, do you, Weasley?

I mean someone had to test the wonderwitch products, right?

George is a very light sleeper, and since Fred is anything but that- what with his sleepwalking and tossing and turning- George rarely got a lot of sleep, meaning there’s a large percentage of his detentions in school that were solely from “inattentiveness” aka “falling asleep in class.” 

George always thought that if he really really couldn’t work with the joke shop, he’d be a healer. He doesn’t know if he’d be any good at it but it’s a nice thought and he does have a caring gene from his mother. 

George’s first sign of magic was when he was a year old. He summoned a blanket into his crib, so it wasn’t much. His first noticeable thing he did was three years later by blasting Fred off him when they were play-wrestling, he basically shocked him with a defensive charge which sent Fred flying onto his back. Fred’s reaction was sitting up, looking shocked, rubbing his head and then whispering: “cool!” They spent days trying to recreate it but to no avail. The story of the event has been greatly exaggerated by both Fred and George to their nieces and nephews. 

They still joke that George has a secret superpower that can only be unlocked by play-wrestling him. 

As George gets older, he requires glasses like his father, though mostly for reading and sometimes for working on products. 

George’s favourite genre of music is soft rock, he’ll belt out an 80’s power ballad any day (and preferably while cooking) 

Oh, cooking. George gets super into cooking and baking after the twins move out, he tries his best to recreate his mother’s recipes and is still to this day attempting to perfect her cornish pasty (a personal favourite of his) and every Christmas, George and Molly practically never leave the kitchen in the burrow, as George desperately tries to learn everything he can. 

George is the godparent of all Fred’s kids as well as Albus, Dominique and Lucy. 

George buys the best gifts, I’ve already touched on this, but he has a weird ability to get you not only what you wish for but what you really need. 

Also, his gift wrapping skills are out of this world (his kids + nieces and nephews will never not receive those gifts that are wrapped in like 100 layers of paper)

George loves pet names, he loves the overly sweet, cliché ones and the simple, common ones. His favourite to call his s/o is darling, sweetheart and, weirdly, pumpernickel (he just thinks it’s a funny word).

George’s favourite dates he’d take his s/o on is: museum dates, cooking for them at home, picnics and going to the beach. 

George actually kind of liked the Hogwarts uniform. It was easy to keep track of and it meant he could spend minimum time in hand-me-downs that rarely fit perfectly. 

George would love to have (and probably has already got) a dog, he doesn’t care what size or breed (but personally I can see him getting on well with a cavalier or a Stabyhoun) 

George (also) has a small size kink: He loves wrapping his arms around his s/o from behind, enveloping them in his jacket when it’s cold and resting his head on top of theirs. 

George is either full of energy and wants to do five things at once or wants nothing more than to lay flat on the nearest soft surface he can find and watch movies until he falls asleep. 

He often takes his s/o on random adventures, he does it as a way to escape boredom or if he’s lost his inspiration. He finds it helps to come up with new ideas if you throw yourself off your rhythm (if you get it you get it) by doing something random you don’t normally do. 

George has big John Mulaney energy and if his s/o ever showed him his shows, he’d probably never stop quoting them. 

George’s favourite body parts on his s/o: Neck, hands, lips (and butt) (this is where it gets steamy just fyi) 

George is very respectful in bed, he’s the type to ask “are you ok?” and “is this ok?” a lot, at least the first couple of times he’s together with his s/o until he gets to know them better. 

George def. has a praise kink, he loves giving praise but he also loves feeling like he’s appreciated and loved and doing a good job, you know? 

We all know George has a thing for lace, we’re way beyond that at this point. Consider silk, though. He’d totally be into silk over the lace, it’s a light fabric, pretty and really easy to tear away…. *wink* 

George is surprisingly good at opening bras. 

Generally, he’s really good with his fingers…

He has a pretty dirty mind when it comes to sex but is also super embarrassed about it so he’d only admit his kinkier thoughts when he really trusts and knows his s/o. 

I think he’d be pretty two-sided in bed, he loves the intimate, sweet sex but also the rougher, tearing-your-lingerie-off-you sex. 

He prefers receiving more than giving oral but it is by such a small margin, he’ll happily give. 

He can only last one round (maybe two if you give him a long break) but he’ll absolutely make it count.

George’s fav position is missionary. As much as he likes trying other positions, he prefers the intimacy of missionary. Plus he thinks being able to see your face as you unravel under him is really hot. 

[dawninlatin]

‘tis the damn season, chapter 1

A belated gift for @ladywitchling​ <3 Merry Christmas my love, hope you appreciate this as much as I appreciate you!<3

Words: 1728

AO3 Link

Masterlist

Manon prepares to spend Christmas alone. Little does she know Elide has other plans...

«Are you sure you’re fine with being alone on Christmas?»

Manon couldn’t help but sigh, hoping that Asterin wouldn’t hear it through the phone. She appreciated her cousin’s worrying, but calling four times a day to check in was a bit excessive.

«Yes, Asterin.» She twisted in her office chair, opening her laptop. «It’s not as if we ever did anything special for Christmas anyway.» Manon glanced at the clock, then at the amount of unopened emails. It would be a while before she was done for the day, but she didn’t mind. No one was waiting for her.

Elide had left this morning to spend the holiday with her family, and without the presence of her cheery girlfriend, Manon didn’t really see the point of celebrating Christmas. She had received an invitation to join Asterin, but she had a family of her own now. Manon would only feel like an intruder the whole night.

As if she’d read Manon’s mind, Asterin said from the other end of the line, «Not doing much for Christmas isn’t the same as being alone.»

«I know that, but-»

Before she find a way finish that sentence, Asterin interrupted her again. «Can’t Elide-»

«Elide has already left to celebrate with her family, as she should.» Manon tried to ignore the sound of defeat in her voice as she yet again was reminded of how empty their apartment would be. Maybe that was why she’d decided to work overtime on Christmas Eve.

Saying goodbye to her girlfriend earlier today had been torture, and all Manon had wanted was to pull Elide into a tight embrace and spend all of Christmas cozied up in bed, just the two of them.

She didn’t though. Instead she put on a brave smile and held back her tears as her favorite person walked out the door.

Rolling her eyes at her own dramatics, Manon said to Asterin, «Christmas is overrated anyway. And I mean it when I say I don’t mind being alone.»

Liar. Dirty, filthy liar.

«Okay,» Asterin sighed at last, obviously spotting the lie, but playing along nonetheless. «You’re probably happy to finally have some peace and quiet.»

«Damn right I am,» Manon smiled, her heart once again filling up with love for her cousin. Before Elide, Asterin had been the only person Manon had. The two cousins had been raised by the same cruel grandmother, and it had made them inseparable, always looking after one another.

«I’ll leave you to it then. I need to take a long nap before I can do anything else. Willow kept us up all night.» Asterin yawned, and Manon chuckled slightly at the sound of her tired cousin. Being the mother of a one-year-old wasn’t easy. Especially not when that one-year-old was also the daughter of Fenrys Moonbeam.

Speaking of the devil… «You still talking to The Grinch?»

Manon tipped her head back and laughed as Fenrys’ voice filled her ear. The nickname was one he’d lovingly began to call her after she’d voiced her aversion for the bright and merry season.

«Hello to you too, Fenrys.»

«Wait a moment,» Asterin suddenly said. «I’m turning on the FaceTime camera.»

Manon could hear some shuffling coming from the phone she’d pulled away from her ear, and then the small family filled her screen. She smiled warmly at the sight of a very tired Willow, who looked like she’d just been woken up from a nap of her own by the way her soft curls stood in every direction and how she clung to her father.

«Hey Willow,» Manon cooed, and the little girl’s face lit up at the sight of her auntie.

She babbled some nonsense, and Asterin handed her the phone, which she immediately put in her mouth.

«No!» Asterin was quick to steal the phone back, but the glare Willow gave her had Manon laughing again.

«Alright, it looks like someone is hungry, so I’ll hang up now.» Manon waved at her niece. «Bye, Willow!»

«Can you say bye to auntie Manon?» Even after a year, she still filled with pride whenever anyone called her that, and as Willow waved enthusiastically, Manon forgot all sadness from earlier.

Pressing a kiss to his wife’s cheek, Fenrys took Willow and left the frame. «Let’s go and feed The Kraken!»

«Fenrys!» Asterin called after him, but she was grinning.

«Merry Christmas, Asterin,» Manon said softly, ready to turn her attention back to her work.

«Merry Christmas, Manon. I love you.»

«I love you too,» she replied, and hung up.

Manon debated calling Elide as well, while she was at it, but it was getting dark outside, so she decided it was best to just finish for the day and go home to suffer through Christmas alone.

-

Three hours later, Manon was finally finished with her workload. There was only one last thing to do…

Groaning as she got up from her desk, Manon made her way towards the office of the only other person grumpy and joyless enough to spend the holiday at work.

If Manon was the Grinch, Lorcan Salvaterre had to be something far, far worse.

She knocked on his door, and he responded with an annoyed «What do you want.»

Stepping into his office, Manon scowled at the sight of her least favorite person in the world. She really didn’t have the patience to deal with this today.

«I’m done for the day, so I just wanted to check if you got the files I sent you,» Manon stated, examining her nails with a bored look on her face.

Lorcan’s signature frown entered his face as he checked his email, then looked back too Manon. «Yeah, so you can leave now. I wanna work in peace.»

«Too bad I came here to chit-chat then, since you’re like, my favorite person in the whoooole world,» Manon deadpanned, turning on her heel so she didn’t have to stay a minute more in his miserable presence.

Manon and Lorcan saw each other an awful lot for basically being archenemies. It wasn’t enough that they worked together. No, two years back, Elide had been taking her to a party so she could finally meet her friends, and none other than Lorcan fucking Salvaterre had greeted them, his smile quickly shifting to a scowl as Manon had muttered a not-so-quiet you’ve got to be kidding me.

Thinking about the memory, she stopped in the doorway, her longing from earlier having returned at full force. A small smile played on her lips as she looked over her shoulder. «Have a shitty Christmas, Salvaterre.»

Lorcan let out a small chuckle. «You too, Blackbeak.»

-

Sitting on the train, Manon suddenly began to regret not decorating the apartment. It felt wrong to know that she was on her way to an empty apartment, as ordinary-looking as always, when she was surrounded by so many people dressed in finery, on their way to see friends and family, twinkling lights passing in a blur.

A wave of sadness rushed through her. She would have given anything to have Elide by her side right now, holding her hand, talking about her day, smiling, laughing, just being there.

Actual tears burned behind her eyes then, and Manon silently cursed Christmas for making her so emotional. She never cried! And now she was being all sappy because she’d been away from her girlfriend for a grand total of ten hours. What was wrong with her?

Her phone chimed in her purse, interrupting her sad music video moment, and when Manon saw who had texted her, she had to fight even harder to hold back the tears.

Elide<3: You on your way home yet?<3

Manon: On the train now

She thought for a second, before sending another message.

Manon: Thinking of you<3

Elide<3: Thinking of you too, can’t wait to see you again<3<3

Had her younger self seen this, she would have snorted at the sappy words and heart emojis, but there was no denying it, no one could resist the charm of Elide Lochan.

Looking up once more, Manon saw that it had started to snow, the world already covered by a white blanket.

Next year she would accept Asterin’s invitation, Manon promised herself.

-

Standing before her door, Manon spent longer than necessary fumbling for her keys. Maybe some part of her didn’t want to enter the empty apartment, she was mature enough to admit that.

Because whether she wanted to acknowledge it or not, it was Christmas, and she was sad because Elide wasn’t there, and her home wasn’t decorated and her dinner was a miserable plate of yesterday’s leftovers and her only plan was to watch a movie, alone.

Manon let out a sigh as she let her head hit the door, needing a moment to gather herself. «it’s your own fault for trying to be so fucking independent and untouchable the whole time,» she whispered.

She gave herself one more second to brood, then she twisted the key and eased the door open.

A few steps into the hallway, Manon stopped short, a confused look on her face. She’d turned off the lights this morning, hadn’t she? And was that…?

It was music, the soft tones of some Christmas song, coming from the kitchen.

Looking around, there were even a few decorations put up, a mistletoe hanging over the entrance to the living room.

«Hello?» Manon called, not letting herself really think about who this had to be. Not letting that kind of hope come to life.

Heart pounding in her chest, she stepped into the living room, and could do nothing but gasp in awe as she took in her surroundings. A Christmas tree stood in the corner, the room lit up by its softly glowing lights, and everywhere there were little trinkets and other decorations. On the mantel of the fireplace was a picture of her and Elide that hadn’t been there before. It was from last week, Manon recognized, when they’d been at the Christmas market, and on the frame were the words: Make the yuletide gay. A bubbling laugh escaped her, and she couldn’t hold the tears back this time.

A voice sounded from the kitchen, and Manon turned around, only to be met by a pair of shining eyes and a bright smile.

«Merry Christmas, my love.»

Taglist: @ireallyshouldsleeprn​ @ladywitchling​

I keep a separate taglist for every ship, so let me know if you want to be added to any of them!

[flyinghome-againstthewind]

the best by far is you: chapter 14

Read on AO3

Previous Chapter

For all the things my hands have held, the best by far is you -  Cecilia and the satellite

————

Summary: An exploration of Claire & Jamie’s story if their firstborn had lived and they had the chance to be parents together of wee Faith Fraser before the Battle of Culloden.

Chapter 14

May 1746 

In the light of morning, Claire woke in a strange room, in a bed she’d never slept in before last night. And yet her hand still reached for the pillow next to her as her consciousness slowly surfaced. Of course he wasn’t there. They’d never shared this bed, but being back at Lallybroch meant that his presence haunted this place at every turn. It felt wrong that she was here in his family’s home and Jamie wasn’t.  

When she trekked downstairs in the mornings now, she half-expected to see him in the parlor with his arms full with the babies, or at the breakfast table in discussion with Ian and Murtagh.

And of course, any giggle or peep out of her young nieces had Claire’s gaze following the sound, knowing full well she wouldn’t find Faith at the source but still helpless to stop the impulse to check. 

Her logical mind knew they wouldn’t be here, but the places in her mind that were filled with Jamie and Faith could not reconcile this. So much of Lallybroch was painted with memories of them. 

Her one comfort in all of this was Fergus. 

Fergus, who stayed by her side and in his own way told her he would do as Jamie had asked of him many times before; he would look after Claire. 

And Fergus, who was only 11 and still reeling from the loss of Jamie, was in dire need of his own looking after. He was hers to take care of, to mother, to protect. 

So when Ian told him after breakfast one day to get ready for a trip to Broch Morda for supplies, Fergus was hesitant to leave. 

“You can go, Fergus. It’s alright.” 

“No, Milady. I will stay.”

“Fergus,” her tone softened. “I will still be here when you come back. I promise. I’m not going anywhere without you.” She could see his resolve weakening at that so she gave him a quick side-hug and released him with, “Go on then. Go with your uncle.” 

It didn’t strike her until they had left, what she had said. Ian had smiled at her, a little curiously, and left with Fergus, one hand on the boy’s shoulder. 

“Uncle, hmm?” had been how Jenny announced that she had noticed, too. 

She found Jenny’s gaze. “Well, he is, technically… isn’t he?” 

“Och, aye,” Jenny agreed easily. “We kenned before the war that he was yours, when ye and Jamie asked us to… to raise both him and Faith, should anything happen. Ye’ve jest never said it like that, calling Ian his uncle.” 

“There’s a lot that we should’ve said sooner with Fergus.” She swallowed roughly, fighting the urge to cry. The rest remained unspoken ‒ the fear that, with Jamie at least, they might’ve missed a chance to correct this. 

  The rhythm of life at Lallybroch didn’t cease with Claire’s return, though she found herself unsure of her place in it now. Lady Broch Turach no longer, she watched as Jenny ran the house. 

She had been eager to help still, but Jenny had insisted she rest for a few days after her recent journey and in light of her condition.  

Which is how Claire found herself trying to make herself less of a stranger to her small nieces and nephew.

Wee Jamie still held some small spark of recognition for his auntie, and his joy over her return warmed her to the backbone. Little Maggie was reticent and shy around Claire, needing some time and space to make up her mind about her. But fifteen-month-old Kitty, as the youngest of the household, had never known the luxury of having either of her parents’ undivided attention and had grown used to being passed from one set of arms to the next. As such, she’d never been a clingy child and in contrast to her older sister, Kitty warmed up to her Auntie Claire very fast.    

By mid-afternoon, she’d crawled into Claire’s lap and fallen asleep. That was how Mrs. Crook found the two of them when she came to collect the girls for their nap.

“D’ye want me to take her, Mistress?” 

“No.” Claire’s arms tightened ever so slightly around Kitty’s small form. “I’m alright with her. Thank you.” 

Jenny flitted about throughout the day, never quite sitting still, but she paused when she found Claire and Kitty there in the parlor. “That didna take long,” she said warmly, her gaze flicking down to sweet Kitty. 

“She’s quite the character now.” 

“Aye, since she learnt tae speak, she’s kept us laughing.” 

Claire exhaled a soft laugh, her gaze inexorably drawn back to the sleeping girl in her arms. She felt Jenny sink into the seat next to her, and drew in a deep breath. 

“What’s she like now?” Claire asked, her voice trembling as she managed to get the words out. Her eyes flicked up to Jenny to see if she understood that she wasn’t asking about Kitty.

Jenny made a soft, pitying sound and took her time considering how to answer.

“She’s a terribly smart wee thing,” Jenny said at length and despite how Jenny’s words made her ache, Claire also felt the pull of a proud smile. “Always keepin’ me on my toes, that one. And she was always the one in charge, despite Maggie being six months older.  

“And still as stubborn as ever, if no’ more. Took an age tae get her tae sleep wi’out needing to be held.”

Claire’s smile faltered, her thoughts flooded with the nights spent holding Faith in her arms, walking the length of the upper hallway until she fell asleep. She supposed Faith had been a bit of a difficult baby in that regard ‒ she never could fall right to sleep if they laid her down in her cradle. But Faith was their first baby and they’d been too wrapped up in her to try and change that nighttime routine with her. 

Jenny studied her expression. “Ye ken I was the same way with my wee Jamie. Lad never so much as touched the ground until he was well o’er a year. But with all the bairns, I‒” 

“Oh, Jenny, no. I’m not upset or judging you. With all the little ones, you couldn’t possibly…” 

“She only started going to sleep on her own when we let her share a bed with Maggie,” Jenny added.    

“Really?”

“Aye, they were always together when they were awake so we put her in wi’ Maggie one night and then she was happy as a lark.” 

Claire’s gaze dropped again to small Kitty. “They must miss her,” she said softly. “As I’m sure she misses them.” 

“She’s still such a wee darling,” Jenny said after a moment, and Claire felt her heart constrict. “She was always the last one out of bed every morning, but she’d look for me first when she woke, aye? After weeks of that, I… I never felt like my morning really started until after she’d run and found me... given me a hug. I miss that. I miss her‒”

She didn’t miss the way Jenny turned away slightly, surreptitiously wiping at her tears. Claire swallowed past the sudden lump on her throat as a heavy silence followed.      

“Ken she’s yer bairn, Claire, but after months of…” Jenny’s eyes were watery but she blinked back more tears and straightened. Claire watched her physically steel herself against the pain. 

“She was yours, during that time. I know that,” Claire whispered tightly, fighting her own rush of tears. For Jenny’s loss. For Faith’s. For her own. “You and Ian were prepared to raise her if… if Jamie and I didn’t make it back. I can never thank you enough.” 

“I’ll accept no thanks for it. She’s blood.” 

“I didn’t mean…” Claire reached for Jenny’s hand, surprised to feel Jenny’s tight squeeze in response. It was hard for both of them, unimaginably so. 

“I wanted ye both to come back for her. I’m no’ saying‒”

“No, of course not,” Claire said firmly. “I only meant that it… it was a comfort to me when we were gone, knowing she was here. Knowing she was loved. Jamie and I couldn’t have entrusted her to anyone else.” 

“I wasna in the house when Murtagh came and fetched her,” Jenny said suddenly, her voice suddenly wooden. “I found out a short while later. Mrs. Crook made a fuss of it but she didn’t stop him.” Her gaze met Claire’s and she saw the pain lurking behind Jenny’s stubborn resolve. “But if it had been me, Claire, he never would’ve gone one step away from here wi’ that child. And I jest keep thinking if I had been here to stop him, mebbe none o’ this would’ve happened. Mebbe Jamie would’ve had tae figure out a different plan if Faith never arrived. And surely ye wouldna have agreed to go anywhere wi’out her.”

“Jenny…” Claire sighed. “I have replayed that day over and over in my mind, wondering how I could’ve changed the outcome. But at the end of the day, it’s wasted energy. Because there’s nothing either of us could do now to change what’s happened. I know you know that.”     

She squeezed Jenny’s hand a little tighter. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“Neither did ye.” 

Jenny’s words surprised her and she let out a humorless laugh. “Not so sure about that‒”

“Claire,” Jenny chided sharply. “Ye didna ken what would happen ‒ and how could ye? Would ye have gone if ye had?”

“No, but I‒” 

“Are ye really goin’ tae argue wi’ me o’er the same thing ye just told me no’ to punish myself about?” 

Her mouth snapped shut, no counterargument coming to mind. She’d meant what she said ‒ Jenny should carry no guilt for that day. That didn’t mean the choice of going through the stones that day didn’t weigh heavily on Claire’s conscience. But Jenny was bound and determined to make the same argument on her behalf, she could see.     

“How far along are ye?” Jenny asked when their conversation stalled. 

“Eleven weeks or so. Still so much that can go wrong.” The last sentence came out in a rush. Jenny’s hand held tight to her own, an unspoken understanding passing between them. “In fact, I‒ well, besides when I came through that morning, I haven’t felt sick once and I worry… what if that…” 

“Have ye bled at all?” Jenny cut in, not unkindly but to the point. 

“N-no, but it would take some time still before my body‒” She couldn’t finish the sentence, but Jenny squeezed her hand, seeming to understand. 

“Were ye sick when you went through back tae yer time?” 

“Sick as a dog the entire time I was there. That’s how it had been when I was pregnant with Faith.” 

She hadn’t realized she was crying until Jenny’s hand gently brushed the tears from her face. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to talk to someone about this until the words were spilling out to Jenny, no longer festering under her skin. 

“I’ve been so focused on finding Jamie and Faith the last few weeks that I’ve barely even thought about the baby, but I‒ oh god, I couldn’t bear to lose it!” 

The sobs came then and she was pulled sideways into Jenny’s arms and held there. Kitty stirred but didn’t wake, stretching sleepily in her new position.     

“Dinna talk like that, Claire.” Jenny’s voice was soft and soothing but laced with concern. “Until we ken otherwise, this bairn is jest fine. It’s no use tae spend yer time worrying when it might jest be yer sickness easing up.” 

Rationally, Claire knew this could be the reason… her morning sickness letting up as she approached her second trimester.  

“Ye willna be alone, Claire,” Jenny startled her by speaking right to the heart of her fear, the part she couldn’t possibly put into words without breaking. “No matter what happens to the bairn or to Jamie or Faith. Ye hear me?”

Jamie had said those same words to her once and though she would never quite be whole if she lost any of them, she knew Jamie was still right. He’d seen to it that she had a family who could carry her through even the unthinkable. 

Her free hand came up to grasp Jenny’s arm where it was holding tightly to her. “I hear you.”

“Milady!” 

“Jenny! Claire!” 

Fergus and Ian’s voices announced their return from Broch Morda late in the day and had both Jenny and Claire hastening out to meet them. 

“What’s happened?” Jenny demanded. 

“There’s a letter for you!” Fergus jumped down from the wagon before Ian had even slowed the horses to full stop. 

“Careful!” Claire scolded, but it was lost on Ian’s next words. 

“Jest have a look at the handwriting.” 

Fergus handed the letter over to Jenny, to whom it was addressed, and Claire had to restrain herself from snatching it from Jenny’s fingers when she caught sight of the familiar, fine penmanship that belonged to her husband. 

 “Jamie…” 

Jenny tore open the letter abruptly and unfolded it while Claire arranged herself at Jenny’s shoulder, peering over at the contents of it. Not a word of it was in English and bits of the Gaelic was lost on Claire. 

“What does it say?” Fergus asked impatiently, but Claire and Jenny were both too engrossed to respond. Instead, Claire slipped an arm around his shoulders and tucked him against her side. 

“That word there ‒ what does that mean?” She pointed. 

Jenny gave her a sideways glance. “Sorcha? It’s… well, it’s you, Claire. It’s yer name in Gàidhlig. He’s written that you’ve gone. That he’s lost ye.” 

She didn’t need a translator for the next sentence written in French. One word jumped out at her and suddenly her vision blurred with tears. It was clear he was trying to be careful; he’d referred to their child as faith, a belief. But he had her. 

There was no way to tell him of her return but somehow just the confirmation that Jamie and Faith were alive and together at the time he’d written gave Claire a sweeping sense of relief.   

“They’re alright,” she breathed out. 

“Where are they?” Fergus asked. 

“He doesna say.” Jenny sighed. 

“Where are they headed?” 

It might’ve been quicker to hand Fergus the letter and let him see for himself, but instead, Jenny scanned it again, as though trying to extract some further message from it. “He doesna say,” she repeated, with no effort to hide her disappointment. 

“He’s being cautious. Especially because of Faith. And he wouldn’t want to put any of your lives in jeopardy by disclosing his plans.”

“But…” Fergus began and then hesitated. When Claire glanced down at him, she could see the concern etched into his expression. His gaze slid up to meet hers. “How will we find them if we don’t know where he is or where he’s going?” 

Claire breathed in deeply. An excellent question, she thought, and one she had no answer to. “Don’t you worry. We’ll… we’ll keep looking.” 

  They went inside, but the contents of the letter stayed top of mind for all as they tried to move about their day. Ian read the letter for himself and then Murtagh read it when he joined them before dinner. In the evening, they gathered in the parlor, and Jamie’s letter ended up in Claire’s hands while the discussion of Jamie and Faith’s whereabouts unfolded around them. 

“He could’ve gone to Leoch.” 

Claire pulled a face at that suggestion from Murtagh. “Surely not after Colum’s death and‒” her gaze broke away to wee Jamie and she couldn’t get the words out of how it had ended with Dougal in front of the little ones. 

“Aye, with both brothers gone, the role of clan chieftain will pass to wee Hamish. Doubt he’d give Jamie much trouble, wee runt that he is. No one there would ken what happened wi’ Dougal MacKenzie. And Jamie does have people there who would be loyal to him and give him shelter if he asked for it.” 

Claire considered it, but only for a moment. “No, he wouldn’t risk it. Colum wanted to remain neutral but Dougal fought in the rebellion with his men and there’s no telling how the British will interpret Clan MacKenzie’s loyalty. Especially in the immediate aftermath, they work tirelessly to squash any trace of rebellion. Besides, if anyone knows of Jamie’s ties to the MacKenzie clan, it would be the next place the Redcoats would look after here.” 

Murtagh only grunted, still considering. 

“I ken how he feels about Lord Lovat, but maybe…” Ian trailed off, staring at Claire. “Have I missed something, Claire?”   

She breathed in briskly. “This hadn’t felt relevant when I shared my story with you all, but… Lord Lovat will be executed as a traitor by the British for his involvement in the rising. There was a… Well. Let’s just say I knew of this before Culloden, but I found confirmation of Lord Lovat’s execution when I returned to my time, while I looked for Jamie. And Jamie knows about his grandfather’s death, too. He won’t bring Faith there, even if they are family.” 

Jenny took the news of her grandsire in stride while Ian cleared his throat awkwardly, not sure how to move on from that piece of news. 

“More likely he’ll go where no one kens him,” Murtagh said softly, his gaze on the fire. “If he canna turn to family without risk involved.” 

Claire didn’t miss the way Fergus’s face fell at this pronouncement. He had picked a spot on the floor, away from everyone else and closer to the fire, but his attention to their conversation was completely present. 

She’d never seen him so morose before, but she understood perfectly why he felt so hopeless ‒ it was a daily battle of her own not to give in to the feeling. 

“Fergus, come sit by me,” she called to him. 

He went without any resistance and sunk into the spot next to her on the sofa. Claire pulled him closer and his head leaned against her shoulder. “It’ll be alright, love,” she murmured quietly. 

“Can I see this?” he asked, ignoring her comment. 

“Yes, of course.” With a sad smile, she handed over the letter to him and then let her attention drift back to the conversation at hand. 

Fergus pored over the contents of the letter and, like everyone else, found nothing new to glean from it. Clearly frustrated, he began to fidget with the letter, using the weight of the wax seal on one end to flip the paper back and forth, open and then folded shut.

Claire watched him, unable to ignore the movement from the corner of her eye. Something clicked in her brain and her hand shot out, stopping Fergus. The red wax seal faced up to both of them and Fergus glanced curiously at Claire. 

“I’ve seen this seal before.” 

She said it quietly enough that none of the others heard it ‒ she’d said it mostly to herself but Fergus had caught it, too. 

“Where have I seen this seal before?” 

Fergus took a deep breath, his whole demeanor shifting. “Is it not Milord’s?” 

“No, it’s not his. But it’s familiar, somehow…” 

“If you remember, it could help us find them, non?”        

She frowned slightly at it. “Perhaps. If I remember.” 

That night she dreamt of the World War, of being back in the field hospitals tending to wounded soldiers. But she was looking for someone in particular as she checked the cots of the wounded. Suddenly, someone tugged on her arm and she turned, finding Mary Hawkins at her side, clad in the same dress she’d worn that day at the apothecary in Inverness.   

“Please, Claire, you have to help him!” Claire could see Alex Randall suddenly, laid out on a cot just behind Mary. A nurse was pulling a sheet over his head, already gone. “He’s dying!” 

“I’m sorry, Mary. There’s nothing I can do.” There was an urgency, an almost physical push for Claire to leave that she couldn’t define. “I have to find my husband.” 

Claire woke with a start and laid very still in the dark room. For a moment, her mind struggled to place that room, and which year she resided in. She curled up on her side and breathed in deeply, the details of her dream already starting to fade. But seeing Mary, someone from this time, plopped into the middle of 1943 was hard to forget. And the powerlessness she’d felt of being unable to cure poor Alex…

Her eyes flew open again and stared through the darkness.  

She had seen the seal before. Three weeks ago on Alex Randall’s desk. 

“Randall?” Murtagh scowled. 

“Alex Randall, yes.” Claire handed the letter to him. “During one of the times I tended to him in Inverness, I wrote out a list for Mary of what she could give Alex to keep him comfortable and help him rest. The seal was there. He must’ve recently written a letter ‒ or Mary.” 

“And ye’re sure? Ye ken it’s the same as this one and no’ just because ye dreamed it?” 

Claire, on some level, understood his skepticism, but she leveled an irritated gaze at him for that remark all the same. “Yes, I’m sure.”    

“What the devil would Jamie be doing wi’ a dead man’s seal? Wi’ a Randall’s seal?” 

“Not Alex,” Claire murmured, noticing the sounds of little ones up in the hallway. It wouldn’t be long before the family joined them. “But what about Mary?”

Murtagh gave a soft grunt, considering this. 

“She would’ve still been in Inverness,” Claire pressed. “And Jamie knew this. What if he stopped there first after the stones?”

Murtagh looked doubtful of that possibility but he didn’t say anything. 

“How else would Jamie have used this seal, hmm?” She pressed the issue, feeling for the first time a sense of hope. They had a direction, at least. They knew where to start. If Mary was still in Inverness, they had someone to question who likely saw Jamie and Faith after Culloden.

“Suppose we head for Inverness and we’re wrong about the seal. What then?” 

Claire gave a helpless shrug. “We don’t have anything else to go on. If not Inverness, where else would we look that wouldn’t be a complete guess?”   

In 4 days’ time, they were packing up from Lallybroch to head for Inverness. 

For Claire, that meant grabbing what she would need for the journey, but also what she could bring should she find Jamie and Faith. When they’d left from Lallybroch the last time, there were plenty of their things they’d left behind, like Jamie’s mother’s pearls that he’d given to Claire on their wedding night. 

She packed her maternity stays she’d worn in Paris, uncertain of where she’d be when the need arose for them again. She stilled in her packing at that thought. She had no idea where she’d be when the baby came, either, and that thought was terrifying. Digging into a chest in the Laird’s room, she unearthed some of Faith’s clothing from when she was a tiny baby. They’d packed them away last year ‒ was it only last year? ‒ with the unspoken hope between her and Jamie that they’d have a reason to use them again someday. 

Her fingers toyed with the fabric of one simple white nightgown. These were such imperfect circumstances to bring a baby into, but then again… Faith had entered the world amidst equally imperfect circumstances. Claire knew she could do it, if she had to… raise the baby on her own. But oh, the thought of this baby never knowing Jamie or Faith broke her heart clean in two. 

A light rap on the door startled Claire and she turned to see Jenny with a few of Faith’s things ‒ her doll, a blanket, and the wooden box that Claire knew held 12 apostle spoons. 

“Are you sure about that one?” She gestured to the box. “I know that’s a family heirloom.” 

“It was Faith’s christening gift. It should be returned to Faith.”    

Claire smiled faintly, bolstered slightly by Jenny’s unwavering belief that wherever this journey ended, Faith and Jamie would be there. 

“All set, then?” Claire poked her head into Fergus’s room. The boy was finishing up packing his things neatly into his pack as Jamie had shown him. He’d been different the last few days, since she’d remembered about the seal. Since they had a direction in mind to begin. Hope had returned for him and no shortage of determination as well. 

“Oui, Milady. Just about.” 

His wooden swords leaned against the wall in one corner. He’d already decided that those would go to wee Jamie, that they were too bulky to bring along and that he was too old for them now anyway. 

But Claire felt a soft swell of relief to see him tucking his carved horse into his bag to take with him. He was growing up much too quickly, but he hadn’t outgrown her and for that, she was grateful.    

“Are you sad to leave this behind? It’s been your room for a while.” 

Fergus glanced over the room and gave a small shrug. “It’s only a room.”

She thought of all the places they’d lived over the two years that Fergus had been with them ‒ Jared’s place, Lallybroch, drafty cottages and flimsy tents dotted all along Scotland and England. They’d given him an upbringing not unlike what she’d had with her Uncle Lamb, and with it, an untethered understanding of home. 

“You’re right, it’s only a room.” 

She reached an arm out to him as he slung his pack over his shoulder, and they walked out of the room together with his shoulder tucked into her side. 

  “Ye have everything then?” 

“Think so.” 

Claire looked up from adjusting her saddlebag with last-minute provisions and saw Jenny standing there, arms folded across her chest.  

She’d said her goodbyes to wee Jamie, Maggie, and Kitty already, which was harder for a second time, having felt as though she’d only gotten to know them again just to leave them, never knowing when ‒ or even if ‒ she might see them next.

Murtagh and Fergus were securing the last of the packs to Murtagh’s horse so she and Jenny had a moment to themselves. 

“I feel like we just did this, saying our goodbyes,” Claire said ruefully. 

Jenny pulled her into a tight hug. “Aye, weel, the two o’ ye never can seem to stay out o’ trouble.” 

She gave Jenny a squeeze before releasing her. 

“Take care of yerself, sister. And I don’t jest mean because o’ the bairn. Though…” her hand came to rest on Claire’s stomach over the layers of her skirts. “Do take care o’ this one as well.” 

“I will. And I’ll send word as soon as I know anything. I promise.” 

Jenny smiled appreciatively at that, though Claire knew in this century, it would take weeks if not months for the news to arrive. It hardly felt right in these circumstances to leave their family waiting that long without word, but they didn’t know anything different than the snail’s pace of correspondence. 

“If I find them‒”

“When ye find them,” Jenny corrected her. The only time she’d even hinted at the possibility of losing Jamie and Faith had been that day in the parlor, and only to assure Claire that they would support her.  

“When I do … it will still be a while that the British occupy the Highlands. I don’t know when it will be safe to return to Lallybroch, but it might not be for a long while.” 

“I ken that.” Jenny’s expression was strong and unshakable but Claire knew… the reality of what stretched out before them even if they found Jamie quickly still meant that the Murrays might not see them for years. Might not see them ever again, even. “Dinna bring them home if it’s no’ safe. We understand.” 

Claire nodded. It didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt like hell to be apart. She pulled Jenny back in for a last hug, murmuring a quiet apology against her shoulder, and hoping that Jenny knew that she understood what Jenny was losing, too. What she’d already lost. Faith had lived under Lallybroch’s roof since she was four months old. And for eight months, she’d been entrusted solely to Jenny and Ian. It wasn’t just Jenny’s only remaining brother that was missing, likely not to return any time soon, but the niece who was also a little more than that.   

“She’ll know about how you felt about her morning greetings,” Claire found herself saying. “I’ll tell her everything about her life here, including what you shared with me from the last several months. She’ll know it all, I promise.” 

Murtagh and Fergus were hovering awkwardly nearby, having loaded everything onto the two horses they were taking ‒ Murtagh’s and the horse Claire had bought in Inverness. She released Jenny in time to see Ian making his way out to say goodbye to them. 

“C’mere, lad,” Jenny beckoned Fergus to her. “Come say goodbye to yer auntie then.” 

Claire turned to Ian, at a loss for what to say. He smiled at her, a touch sadly, and pulled her into a hug. “Take care o’ yer Fraser, aye?” 

She felt her vision burn with tears, remembering how they’d parted last year. “I will,” she said, her voice raspy. “And you take care of yours. Take extra good care of her, please.” 

Ian’s response was to squeeze her tighter. She sighed and finally released him, seeing that Jenny was laying into Murtagh what seemed to be instructions for looking out for her and Fergus. Murtagh appeared less than thrilled, but wisely only grunted in acknowledgement. 

When everyone had said their goodbyes, it was time to leave. Claire turned to Fergus and tilted her head in the direction of the horses. “Your choice. You can ride with me or with Murtagh.” 

“I will start the journey with Murtagh,” Fergus said decidedly. “And when he gets too grumpy, I will ride with you, Milady.” 

His words broke the heavy feeling in their group as laughter rippled out. 

“I dinna have to let ye ride wi’ me,” Murtagh fired back, though his eyes danced with merriment as he mounted his horse and extended a hand to Fergus to help him up. 

Ian offered Claire a hand as she mounted her horse. She turned to Murtagh and Fergus. “Ready?” 

Murtagh gave a curt nod, and Fergus from his perch behind Murtagh gave Claire a determined nod of his own. Claire gave her horse a firm kick and they were off. 

This time, when they cleared the gates, Claire looked back. She wanted to remember seeing Jenny and Ian by the front steps waving goodbye, and how Lallybroch looked in the early May light with the rest of the world all green around it. For as long as she lived, if she never saw it again, it would live always in her memory just like this. The first place that felt like home.  

But it’s only a place, she reminded herself. Though she couldn’t find it within herself to feel completely as Fergus did, as she might’ve when she were younger. Lallybroch was home for a while. And the Murrays were family. 

But home would be if‒ no, when… home would be when she found Jamie and Faith, with Fergus and Murtagh with them, and their little family wouldn’t be separated for the first time since last August. Home would be back together again. 

Jamie and Faith were out there somewhere. All they had to do was find them.    

[oboevallis]

quarantine blues

hey! sorry it’s been a minute since ive posted. a new chapter of unexpected should be up soon and it’s set a bit into the future. this fic i had a couple of prints for and kinda combines them, so i hope y’all like it and are doing well and staying safe!

Amelia dramatically sighed as she fell back into the couch. Scout had been especially fussy lately, Link acted as though he was a child and not an adult, and the kids were giving her a hard time. She knew everyone was under a great deal of discomfort and stress regarding quarantine and the pandemic, but she was at her wits end being blamed by the kids. As if she had planned the whole pandemic to happen just so they could be isolated from their mother. As easy as it was to lose her temper she knew she was the adult and could process her emotions, the kids were still kids so she knew she couldn’t expect the same level of understanding from them. She glanced over to the digital clock reading ‘3:27am’, she hadn’t been able to sleep with Scouts sporadic eating schedule, and resented her boyfriend for being able to get a somewhat decent nights sleep. She knew she shouldn’t have been complaining because Link was up all day wrestling the kids to do their homework and keeping them occupied, so her having to stay up taking care of the baby should’ve been a somewhat fair trade off. But Amelia was mad at everything, all she wished was for none of this to have happened.

“Auntie Amelia?” A small voice came from the dark hallway of the living room, slightly starling the older woman.

“Zozo? What’s the matter?” She reached her arms out for the girl, but she sat at the other end of the couch, so she awkwardly put her arms back to her sides. The girl shrugged her shoulders and looked down at her hands. “I can’t help if you don’t talk to me.”

“I-is my mom dead?” Zola asked tears forming in the corners of her eyes, as much as she didn’t want to ask she was desperate for an answer.

“No.” Amelia said firmly, yet reassuringly. “She’s sick, but she has an amazing team of doctors working for her, and they put her in something called a trial to try some medicine out to see if it’ll help her.” She stood up and sat a little closer to the girl, but respected the girls desire for space.

“Why can’t we speak to her? We used to FaceTime her when she was working and then we did for a little bit just when she got sick but now we never get to.”

“Your moms in something called a coma. Her body just needs a little break. It’s kind of like a really really long nap.”

“She’s not dead?”

“She’s not dead.”

“Good.” Zola nodded, before tears streamed down her eyes. Amelia couldn’t help herself and she wrapped the girl in her arms and the girl happily obliged allowing her tears to fall onto her aunts shirt. “Could she die though?”

“Your mom is a fighter, she’s been through so so so much and she’s always survived. There is a possibility though, there’s a lot of things we don’t know about this virus. Your mom’s as strong as they get though.” As much as Amelia wanted to lie and say that Meredith was going to be fine, she knew it wasn’t fair to the girl. Zola was wise beyond on her years, she would’ve seen right through the lies. Kids like Zola need the whole truth so they could properly access the situation themselves. “I want you to know you have a big group of people who love you so so so much. And whatever happens your gonna be okay.”

“Thanks auntie Amelia.”

“Of course. I’m always here if you need to talk.” Zola nodded and allowed herself to fall deeper into her aunts embrace.

________________________________________

Once Amelia settled Zola into bed she made her way into her own bedroom where she found her boyfriend cradling their wide awake son. She smiled at the sight and quietly moved to sit beside the pair, leaning her head on his shoulder. She was content being in the presence of her favorite people, here it felt like nothing was wrong in the world it was just the three of them. A soft knock jarring her out of her peaceful thoughts, she stood up to open the door revealing a distraught Bailey.

“Hey what’s the matter?”

“I had a bad dream.” He confessed softly, clinging his arms to wrap around his aunts legs.

“Want to sleep with me and Uncke Link tonight?” He nodded and walked over to their bed making himself comfortable in the middle of it. Amelia smiled and made her way over to her side of the bed, and pulled the boy into her embrace. “May I ask what your dream was about?”

“I don’t remember. I just remember waking up scared.” He nuzzled his head into his aunts shoulder.

“It’s pretty scary right now.” The older woman confessed, the young boy nodding in agreement. “It’s come to my attention I haven’t really been explaining what’s happening with your mom right now. The only reason she hasn’t called is because she’s in this thing called a coma so basically she’s just sleeping for a little bit until her body is ready to work better. Make sense?”

“Yeah.” He said softly. His dream had been about his mother which made him sad and scared. He was sad he didn’t get to see her, and scared because he knew she was sick. But his aunts reassurances made him a little less scared. “Can I ask a question?”

“Of course.” Amelia nodded, slightly scared for the question that was about to come her way, but to her luck her boyfriend had just put the baby in his crib allowing him to slipinto their bed behind her shifting them all towards the left side, so she knew wasn’t going to face this question alone.

“What happens if my mommy doesn’t get better? Will Me and Zola and Ellis go to an orphanage?”

“No, you won’t. You’ll stay right here at home, with Uncle Link, auntie Maggie and I.” She loved these kids as her own and would do anything for them, but hoped it wouldn’t come to that. They need Meredith, she was their mother. There were so many things she’s still needed to teach her kids, and things she still needed her sisters guidance on.

“But guess what, Bailey?” Link said wrapping his arm around his girlfriend to comfort her a bit. “Your mom is super duper strong, kinda like ‘The Hulk’ she’s a fighter, and I know she’s fighting really really hard for you and your sisters.”

“My moms nothing like ‘The Hulk’” Bailey giggled at the ridiculous statement.

“Your wrong she’s a lot like him. She’s super strong, super smart, she heals people, and have you seen her when she gets mad?” The young boy seemed to consider this before admitting his uncle had a point. Amelia fell asleep between the two as they rambled on about superheroes, before the two also succumbed to sleep.

_______________________________________

“Hey Elle Belle.” Amelia smiled as she leaned against the doorway to her room. After her conversations with the other kids she needed to check in and see how the youngest was holding up.

“Hi.” The girl sighed softly, looking up from her dolls.

“Can I play with you?” The girl simply nodded in response, her aunt lowering herself down slowly onto the floor next to her niece. Ellis explained the characters and what was happening, and the two played peacefully with one another, before the girl spoke up.

“When will we be able to go back to school, and when will mommy come home from work?” The girl put the doll she was playing with down and expectingly looked at her aunt.

“I don’t know.” Amelia admitted honestly. “But the more everyone cooperates and follows the rules the sickness could go away faster. And once the doctors find a vaccine that’ll help a lot too.”

“Are you making a vaccine? Or mommy or auntie Maggie?”

“No, we aren’t those kinds of doctors. Your auntie Maggie is helping people with the sickness feel better, and right now your mom has the sickness, but she has a really really good group of doctors work on her.”

“That’s good. All the doctors mommy works with are really smart.”

“Yeah, your right.” The neurosurgeon smiled to herself, Ellis had been picking up on Links optimism.

“Will you need to go back to work?”

“Well.” Amelia felt useless being at the house, while people were dying everyday, but she had a baby who depended on her and a trio of kids who did as well. “Not right now, I’m still on maternity leave. If they need help with a case I’ll go in, but I’m going to be here with you kids.”

“That’s good.” Ellis nodded twirling the dolls hair in her hand. “I’d be sad if we couldn’t see you. Like we can’t see mommy and auntie Maggie.” The girl then moved herself and into her aunts lap.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Amelia whispered holding the girl tightly, trying her hardest not to cry.

[anjuschiffer]

A Parent’s Misadventures

So... someone asked and they got a sequel (of some sorts) to Dada?

Enjoy :D

-----

AO3

-----

Being a parent had its woes, but if you asked Jason and Marinette, watching their daughter grow up was rewarding, many firsts being the everlasting, heartwarming moments for them.

Her first steps brought tears to their eyes.

Jason was cleaning his bloody gear in the living room, Bridgette playing with her toys when she eyed something even better than the bean-filled water bottle- a knife. 

However, the knife was on the coffee table, higher than what Bridgette can reach… unless she stood up. 

So after six attempts on trying to balance herself, Bridgette stood firmly, noting her father was gawking at her, his mouth opening and closing before he scrambled to grab his phone. 

Hoping it would work, Bridgette placed one foot in front of her, hearing gasps as she almost fell back, but quickly balanced herself. 

It wasn’t hard. She can do this. Taking several steps towards the coffee table, she heard her parents scream and cry as she finally made it to the table, grinning as she got hold of the knife and turned to her parents for appraisal. 

Her parents quickly praised, squishing her cheeks Bridgette noticing their faces pale considerably. 

They ripped the knife away from her hand, Bridgette wondering why they took it away from her and proceeded to cry. 

——-

Her first friend, a boy named Evan Johnson 

The Johnsons had finished moving in next door, Marinette jumping up and down, excited to finally have a neighbor after the apartment next door being vacant for a whole two years. 

She quickly prepared a quiche, blabbering to Jason how it was a family secret, giggling when she told Jason he couldn’t have some and watched as he and their daughter pouted in unison. 

Of course, that pout turned into a frown when Marinette dragged him to help welcome their neighbors, a nice couple from New York. 

Maya and Kyle had recently obtained a new scoop at Gotham, having to move Gotham to get it. 

However, seeing as the two couldn’t find a sitter nor relatives who can watch over Evan, they brought him along, worried to death about his safety. 

“Don’t worry about a thing.” Marinette stated, cutting up the quiche. “You’re in the luckiest place in Gotham. No crimes here in two years.” 

“Because you made sure- hey!” Jason yelped when Mari slapped his hand as he reached for a piece. 

“The Johnson’s first.” Mari growled, something in the corner of her eye catching her attention. “Is Evan still learning to walk?” 

“Yes! Even though he knows how to balance himself perfectly-“ Kyle started

“He still hasn’t quite got the confidence to walk on his own.” Maya ended.

“Well,” Mari pointed towards the kitchen doorway, the four adults turning to see Bridgette guiding Evan, holding his hand. 

Mari stifled a snort when she saw Jason narrow his eyes and grumble something under his breath. 

“His first steps!” Maya and Kyle rejoiced, Mari smiling as she watched them fish for their cameras, praising their little tyke. 

“Look at these-“

“I bet we were like that when Bridgette learned to walk.” Mari said softly, relaxing into Jason’s arm. Resting his head against Mari’s, Jason sighed. 

“I bet we were… with the exception of panicking because she had a knife in her hand.”

“Well she only got it because someone thought cleaning blood covered equipment at the coffee table was a good idea.”

“Listen, there was a table. All my equipment needed cleaning. You were cooking at the kitchen table. Where else did you expect me to clean?”

Mari raised a brow. Jason gulped. 

“You could’ve cleaned them outside.”

“And risk getting caught?”

“Since when did you care about that?” Jason opened and closed his mouth to fight back, but nothing came out. “I thought so.”

———

Her first pet -courtesy of Uncle Damian- a Doberman Bridgette had named Bunny.

Bunny was an energetic one year old girl, but three-year old Bridgette didn’t care 

“Bridgette honey, Bunny isn’t a horse.”

“But I fit.” Bridgette reasoned, laying on top of Bunny, who simply let the child be. The tiny human was a walking heat pack after all.

“Damian, thank you for the gift.” Jason said, ruffling Damian’s hair. He wondered if he should ask Damian about any dog trainers to train Bunny into becoming a guard dog.

“Bridgette said she wanted a dog, so of course I complied with her wish.” Damian said, smiling as his niece decided to close her eyes for a quick nap.

“Damian, you’re spoiling her.”

“Mari has a point.” Jason grinned, Mari narrowing her eyes even more. “Does the animal shelter you fund have any rottweilers or pitbulls up for adoption?”

“Let me check.”

“DAMIAN. YOU BETTER NOT-”

“We do and they’re currently on their way.” Damian said with a smirk, a smirk that easily rivaled Jason’s own.

“Mon Dieu.” Mari cried, dragging her hands down her face.

------

But one of the things Marinette and Jason both wanted and yet didn’t want was that dreadful first phone call from school.

Marinette was in the middle of a consultation, already wrapping it up with her client when her two phones started to ring simultaneously.

Apologizing and quickly shoo-ing the client away, Mari picked both phones up, having her personal phone on speaker while she held the other one close to her ear. As soon as she heard Jason speaking on her private phone, she quickly told him to be silent for a while when her business phone started to speak.

“Is this Miss Todd’s number?”

“Speaking.”

“I apologize for disrupting your busy schedule-”

“Don’t worry about that.”

“Thank you, but I still do apologize for your first phone call from your daughter’s school to be about… this.”

Now worried, Marinette quickly starts packing her things, muttering a few words to Jason before making handwritten notes for her secretary, giving it to her as she left.

“Did something happen to Bridgette? Mon Dieu! Is she okay?”

“She is, but the other child isn’t.” A scream was heard in the background, causing Marinette to quicken her walk towards the elevator. “Can you please come to the school as soon as you can?”

“Of course! I’ll be there in 15 minutes!”

-----

Jason howled with laughter, Marinette flushed with embarrassment, slapping Jason’s arm in hopes of calming him down, but it had the opposite effect. His howls grew louder.

“I-I see… so that’s what happened.” Marinette said quietly, wondering where they went wrong… or rather right...

“We know that it was an accident and apologies were exchanged, but we want to prevent this from happening again in the future.”

“Of course, Madam Daichi.” Marinette got up and bowed, gesturing Jason to do the same. “We’ll talk with Bridgette to prevent this from happening again.”

With that, the two parents left the principal’s office, picking up Bridgette from her classroom along the way.

“We’re going to have a long talk Catherine.”

-----

“So Bridgette, did you really punch Olwin square on his jaw?” Jason asked sternly, Bridgette fidgeting under her father’s gaze.

The trip home was quiet, Bridgette possibly able to hear one of her mother’s sewing needles if they dared drop inside the car. Not a single word was uttered as they made their way to her room.

“I didn’t mean to, but he didn’t want to lend Petunia the paint brush and he even pushed her. So I punched him.” Bridgette pursed her lips, retraining herself from crying, baring the stinging of her eyes. “I’m going to be grounded, aren’t I?”

Jason’s attitude quickly flipped, picking up his daughter, spinning her around, laughing as he did. Bridgette was left dumbfounded at her father’s behavior. Didn’t she do something wrong?

“That’s my girl!” Jason praised, putting Bridgette down, ruffling her hair. “Your form was great! Really proud of you!”

“Jason!” Marinette cried out, standing next to him with her arms crossed. Jason sheepishly smiled, yelping when Mari pinched his arm. “You weren’t suppose to talk about her stance. Yes it was perfect but we didn’t teach her to punch properly if she was going to punch a classmate.”

“But Maman! Olwin-”

“Bridgette. Catherine. Todd.” Marinette sternly said, enunciating each name. “Yes, he did something wrong, but that was not the way to handle it.”

“So what did you want me to do?”

“Speak up.” Mari said softly, wrapping her arms around her girl, feeling Bridgette do the same. “You could’ve gotten a teacher to help you mon chou. That’s what they are there for. To help.”

“What if that didn’t work.”

“That’s when you take it upon yourself to act.” Marinette said, gently pushing Bridgette away from her, noticing tears stream down her cheeks.” Promise me you’ll talk with a teacher first before you decide to punch another child again.”

“I promise.”

-----

Oh how Marinette wished to have made Bridgette also promise to not talk about her side job as well as Jason’s.

“-so it caused us a great amount of concern when we saw her drawing.”

“I understand.” Marinette said, looking at the picture in her hands. Oh how she wanted to curl up and stay hidden forever. 

There on the white sheet of paper was Jason and Marinetter, or should she say RED HOOD and LADYBIRD!

Oh mon Dieu! 

“So why exactly did Bridgette say-”

“My husband and I helped out a close friend of ours with a short film in regards to the two vigilantes of Gotham.” Marinette said in one breath, giving the principal a smile. “I think you’ve heard of him, Nino Lahiffe?”

“That’s right!” The principal said, clapping her hands together. “He did mention making a film with Red Hood and Ladybird as his next project!”

“That’s right!” Marinette said through her teeth, glad that Lady Luck hadn’t left her side. “He needed to someone to do a quick visual for his project and seeing as he needed help, we offered him our help, so-”

------

After giving Bridgette an earful as to why she couldn’t talk about their jobs as vigilantes to her friends, Marinette and Jason had to leave to go to ‘work.’

Tying up the criminal with zip-ties, Ladybird let out a sigh.

“What’s wrong this time mon lutin?” Red Hood asked, throwing the other criminal over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Do you think I went too far on Bridgette?” 

“Of course not.” Red Hood said, noticing that his words had no effect on her. “Okay, maybe a little.”

“But she can’t speak about this.” Ladybird motioned to her getup, to her black leather jacket and all black spandex suit. Five red dots laid on her chest. The mark of the ladybug Jason called them. “We can’t make her a target for the criminals of Gotham.”

“I know sweetheart.” Red Hood said softly, nudging his helmet against her forehead. “But Bridgette doesn’t need to be sheltered and protected like some fragile jewel. She’s strong. She can protect herself. She has us, the rest of my family, ready to have her back if anything were to happen to her.”

Ladybird let out a sigh, a small smile gracing her lips. 

“You’re right. We’ll always protect her.”

“Always.” Red Hood repeated, hauling the criminal Ladybird had tied up onto his other shoulder. “Though, you have to admit, Cathy talking about us as her heroes was kinda cool.”

“You mean adorable.” Ladybird corrected, smiling at the thought. He was right. Bridgette thought they were heroes. She loved them. They were her heroes

“Now come on. We have a tiny robin awaiting us back at the nest.”

With a nod, the duo disappeared into the night, not being able to bare another second away from their robin. 

.

.

.

What happened earlier that day...

Bridgette watched a shadow loom over her, already knowing who it was. With a grin she looked up at her teacher.

“What did you draw Bridgette?” 

“My family!” Bridgette said with a smile, the teacher giving her a nervous laugh. Why was one of her ‘parents’ drawn with what appeared to be guns at each of their sides? And why did the other figure have a person under their foot?

“I-Is that so?” 

“Yeah!” Bridgette smiled even more as she intensified the red on her father’s drawing, but shortly stopped. Was there something wrong with the picture of her parents?

Sure, they don’t look the same, but they were still the same people, with or without the masks. 

They kept her safe, they kept others safe.

They protected everyone in Gotham…what was wrong with that?

“Who are they supposed to be?” Olwin scoffed, looking at her drawing with disgust. Standing up in annoyance, Bridgette lifted her drawing into the air, catching the attention of her classmates.

“This is the drawing of my parents! They’re my heroes! I love them a lot!” She smiled when her classmates ‘ooed’ and ‘awed’ at her drawing. “After tucking me into bed, they become your heroes too!”

“W-what do you mean by that sweetie?” The teacher asked, only to be ignored by the tiny girl.

“Do they fight bad guys?”

“You bet they do! They go pow!” Brigette said, punching into the air, making Olwin flinch. “And bam! The bad guys never cross them twice! Maman and Papa are too strong to be taken down!”

Her classmates cheered and made a racket with their toys, the teacher attempting to calm them down, but to no avail.

“Do they have cool powers?”

“No, but Maman uses her very,very,  heavy -hundred times heavy- yo-yo and knocks their fu- frogging lights off.” Bridgette exclaims, quickly remembering what happened when her mom caught her saying something her dad usually says. “Papa has these really, really quiet guns that when he goes pew, pew, it’s really hard to hear them. But that makes the bad guys super scared of him and they shi- slip on their own pee-pee and run away!”

Oh god. She almost cursed again. She will not suffer through that punishment ever again. Ever.

The teacher began to panic when a cult started to form in her classroom, the children cheering as Bridgette continued to answer questions, the teacher finally deciding to call for backup.

Oh how Bridgette wished she kept quiet about her parent’s hero jobs.

Little did she know she knew she was going to get an earful from her mother that evening and have to clean her neighbor’s apartment as punishment. 

And no, she wasn’t referring to Evan’s house. She was talking about Mr. Perri’s apartment… 

Mr.Perri… the many with two rooms filled to the brim with insects from all around the world…

Insects that terrified the shit out of her…

Oh how Bridgette wished she didn’t let Olwin get under her skin… if only she kept that secret to herself.

P.Taglist: @theatreandcomicfreak

[justalittleofyourlove-fic]

I'd really like a drabble related to that ask some anon sent you the other day about Xander getting a little jealous and insecure about Clarke when Ryder's born. 🤗

Here you go!! I hope you enjoy!!

“C’mon, kid,” Raven says with a wave of her arm. She winks down at her niece, beaming with happiness. “It’s time to meet your little sister.”

“She’s here? Finally?” Xander asks with a chirp.

She’d been made to wait at home, Aunties Anya and Raven staying with her, when Mama had finally announced the baby was coming. That was last night just after supper.

“She’s here. Now get dressed and let’s go!” Raven says. “I want to meet my goddaughter!”

“Okay!”

“I’ll get some cereal ready for you,” Raven offers.

Xander’s head pokes out of her closet. “Or we could stop at that bakery and get donuts?”

“I like your style, kid,” Raven laughs and nods. She turns to head down the hallway, calling over her shoulder, “We can do that. So hurry up! I’m hungry and I want to meet the baby!”

“What’s her name?” Xander yells after her.

“They still haven’t told anyone! They want you to be the first to know!” Raven, at the top of the stairs now, shouts back.

Suddenly, Anya is standing in Xander’s doorway. “Do you think you two could talk to each other in the same room? So you don’t have to tell?”

“Nope!” Xander and Raven shout in unison.

*|*|*|*|*|*|*|*|*|*|*|*|*|*|*|*|*|*|*

“Mama!” Xander chirps as soon as she sees Clarke in the hospital bed. She scrambles up the side of the bed, settling near the end. “You’re okay? My sister too? And Mommy?”

“We’re all great, little one. Nothing to worry about at all!” Clarke says with as much energy as she could muster.

It is the truth after all. She is doing well, aside from the pains of post pregnancy. And Lexa... she has been amazing every step of the way.

“Mama? Where is Mommy?”

Fighting a yawn, Clarke holds a hand out to her daughter. When she finally scoots closer, Clarke replies, “they had to take your sister for a checkup. No worries. Mommy just went to make sure she can come right back.”

“Are you tired?” Xander asks.

“Of course she is, kid. She just pushed a baby out of her -” Raven starts to speak, finally stepping into the room after realizing Lexa isn’t there so she wouldn’t be ruining a family moment. She stops speaking when her wife pinches her side. “Ouch! Anya!”

“I should make you put 5 dollars in the swear jar just for considering saying what you were going to say.” Anya steps around her and bumps her with her hip. “Behave yourself.”

Xander tilts hers head and studies her aunts. Then she turns back to Clarke. “Mama?”

“Xander?”

“Do you want to take a nap?”

Clarke fights off another yawn. “No. I will after Mommy comes back. I’ll be okay.”

Thankfully, Lexa and the baby return a few minutes later. Clarke can barely keep her eyes open but she wants to be awake when Xander is introduced to her baby sister.

Raven and Anya press kisses to Lexa’s cheeks on their way out of the room, wanting to give the family a few minutes of privacy.

Inside, Lexa smiles dreamily at her wife and daughter on the hospital bed. “How are you feeling, my love?”

“I’m so tired, Lex.” Clarke replies with a dopey smile. “But I want to introduce Xander to her sister before I nap.”

“You’ll have to feed the baby too, she’s hungry again,” Lexa says.

“Just like her mommy,” Clarke teases her wife, the gleam of happiness evident in her eyes. At Lexa’s arched brow she giggles and winks. “She’s a boob girl.”

Xander has no idea what that means but at Lexa’s blushing cheeks, she joins in the laughter. Then the green bundle in her mommy’s arms moves and a little hand appears.

“Mommy?” Xander sits up straighter, trying to see more.

“Why don’t you sit up there with Mama and I’ll show you?” Lexa answers her unasked question.

Xander scrambles to the head of the bed, settling into Clarke’s side with a sigh. She wiggles her feet and smiles broadly as Lexa approaches.

“Alexandria Emilia Griffin-Woods, meet your baby sister,” Lexa says as she sits in the chair beside the bed, tilting the bundle so Xander can see the baby. “Her name is Ryder.”

“Ryder?” Xander repeats slowly.

Nodding, Lexa presses the softest of kisses to Ryder’s forehead. Then she stands just enough to kiss Xander’s cheek.

“Ryder Anya Griffin-Woods,” Clarke says softly, her arm moving around Xander’s shoulders to hug her. “What do you think?”

The little girl peers down at her sister and smiles. She lifts her eyes to her mommy, and then her mama, and she says, “I think I like being a big sister!”

*|*|*|*|*|*|*|*|*|*|*|*|*|*|*|*|*

It takes a few months for Xander to fully realize her life has changed forever. She doesn’t get to have quiet weekends with her moms to herself. She doesn’t get random Kork drop-ins at school. There are no more random trips to the precinct or the national park.

It isn’t that she’s mad at Ryder. Babies need attention. They need patience and love, just like Lexa had explained before Ryder was born.

Xander just hadn’t realized it meant no more time with Mama.

Or rather, much less time with Mama. And nearly no one-on-one time with her.

“Xander?” Lexa knocks on the doorframe of her daughter’s bedroom.

“Hi, Mommy!” Xander chirps.

Stepping into the room, Lexa closes the door behind her. She moves to sit on the bed next to Xander. “Are you okay?”

“Of course!”

“Well, I just noticed you told Mama you didn’t need her to read to you tonight.”

“Oh...”

Lexa reaches out to tuck back a lock of hair. She studies Xander for a moment before she asks, “Are you mad about something?”

“No!” She shakes her head emphatically.

“Then why would you tell Mama not to read to you?” Lexa asks. She tilts her head and pauses for a beat before she continues, “aren’t you in the middle of one of the Harry Potter’s? You never turn down Harry Potter. And you always want Mama to read to you.”

Xander’s eyes drop to her comforter. Her lips pout a bit before she pulls the bottom one between her teeth and bites down softly for a second it two.

“You know you can tell me anything, Xander.”

At her mother’s gentle words, tears flood her eyes. She sniffles and holds her arms out for a hug.

Lexa pulls Xander into her lap and rocks her gently. The little girl has never been much of a crier, never one for the dramatics if sobbing and wailing. So when a small choked sob comes out of Xander’s mouth, Lexa nearly starts to cry too.

It takes a solid 15 minutes of cooing and coaxing to calm Xander down. Lexa settles her back into her bed and kisses her forehead.

“Tell me what’s wrong?” She asks.

“Mama...” Xander says slowly. Then she shrugs. “I just miss spending time with Mama. I don’t get to see her anymore.”

“You just had dinner with her tonight.”

Xander shakes her head. “We don’t get to do fun stuff anymore. No visits or hikes or climbing. I miss my time with Mama. You still take me to the library! And the museums! But Mama... she’s always with Ryder now.”

“Oh, Xander...” Lexa sighs and shakes her head.

Jealousy.

They knew to expect it. They just thought Xander was too excited about having a sister to be jealous.

“I’m sorry I cried.”

“Never apologize for having feelings. And never try to hide your feelings from me.” Lexa shakes her head and hugs her again. “Xander, your mama loves you so, so much. You can’t even begin to know how much. But babies take a lot of time. And we haven’t got Ryder’s routine down yet. Once we do, you’ll have your Kork time back.”

“Yeah?” Xander asks.

“Absolutely,” Clarke says from the doorway. She’s got a swaddled Ryder in her arms.

2 sets of green eyes fly to the door. Lexa’s are soft and warm, Xander’s are more guarded.

She doesn’t want to upset Mama.

The caution in her eyes strikes at Clarke’s heart. Xander has never been anything but excited to see her.

“Lex, Ryder is ready for bed. If you wanted to sing to her, I mean,” Clarke says softly.

The exchange is smooth and practiced. Lexa kisses Clarke softly before heading down the hallway.

Clarke takes a moment to watch her wife disappear into Ryder’s room before turning back to Xander. She smiles and steps inside.

“Xan?”

“Mama?”

“I love you. You know that?”

Xander nods and drops her eyes again.

“I don’t want you to ever think I don’t love you. Or that I don’t have time for you,” Clarke explains as she sits where Lexa had just been. She holds out a hand for Xander to take. “I’m just getting used to this whole baby thing. It was easy with you, you know? You already had Mommy trained when I came along. Now we all have to be trained by Ryder.”

“I miss my Kork time.”

“Good. Because I miss my Xander time.” Clarke responds. She winks when Xander meets her eyes. “Just let us figure out this whole routine thing and then you and I will have our time again.”

“You promise?”

“I do.” Clarke nods. “I’ll talk to Mommy and we’ll figure out a schedule.”

“Really?”

“Xander, I love you to the moon and back. I’m not giving up my Xander time! Not ever!”

[as-be-low]

Time Has Changed Me, Chapter 11

I Long To Belong (But I Always Have To Go)

Home ties me up with discontent Since the day I first went Yearning to be back again, How will I return, and when?

Billie Marten—Ribbon Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 10

Though tranquil, Sunday was filled with small challenges, most of which included trying not to step on tiny fingers. Breakfast had hardly consisted of anything. Stanley had been quiet and unresponsive and Stella turned her nose up at the leprecorn-infested cereal and refused all but the plain toast Stan had cajoled her into accepting.

There had been no tears on Sunday, but Stanford wasn't sure the sheer malaise was much better. After eating half of the toast and leaving the rest as crumbs across her face and Stan's lap, Stella stuck out a little leg in order to climb down. Stanley wrapped an arm around her middle.

"Wait, sweetie."

"But I want to go outside."

"You're not dressed for outside, sweetie. How's about we go outside a little later 'n right now we play somethin' inside?"

"Okay." Stanley set her on her wobbly feet and she tottered off towards the living room with Stanley not far behind.

"Can we play giggle bunny?"

"...Giggle bunny?"

"Punch buggy with more laughin'." Stanley mumbled. "That only works for cars, sweetie. We'll have to play somethin' else."

Her little face puckered into a frown of concentration. "I spy?"

"That might work, sweetie, but I dunno."

"Giggle bunny spy!" She hopped as she made her proposal.

"What?" Ford couldn't stop the word from slipping out.

"We play I spy and...and...'n we giggle when we see something!" Another hop.

"This game doesn't sound sustainable."

"Shut up, Ford."

"But–"

"Giggle bunny spy. Alright pumpkin. Let's play."

"You go first, Daddy."

"No, you go first. You gotta show me how t'play, remember?"

"Oh." Stella was silent for a moment before snickering.

"Has the game started?"

"Yeah."

Stanford would never understand this "game," and resigned himself to his fate.

Giggle bunny spy soon turned into a nap in the floor for Stella after she laughed herself into a coughing fit. "Giggling is tiring work, it seems." Stanford mumbled as he stared down at the child asleep in the threshold.

"Everything's tirin' work when you're three."

"That may be true." Ford hovered in the doorway.

"You can just step over her, y'know." Step over her?

"No, it's fine."

"You're tryin' t' get out of the room 'n you're just standin' there. Just step over her." He sniffed

"I..."

"Ford. You gonna just wait for her to wake up ‘n move? Just go."

He refused.

With a groan, Stanley stood and ambled over to the pair and hunched over to lift Stella. Ford slipped past, and when he returned, he found the child once again sprawled out across the threshold.

"It's where she wanted to be." Stan shrugged. He made no motions to move her. Well, damnit. Ford lifted his foot high, and with one white-knuckled hand gripping the jamb, stretched to tiptoe over the sleeping lump.

"There. Now, was that so hard?"

Yes. "I could have stepped on her." He could have broken her tiny fingers. His heart raced at the prospect. His thoughts wandered back to his childhood, when he and Stanley had been cornered by the neighborhood bullies and gotten into a fight. He’d made a fist wrong and broken his hand and had to be taken to the hospital and gawked at. He didn’t want that for Stanley’s child. She didn’t deserve it. “I could have stepped on her.” He could have broken her fingers and ruined her hands and—

"Ford. It’s fine. Calm down." A few minutes later the child sat up, groggy and rubbing her eyes. She bumbled to her feet and crept closer to Stanley, who pulled her into his lap. She hunkered back down. "Still sleepy, sweetie pie?" She didn't reply. "Alright, sweetie. Go back to sleep." Ford watched as Stanley began to rock her from side to side, the movements slow and clearly practiced. Sure enough, Stanley's eyes began to fall heavy-lidded themselves and the two were soon sound asleep. Ford watched them for a long moment before actually moving. A pen slipped into his hand while the other slapped flat against a leather-bound book. The scene was too pristine to let it pass unnoted, and he’d yet to document their visit.

And so he sketched, taking care to hatch out the details of the napping scene across from him. There were better, more precise ways to commit it to memory, he knew, but this one brought him the most satisfaction in that moment.

His hand traced the lines of Stan’s face, which was a great deal more relaxed than he’d seen in over twenty years. He wasn’t smiling. There was just… an absence of anything, if he was honest with himself. Stanley was just asleep. No sleeping with a smile, no frown. An absence of any discernible anything. Even as children, when Stanley slept like the dead, there was a certain careless ease with which he did so. Not anymore. Even his sleep seemed to hold that standardized disinterest Stan seemed so eager to front.

And so Stanford wrote.

After many years since our last encounter, Stanley actually agreed to meet with me once again. Imagine my surprise when my long-estranged brother returned, and with a child in tow, no less! I have a small niece, and her name is Stella. I have yet to ask for her second name. I suppose I should get around to it soon, before the question becomes out-of-place. She’s quite small; Stanley says she’s three years old, yet I’d assumed she was barely two. Despite her small stature, her resemblance to Stanley is quite striking. Stanley refuses to tell me who her mother is, so I find it safe to assume that I wouldn’t know her anyway. Nonetheless, there’s something familiar in the features she doesn’t share with Stanley, or myself by extension, I suppose. Her hair is certainly curly, as would befit any Pines, but there’s also something about it I can’t quite place.

Hair aside, she and I share the distinct misfortune of having inherited the polydactyl gene, though she doesn’t seem to have noticed yet. She’s too young to understand the birth defect now, but I fear she will learn, in due time, how distinct her hands are in comparison to others. I can only hope that other children will not be as cruel to her as they were to me. Though he insists that he does not want to turn her hands into an ordeal for her to be ashamed of, I can’t help but worry that Stanley’s indifference towards the matter will cause more harm in the long run, from our personal experience. Our very first day of school was none too enjoyable with the realization that my hands were decidedly not the norm.

He hatched out the details of the little girl’s hair as she dozed.

Little Stella is certainly a charismatic child and it’s evident that Stanley loves her dearly. He’s changed a great deal from how I remember him.

Is it my fault?

Stanford’s brow furrowed.

She seems to be a content little girl, despite the circumstances. I question the normalcy of it, though I suppose I should rather appreciate her versatility than wish upon her the turmoil that such a life must surely bring. I can’t help but wonder how Stanley managed it. She seems accustomed to such a life, though not bitter or resentful about it in the least. Is it that she doesn’t know enough to feel indignant? I shouldn’t wish such on either of them. Stanley has suffered enough. It’s a wonder that he appears to have shielded his daughter from the brunt of it.

Her current interests include:

Naptime, apparently

Being held—she seems to be a very affectionate child. She must get that from Stanley

Stanley himself—she insists on remaining in his company and the depth of her affection nearly moved him to tears the day prior

Coloring and the color green

Giggling, running and playing in water—she’s quite adept at all three

And worst of all, the Leprecorn! I don’t understand what it is she sees in the horrid creature. It does nothing but play annoying music, stand in the way, and giggle. Maybe she likes it for its giggling. If that happens to be the case, perhaps a hyena would make a better companion.

Stanford left the pen in place as he stilled, the ink crawling across the page to feather into a crackling pattern as the nib lingered.

How was it possible for Stan to care for a newborn with no means, and from the backseat of a car, no less? I shudder to think of the ways in which such a situation would have compounded the inherent difficulties of childrearing. It’s astounding that Stella survived infancy. Statistically speaking, she should not have survived.

His eyes flitted back up to Stanley, catching the hint of a frown that began to curl across his features. Stanford let the ink dry into the page before flipping to the next.

It pains me to accept it, but Stanley appears to be much worse off than he was the last two times I saw him, which is saying a great deal, since he was (still) homeless the first time, and just plucked from who knows where on the other side of the portal the second. He seems worn out completely. It’s as though he’s just done with everything that arises. It’s a long ways away from the brazen and outgoing child he’d been when we were young.

His physical condition is more shocking than I anticipated. Stanley has numerous scars and injuries, though I must admit I do not know at what juncture each appeared, save for one.

His hand lingered as he hesitated over the words, inadvertently bolding them with his shaky letters.

I do not know how Stanley survived the brand.

His thoughts strayed back to an earlier journal entry, the one he’d written after sending his brother through his hellhole. Fool Fool FOOL FOOL FOOL—He’d nearly gouged through the page with the force with which he bore down on the nib. The same frenetic force had kicked Stanley against the metal that seared and bored into his skin. I killed my brother. I know I did. I killed him and he is dead. Stanley is dead because I killed him I did it myself I—

Ford remembered the page well. His eye had wept tears and blood again, and the oxidized stains crackled when he turned the pages. These two pages had blessedly stuck together, though it didn’t matter. They were still stuck well within the forefront of his mind. I never wanted to but he won’t know that because he’s DEAD and it’s entirely my fault I killed him twice I killed my brother three times—It was true. Thrice he’d killed Stanley. He’d killed his dreams when he’d shut the curtains on him and turned away. His future died along with them. He’d killed his flesh when he kicked him into the branding plate, and he’d killed and damned his existence when he sent him through the portal. He’d been so eager to condemn him for his past affronts that he stepped into the roles of both jury and executioner without a second thought. He hadn’t considered that it would actually take him from this earth until it was too late.

He’d managed to bring him back if only the husk, but it was far too late to bring his spirit back, wasn’t it? That died and withered a long time ago.

The only thing that seems to engage Stanley, other than frequent spats with me, is Stella. The child has him wrapped around her little fingers (all six!!) and I doubt he would have it any other way. I don’t know how not to instigate a fight with him, apparently, as most interactions end with at least some tension. I believe outward actions may be a better means of communication in this circumstance, though the theory remains to be tested. He seems to take offense at several smaller gestures, though with the potential aid of my own mouth.

I can only hope this will prove successful.

Stella sneezed in her sleep and woke herself in the process. Stanford raised an eyebrow, forcing back a chuckle as she sat up and searched for the culprit. She squinted at him.

“I believe we’re supposed to cover our mouths when we sneeze, Stella.”

“No.” she rubbed her eyes before settling back down. Sleepyheads, the both of them. Ford smiled. He’d let them sleep for the time being.

  Hours later, a sharp inhale of air preceded Stanley’s eyes peeling open. “Ugh.”

Stan had woken up stiff and sore, Ford could tell. He’d made that same face enough. “…You alright?”

“Yeah.” He grumbled back.

“If you need, I’ve got some—”

“I’m good.” So he wouldn’t admit to his obvious discomfort. Alright.

Stella was still sound asleep in her father’s arms as he inched his way to his feet to pace with her. Wasn’t that for children who were upset? She was asleep. What was the point?

When she finally did wake, Stella slapped a hand to her face to rub at her eye, letting out a little whine as she tried to take in her surroundings.

“Hi, sweetiepie,” Stanley cooed, in a voice so gentle it unnerved Ford. “Hi! Oh, sweetie, you’re okay.” The child had begun to whine as she turned her head from side to side. “It’s okay.” Stanley shifted her to place an onslaught of kisses to her pudgy cheek and gradually the small whimpers turned to faint giggles. She rested her head against his shoulder. “That’s more like it.”

He stood in place and rocked for a few moments before she spoke up. “C’n I go play?”

“Outside?”

“Yeah. I wanna play outside.”

Stan mulled it over. “You’ve been so quiet all day. Sure.”

“’Kay.”

“Let’s go get your coat.”

The pair wandered outside while Stanley finagled a little arm through a sleeve, his own thin jacket tossed over his shoulder. “Lucky!” Stanford heard a set of hooves lope across the porch. “Hi!”

“TOP ‘O THE MORNIN’ TO YA!”

“OHH. Oh. It… It actually does talk. Geez. Okay. Alright.” Ford heard a series of stomps and hops interspersed with laughter. He could have done without the leprecorn’s laughter. “Yeah, you two practice gallopin’. Good plan.” Stan’s voice was muffled.

Stanford let the syncopated clomping fall to the background as he turned his attention back to the stacks of paper strewn across his worktable.

By the time he looked up from his work, the sun had long since set and Stan and his daughter had been tucked away upstairs for what might have been hours.

≈

The following day, Ford waited for Stan to make his way down the stairs before stopping him in his tracks. “We should go out today to buy a baby gate.”

“The f—I don’t know what it is you’re gettin’ at, but whatever it is, it’s too early for this.”

“It’s necessary.”

“Ford, can I at least set my child down before you start throwing sh—throwing stuff at me?”

Ford relented long enough for Stanley to do just that, and watched as his brother sat his groggy daughter in the kitchen chair. She let out a whine on contact with the wood, and he promptly lifted her back up. “It’s a good investment.”

“Listen t’what you just said and think about how that makes any sense.”

“Stanley, I’m serious.”

“So’m I. We’re not gonna be here that long. What sense does it make to buy a baby gate?”

“The point still remains that it would be useful while you’re here.”

Stan paced in place for a moment, his mouth opening and closing as though he were interrupting himself. “Why are you doing this, Ford?” his voice was barely above a whisper and everything about that screamed wrong in Stanford’s ears. Stanley wasn’t supposed to sound like that. That broken, ragged tone was not supposed to leave his mouth.

Stella, who was slung over Stanley’s shoulder, looked around for a moment before giving Stanford a grin. “Hi!”

“Good morning, sweetling.” He hummed. She stuck her hand out and it took Ford a moment to realize he was probably supposed to take it. “Oh.” He offered her his hand and she strained to grab it, clamping two of his fingers in her tiny fist. Ford stared at the small digits. It earned him a coo. How sweet. She was certainly a happy baby, and for that, he was thankful.

Stanley moved to step forward, not realizing she had a grasp on Stanford, and garnered a yelp from all three parties for it. As he froze, Stella stuck her free hand out towards her uncle.

“I… You want me to carry you?” She was already in Stanley’s arms, why would she want him? Her little free hand waved in the air and he reached for her, hesitant until she slid out of Stanley’s arms and her weight dropped into his. Ford pulled her close and tried to imitate Stanley’s posture, unable to school his face into anything other than shock as she wiggled and made herself comfortable. He craned his neck to get a better look at her. “Ah, good morning?” Her warm little cheek pressed against his as she leaned in despite his efforts to inspect her face. He couldn’t bring himself to mind. “Stella, would you like to go to the store today? We could get some things.” He offered.

“Stanford!”

“Yeah.” Stella hummed, unenthused yet without her father’s outright disdain for the idea. Her hand came up to his shoulder and she balled the fabric of his shirt into her fist. He might’ve been dismayed if he’d ever cared about wrinkled fabric.

“I…” He wasn't sure what else to say. How did one hold a conversation with toddlers? “Are you...having a good morning?"

“Yeah.”

“Good. I'm glad.”

"Stella, sweetie, let's get some breakfast in you. You want some of your cereal?"

"No." She reached for Stanley all the same.

"No? But it's got Lucky on it."

"No."

"Toast? How 'bout toast?"

"I don' want any." She frowned. Stan sighed.

"Okay. Whatever. You'll pipe up when you're hungry. What about thirsty? D'you want some milk?"

She thought about it for a moment. "Okay. But only a little!“

Stanley plucked his child from Ford's arms and placed her back in the chair, ignoring her little huff as he pulled out a glass. "Here, pumpkin."

"And you?"

Stan paused. "What?"

"What'll you have?"

"I'm good."

"Stan."

"Ford." He mirrored his tone.

Ford pursed his lips. "I'll repeat. What should we have for breakfast?"

"I'm fine, Ford." Stanley mumbled, clearing his throat shortly after. That didn't sound fine. His brother eyed him. “Stop worryin’ about it.”

“Someone has to if you won’t.” he grumbled under his breath. Stanley shot him a glare and he made it a point to ignore it. "I'll try not to ruin the eggs again."

"Ford, don't bother."

"I will do exactly that." He heard Stanley force a groan from between pursed lips. "I'm assuming scrambled is fine? Because I'm afraid any more than that might be asking a bit much at this stage." He turned to look at his brother, unnerved by the way he'd contorted himself to lay his head against the table without disturbing Stella and her glass of milk. "Are...are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Ford." Stanley sighed. "It's just a headache." It sounded like an afterthought.

"Are you sure?"

"Ford."

"Right. Sorry. Maybe. Possibly. I suppose."

"Oh, sweet Moses."

Stella jerked her glass away from her face with a cough and Stanley bolted upright. "Shit, sweetie, are you okay? Please tell me you're okay." She wiped at her eye as he patted her back and it took Ford a moment to realize the egg in his hand was now the victim of his balled fist.

"You said a bad word." Her little voice was watery.

Stanley's nervous chuckle was high-pitched and wavering. "Sweet Moses, don't scare me like that. Don't drink so fast, okay?"

"I didn't!" Her small voice had a slight rasp and she struggled to clear her throat. Stanley leaned her forward as he thumped her little back. After a few moments she began to hum, her voice rattling.

“Now you’re just playin’. Feel better?”

“Yeah.” She drawled the word out.

“Good.”

Ford’s shoulders loosened as Stanley pressed a kiss to her forehead and he looked down at the egg dripping from his wrist with a scowl. “Tch. Wonderful.”

Stanley turned, poised to speak, then paused. “Oh. Egg. Gross.”

“Suffice it to say my appetite has been lost.”

“I was tellin’ you that before.”

≈

“Ford, enough with the baby gate. It’s fine.”

“Didn’t you say it only takes a second?”

“I—Oh, fuck you.”

Ford had kept at it for hours. Stan did his best to ignore him, but he was only a man. He could only put with so much before he snapped, and he refused to do that in front of Stella again. He gave in instead. He only wished he could wipe that stupid smirk off of Ford’s face as he buckled himself into the passenger seat of the Stanleymobile.

“It only takes a second.” Stanley mimicked as he finished buckling Stella into her car seat and folded himself behind the wheel.

“What?”

“Nothin’, sweetie. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay.” She seemed uncertain as her little feet flopped to and fro in the seat.

Baby gates.

They were headed two towns over for a baby gate. What sense did that make? What did he have to do to get Ford to understand? They weren’t gonna stay for long. Coming up here was a stupid idea.

They just needed to grab the cheapest baby gate they had and run back out. That wasn’t too tall of an order.

This was Stanford Pines. Of course it was a tall order.

Once inside, Stanley grabbed a basket and plopped Stella in the seat. It’s too early for all of this. “Baby gates. C’mon.”

“Why?” Stella piped.

“The baby gate? It’s for you.” He gave her a quick peck on the nose, satisfied with her little grin. That’s my girl.

“Why?”

“Beats me.”

“Now, Stanley—Oh, wait.” Stanford stretched out an arm to still Stanley, his spare hand reaching out to point to a shelf.

“What?” Stanley’s eyes trailed upwards to follow the line of Stanford’s arm. “No. Not at all. Absolutely not.

“Stanley, be reasonable.”

“I’m perfectly reasonable. You be reasonable. No one needs 100 Toaster Pops. Put that back.” He caught Ford wincing at his daughter and glanced down. Stella’s eyes darted back and forth between the two men as she gripped the basket’s handle bar, one hand creeping towards Stanley’s. It seemed her worried little face was the only thing that convinced Ford to acquiesce.

“Fine. But bulk stores like this are an excellent opportunity to stock up on much-needed items.”

“Mmm hmm, and Toaster Pops ain’t one of ‘em.” It was with determination that Stanley pushed the basket up and down the aisles. “Really, Ford?”

“What?” This was why Ford wanted to come all the way out here? Did Ford not expect him to catch on? Jesus Christ, he was dumb, but he wasn’t that dumb.

“Really, Ford? Really?”

“What? What, Stanley? What?”

He’d caught the man in the middle of tossing something extra into his basket. “Really?”

“A multi-pack of shirts is a necessity, Stanley. You know this.” A necessity for who? Stanley just stared at him. This was all too ridiculous for words. “You know I buy shirts in multiple sets.”

“And you have those sets, Ford. You don’t need any more.” Stan grumbled. “You’re not buying this for yourself.”

Ford was silent for a moment as Stanley scowled. “And if I’m not? It that really so bad?”

“Yes. Put ‘em back.” The pair stared at each other, long and hard. Fords scowl matched Stanley’s and he cocked a brow, reaching for a nearby pack of socks. “Ford.” Stanley’s shoulders fell. Why was he doing this? It was damn near taunting.

“It’s going in the basket, Stanley.” Ford’s voice was soft but he still found it abrasive all the same. Where the hell did he get off with all of this? Ford sent him a searching look. Oh. He was trying. Was that it? Trying or not, Ford was out of line. Stan glared at him for a few moments.

“Come on. We’re not even on the right aisle for Pete’s sake.”

“Very well.” Very well. Stan was able to stop himself from mimicking Ford out loud, but only just.

“C’mon, sweetie pie.” Stella’s little hands splayed out over his as he pushed the basket. She was pouting up at him. He leaned down to place a kiss to the tip of her nose. Still frowning. He kissed her again. And again. And blew a raspberry against her forehead. There we go. “There’s that lil’ baby laugh.” He grinned, speeding the basket along. He’d find the baby gates his damn self. Maybe Ford wouldn’t be able to pick up more shit without a basket to throw it in.

He’d been wrong. Stanford went and got a basket of his own and passed by father and child as they made their way across the store. Damnit. Stanley wanted to shove the damned thing against a wall. He paused to hold Stella for a little while, after she’d grown fussy and tired of riding in the basket. He figured he’d get tired of riding backwards with nothing to look at but his ugly mug, too. The only problem now was that she refused to get back in the basket.

“Sweetie, I need you to sit here. What’s wrong?” What had gotten into her?

“No. I wanna stay with you.”

“I’m right here, pumpkin. Right here. You know that.” Stanley sighed and hefted her higher in his arms. “What’m I gonna do with you, huh?”

“No.”

“Let’s go find this gate before you get any fussier.”

“No.”

“Oh, geez.”

Ford had beaten to the children’s section. He’d propped two gates in his basket—because of course he did, when one was already overkill— and was mulling over diapers? Stanley thanked his lucky stars Stella had been easy to potty train. It had still been absolute hell, but considering his circumstances, he figured he’d gotten off easy. “Stanford, she literally doesn’t need those.” He leaned in to inspect a brightly-colored box at the bottom of the basket, underneath the gates. “Ford, put the Blebbos back. Seriously? Space Princess Magic Castle?” Ford had always loved the stupid little blocks when they were kids. Of course he’d pick up a set.

“She may like it, Stanley.” Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. And where would she play with it? For once, reading would actually save Stanley. He lurched forward to reach into Ford’s basket, ignoring the little whimper Stella gave him as he stepped away.

“Look.” He stretched an arm out to place a hand on her tummy, hoping to placate her. “Ages six and up. Choking hazard.” He watched Ford blanch.

“Shit.”

Stella whined.

“I didn’t realize. I just thought she might like to put it together, I didn’t—“

“Ford. It’s fine. It’s fine, okay? She just doesn’t need that.” Ford gave him a crumbling nod and placed the box back on the shelf. Stanley turned back to his own basket, adorned with his wet-eyed baby doing her best to reach for him. She let out a little hiccup. He wilted. “Oh, sweetie.” He pulled her into his arms and she immediately grabbed a fistful of his hair. He figured there was no putting her down now. He settled for swaying from side to side, letting her bury her wet little face in the crook of his neck. “Oh, sweetheart. It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.” Ford swooped in and transferred the contents of Stanley’s basket into his. “Oh, for fu—would you just leave it?” he hissed.

“No.”

Stanley let out a guttural groan. “Let’s just go, okay? We’ve been here too long.”

They didn’t make it three yards before Stanford stopped to look at an endcap. He was staring at more baby items. “Stanford, no.” Stan whispered, one hand rubbing smooth circles along his child’s back. “No. Just stop.” This was entirely too much. He wanted to be sick.

“What does she need?”

“She needs you to not do this, how ‘bout that?” He didn’t appreciate the glare Ford sent him.

“Stanley, be reasonable. I want to do this.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to.” Her stuff was fine. Some of it was big enough that he didn’t have to worry if she hit a growth spurt soon. It’d be fine. He’d get away from Ford and all this stupid shit and he’d be able to start scrounging and saving up again once he paid him back, and he’d be able to get her stuff when she needed it. Right now, she was fine.

“I’ve decided it’s my duty as an uncle.”

“You don’t do these things for Isaac, I bet.”

“Isaac doesn’t—“ Isaac doesn’t need them. He dared him to say it. “Isaac isn’t here right now.”

“Stanford—“

“I only have one niece.” He only had one nephew, too, if they were gonna play this game. “And one twin.” Stan was certain he wasn’t supposed to hear that. He didn’t want to hear it. He bit down on his tongue and pushed a heavy sigh from his nose. Deep breathing never calmed him, but there was a first time for everything. “What does she need, Stan?”

Stanley shook his head, holding his lip captive between his teeth. “No.” There was no way in hell.

“Stanley. I want to do this. It’s the least I can do, all things considered.”

The least he could do was stop humiliating him in public, but Stan didn’t see that happening in the next century.

“What about socks? I didn’t see many that had mates.”

“Oh, for… She needs some of those lil’ stretchy baby pants. ‘N some jammies.” Stan grumbled. He did his best to keep his voice as soft as possible. It was either that or shout, and even he wasn’t dumb enough to want to do that in the middle of a store. His little girl looked on the verge of tears as it was. Part of him hoped that Ford didn’t hear him. Another part knew that he’d only ask again if that were the case. This shit was mortifying, why couldn’t he figure that out?

Stella began to scrub her face against his shoulder. “Look, can we speed this up, Ford? I think she wants to be here ‘bout as much as I do.” She was probably tired. She’d never had a definite naptime, but she’d usually have fallen asleep at least once by this point.

“Right. Okay.” Stan watched Ford reach into a rack of children’s clothes before he paused. “She wears a size—”

“Get 3T.” Ford’s brow wrinkled at that, but Stanley chose to ignore it. It might be too big, but she could grow into it that way. If he was gonna waste money, there was no need to waste money on something she wouldn’t be able to use as long. He began to bounce slightly with each step, pacing back and forth along the aisle. He was too busy soothing his fussy child to notice Stanford grab an oversized stuffed unicorn and shove it in the basket, underneath the second baby gate.

Of course Stanley noticed the stupid horse once they reached the cashier.

“What is this?”

Stanford pretended not to understand for a moment. Smooth. Real smooth. “It’s a stuffed animal.” He sniffed.

“Ford. Seriously? She doesn't need that thing.”

“Look at her. She loves it.”

“Her eyes are closed and she can’t see it.”

“She wants it.”

“She—You didn't even ask. She didn’t ask.” A trickle of both shame and panic ran down his spine. What if she would have asked? He would’ve had to say no. What if she didn’t ask because she knew that already? Did she understand how decidedly not well off they were? She didn’t need to grow up that fast. It’s my fault if she does.

“It's a unicorn. She likes unicorns. Of course she wants it.” Ford rolled his eyes as he held the large fabric beast up for the disinterested clerk to scan. “She should have nice things.”

Stanley’s lips curled back taut and pressed against his gums. “Are you saying I don’t think my child deserves nice things?” His voice was low and gentle, but oily black venom dripped from behind his teeth all the same. It was a disgustingly low blow. His stomach coiled and knotted like a spring. “Is that what you think?” He loved his little girl. He knew damn well that she deserved this world and a thousand more. He knew there were so many things she deserved that he couldn’t provide, and he knew there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He knew he was failing her as a parent. He was failing her, but he was the only parent she had, and he hated it. He hated that she was stuck with his sorry hide, and he couldn’t help the thick, heavy guilt that accompanied his joyful pride for having her. He could have strangled Stanford, then and there, if it wouldn’t have woken his daughter. He could have strangled him, and it wouldn’t have meant a thing because he was right.

“I—That’s not what I meant.” His voice was emphatic. Of course it wasn’t. As smart and well-spoken as Ford prided himself on being, that wasn’t what he meant. Sure. Stanley turned away from him and stalked out towards the parking lot. “Stanley—“

“Shut up, Ford.” He could hear the basket wheels trailing behind him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care either way.

The two fumed their way towards the Stanleymobile, and Stanley buckled Stella in while Stanford maneuvered the large boxes in around Stella. She’d woken up with a whine in the process and Stan fumed as he watched Stanford reach into one of the bags to pull out the stupid unicorn. He handed it to the disoriented child, bleary-eyed and confused by the fuzzy waste of money she couldn't even wrap her arms around. It was as big as she was. Why the fuck did he buy that thing? Part of Stan was sure Ford bought it just to piss him off. She didn’t need that thing, hadn’t even noticed or asked for it, and Stanley didn’t have the space for it. Where was he supposed to keep it? Maybe she could use it as a body pillow back there until she outgrew it or it got too worn-out to keep.

Stanley couldn’t afford these things, and Stanford knew it. All he was doing was setting a precedent that Stanley wouldn’t be able to keep up. Another entry to the list of things he couldn’t provide. It would end up being nothing but trouble.

He kept his eyes trained straight ahead on the road as Stanford mumbled out the occasional direction back into Gravity Falls.

Here, have a thing that I did.

[megairishrose]

My past is worth it chapter 2

Amelia Hunter, almost Amelia Cassidy, was in her own little world, clueless to the noise of the room. She was in the side room of the convent with Michael, Marian, Jordan and the children. Roland sat on a chair reading "The Cat in the Hat" that Belle had given him from the library. Three month old Richard and Charlotte were napping in their wagon.

It was finally Amelia's wedding day. She was finally getting married to Neal. After everything they had been through they had come out on the other side together and stronger. They were finally making this official, in the convent, in front of family and friends.

She stood in front of the mirror studying herself. She had a few goals she wanted to accomplish beforehand this moment and sadly she didn't get finish all of them.

Some old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.

The ring was old; it had been Neal's grandmother's. Amelia had to grin when she thought back to yelling at Gold: "I didn't steal the ring, your son did, right before he asked me to marry him".

The dress was new. New and found after a long exhausting shopping day. It was all worth it. It was gorgeous and fit like a glove. It was white but had navy blue flowers. From early on in their relationship, navy had been their color.

The shoes were blue. Navy blue to be exact. They were super high and beautiful.

But the something borrowed plagued her. Who had something she wanted to borrow? Nothing Helen had had awoken any strong memories.

Amelia should let something tiny like this ruin her day. She spun a few times in the mirror, just watching the dress. She did feel like a princess.

There was a knock on the door and Michael answered it. Regina stood there on the other side. She looked at Amelia, yes she had been there when the dress was found, but this was the final unveil. Yes, the mayor of Storybrooke was speechless.

"Regina, can I help you with something?" Amelia asked.

"I just want to say congratulations, you look beautiful Amelia And I have a wedding gift for you." Regina told her.

Amelia raised her eyebrows, warily. She remembered the gift Regina gave to Snow White and Prince Charming for their wedding, a curse to take away all the happy endings. Even though so many things and people had changed since then, Amelia felt something was off. "Regina, you don't have to do that…" Then she suddenly stopping talking and just stared. Standing next to Regina was…

Derek.

Alive. And breathing. And in a suit.

How was this possible? Her hands flew to cover her mouth and she instantly felt her eyes fill with tears. Derek was dead, she had attended his funeral.

All she could do was stare. He took a step closer and touched her hand. He was real; he was really standing in front of her. Amelia almost collapsed but Derek caught her in the tightest hug of her life. And she returned it.

Finally, she let go and looked at Regina with one question on her mind. But she couldn't form the word.

Thankfully she didn't have to, Regina could read her mind. "Don't ask where it came from, just say thank you." Amelia was told.

Using her own words of advice against her now? At the moment, Amelia didn't care. "Thank you." Her hand hadn't left Derek's. Regina then left the room.

Jordan and Marian had shocked looks on their faces; Michael picked up Roland and wheeled the wagon to the door. "I think they need a moment alone." He said to Jordan and Marian. They were still speechless but didn't put up a fight.

Derek stopped Michael. "Sir, can I have your permission to walk my sister down the aisle?"

"You don't even have to ask." Michael was gracious. Derek had stood by Amelia longer than he had. He deserved that honor.

Finally, they were alone. "Don't cry, you're ruin your makeup." He gently wiped the tears from her eyes. "You look stunning." Derek spun her around so he could get a full look at her. Amelia giggled. "Is that a…?" He sounded shocked and maybe a little horrified.

She knew exactly where he was looking. "Yes, it's a tattoo. I got it a while back, to remind me of my mother. I was looking for a blue orchid the day my life fell apart."

"Oh, that's a good reason. Anything else I should know about you? Because you clearly have changed a lot." He looked at her with a critical eye.

Derek was one of the few people she could never lie to. So she made a ball of light appear in her hand. This was one thing she never told him, but it was time now.

To her shock, he didn't back up. "Impressive. I always knew there was something special about you." He took her hands into his as soon as the light faded. "So, who's the lucky man? And please tell me don't tell me it's the pirate." He asked.

Amelia shook her head. "No, that ship sailed a long time ago. We are good friends now. The lucky man is Neal Cassidy. He's the Dark One's son." Derek opened his mouth to argue but Amelia quickly silenced him. "Yes, it started as a deal but then we both fell in love, it was hard and fast. We have been through so much together, losing each other multiple times, Neverland, True Love's Kiss, a miscarriage, the Horned King. Derek, I love him with all my heart."

Derek heaved a sigh then squeezed her hands. "As long as you are happy. And I have never ever seen you this happy. Now let's get you married." He turned to stand next to her and offered his arm.

She had to bite back a smile. This scene was so reminiscent of a scene long past and made up. But this time, the man waiting for her was her True Love. She was ready, but suddenly she remembered the certain people who were sitting in the next room. "Wait, there are a few things I should point out. A lot of things have changed. Emma is with Killian; he is planning on proposing soon. Marian died but came back. But Robin had already moved on with Regina. And Henry is Emma and Neal's kid." Somehow she got all that out in one breath.

Derek stared at her, trying to wrap his head ahead everything Amelia had just told him. But he focused in on one thing. "You're going to be a mother. Henry's lucky to have you. Now before your husband gets worried…" He opened the door.

The music started to play, Derek still held out his arm open to Amelia. She linked her arm through then froze. "Derek… you're my something borrowed." She barely had a voice.

He smiled and placed a kiss on her forehead. "Come on, let's not leave your groom waiting any longer."

Neal stood at the front at the altar. There were butterflies in his stomach. He was finally marrying Amelia, the love of his life.

Nathan and Henry were standing next to him; he was sure the excitement was not lost on them. Nathan wanted nothing more than his sister to be happy and Henry couldn't wait for Amelia to officially be a part of his family.

He looked around at the crowd. He and Amelia had been very vocal about not having a bride side and a groom side. Everyone pretty much knew everyone. So it was 'pick a seat, not a side.' Gold and Belle were in the front, his father had an encouraging smile for him. Never in a million years did Neal think this moment, or any moment with his father, was possible. Mary Margret and David sat a few rows back on the other side, they were talking to Killian and Emma. Killian caught Neal looking around and sent him a thumbs up. Neal smiled back, he knew that very soon, their roles were going to be switched. Around the audience, Nicholas and Ava Zimmerman were manning the cameras. They were making the wedding album and video.

Then Neal noticed something odd. Michael was walking out of the back room, alone. Did Amelia have cold feet?

He leaned over to Nathan. "Why is your dad out here, alone?"

Nathan looked unfazed. "You really think Amelia would let someone give her away? Calm down, she'll be out here."

Neal did calm down; he was so grateful for the family members he was gaining. A brother, a sister, a brother in law, a niece and nephew and of course a mother and father in law.

Then the music started playing and they saw Marian slowly walking towards them. She looked beautiful in her navy dress. Amelia's friend who had come back from the dead to a new world and had overcome so much. She was confidently standing on her own two feet.

Then came Jordan. She was back to her usual stunning self after the birth of her children. Nathan did notice both women had tears in their eyes and looked like they held a secret.

Then came Roland, pulling the little wagon with Richard and Charlotte. The babies had woken up and were looking around, smiling.

The door closed, and seemed to stay closed for a lifetime. When they finally opened, Neal's breath was taken away. Amelia stood there, beaming. She was stunning, the dress was perfect: strapless with navy flowers. He stared at her will a joyful grin on his face.

Then he noticed the man she walked next to. The man Neal had only seen in pictures of but heard so much about. How was this even possible?

Amelia and Derek reached the altar and Derek gave him the once over. This was the man he was giving his sister away to?

"Take care of her." He said, shaking Neal's hand.

"With my life." Neal answered. Derek nodded then turned to Amelia, kissing her cheek. Then he left her to find a seat in the front.

"Hi." Amelia said quietly. She realized it was hard to speak with a huge smile on her face.

"Hi. You look amazing." Neal told her, looking at her from head to toe.

"You clean up pretty nicely." Amelia said, tiling her head.

"Thanks. So…Derek…?"

"It's a wedding gift…" Amelia started to say.

"Amelia, Neal, are you ready to do this?" Archie interrupted them. He was going to officiate the ceremony and he wanted to get underway.

"Sorry." Both Neal and Amelia said. They were having their own private conversation at the altar.

"Friends, family," He said loudly to the crowd gathered in the convent. "We are gathered here to witness True Love. Love that has faced challenge and overcame it. Love that had ups and downs and come out on the other side stronger than ever. Today two people become one."

He turned to Amelia and Neal. "You two have prepared your own vows?"

Amelia nodded. "We did." She handed her bouquet to Jordan and took Neal's hands. She was going to need his support while she poured her heart out to him. "Neal, I don't believe in fate and destiny, but I do believe we are only fated to do things we would choose anyway. And I would choose you, in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality. I would find you and I would choose you. I feel like everything in my life has led me to you, my choices, my heartbreaks, my regrets. Everything. And when we are together, my past seems worth it. Because if I had done one thing differently, I would never have met you." There, she said her piece without losing it too much.

Neal squeezed her hands. Those were the most beautiful words she had ever said. Well, maybe after 'we are True Love" when he came back from the dead. "I fell in love with your courage, your sincerity and your flaming self-respect. And it's these things I would believe in, even if the whole world indulged in wild suspicions that you weren't all you should be. I love you and it is the beginning of everything."

Not traditional vows, but they came from the heart.

"Do you have the rings?" Archie asked. Neal turned to Nathan who handed over two rings.

Neal took the first ring and placed it on Amelia's finger. "Take this ring as a sign of my undying love."

Amelia bit back a tear as she repeated the action with Neal. "Take this ring as a sign of my undying love."

Undying love, that perfectly described their love. They had been to the other side and then was returned the other one couldn't bear to be alone.

"Amelia, Neal, do you promise to love, honor and cherish each other until your dying breath? Do you promise to stand besides each other in sickness and health, for richer for poor, in happy times and in sad times?"

"I do." They both answered.

"Then by the power vested in me by the town of Storybrooke, you may…."

But Archie wasn't able to finish his declaration. Neal's arm snaked around Amelia's waist, pulling her close. Her own arms were thrown over his neck and their lips crashed wonderfully into each other.

They were too wrapped up in their moment they did not hear the cheers and applause from their family and friends. It only intensified when Neal dipped her as they continued to kiss.

They finally went back to an upright position and Amelia raised an arm over her head in pure joy.