#i hope you love this one

[bnzlimpkit]

Do you have any recommendations for Soft Wilson fanfics? Not necessarily in a kinky way I just want to read about Wilson’s canon body type 😭😭😭

YES anon I have your back, however I’m still on a mission myself, to find more ones like that.

A favorite of mine, it’s adorable and delves into Hilson:

Worried about a series of strange symptoms he's experiencing, Wilson anxiously approaches House for a diagnosis. House delightedly diagnoses Wilson with 'being in a serious relationship'.

It’s so cute, it had me smiling the whole time at these silly goofs. The cherry on top is the wonderful description of Wilson, I think they absolutely nailed it. If you want a canon description of Wilson’s body type this fic has you covered!

As for other fics I don’t really have any others that are as good as this one, most mention it in passing but this one highlights it wonderfully.

PLS IF ANYONE ELSE CAN ADD TO THE LIST OF SOFT, NON KINKY, with canon body type WILSON FANFICS PLS DO, you’ll be doing a heavenly service and we need you here.

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Hello Star!! I saw that your requests were open and I was wondering if you will okay to write a Bradley x reader with the prompt; “please talk to me. i need to know you’re alright.” Thank you so much bby<333

A/N: Pav! Thanks for this amazing ask! You're so lovely and this prompt was dynamite. It was supposed to be a drabble and 2.7K words later, here we are! I hope you love it as much as I love you and this request! More under the cut!

AO3: Cross-posted here!

Most people mention their first boyfriend or girlfriend when they talk about falling in love for the first time. You always had a different answer. You fell in love before you even knew what romantic love was. You were nine years old when your parents moved your family across the country to San Diego. As expected of a precocious nine-year-old, you were less than enthused at the thought of leaving everything and everyone you knew what felt like a million miles away. And you’d shown that frustration by causing a fuss through every moment of the moving process, from packing your things to the long flight to San Diego. Your mom had finally had enough of you underfoot when the moving van showed up with boxes of your belongings in front of your new house.

“Sweetheart, why don’t you take your stuffed bear and play outside.” Though she was smiling, you knew the difference between a request and an order, and this was definitely an order. There was a small backyard fenced off behind your house full of long blades of overgrown grass. Curious, you took your bear, named Pooh Bear long ago, after your favorite childhood cartoon, on an exploratory adventure. After hours in a cramped, stuffy plane, the fragrant sun-warmed grass felt like heaven. The backyard was so overgrown that you had soon fashioned yourself and Mr. Pooh, your erstwhile associate, as explorers making your way through an unknown jungle. In the back corner of the yard was a large, beautiful old tree. Throughout your explorations, you soon found yourself babbling away at Pooh and settling down in the shadow of that beautiful tree. You’d talked yourself out and were waiting for the noise of the movers to fade so you could finally beg your mom for a snack when a plane landed in your lap.

“Hello? Hello!” A reedy voice had called over the fence to you. “Is there anybody there?”

“Yes! Are you missing a plane by any chance?” You shouted back.

“I am! I’m in house number 15!” The voice yelled back at you. “Can we meet in the front yard so I can get my plane back?”

“I just have to tell my mom where I’m going, and I’ll meet you right there!” You’d yelled back, excited. A friend! Hopefully, this boy would want to be your friend. 

Plane and Pooh Bear in tow, you excitedly scurry back into the house. 

“Mom! Mom!” You’re practically shrieking in your excitement.

“What?! What is it, sweetheart?” Your mother had sounded harried, her hair sticking to her forehead in the heat of an early San Diego summer. 

“A boy from next door lost his toy plane over the fence! Can I go give it back to him?” You’d wheedled, your voice pleading as you had tried your best to look as innocent as possible. “I promise we’ll be in the front yard and only in the front yard. He said he lived in number 15!”

“Alright, sweetheart. You can go to return the plane. But if you hear me calling for you, you’d better come right back. Ok?” She held your eyes until you’d nodded eagerly, your glasses sliding down your nose with each jolt of your head. Permission gained, you’d rushed out the front door, pausing perfunctorily to shove your feet into a pair of flip-flops, dodging the movers as you’d rushed helter-skelter out of the house. Pooh Bear and plane in hand, you’d skipped out to the sidewalk in front of your house. To your left, the house was obscured by the moving truck in your driveway. The house to the right, however, was labeled number 15. You knew you’d got the right house when the screen door slapped open, and a gangly tow-headed boy strides out. This must be the boy who'd lost the plane. He’s tall with dirty blonde hair and big brown eyes.

“Hi!” You introduce yourself and Mr. Pooh Bear. “I’m nine years old and just moved in next door. Here’s your plane!” You’d been grinning widely, the gaps in your teeth on full display as you peered up at the boy, carefully cradling the plane in his hands.

“I’m Bradley, Bradley Bradshaw.” He’d finally responded. “I’m eleven.”

“So you like planes?” 

“Yeah,” He’d finally smiled back at you. “I love them. My dad was in the Navy. He died when I was two years old. He used to fly in one of these every day. My Uncle Mav gave me this toy. Thanks for bringing it back.”

“Can you tell me more about it?” You’d asked carefully.

That had been the beginning of a beautiful friendship with Bradley Bradshaw. He’d been your best friend since that summer day when you were nine and he was eleven. Most of your childhood had been spent running into and out of your houses. Both of your mothers had oft joked that they’d be in-laws as soon as you grew up, as close as you were.

You’d been sixteen, and he’d been eighteen when you’d realized your feelings for Bradley were more than friendly. That summer had been the most taxing on both of you. His mom, Carole, had been increasingly sick, and he hadn’t known how to deal with the possibility of losing her. You’d spent many an afternoon sitting under the tree in your backyard, holding your best friend as he’d sobbed, still gangly but grown into his height. You’d been his support, standing at the cemetery later on that summer, propping him up as he’d laid the only family he had left to rest. You'd been the only person he'd told about Mav pulling his papers to the Naval Academy. You were the only person he’d said goodbye to a few weeks later when he decided to leave everything he'd ever known, including you.

You were roused from your sleep by pebbles clattering against your window. In the early morning light, you’d cracked open your blinds to see Bradley’s window open across from yours. You’d heaved the blinds open and scribbled on a notebook, ���I’ll meet you downstairs!”. You’d snuck downstairs and met Bradley on your front lawn at his nod.

“Hey, Bradshaw. What’s going on?” You’d felt exceedingly ugly in your duck-printed pajamas, especially as Bradley was fully dressed.

“I’m leaving.”

“What?!”

“I enlisted in the Navy yesterday. I’m driving to Pensacola for my basic training, leaving right now.” 

"Is this because of Mav? When he pulled your papers?" You'd been in shock, processing the news.

"Yeah. I'm still angry, but I found another way to fly for the Navy. And this time, I will prove that I can do it." You'd seen the anger in his eyes.

When your eyes had teared up at the thought of losing him, he’d crushed you to his chest. 

“I know, Sweetheart.” He’d murmured. “I know. I’m going to miss you too.” His eyes are soft and sad in the dimness of the morning light. “I couldn’t leave without telling my best girl goodbye.”

“Bradley!” You’d sobbed in earnest, feeling your heart break for real. “I don’t want you to go!”

“I don’t want to go either. But I have to!” He’d tried so hard to convince you. “It’s the only chance I have to achieve my dreams.” 

“But I love you, Bradley!” You’d finally had enough, letting the words slip off your tongue in your grief. “Please don’t go.”

He’d cried before kissing you clumsily. “I love you too, Sweetheart. I wish I’d told you how much before now. I have to go to Florida, but I want you to promise you’ll call.”

And call you had, every night for all the years he’d been in the Navy, continuing until he’d been back in San Diego at Top Gun. That was when you’d finally taken your relationship to the next level and then gotten married a year later, just like Carole and your Mom had hoped over a decade earlier. 

Being a Navy wife was the hardest thing you thought your relationship would ever have to overcome. The constant worry for him and the length of his deployments stressed your relationship more than you’d ever seen. Or so you thought. This new mission Bradley had been pulled into as part of a special detachment scared you witless. It scared him too. You’d known him for two decades; the only time you’d seen him this frightened was before Carole died. Add to that the stress of having Maverick in his life again, and you didn’t know when you’d get your happy, sweet, golden retriever of a husband back again.

Three short weeks later, after everything had gone down, you got the bare bones of the mission details from Maverick and knew the healing process for Bradley would not be easy after what he’d been through. At first, Bradley had seemed lighter, more like the boy you’d first fallen in love with. He was reconnecting with his Uncle Mav. His physical wounds had healed in no time at all. And then the nightmares set in. Nearly every night, he’d woken you screaming for Maverick, sweating profusely, shivering, and shaking. On occasion, you’d even woken to hear him retching in the bathroom. No matter what you did, he wouldn’t open up to you. So you’d resolved to keep an eye on him. That’s why you found yourself at the Hard Deck one night with the rest of the newly named permanent Dagger Squadron. 

Bradley was his usual cheery self, outwardly, at least. But you knew him well enough to see the differences. He'd joked and bantered, drinking and trash-talking as he played pool. But when the spotlight shone on others, you could see the shadows in his eyes.

“Hey, Missus Bradshaw!” Phoenix is grinning. You smile back at your husband’s closest friend in the Navy.

“Hey, Phe.” 

“C’mere.” She tugs you to a less crowded corner where Bob sits. She gestures between them. “We’ve been meaning to talk to you. There’s something up with Rooster. He’s not himself, not since we got back. He’s quieter, and though Bagman seems to make him just as loud as he used to be, he hasn’t roused the bar into song since we returned. The piano’s gathering dust over there. Mav’s noticed, and so has Penny. We’re all getting worried about him. But he won’t talk to us. Maybe you can use your feminine wiles to get him to cough up what’s bothering him?”

They’re both gazing expectantly at you, Bob as always following Phoenix’s lead.

“I’ll see what I can do, Phe. But he doesn’t talk to me either.” You shrug, letting your worry bow your shoulders. “Do you know where he went?” 

“I saw him head out onto the beach.” It’s sweet Bob who speaks. You grin in thanks, pressing a kiss to his cheek, adjusting his glasses, then your own, and leave your drink with Phoenix before heading out to find your husband.

It’s a beautiful summer night in San Diego. The balmy ocean breeze brushes your hair from your face as you pull your sandals off and walk barefoot through the sand. Bradley’s starfished out in the sand, a little ways off. He’s humming tunelessly under his breath, and you can’t help but smile when he breaks into the chorus, “Goodness Gracious, Great Balls of Fire!”

“Hiya, Handsome,” you murmur tenderly, sitting on the still-warm sand near his head. “This isn’t where I expected to find you.”

He laughs, eyes blearily focused on your face, tone nearly hysterical as he cackles joylessly.

“You nearly didn’t find me here at all, Sweetheart.” His voice is rough. “In another world, if it weren’t for Mav, you’d be a widow with a Military flag in our house.”

“B …” Your chest aches at his words. “I know, baby. Mav told me.”

He sits up carelessly, tugging you under his arm. 

“Please talk to me. I need to know you’re alright.” You place your hand over his heart, resting your head against his broad shoulder. “I’m worried sick. You’re not eating. You’re not sleeping. You’re a shadow of yourself. And I don’t know how to help you.”  You’re sniffling now, breathing in his cologne as you sit cradled in his arms. “Please, please talk to me, Bradley.”

For a long time, all you can hear is the rush of the ocean and the faint roar of the patrons at the Hard Deck. Bradley’s a line of heat against your side as you sit in the sand.

“Sweetheart, I don’t know how to find the words.” His voice is harsh, throat working furiously as you look at him. “In the middle of that mission, with missiles flying through the air and me as their target, I thought I’d never see you again. I wanted nothing more than to see, hold, and tell you I loved you again.” 

Tears are dripping down his face, mirroring the tears leaving your eyes.

“And then I got shot down. And I knew I’d never see you again. Never see our babies be born or teach them everything they need to know. And the worst of it all, I made my peace with that. I asked Jake, Bagman, to take care of you after I was chosen before we launched. He’s exactly the kind of man you’d be happy with if not me.” He’s breathing roughly, on the edge of a panic attack, eyes staring unfocused out over the water. “And then Mav pulled his pilot shit, and I don’t know how to live anymore. I feel like Bradley Bradshaw was left in the snow that day.”

“Bradley, baby. I wouldn’t want to go through this life with anyone but you!” Your voice is thin, reedy, “I love you. And,” Your voice is wry as you continue, “while I’m sure Jake Seresin is a consummate gentleman, I think Phe would have a problem with me spending the rest of my life with him.”

You both chuckle, somewhat hysterically, sitting in the sand.

“So, where do we go from here?" He's quiet as you both sit, staring out at the waves. 

"We live, Lieutenant Bradshaw." His mustache quirks at your use of his title. "We live our life together, as we promised in our vows. You're going to get the name of the therapist Mav's been seeing and make an appointment to talk to them."

"And," You murmur as Bradley rises to his feet, drawing you up with him, "you need to kiss me. Now. Kiss me like you wanted to when you weren't sure you would ever see me again."

He's smiling now, like he was at eighteen when he'd kissed you goodbye and like he has every time he'd kissed you since. His mouth against yours is gentle, his mustache brushing softly against your upper lip as you stretch to meet him. His arms wrap around your waist as the kiss deepens. You can finally feel him relax in your arms. This is where his healing begins.

You can't help the grin on your face and voice as you walk back to the Hard Deck, looking at your husband.

"And anyhow, Mr. Bradshaw, you'll kiss me a lot in the coming months."

"Why's that?"

"You're telling me you won't kiss your pregnant wife as she grows your only child?" You're pouting at first, but that transitions to giggles as he comes to a complete stop on the wooden planks that lead from the Hard Deck to the beach.

"You're pregnant?" His voice cracks, wonder in his eyes.

"Yeah. I've been drinking soda with Bob all night. I'm about 12 weeks along. Baby Bradshaw was conceived when I met you in Hawai'i for our anniversary when you were temporarily stationed there."

You're swept into his arms again and kissed until your lips ache with the force of it. He drops you gently back onto your feet before flinging the glass doors leading into the Hard Deck open with a crash. It's late, and only a few stragglers, the Dagger Squad, Mav, and Penny, are left inside. His dramatic attention brings everyone’s eyes to the two of you. 

“WE’RE HAVING A BABY!” He roars, all the pain and fears finally off his shoulders now that he’s spoken to you. Now that he’s shared his fears with you. The bar comes back to life in barely a second. The Dagger Squad, save Phoenix, Bob, and Penny, congregates around Bradley while the other three congregate around you. You’re soon squished tight in congratulatory hugs by everyone. You grin when Bradley Bradshaw finally sits at the piano, serenading your heart home. Healing will be challenging, but not so long as your husband tells you he loves you.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Dog Meshi.

[stiffyck]

Good luck during pride month to all the aroaces who are gonna be blasted with "love is love" everywhere

Edit:

This post includes aplatonic people, loveless aros and any other people who fall anywhere on the aro and ace spectrum.

Stop saying "but theres platonic love and familial love-"

[hinamie]

I don't want to regret the way I lived

[datcravat]

SCIENCE BEGETS TRUTH✨

[satoumafuyuss]

old habits

[auden-dahn]

netpet, your new friend! 💾

[🍵 kofi]

[bean-spring]

Hot take and not to be a killjoy or the shipping police but people treating Viktor or Jinx's aroace headcanons as if they were canon is not the revolutionary take people think it is.

Headcanons are always all right but we have to acknowledge that they are somehow damaging when they apply to stereotypes. It might not be the case for everyone but most of the time people unconsciously assume that disability/mental illness=asexuality. These headcanons erase the freedom of attraction from people who are already seen as unable to have sexual/romantic experiences/desires, when it's completely untrue and harmful.

You can headcanon Viktor and Jinx as aroace, but I have seen people changing their minds once Viktor is no longer disabled (s2 with all of his other forms) and Jinx is no longer as mentally ill (alternate universe Powder). And it speaks wonders of how people see these characters.

"I never thought about Jinx being able to feel romantic/sexual attraction until s2!" To believe she's actually only capable of that when she's not "damaged" is incredibly disturbing. Especially since Jinx has always had a bit of a flirty personality too.

"I've always seen Viktor as asexual, I don't know why!" That's fine. You can headcanon him as ace. But I believe there is a reason behind it, most of the time, if for some inexplicable reason the "vibes" of the disabled character are making you think he's ace.

I say all of this being aroaspec myself, by the way. Headcanon all you want but going to people's posts commenting how "it's weird for you that they have romantic/sexual plots when they're clearly aroace" is not a win at all. It's a headcanon, after all, and it should be treated as such, and that's fine. But it also is damaging to spread stereotypes like these.

Of course the disabled character is asexual. Of course the mentally ill character is aromantic. It's not as revolutionary as you might think, tbh.

Fandom is not activism and it's all right to have any headcanons you want BUT some of them are filled with damaging stuff and perhaps we should look into ourselves more before treating these assumptions as something canon.

[vinestaff]

for what it's worth, i was telling the truth when I said I enjoyed working with you

[stil-lindigo]

bite of winter.

a comic about a princess who died in the snow.

--

creative notes:

--

all my other comics

store

[pokimoko]

Asexual bird? Please

How about two asexual birds?

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

There's Nothing I Wouldn't Do

Mickey 'Fanboy' Garcia x Nadia Garcia (OC)

A/N: I wrote this to go along with a series being written by mayhemmanaged and cassmitchell called Gunpowder & Lead! Update as of 01/31/2024: This story is no longer connected to anything being written by the two accounts mentioned above. They are reworking this story. This is MY HARD WORK AND EFFORT and I will not be deleting it just because this character is no longer included in their story.

The character of Attie Blake is @dakotakazansky's. Fern belongs to @desert-fern. Obviously all of the Daggers are the property of Paramount. The only characters who are mine are Nadia 'Nova' Garcia and Alex.

Disclaimers:Female!Reader, and all the warnings below!

Warnings: Abuse, Recovery from Abuse, Assault

As a reminder, everyone’s experiences are different. Everyone’s experiences are valid. This is a fictional story.

My Masterlist

It’s just past noon on a sleepy Wednesday in Austin, Texas. The afternoon sun beats hot against my face. I grab onto the hood shrouding my features and tug it up a bit higher to make sure nobody can see me. You see, I’m not supposed to be here. The only reason why I am is the baby boy in the carrier strapped to my front. Alex. My son and the only good thing I have in my life. 

So why am I standing in front of a tiny flower shop named Hera's Orchard in one of Austin’s winding streets of small businesses with my baby in my arms and everything important to me in a bag at my side? There's a rumor, a rumor floating around on the dark web talking about this place. Rumor says that if you walk in and ask if they have any asphodel in the back, they'll help you, no questions asked.

I inhale deeply, trying to breathe despite my bruised, aching ribs and broken nose. I have to do this. For Alex, there's nothing I wouldn't do. I can take any and everything Arthur, my husband, lays on me. But the minute he turned his hand on our son, I'd had enough. The bruised ribs and broken nose, they're what I'd gotten for standing in his way. They're also the final straw. The tiny bell above the door jingles and as I walk in, the humid air stinks of soil and the heady perfume of the thousands of blooming flowers lining the walls. I feel a little bit like I've walked into a jungle. But automatically, instantly, it feels a bit easier to breathe.

Alex seems to like being in Hera's Orchard too, his chubby little hands grasping for the bright colors he can see even as his big eyes go wide at the onslaught of new sensations. I cuddle him closer, kissing his downy head before boldly forging my way to the counter I can see in the back.

There's a sign on the petal strewn countertop, proclaiming, "Ring the Bell for Service! Someone will be out shortly!" Right beside the sign is a bronze bell, like the kind they have on hotel concierge counters. I press it just once, and then have to drag a few petals from Alex's little fingers. If I hadn't caught them, they would've gone right into his mouth.

"Buddy. Alex! No, honey. Those do not go in your mouth." My son is ever vocal, babbling very seriously back at me. I'm having an oh, so serious conversation with my baby when an amused mock cough catches my attention. While I was conversing with Alex, someone walked out from the back and came to stand behind the counter. 

She's beautiful, her shoulder length brown hair is tied up into a knot at the back of her head and green eyes bore right through me. She's small and slight, but when she folds her arms across her chest, the muscles bulge with hidden strength.

"Hi, welcome to Hera's Orchard. I'm Fern, how can I help you today?" I can't hide my nerves as I slide the hood off, finally revealing my face to Fern. Her piercing eyes soften, seeing the bruises rising up vividly across my face.

"Hi, Fern. I'm Nadia," I make Alex wave with his little hand, "and this little guy is Alex. I read online that you just got a shipment of some rare asphodels into the store? I was hoping to purchase one as a gift." My throat is dry as I catalog the expression on her face. Fern's serious and stern. The sweet, slightly goofy grin she'd leveled at Alex just moments before is gone.

"Come with me." I grab my bag and follow her into the back. "Hey Charlie! Can you take over in the front? I've got a consult on a custom flower arrangement here!"

Charlie, a teenage boy, thin and gangly with the wildest curls I’ve ever seen, levels Fern with a lovestruck expression before walking out to man the counter. I know what he's so struck by. Have you ever been in a room with someone and been captivated by them? That's Fern's energy, from head to toe. I follow her into a small, plant covered office. Just as we sit down, Alex begins whimpering and gumming at my fingers.

"Sorry, he's hungry. D'you mind if I nurse him while we chat?" I can't believe I'm asking a stranger this question. Arthur would cut me down on the spot if he knew. Per his rules, babies are to be bottle fed only when other people are present.

"Of course. Feed the little guy. Take your time. I take my custom arrangement consultations very seriously." Her smile is soft as I situate Alex at my breast, heaving in as deep a breath as I am able as he begins to nurse hungrily. 

"Now that he's eating, do you want to tell me a little bit about the person you'd like to gift this special arrangement to?" Fern's got a little sketchpad in front of her and she begins to sketch bloom after bright bloom as I explain what I'm looking for.

"So, you're looking for an arrangement that is subtle and beautiful to gift your husband?" There's something dangerous in Fern's eyes as she uses a knife to cut the sketch free and hand it to me.

"Yes.” I trace over the thin wispy lines of the sketch, before murmuring, “This is beautiful. How soon can you have it ready?" 

I can't believe I'm doing this. Can I poison my husband? That’s the catch about Hera’s Orchard. It is a flower shop, one that has rave reviews and an ever growing list of clientele, but it’s true clientele is a bit shadier than housewives who want a fresh bouquet for their dinner table. ‘Asphodel’ is the key word in those situations. 

"Come with me." Rather than answer my question, she leads me to a small doorway in the back of the shop. She unlocks it with a key and grabs my bag. With Alex in my arms, I walk through the door, pausing only so Fern can latch the door behind us. Fern stops at the end of the passageway, knocking on the door. A small window opens, looking us over before the door opens and we're let through. 

"This, Nadia, is the Underworld. This is Persephone and Songbird. They run this place and are my closest friends." The women I see arrayed before me are beautiful and strong. Are they the salvation I've been looking for? Can they save Alex, and by extension me, from more suffering?

"Hey, Bruiser!" It's Persephone, her tone musical even as she wiggles her fingers at Alex. "What's up, Buttercup?"

"Seriously, Seph?" Fern's disgust at the nickname is palpable but I can tell it's a play at disgust more than the real deal. "This is Nadia Wilson. She walked into the Orchard looking for an asphodel."

Those seem to be the magic words. Before I can blink, I'm pulled to a table with Fern on my right and both of the other women in the room seated before me.

"I'm Persephone," Her voice is soft as she looks at me with Alex snoozing in his baby bjorn after his lunch. "Bruiser mentioned that you needed some help?"

At my confused look, she's quick to assure me, "Hey, you can talk openly here. We've got the entire Underworld locked down. Nothing leaves this room. I can assure you of that fact. We got the best hacker we know to build our anti surveillance gear."

As much as that intrigues me, if only because I just built an anti-surveillance setup myself,  I desperately need their help more. So I let the whole tale spill. How I emigrated to Texas as a young girl and taught myself how to code. How I'd fallen in love with the green beauty of the city and the hills surrounding it. But sadly that wasn’t all I’d fallen in love with. Arthur Wilson had swept me off of my feet. He seemed like a gorgeous man who had money and seemed to adore everything about me. So I hadn't hesitated when he asked me to marry him.

"Alex," you explain to the women, "is the only reason why I’ve stayed in my marriage for as long as I have." 

My breathing is ragged as I stare at the wall behind their heads. "Arthur, my husband, has hated Alex since before he was born. My husband hated how my body changed with the baby. He hates how I'm not back to my pre-baby weight or body type yet. So he takes it out on me." 

"At first it was just with his words. A probing comment here, a harsh word there. Then he started hitting me. I worked so damn hard to lose weight, to go back to what I looked like before, and it still wasn't enough. He's been hitting me more and more frequently."

"Then to top it all off, there is something else too. He's been cheating on me, I know he has. I've found red hairs on his clothes and he stinks of a perfume that's not what he buys me and insists I wear. But I could stand all of that. Last night, he tried to hit Alex. He's only three months old!" Your voice breaks and a tear slips down your cheek as you sob the words out. "He's just a baby, after all. Babies cry!"

"I can't let him hurt my baby. I can't live like this. Not anymore. Please help me. Please." My broken tones echo in the room around me as I make pleading eye contact with Persephone and Songbird in turn.

"Of course we'll help you, sweetheart! We're the Furies. It's what we do." I can't help my sobs as I let myself fall apart at their words.

3 weeks later

I wasn’t sure what to expect as the outcome from that first meeting at the Underworld, not at all. But whatever it was, it definitely wasn’t this. It’s 3 AM and red and blue lights blanket the front lawn of the suburban home I shared with my husband up until a few hours ago. That’s when I’d come downstairs with Alex in my arms and found Arthur and his newest side-piece, the red-head whose hairs I’d noticed on his suits, dead on the lounge chair in his study in various stages of undress. Like any dutiful wife, I’d screamed until our housekeeper found me and stayed by her side until the police arrived.

My pain and fear are all too real. Since I met with Persephone, Songbird, and Bruiser, it seems like Arthur turned all of his attention on me. I’ve been under a microscope ever since. He’s added a potentially broken wrist, two black eyes and a twisted ankle to the broken nose and bruised ribs I had the day I’d left Hera’s Orchard with a gorgeous flower arrangement under my arm. So the tears I cry as I clutch Alex to my chest in front of the sweetest Police Sergeant I’ve ever met are real. His face has been continually distressed since he first found me and I can’t believe how good he makes me feel.

“Sergeant Mickey Garcia,” he’d said, smiling at me as I tried to settle Alex from when the baby had been startled awake at the sirens of what seemed like the entirety of the Austin Police Department spilled onto our front lawn. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

I’d stammered back my own greetings and let him lead me into the kitchen.

“C-can you tell me what happened?” He’d blushed crimson when I tried nursing Alex to get him to settle down. His face had only grown more and more serious the more I spoke. I found myself spilling the entire tale to him, captivated by the curls spilling over his forehead. 

“Sergeant Garcia,” his superior, a man with arresting green eyes and dark blonde hair calls Mickey over to him. All night I’ve been getting appraising looks from the men of APD. Either I look like shit with a squalling baby in my arms or they’re trying to figure out if I have the courage to turn black widow on one of the Police Department’s biggest donors. I do, but they won’t ever know. I look like a beaten down, broken woman, but I’m far from it. I’m a professional woman. I build custom computers and security protocols for corporations around the world. It’s my true passion and calling, one which Arthur had never cared to know about.

As Mickey briefs his superiors, the looks I get go from being evaluating to pitying. I know I look a sight, bruises turning blue and green on my tan skin and with bags so dark under my eyes they’re purple. Add to that my pajamas, bedhead, and a squalling baby and I’ve successfully slipped under APD’s radar. They’re sure to have pulled the security footage, the footage my paranoid husband always had recording, by now, the footage which shows me asleep in my bed or sleep-walking to Alex’s room when my collicky baby wakes me up in the middle of the night. Alex is a sleeping weight against my chest before Sergeant Garcia walks back to me.

“We’re going to get you into an ambulance Mrs.Wilson and get you and Alex to the hospital and check out. If you’d like, we can call someone to come stay with you while you’re there and who can take care of Alex while we wait?” His voice sounds like sex and smoke. Were I not so recently a widow and not so injured to boot, I would have jumped him on the spot.

“Yes, I have someone I can call. I’d like to change and grab a bag for Alex if I can first though?” At his nod, I limp my way upstairs, putting together a bag for Alex before handing the Sergeant both the bag and Alex at his insistence. Arthur never once held Alex like that. When I step out of the bedroom in a pair of jeans and t-shirt, Alex is happily drooling against Sergeant Garcia’s chest and he looks too comfortable for this to be the first time he’s holding a baby.

“Wow.” My voice is quiet. “This is not the first time you’ve held a baby, is it Sergeant?”

His chuckle is bashful and shy. “No, actually. My sister in Miami has three kids. I’ve held them all.”

“D’you have any babies of your own, Sergeant?” I don’t know why I’m asking that question, not now of all times.

“No, I don’t. But I’ve always wanted to.” He clears his throat before helping you into the ambulance and handing Alex to you. “Now let’s get you in touch with who you wanted to call. Who’d you like to call?”

My voice is all fire as I say, “Attie Blake. She’s a friend and my lawyer.”

4 months later

Arthur’s sister and mother had put up a perfunctory fuss when they found out he was dead, accusing me of murdering him and any other depraved things that came to his mind. They even tried to sue me. But even their high paid team of lawyers couldn’t stand up to Atlas Blake. With Attie’s help, I managed to win the case and secure all of Arthur Wilson’s fortune into a trust fund for his son. Mickey’s been by my side ever since as well. It was almost too easy to fall in love with him. Especially when I saw how easy it was for him to accept Alex as a part of the package deal. Mickey helped me scope out the location so I could buy the small shop near Hera’s Orchard which I made into a net-cafe and officially introduced me to Birdie Floyd and Emory Seresin, who I only knew so far as Songbird and Persephone.

Since then, my life has never been better. The Furies are the closest friends I have, and the shop, named Daedalus’ Automata, is the perfect place for me to do my thing. What’s my thing, you ask? Before my marriage, before Arthur demanded a trophy wife, I was in cyber security. Give me any network and a computer and I could tell you how secure the network is and at least four ways that I could make it better. I also make custom computers and anti-surveillance hardware. It’s how I continued making money under Arthur’s nose. Now, it’s how I’ve been paying back the Furies for helping me. I keep any mentions of the Furies out of the internet and away from the Task Force’s attention. The best part is how Mickey doesn’t care when I come home smelling like grease with Alex in my arms. How I wish I’d met Miguel Garcia first. 

It’s late when I stagger through the front door late on a Friday night. It’s date night and I’m so late that I’m sure any excuses I have will be flimsy at best. Mickey had grabbed Alex from Daedalus when he got off of his shift, so I don’t have the baby with me when I walk through the door. The entire house is filled with the most delicious scent, and as I look at my watch, I know I’m at least an hour late for dinner.

“Mickey?” My voice is soft as I toe my shoes off and walk through the house. “I’m sorry I’m late, vida. I had this absolute wreck of a computer get dropped off for repairs.” In part that’s true, I did have a wreck of a computer dropped off for repairs. But that’s not why I’m late. The Furies were running an op tonight, one for which I was on comms, making sure my girls were safe as they were running around doing what they do best. I walk through the kitchen, my heart dropping at the sight of the candles on the dining table, the wax nearly melted away.

“Mickey?” My voice drops to a whisper when I walk into the study and see all of my computer screens fired up, filling the entire room with their cool blue light. On the screen flash three dossiers, my own, Fern’s and Ranger’s in addition to the blueprints for the facility we hit tonight. It was a strict information gathering op, but so important. How could I have been so stupid that I hadn’t locked that information down before I left this morning?

“I think you’ve got some explaining to do, amor.” I’ve never heard Mickey sound so serious. “I love you, and I promise I’m not angry, just worried. Tell me what’s going on.”

I can’t resist melting into his embrace, inhaling the musky warm scent of his cologne as he squeezes me tight.

“I love you, Miguel. I just need to have you sign something first. Then I promise I’ll tell you everything.” Then I reach for my phone and speed dial Attie. 

“Hey Attie, I’m going to need an NDA here.” I can’t help looking at Mickey over the next half an hour we wait in the kitchen. I’m puttering around nervously, barely able to stomach the stew Mickey made while I finished up at the shop. Mickey’s not much better. He eats too, but he keeps stealing these searching glances of me, and the tension enveloping our small kitchen is nearly too much to bear. He tries to speak a few times but each time, stops short. I can’t help wondering what this means for us, for Alex who already has heard us both refer to Mickey as dad or daddy.

It’s the doorbell ringing which startles me out of the pensive way I’ve been glancing into Mickey’s eyes. It’s Attie at the door with Bradley right behind her.

“Hey Nova.” She’s smiling, which should provide me with a sense of relief. But I can’t help the dread pooling in my gut or the bad portents which my mind is constantly bombarding me with.

“Hey, Attie. C’mon in.” I hug her for a few minutes before leading her and her six-foot shadow into our kitchen.

“Hey, Roos.” Mickey sounds exhausted and I can’t believe it’s because of me. “So you’ve been read into what the girls are doing too?”

It breaks your heart when he folds into one of the chairs at the kitchen table and runs his fingers through his curls. 

“How bad is it, Bradshaw?” At Bradley’s lack of response, I can see Mickey’s jaw tighten and worry cloud his features even more.

“It’s alright, Mickey.” It’s Attie who takes control of the situation. “Read over this, sign it, and then Nova and I will tell you what’s going on.”

Mickey gives the document a cursory look over, scrawling his signature where required before pushing it to Attie and leveling me with one of his intense panty dropping looks. It’s with my heart in my throat that I let the whole tale of my introduction and involvement in the Furies spill. Anger glints in his eyes as I finish. 

“I need a drink. Whiskey, Roos?” He can’t even look at me. I understand needing a bit to process, but Mickey’s never processed like this before. Please let him understand. Please let this not be the end. I share a scared look with Attie before standing to grab a tumblr for her, too. I don’t drink, not a drop, and while I’ve never minded Mickey or our friends drinking, tonight the sight of the alcohol slipping down his throat just fills me with dread. Maybe it’s residual PTSD from Arthur, who’d beat me if he got too drunk, but it’s just as likely to be the tense situation I’ve found myself in. 

“So where do we go from here?” Mickey’s looking right at me as he says the words. “I know you know this, amor, but I’m on the task force hell bent on finding Persephone and the Furies. To stop them. How can I protect my family? The woman I love, the woman I wanted to ask to marry me tonight, when she’s on the other side of the work I’ve devoted my life to?”

My smile is tremulous as I launch myself into his arms. Relief floods my veins, maybe this isn’t the end!

“You wanted me to marry you, Miguel?” I can’t hide my sobs as I bury myself into his skin. His arms are strong and secure as they automatically wrap around me.

“Course, amor. I’ve wanted to ask you to marry me since the day I met you.” I can’t help the clumsy, salty, kiss I press to his lips. “I’ve wanted you and Alex from first sight. This doesn’t change anything, not between you and me. It’s going to change everything at work, though.”

I get lost kissing Mickey for several more long moments, until the baby monitor on the counter chirps, spilling Alex’s cries into the room.

“I’ll get him,” I murmur in Mickey’s ear. “Attie will join me. Talk to Bradley, vida. He knows, so does Bob.”

Attie’s a silent shadow behind me as we walk into the nursery and I change the baby’s diaper.

“It’s going to be okay, Nov. The entirety of Mickey’s loyalty is with you and this little guy. They’ll figure out a way to keep us safe. And we’ll do our part to keep them safe too.”

Mickey looks relieved when I walk downstairs once Alex is back to sleep. It’s looking at his face and the home that we’ve made together that I make a vow I’ll keep if it’s the last thing I do. I’ll protect my fiancé, protect his friends and protect our son. If someone finds out about the Furies, it won’t be because of me. Nobody I love will ever get hurt again, not if I can stop them. 

It’s that righteous vision that fills my veins when Mickey and I get married in a small courthouse ceremony a few weeks later surrounded by our friends. It’s a hurried engagement, but necessary, especially since spousal immunity can only help when in our situation. He adopts Alex too. Attie checked, Mickey adopting Alex does not void the Wilson trust fund. Things seem to smooth between Mickey and I. Our two week honeymoon in Miami is the most fun I’ve ever had in my life. Not to mention, the most time I’ve spent naked in one stretch. Mickey didn’t let me out of bed for the first 48 hours we were there. 

When we get back, life sinks into its own balanced pace. My new normal, punctuated by the gorgeous solitaire diamond on my left ring finger, is full of promise. But as things pick up and I start hearing more and more about a new king-pin taking over Austin, the more I worry about what’s to come. But I’m able to put my worries aside for the most part, staying vigilant. I do what I can to help the cause, sending the young boys and girls who need help to Cora’s Bakery down the street for pomegranate scones. After all, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and that’s all of us. It’s why we do what we do.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

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[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Happy one year anniversary to In Stars and Time!

[lotus-pear]

learning to love

[hinamie]

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