#i know that picture of him is from empty child/doctor dances!!

[doctorwhoisadhd]

oh good theres my buddy jack :)

[sad-not-glad]

We Know Something You Don’t

Pairing: Bucky x pregnant! Reader

Word count: 3415

Warnings: pregnancy symptoms, allusion to birth, tooth-rotting fluff

A/N: the second part to I Know Something You Don’t, This is going to become a series :) reposted, again, from the account I deleted like a stupid mf.

First part: Here

Bucky really was amazed at what the modern world could do now for expecting mothers. He had accompanied you to every doctors appointment and there was a healthy stack of parenting books growing on his bedside table. Everything that the doctor said he soaked in like a sponge, asking so many questions you had to tell him to stop more than once in your so far short pregnancy. They supposed you were only around 10 weeks along so you still had quite a while to go yet.

The best part by far was the ultrasound. Bucky was brought to tears when during your first appointment you both were shown the very first image of your precious little baby. He unashamedly began to brag on his child, praising them for growing so well and being so strong. He wouldn't listen when you told him that it was barely a tiny blob, because that in itself was amazing. One of the pictures now had a permanent place safe inside his wallet.

The one thing that was less than exciting to you both was the idea of telling your team the news. For Bucky it was the fear of judgment and potential for harm if anyone outside of your friend group caught wind of the upcoming child. Your fears revolved around losing your independence. It was bad enough that the team babied you already, you didn't think you could stand it if they got any worse. You valued your independence, and while you were on a leave from missions for the time being you had no intentions to stop your training. Maybe modify things a bit for your new condition, but you really wanted to remain active for as long as possible.

So the both of you kept dancing around the subject. Excuses for why you weren't going on missions, faking dates for doctors appointments, avoiding any situation where alcohol would be involved. Of course you knew that you couldn't hide it forever but it would be nice to adjust to the idea of becoming parents before they overwhelmed you with their own excitement.

Tonight was making that hard though. It was supposed to be a simple, slow evening in which everyone could be lazy and watch TV together. And it had been up until a few minutes ago, when Tony appeared with some kind of new takeout from a place that had recently opened nearby. The food is passed around and you decide on a serving of spicy chicken with rice. It was something you usually loved and you were sure this place would be no different. The first bite was… odd. You chewed slowly, poking at the chicken before cautiously lifting the fork to your mouth again. All at once the spice and smell and texture hit you as you threw down the container and made a mad dash for the kitchen.

“Holy shit-” There's the sound of something being tossed down as footsteps follow you. But that doesnt matter. Not when you're about to blow chunks all over the countertops. With one last strain of effort you launch yourself over the sink as you begin to vomit painfully. Carefully you feel two hands sweep the hair from your face into a makeshift ponytail as cold fingers press against the back of your neck. You heave in a deep breath before hurling again. Tears are streaming down your face and you know there's bile stuck in your hair and to your face, but all you can focus on is getting the sickness out of your system. After several grueling minutes of emptying your stomach you finally felt the nausea fade off.

“Is she okay, Barnes?” That was Tony. Bucky struggled to find an answer to the questioning stares as you heave in deep breaths. “Yeah, she's gonna be okay.” You shake your head softly, glancing back at him with wavering eyes. This was a secret you had to spill, you couldn't hide it any longer. Not from a team filled with assassins and geniuses.

“Buck, tell them”

“Tell us what? What's going on you two?” Bucky takes your still shaking hand into his, nodding softly before turning towards the team littered around the kitchen. “(Y/N) is pregnant.” The silence is deafening and it puts you on edge for a moment before the tension is broken by Steve’s sharp cry of surprise. All hell breaks loose suddenly and you're both swept up and passed between people for long, tight hugs.

“Oh my god, Baby Banres!”

“You’re pregnant?!”

“I'm so happy for you two!!!”

Nobody seemed to mind the mess you had made of yourself as they all took turns hugging and showing you with praises. After a considerable amount of time Bucky managed to pry you from Natasha’s tight hold, slightly take aback by the reaction to such a simple sentence. But it wasnt simple, your entire life was going to be changing drastically in the next year. You beamed up at him, simply glowing after being showered in so much affection. And he was so ready to start to journey with you at his side.

Bucky was sure that he was going to die right there in the stiff hospital chair he sat in. The doctor’s kind words flew right over his head and the only thought in his mind was that she had said this baby was a little girl. A daughter, he was going to have a little baby princess with you. A little girl with your soft hair and striking eyes, listening to her giggles as her Daddy dotes on her, heading her call him Daddy. That alone was what broke the dam of his eyes, allowing the tears to fly freely over his cheeks. By now the doctor had left you alone and you were already sitting up on the bed.

“Sweetheart?” He turned to you, opening his mouth to respond but coming up short. Your expression melted as you reached out and pulled him forward into your arms. He gripped tightly to you, overwhelmed with the pure love flowing through his veins. He had no idea what he had done along the way to deserve this, but god Bucky would do anything to keep his little family safe. After the tears slow he finally looks up at you, sniffing as you wipe the dampness from his face. “Its a girl?” You nod softly and he chokes on another sob as it becomes so much more real. He held tightly to you as together you celebrated in the news of your upcoming daughter.

Upon returning from your appointment the tower was suspiciously quiet. Nobody in the communal area, nobody on the floor you stayed in with Bucky and Steve, and nobody inside your little shared space. Bucky was too caught up in admiring the new pictures of your baby to notice but you immediately took note of the striking silence that lingered everywhere you went. After shedding your shoes and coat you pulled out your phone, checking for a text from anyone really. Nothing. You called Tony, no answer. And then Natasha, and again no answer. By now your nerves were standing on edge and you couldn’t ignore the creeping feeling in your gut.

“Bucky, where is everyone?” He looks up from the photo held tightly in his hands to you in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“The tower is empty. I-“

You paused, trying to think of any reason the entire team would disappear like this. After finding none you sighed, finally calling out to the AI within the walls for some help . “FRIDAY, where is everyone?”

“I’m afraid I’m not permitted to say, Ms Barnes. I can tell you they will be returning in around half an hour though.” Bucky now looked just as confused as you did. But for now it seemed the only thing you could do was wait, so you did just that. Half an hour passed, then an hour, and then two. The day was crawling towards the evening and still with no word from anyone the anxiety began to run high. It was nearly 8pm when finally FRIDAY announced you and Bucky were being asked to join the team in the conference room.

Bucky held the door open for you to enter and you jumped in surprise as several loud pops sounded and you were both showered with confetti.

“Surprise!”

The room was decorated from floor to ceiling, filled with pastel colors and various baby-themed decorations. You can’t help the tears that flood your eyes at the display of your team’s love for you and your husband. “Guys, what is all this?” Bucky steps forward, gently wrapping his arm over your shoulders as you take a really good look around. It’s absolutely beautiful, with just the right amount of tacky to make it funny and cute. “It’s your baby shower, silly! You didn’t think you were going to have a kid and not let up spoil them rotten, did you?” Tony laughs, pulling you forward into his arms as he pats your back. One by one both you and Bucky receive a tight hug from everyone before you’re being led to sit at the head of the table.

One by one each person presents you with an array of gifts for your unborn child. Clint provides you with a surplus of diapers and wipes, Natasha gifts you a set of avenger themes onesies she found and a pump, Sam gives you a giant teddy bear in a falcon uniform that was holding a basket of clothes, and so on and so forth. After two full hours of unwrapping presents and being blown away by the generosity of the people who loved you, both you and Bucky were surrounded by piles of baby gear. Ranging in variety from cribs and diapers to toys they wouldn’t be able to play with for years to come. Despite the fatigue seeping down into your bones you just couldn’t pull the smile from your face. Things were finally calming down as everyone split into groups and chatted amongst themselves while snacking from the small buffet provided by Tony. Bucky gently pulled you closer to his side, guiding your head to rest on his shoulder as you soaked in the moment. It was strikingly normal, almost in a funny way. These were the avengers, earth's mightiest heroes. And they were all bouncing with excitement over a baby that wasn’t even born yet. Your baby. The thought made your smile stretch even wider as you observed the love everyone held for your child.

“You getting tired, mama?” The new pet name made your heart skip a beat, he had taken to calling you that lately. With a subtle nod you shifted your gaze up to him, smiling despite the exhaustion settling over your mind. “Yeah, I’m pretty pooped. Do you think they would be offended if we went to bed?” He chuckled, shaking his head as he moved a piece of your hair away from your face. “I don’t really care. If the baby needs sleep then that’s what the baby gets. Let’s go, sweet thing.” As he gently helped you raise from the chair everyone’s eyes turned, conversations stilling. “You two heading up to bed?” He nods, wrapping his arms around you as a means of support. You hadn’t realized how truly tired you were until now as you fought to keep your eyes open while you swayed on your feet. “Yeah, (Y/N) needs the sleep right now. Thank you guys for this, really. It’s… more than I expected, it’s amazing. Thank you.”

There are several mumbles of goodnight and no problem as he leads you to the door, making your way back to your room and your oh-so-sweet bed that is calling your name loudly right now. The elevator ride up was short and you were asleep the moment you laid down, not even changed out of your clothes for the day. Bucky took a moment to kneel by your side, eyes drifting slowly over your face down to the swollen bump in your midsection. Carefully he reached out and ran his fingers over your exposed skin as the little girl inside got the sleep she deserved. ‘My girls’ he thought to himself with a small smile.

By now you were nearly 30 weeks along in your pregnancy. Tony had helped set up a nursery space for you both and it was bursting at the seams with toys and clothes for your child. You told the team about the gender several weeks ago and they all celebrated greatly at the news of a baby girl joining them. You sweat that Steve cried but he very much denies it every time you mention how his eyes misted over. Today was surprisingly slow, half the team gone on various missions and political trips which left the tower quiet and peaceful for once. You were enjoying the silence by laying on the couch in the living room, dazing in and out of sleep and Bucky filed away some paperwork for the team he was now supervising. Instead of doing active field missions he elected to take a backseat, now mostly filling out papers and instructing his team on how to conduct their own missions. You were just about to slip back into your dreamless slumber when a strong tap against your navel made you gasp. Bucky turned in mild alarm, tossing down his pen to give you his full attention from where he sat next to you on the floor.

“(Y/N), you okay?” You shrug, hand sliding down to cover the spot your daughter had just elbowed. She was usually asleep this time of day so it surprised you to feel such a prominent shove against your insides. “Yeah, baby is just moving a little-“ your sentence breaks off into a sharp cry of shock as you pull your hand away from your bump. Now Bucky is very worried, sitting up next to you and inspecting your body closely for signs of harm. “What’s wrong?” Instead of answering you rush to grab his hand, pressing it firmly where yours had been only moments before. A few second pass in silence before-

Bump

Now it was Bucky’s turn to gape in surprise, staring down at his hand where his daughter had kicked him for the first time. “Did you feel that?!” Your voice is brimming with excitement as you also watch your stomach carefully. Before Bucky can respond there’s another, softer tap against his palm. He chokes on his laugh, head swiveling to catch you in a joyful kiss.

“She kicked me, (Y/N)!” You nod, holding his face as he laughs with glee. He pauses after a moment before springing to his feet and grabbing up his phone. “Bucky?”

“I have to tell Steve!” He rushes from the room to call his best friend, who is probably halfway across the world asleep right now. But his excitement is contagious and you giggle as you watch him pace the room before the blonde answers.

“Steve, you’ll never guess what. She kicked me! Yeah I know, it’s great isn’t it? She was so strong too, such a little fighter already-“

Slowly you settled back into the couch, letting your eyes drift closed as you listened to Bucky brag about your child and all of her capabilities thus far, no doubt in your mind about his fatherly love. Your daughter was already the center of his entire universe. You fell asleep to his warm voice and images of your baby girl floating through your mind.

It was nearly 3 am, and you felt absolutely miserable. Braxton hicks had been keeping you awake all night and no matter how you tossed and turned about you just couldn’t seem to get comfortable. Bucky had no issue, snoring like a brick beside you as you languished about your condition. You loved your baby so much but you couldn’t wait for her to finally arrive. Your body was always aching from the added weight you were carrying and you were always bloated and cranky. With a sigh you shuffled to sit up in the bed, freezing in place when there’s a soft pop that comes from inside you and a gush of fluids between your legs. Your mind is reeling, mostly mortified that you had managed to have an accident in the bed. Your good luck could only last so long. Slowly you shifted your weight so you could stand and walk to the bathroom in order to clean up, stopping suddenly as an intense pain seizes through your abdomen. It takes you off guard and steals your breath, leaving you gasping for air as the pain subsides. These weren’t Braxton hicks, they were contractions. You had been in labor, apparently. Without giving it much thought you blindly reached backwards, smacking your husband in the face clumsily in an effort to wake him up. It works as he bolts into a sitting position with a small shout of confusion. After a moment to gather himself he looks over, noticing the grimace in your face and the way your holding tightly to your midsection. His eyes blow wide as the realization strikes him. “Are you…?”

“In labor? Yes, yes Bucky I am. Would you mind helping?” Your voice is strained, panicked even, and that’s all it takes for him to spring into action. Within five minutes he had you changed into new pajamas and gathered all the bags that had been packed over a month ago, despite not really being needed. After all, Tony had paid to have specialized doctors live-in at the tower over the last month in preparation for this very moment. The tense silence of the elevator ride is broken by your sharp hiss of pain as another contraction rips through you. Helen and the delivery nurse are waiting for you when the doors open, courtesy of FRIDAY. You make a mental note to thank the AI for her kindness later. Everything happens so quickly after that. You’re helped into a hospital gown and set up in a room. The delivery doctor arrives to check your progress and before the hour is up you’re told it’s time to push. Bucky has one arm anchored around your shoulders, the other held tightly in your hand as you mentally prepare yourself for what was about to take place.

One by one the team arrives at the waiting room, everyone having been notified of your labor and progression into birth. There’s little conversation as they wait and watch the clock tick on. The sun has risen across the horizon and breakfast had long passed by the time a nurse came to get them. Before entering the room she instructs them to stay quiet, explains that both you and the baby were sleeping after such a long delivery. The door opens to reveal your sleeping figure on the bed, sweaty hair stuck to your face and cheeks flushed from the strain you had gone through. Seated next to you is Bucky, a tiny bundle of blankets cuddled closely in his arms. He’s completely enamored by the little life, not even noticing the arrival of his friends and family. All his attention is focused on the baby girl in his arms, her chubby cheeks and dark curls. A spitting image of her father.

“Hey, we brought some food for you guys.” Steve sets the takeout on the hospital tray as the team crowds around the chair. All of them are fighting for a change to look at the sleeping child held safely against her father’s chest. Bucky finally takes notice of his company, flashing a blinding smile as he gently lifts the little girl in his arms. Everyone visibly melts at the sight of her, sleeping so peacefully after such a dramatic entrance to the world.

“She’s perfect.” Several nods and words of agreement are shared around before Wanda speaks up. “What’s her name?” That was one thing you had elected to keep a secret. Bucky’s smile softens as he carefully readjusts the sleeping miracle in his arms. “Her name is Rebecca Natalia Barnes. Named after two of the strongest women I’ve ever known.” Nat meets his eyes, her own wet with tears. She gives him a small nod and he smiles in return as his gaze turns back to his precious daughter. “A perfect name for a perfect girl.”

[stupidphototricks]

I still have more Johnny and the Bomb stuff to post. It doesn't seem like there are many Johnny Maxwell fans here, but too bad. There should be! It's not Discworld, and it's for slightly younger readers, but those technicalities don't make a lot of difference to Terry Pratchett's great writing.

In general I find time travel + England + WWII irresistible, I don't know why but see also Blackout/All Clear by the fantastic Connie Willis, and the excellent Doctor Who episodes "The Empty Child"/"The Doctor Dances." Johnny and the Bomb is everything I love about time travel stories, all of the pieces dropping into place in the wrong order but eventually fitting together as a complete picture.

Here's how this book thinks about time, from Johnny's (age 14, I think) perspective:

It doesn't matter how long it takes to build a time machine. We could all die out and evolution could start again with moles or something, it could take millions of years, but sooner or later someone will find out how to do it. It might not even be a machine. It might just be a way of understanding what time is, like everyone was scared of lightning and then one day someone said, look, you can store it in little bottles and then it was just electricity. -- Terry Pratchett, Johnny and the Bomb

[Y]ou probably could move in time like a train on a track, so you flipped over onto another track just a little bit farther along. You moved in space, really. -- Terry Pratchett, Johnny and the Bomb

I mean. It gets in there and rewires your brain a little, you know?

There are also plenty of lighter, funnier bits:

"She looks happy enough," said Kasandra. "What's she listening to?" "I couldn't say for sure," said the nurse. "All I know is the headphones aren't plugged in." -- Terry Pratchett, Johnny and the Bomb

Johnny had never spoken to her in his life, except to say "sorry" when she rammed him with her cart. -- Terry Pratchett, Johnny and the Bomb (it me)

"Turn left!" "But there's traffic coming, Sir John!" "If they haven't got good brakes, they shouldn't be on the road!" -- Terry Pratchett, Johnny and the Bomb (shades of Crowley)

Kirsty normally dealt with the terrible and the unexpected by getting angry with it. -- Terry Pratchett, Johnny and the Bomb (relatable)

I'm just saying don't forget about Johnny and the Bomb and the other books in the Johnny Maxwell trilogy, they deserve to be recognized as part of the Terry Pratchett oeuvre too!

[elenavonkrolock]

my jekyll&hyde headcanons part I

[notes: this is mostly henry/emma (lisa). also mostly based on the russian production since that’s the only one I saw live]

• they first met at a party of a fellow doctor to which emma accompanied her father. henry was rather shy and reserved at first, so emma made the first move and started a conversation with him.

• at some point, he finally dared to ask her for a dance and almost trembled or stepped on her feet several times due to excitement. she thought it was adorable.

• most of all, emma fell for the way his eyes lit up when he talks about something he’s passionate about, like his work for example, and for how he’s the only one who sees her for who she really is and not just her father’s daughter.

• he fell for her smile, her intelligence and her unconditional support and understanding

• despite the fact that he loves her unconditionally, Henry often doubts his relationship with Emma because he thinks that, considering how occupied he is with his work, no woman could ever be happy at his side and she deserves someone better than him. Even though Emma constantly assures him that she couldn’t think of a better husband than him and she’ll be happy only when she’s with him.

• Emma sometimes sneaks out and spends the night at Henry’s house only to make sure that he’ll actually get some sleep and won’t pull an all-nighter to work on his experiments again. He, of course, isn’t always happy about that since he wants to continue his work but he secretly appreciates how much she cares about his well-being and as soon as she’s fallen asleep in his arms he won’t dare to go back to work anymore.

• they had their first time the night after he proposed to her (i don’t mean the engagement scene but when he proposed to her in private), neither of them wanted to wait until they’re married.

• (I have like a full list of hcs about this which I fear no one would read) but Emma occasionally tops in bed. In general, she’s quite domineering in their relationship.

• sometimes when he’s in his study working on something, Emma sits cuddled up close next to him and occasionally asks questions about what he’s working on. He never told her just how much it means to him, but he’s overjoyed to see her showing sincere interest in his work.

• Emma loves flowers, especially peonies, hydrangeas and purple irises. Whenever Henry passes by a shop selling any of these he makes sure to stop and either buy them for her himself or have them delivered to her with a small note. 💌

• neither of them really enjoys social gatherings with other upper-class people, so whenever they’re invited somewhere they’ll usually just steal away to the garden or some empty room to spend some time on their own.

• Henry has pictures of Emma in his purse, as well as one on his nightstand and one on his desk which occasionally distracts him from working

• though she knows she can trust him 100%, Emma occasionally gets a bit jealous when other women are trying to flirt with Henry.

• Emma is quite a bit smaller than Henry. He likes to randomly and unexpectedly lift her up in his arms to kiss her.

• they always try to wear outfits in matching colours at every event they’re invited to. Just like they did at their own engagement party.

• (applies only to the version where she dies in the end): the reason why she wanted to k*ll herself after his death wasn’t just because he died but also because she already knew she was expecting his child.

please don’t cancel me .

[sunlessea]

kindred of their kind are not rare on the surface, but their numbers were in the tens here in london  :  it doesn't shock them that he is caught off guard, mortal human is he  ...  or, rather, was he. they take note of it, the slight changes in his physicality as he props himself up for his little toddler tantrum. his ears, marginally pointed, his teeth, sharper, as if he had been embraced, but there is no kindred blood running through his veins. they lean back in their chair, expression of their mask naturally unchanging at his expected outburst. clearly, they'd been anticipating it, manchild that he oft could be, but if anything, they seem to be taking it as opportunity to examine him, leg crossing one over the other. their cane, then is left 'gainst the seat, hand resting under their beak. his eyes, they notice, are swimming with an explosion of color as he snaps at them, all desperation and vitriol. from purple to orange do his irises shift, and they hum 'neath their breath as they take note of this.

fascinating.

"rotten, you claim, and yet you've given it away to the fae dancing through your dreams. tsk, tsk, tsk. you broke your own ruuuules, solaris astaseul."  their tongue clicks, hand raising to make a tick-tock motion with their finger.  "what was it, your philosophy? ah, yes, how stupid it is to fall in love, to give another such open access to betray you. you should be careful, little dove. how you see your heart affects how others see it, too. and you are not the only one who wears that rotten, worm-riddled black hole on your chest."  now he'll have to get his carpet professionally cleaned, on top of it all. he's making a right fool of himself, and if only he could hear everyone who stands in this room laughing at him for it.

they do not always understand what whispers are spoken to them, that is true, but they are enraptured in this story. he has managed to do something that very few manage since coming to the neath, they think  :  he has surprised them. of rabbit holes and wonderlands, this tale is spoken to them, and although they cannot process all of it, they do think they know what he is going to ask before he does. another voice, softer, mournful, murmurs to them now, voice muffled against his own as he speaks, and the doctor cannot help but hum. his eyes lose their brutish purple, fade to the golden of a dandelion, and they wonder if he is even aware, himself, that it is happening.  "you'd best start believing in fairytales, it seems. you've fallen into one. a modern day love story, is it? my, mr. pages will be thrilled. and more than your life, you say? well, now you'll have my attention, if not only for the curiosity of whom could have possibly eaten your pride and spit it back out, so."  at some point during all of this, they'd emptied their teacup, and now they're spinning it around on their finger, weightlessly.

even had he asked for an answer, they'd not have given it to him, of course. they uphold the masquerade, lips quirked in a subtle smile behind their mask that he cannot see, fangs bared, but the laughter in their voice is monotone when filtered through their mask.  "the faerie queen, he says! carisma astaseul, your lovely cressida, amadeu, the bandersnatch, every name under the sun and still none can agree on one! your muse is always closer to your canvas, your heart that is, than you think, once child of man. i'm no fae, of course, lest you make assumptions. my trade is secrets, that is true, but i am not capable of reading your memories, though wouldn't that make my job easier? you can sit across from me and mourn the loss of your second soul all you would like, i will need more information than your wallowing. i'm wonderful at what i do, but there are plenty of people in london who look terribly alike. i'm sure you can  ...  paint a picture of what this lover of yours looks like, seeing as you love them so dearly you are willing to die for them. isn't that ironic? ' why would you ever put your life at risk for another, '  the leader of the unflinching order once believed so fervently,  ' when they would not even deign to appreciate your efforts at the end of it. ' do you believe that carisma will appreciate you, solaris?"

they scoff, suddenly stopping turning the cup to grip it in their palm.  "very well. i will afford you yet another favor, if you are prepared to make a blood oath in exchange. i intend on collecting my due from you, and quite a large sum of one, when all is said and done, but i've no interest in pathetic aspirations of godhood, rest easy. information given on your beloved, of course, does not count as part of the exchange of secrets when that, naturally, is required information. how generous of me, and how so very romantic of you. understood?"

certainly, if he felt he were able to handle matters on his own—to scour every inch of the sunken city, in between every darkened corner where even the faintest gaslight could not reach on the hunt for his beloved—he would. to hunt like trappers might, were he not so weak, had he any trust in his own disciples to aide him, but alas. he is in no position to be searching for anything except the comfort of his bed and the indent he's left 'pon it in whatever state his consciousness left him. searching on his own posed too much risk, would draw too much attention were he not painstakingly careful : and more important than that, it would take too much precious time. he is equally certain that they are aware of this, too, even as he sets his jaw tight, crosses his legs at the ankles, leaning into his lap with fingers laced as a means to steel himself against whatever madness they leave for him to decipher, as they so often tend to do.

he expects madness, requests made in riddle for him to puzzle out on his own. what he does not expect, is praise made towards his own private matters. for how long he'd been gone, he would know they had no hold in wonderland! what secrets could they possibly pry short of the band cold 'gainst his hand, he'd nary spoken to a soul since his return, and none had he made privy to his most well-kept secret. expected is it then, when he is burning from ear to ear, red with both embarrassment and violent rage, standing only to slam both hands against the table between them. " and what would you know of where i've been? " his own teacup spills before it rolls, shatters onto the ground next to his feet. he can do little more than shout, then, he needs them still, more than he needs a mask. " of my life, my heart? you know as well as the rest that it is rotten! and beyond it, you decide when i am in no position to barter, to use my life's work for your own! " they cannot surely say they did not see this coming, his heel coming down onto the glass' broken pieces and grinding them into the floor. " the kindness of your heart, worm-riddled it is; it's as black as my own. it is answers you owe me, be grateful i am offering to return anything at all! "

for as quick as he is to anger, they are both aware that he can do little else but bark. snap, seethe—but settle in the end, and settle he does, where he collapses back into his seat, takes a rag to wipe his fingers clean where they'd been burned. it stings, and he's humiliated, but he is allowed his emotions. painfully in tune with them as he'd become. it takes a moment, before he speaks again, lips curled into a scowl. he cannot meet where their eyes would be, in the admission that follows between his muttered curses. " more than my life ... is generous. " they look at him so intently, their voice without it's usual mockery, and he knows, he knows, it is but the second greatest promise he would make. the first ... reserved only for the one he seeks. he keeps the cloth held between his hands, gives him something to hold onto, somewhere to displace the tension he holds in his shoulders. " how you discovered it, i hardly know. in the moment the answer does not matter, but know still i will demand it. it is ... " he doesn't know how to describe them, concisely : refuse as he does to call them the nightmare they were borne from. " ...the faerie queen i seek, my spouse, my lover, whatever song and dance you choose to slight me with i would ask you to do as much before you go, 'fore at its present it is a long story with no satisfying conclusion. they are meant to come here, all i want then, is them found. easy for you, yes? there are no paths i will not walk, no ends i will not meet, to see them found safe and returned to me. it is more than my life i would suffer to lose. i am in your debt, already, i will owe you a great deal more after this. it is hardly servitude, but ... " a wave of the hand, an exhausted sigh. he knows what he's roping himself into, to some degree, it seems. " ...whatever you ask, i'll give. take my life, my work, my names, my godhood when i reach it. so long as they are home with me, i do not care what i lose. "

[hongjoongscafe]

Love Like A Romantic Novel

Day 3 of the blogversary drabble week!

Pairing: prince!yunho×wise-woman!oc (Hei-Ran)

Genre: fluff, slight angst, implied smut.

Summary: they both were hopeless romantics who happen to meet like a romantic tale.

Word count: 4.5k+

Note: thank you for the AU suggestion @nanibecute and for yet another wonderful fiction picture edit. I love it so much💓💓💓 the time period of this fiction is in somewhere when there was no electricity and technology. You can like go back to the time when people traveled by leg or horses or carts etc (just go even before the Victorian era). Oc is about 19 years old and Yunho is 20. Since it's in old times, they are pretty old for that time but I also don't wanna write any younger than that.

Wise-woman means a lady doctor. Back in time, there was no doctor.

Drabble week masterlist

Masterpost

*DO NOT REPOST, PLZ*

In the mountains of ATEEZworld, there lived a great, beloved prince Yunho. His Highness was a tall, soft-looking man. His handsome face was a beautiful site of its own. 

Every female in that country or all the other women who have seen him always fantasized about him. They loved to try to get his attention, and seduce him. To say the least, he didn't have a shortage of women. He loved them as a prince should but never more. 

Yunho simply loved the idea of being in love. He was not the one for lust. He felt the need but didn't share his steamy moments with another person. He loved literature. The way novelists described love was what he wanted, true and selfless love. He wanted the love where his heart did a nervous and shy flutter. He wanted to look into someone's eyes and see his home in them, as cliche as it might sound but it was what he wanted.

"Your highness," one of their maids called for Yunho while bowing, "His highness is calling for your presence."

"Oh, oky. I'll be there, thank you," he bowed back slightly. 

Yunho's father, King Eden, was a great king. He was the nicest and the calmest king the public ever got blessed with. Just like Yunho, he was a hopeless romantic. He valued love over power. One might say that it's a stupid ideology but he believed that if one can love then the power comes automatically. 

Unfortunately, the Queen passed away due to sudden health fluctuation. She was the kindest of hearts. Everybody believed that she gifted her softness to their only son. King Eden found her on one of his ball evenings. There she was looking like a natural queen, dancing with the handsome men with the least interest in them. Her eyes were like magnets, she pulled the then prince towards her. 

When the king asked for her hand for a dance, he didn't know that he would be asking for her hand for eternity. But love finds its way. That's the beauty of it– the pain, the relief. 

Yunho walked towards his father's chamber. Passing gentle smiles to the guards and maids who bowed to him. His charisma always managed to make the toughest of people crumble and shy. 

"You called for me, your highness?" He softly asked. 

His father was sitting on his bed, reading yet another novel his late wife wrote. Oh, yeah, the queen was a romantic novelist by profession. Her novels were the greatest at that time. They hoped that these love stories would live up forever, and should pass on from century to century. 

The King put the gold bookmark and closed the book, looking up at his son he smiled. His son looked a lot like his wife. Yunho reminded him that more things were important to him. "How are you, Yunho? And come sit here," the king patted the empty space next to him. 

"Ah, I am feeling far better. Just a bit of a headache," he sat down next to his father. The King placed his hand on Yunho's head to check the fever, it was back to normal. 

Yunho fell sick after coming in contact with his cousin's sick child. 

"Yeah? You should rest tomorrow. You can go out for a round some other day," Yunho always went out of his castle every Friday. He loved to go off the mountains and to the city which he always admired from his window which looked over the whole ATEEZworld. It was a growing country, people living there were known as Atiny. 

"I will be fine by tomorrow. Just gonna take the herbal mixture that the royal wise-woman gave and sleep," he moved closer to his father who was now massaging his head.

"Take care, Prince. You gotta be healthy," he smiled. "Yunho?" 

"Yes, father," he looked up at his father's concerned eyes. 

"I know that you are trying to find your love… have you met anyone yet in whom you see any potential?" Both the royal men sat up straight. 

"Father, I have been trying. But no, I haven't found someone yet."

"I don't wanna force you but I feel like you should find one now. Now that your mother is gone, I feel worried about myself. I'm old now… I don't want you to be left alone if something happens to me," the king's eyes filled with unshed tears. 

"Don't say that!" Yunho whined, "nothing is happening to you… I will try to find one sooner so that you can have the daughter you wanted and I can have the wife I wanted." 

The King chuckled and patted Yunho's shoulder. "Now go take your herbal mix and rest."

Yunho bowed and left for his room. He wondered what his father said as he was going back. His father was a best friend before a father figure. Yunho always shared all of his problems and troubles with him. He constantly talked about his constantly changing body during certain years. He would go to his father no matter what. His father never judged him even when he intentionally hurt his leg when his father wasn't paying him attention. 

Thinking about not having his father by his side made him sad. He grew up looking up to him. He idolized his father. The King was the perfect example of a gentleman and a great father. When the king wasn't acting like a friend, he was a strict father. He had certain strict rules set up for Yunho. The King didn't want to raise a child to be a brat and ungrateful. He wanted his child to be respectful to everyone. He wanted Yunho to show mercy on his people and show them the right way by following one himself. 

Yunho remembered his father's stern words, "Yunho, it's easy to give a good example but it's way harder to be one. I want you to be that good example, understood?" 

Yunho smiled at the memory. He knew that his father knew everything about him so the king's strategies were so good for him. 

…

"Blaze is all ready for your trip, your highness," the soldier informed Yunho who was standing in his casual outfit rather than the royal dress. 

The white horse neighed at the mention of his name. Yunho smiled and sat on the horse's back. He turned him around and started his journey to the city. His bodyguard followed closely behind him. 

The day was pretty. The sun shone in the sky but the nice chilled winds of the early autumn breezed through his silky hair. He would be lying if he said that he didn't want to go to the city every day. Atiny loved him. They respected his space and caused no harm. People were hardworking. He loved seeing such spirit in his people. By now, people knew that the prince would come for the round every Friday, and they would prepare little gifts for him. But his duties as the prince and the next king keep him busy, he is not complaining, he is only doing everything for Atiny. 

"Ah, I wait for Friday the moment I come back," Yunho said out loud. "It's the best day of the week."

"It's the perfect way to begin the weekend for both of your highness and Atiny," the guard said. 

"It is. I wish the best for all of them… anyway, where should we go today? It's been a while since we went somewhere quieter. I kinda wanna sit under a nice shade and rest," the prince looked over his shoulder to glance at the guard. 

"...there is a new village that recently came under ATEEZworld. Not many people live there… only about eight or ten. It's beautiful. There is a lake where you can rest," he suggested. 

"Take me there, will you, San?" At the prince's demand, the guard guided him through the city where many Atiny greeted him. Crossing the city, there he saw a glimpse of the village on the other side of the narrow river. It was a bit separated from the city, the reason why it was peaceful. 

The journey to the lake wasn't risky at all. It was beautiful as Yunho thought. There were large fields filled with flowers and a beautiful lake with many trees around. The guard took the mat out of his bag that was attached to the side of the horse's harness. 

He laid it down and arranged the edible goodies for the prince and himself. Outside of the duties, The prince and the guard were second best friends. Yunho trusted San with his life and always told him his secrets after his father. 

They sat there, under the tree. The delicious bread with jam tasted so good that they received it from the granny on the way here. The granny used to work in the castle but left after his husband passed away due to old age. But she never failed to send delicious food to the royals. 

"The season is getting better," Yunho sighed. 

"Mhm, but we have a tiny problem," San said. 

"What is it?" Yunho looked at him with a frown. 

"Due to the monsoon, the trenches are filled and are causing a lot of trouble to the people. They still have water filled in them."

"Really? It's been a while since the last rainfall."

"I know. I went there yesterday, it was pretty bad. Nothing that men can't fix but we need permission. I could see insects around it. Not to forget mosquitoes," San said while plopping a grape in his mouth.

"Hmm. I'll inform my father. On Monday's court, he will give the men the coins and permission," as they were talking. Yunho saw a tiny silhouette of a lady with a basket. Her gown was simple cream colored. 

He ignored her at first, however, somehow his eyes set on her again. She was going around. It looked like she was trying to find something. Her features got more visible as she came closer. The pout on her lips was so cute. Her eyes seeped with innocence. 

San noticed how the prince was looking at the unknown girl with a tiny smile and shiny eyes. The prince was laying sideways on the left side, balancing on his right forearm and one knee perked up. 

As she came closer to them, Yunho got a whiff of lavender. 

The girl gasped as she looked in near the tree, "why would you two lay there!?" Her honey-like pouty voice exclaimed. 

"Ou? Why? What's wrong?" San looked at her with wide eyes.

"Wh-what's wrong!? There were some important herbs! I'm pretty sure they are now mushed," her shoulders slumped and her pout intensified. "Can you please move, I wanna see if they are gone," she sighed. 

Yunho and San hurriedly moved away, clearly noticing that she still didn't know the prince. 

"Do you-" Yunho cleared his voice knowing very well that San was going to reveal his identity. The ball event was still away where the new citizens would get to see the royals. Yunho wanted to experience being a commoner rather than a royal. He wasn't tired but he liked how she talked to him without giving him royal respect. 

"Oh! Look at them! The buds are ruined. Ah!" She groaned. "Please look at the sign before sitting somewhere," she said while holding a tiny sign that was right next to the tree. Yunho looked at San with a seriously look.

"Ah, my apologies, Ms.," San scratched the back of his head. "I should have noticed it."

"Hm," she finally looked at the boys. She looked shy. "It's alright… I should have made the sign bigger…" her cheeks burned with embarrassment. 

"Ah, no. It's our fault. We will pay for your loss," Yunho finally found his voice. "We are very sorry," he slightly bowed. He suddenly didn't feel right. He felt like his head was turning off. 

"A-alright," she said and got up and slowly started walking back with the basket still in hand. 

Yunho's legs suddenly gave up and fell to the ground with a thud. San let out a loud noise of the prince's name. The girl turned around and saw the tall guy on the ground with his friend trying to wake him up. 

She quickly ran up to them and kneeled on the other side of the prince. She touched Yunho's forehead and felt it burning against her hand. "He is burning with fever… Did you bring his herbal mix?" She asked San with a worried voice. 

"No, he was fine yesterday…" 

"Please take him to my home. It's just ten minutes of walking from here," she requested. "I'll treat him. He is not doing very well."

"Are you a wise-woman?" San asked.

"Yes. Now, please hurry!" She stood up. 

"Hold on. We have our horses here, I'll put him on his horse… you can sit on mine," San offered. 

"A-ah, I don't know how to ride a horse," she looked away. 

"Oh, no worries. I'll handle both of them. Just hop on the brown one," he quickly picked Yunho and threw him over the horse, face down. 

They reached her house within four minutes. She opened the door and invited them inside. San laid Yunho on the thin mattress in the middle of the room which was right next to the entry area. 

The girl shuffled through the drawers, collecting the right herbs for Yunho, "how did he catch the fever? Also, please cover him with the sheet and remove his shoes." 

"He caught it from his sick niece," he informed as he covered him and took his shoes. 

"Ah," she thought to herself for a few minutes. Then she opened the window door and lit the fire in the tiny fireplace. She added some water to it along with some herbs. "Fever can be worse when we catch it from someone else. It's a changing season as well, it makes it harder to go away. The fever might get low but comes back after doing a few activities."

"His father was concerned. He asked me to convince him to not go anywhere but he won't listen," San pouted. 

"It's okay, don't worry about it. He will be fine. You both should stay here. This mister can't travel, for now, his fever might get worse if he did," she suggested while stirring the mixture in the pot. She looked at San when he didn't say anything. He looked like he wasn't trusting her completely. She understood his worries, "it's alright. You can trust me. I won't hurt you. I just wanna help…" 

San looked at her and smiled, "well I guess I have to trust your words… but I do need to go somewhere. I'll be back before sunset. Please take care of him." The girl smiled sweetly and nodded. 

…

It was all blurry when Yunho woke up. The room was dimly lit by a candle. He groaned when he felt the pain in his head. He looked around, holding his head. 

His eyes fell on a girl's body. He got closer to her face to see that she was the girl from before. It looked like she fell asleep unintentionally while sitting and fell on her side. She looked beautiful under candlelight. Then he got confused. 

'Where am I? Did I… die?' He thought.

Sensing some movement, the girl stirred up. She looked at the man sitting there with eyes looking around like a lost puppy. "Ah, you woke up. How do you feel?" Her voice was groggy.

"Ou, y-yes, there is a headache. But I can handle it... Why am I here?" He asked. 

"You fainted back at the lake. With the help of your friend, Master San, we brought you here. This is my place. I'm a wise-woman… I treated you for the emergency. I hope you don't mind," she sat with her legs folded under her and half bowed. 

Yunho bowed instantly, "oh," he still looked lost. "What's your name? And where is San?"

"Master San is in the other room. He went away somewhere before but came back before sunset. He also brought this letter for you," she opened the chest near the mattress and handed him the letter. "He is now resting… and my name is Hei-Ran."

"Thank you," he lifted the letter. "Yunho."

Hei-Ran smiled and lit the lantern. "You need to eat something and take herbal mix. I made porridge."

"Ah, yes. I'll have it," he looked at her as she went outside and lit the fireplace, and warmed up the food. This looked so domestic to him. Just like one of his romantic novels. 

She adjusted a small table in front of him and placed a bowl of white goodness along with some chamomile tea. It smelled delicious. He picked up the spoon and took a bite. His eyes lit up at the taste. It was so good and warm. He already felt his headache going away. 

"It's so good. I have never eaten anything this tasty," he smiled at her widely. 

"You can have more!" She brought the pot inside. 

"Why are you not eating?" Yunho asked Hei-Ran. 

"I ate before after serving Master San," she replied while taking some herbs out of a cotton pouch and mushing them using the stone grinder. After properly grinding them, she filled the herbs back in the pouch and took a tiny container, and strained the juices into it. "Take this after eating your meal. I'll heat the water for your bath outside. And I'll keep the clothes in the shed. And I'll leave a linen cloth to soak the water off of you," she got up and went outside and did her thing. 

Yunho felt so warm. He never felt this good in ages. The comfort he found on the floor of this cottage away from the thick and bouncy mattresses in his castle was surprisingly the best. He loved to be taken care of by Hei-Ran… Glorious orchid indeed. 

'Is this how you feel when you find your better half?' He questioned himself. He wished his father was close, to tell him what was going on with his heart, to tell him why he didn't want to leave this place. 

Yunho finished the porridge and drank the herbal mix along with the warm tea. Hei-Ran came back inside and sat where she was before. "Hei-Ran?"

"Yes," she wiped her hand with her gown skirt. 

"Do you live here alone?" Yunho asked. 

"Yeah, I do live here by myself. But my family lives in the east. I visit them whenever I have time," she said. "You should sit in the water now. It's nice and hot. Your muscles will relax," she gave him a smaller linen cloth to cover his crotch. "I have added some lavender oil and lavender flowers as well."

"A-ah, okay," he chuckled at the realization of the whiff he got earlier and went outside to quickly sit inside the water and cover his crotch from any prying eyes. The sun was rising slowly so the risk was higher. 

"Are you sitting inside and covered?" She asked from the inside.

"Yes," he watched as she came outside with a bowl in her hands. She didn't look at him, too shy to make eye contact. She stood behind him and asked him to lay his head back. Her soft hands moved his hair out of his forehead. It was the first time he felt her hands, it made him shiver. Their cheeks turned into a deep shade of red. 

Hei-Ran quickly applied the balm and ran back inside, breath uneven. She never felt such sparks. It made her so nervous, even in the chilly morning, she felt sweat seeping out of her pores. 

Then she busied herself by bringing the hay to feed the horses outside. As she was feeding them, San came out, stretching his stiff muscles. "That was the best sleep I have ever taken in a while." 

"Really? Why?" She looked at him. 

"You know, there is a lot of noise throughout the day and night," she nodded, understanding. "Oh, please let me feed them. You already did enough!" 

"It's alright you can relax. You seem you work a lot. Take some rest for now," she said. "...how is it like in the city?" She asked carefully. 

"Hmm, wonderful! Noisy but lovely! They are nice. Everyone loves each other and lives happily. No one is ever alone there," San smiled, showing his pretty dimples. 

'No one is ever alone there.' She smiled and swallowed the lump forming in her throat. 

As they went inside, Yunho was sitting on the mattress in the treatment room. He looked up and smiled at both of them and turned to look at Hei-Ran, "I feel much better now. My headache is gone and I don't feel feverish."

"Yeah? But it doesn't mean that you are going to go back to your routine… you should rest for a few days and let your body recover," she softly said. Looking at the little skin of Yunho's neck and chest, she went out of the room and came back with a crochet scarf for him. "Wrap this. Don't let the cold winds attack you."

He took the scarf from her hands, and they brushed against each other making them shy. San noticed and smirked, he wasn't going to leave this for long. 

"I-I, we should go now," Yunho said as he stood up. 

"But master San hasn't eaten anything," she looked at him.

"Oh, no worries. I eat in the late morning," he turned around and went outside to prepare the horses. 

"I'm sorry I didn't even wash your clothes," she looked at the folded dirty clothes in Yunho's hands. 

"No! Please, don't say that. You already did a lot for us," he said. "Thank you so much!" They both joined San outside. 

"I'm sorry about your herbs once again," San sheepishly said. 

"It's alright. Their stems were oky, they will grow fast. I must bring the roots here so that I can grow them better," she bowed slightly after his apology. 

"Alright. Here," Yunho opened a pouch that he took out of his bag and offered her three gold coins as a reward. 

Hei-Ran gasped at the huge amount of gold in front of her eyes. "No, no. I didn't do this for coins. And you didn't come here yourself, it was me who brought you here. So, please, I cannot accept this," she shook her head and hands. 

"No, I insist. Here," Yunho held her fragile hands in his and opened them and gently rested the coins in them, folding her hands in a fist around the coins. He looked deep into her eyes, "I want to. You took the best care without ill intentions."

It was true. He was surprised that she didn't act out of her body. Instead of lust, he found innocence in her eyes. Her eyes looked like they craved love. True love. 

"We shall go now. Your father must be worried," San didn't want to interrupt but he had no choice.

Hei-Ran quickly gave him two pouches in which she packed some herbs for him, "this one has purple leaves, if you feel sick on the way back, chew on them. And this, ask the wise-woman there to grind it and give the herbal mix to you. It will help you heal from the sickness faster."

They both sat on their horses after bowing to her and thanking her again. The horses started moving away and started to look smaller and smaller. 

Just like that, she was alone again. She wiped her silent tears and went inside to prepare herbs for other sick people. She didn't understand why she got connected to the taller one like this. But this wasn't any romantic novel that he will be her prince charming and will get her back no matter what. He will probably forget about her anyway. There are better and high-class women in the city… he probably loves one of them. 

…

King Eden was waiting for Yunho's arrival. His heart was constantly worrying about his son and San. He could only think of the worst things. A good father's mind never rests until he knows that his child(ren) is completely fine. 

"Your highness, his highness has arrived back," the guard informed. 

"Oh, ask him to see me here," the guard bowed and left. 

The moment Yunho entered the king's room, the king took him in a huge hug. He sighed when he held his son in his arms. His heart came back to normal. 

"Yunho… son, you worry me so much. I told you not to go today. And you stayed at a stranger's house! Hm. That area is new and we don't know how the people are just yet," he looked deep into Yunho's eyes. "What if something had happened to you? You are the only support I have" He whispered. 

"I'm sorry for worrying you, father. But I thought I was okay. And look I'm fine as always. The girl was a wise-woman, she took care of me and San and our horses. She was the nicest," Yunho smiled. "And nothing will happen to me and you. Don't worry."

"Really?" The king asked again. 

"Yeah, look! She gave me these warm clothes after the bath and this scarf so the chilly air won't attack me. She also packed some herbs for me," he wiggled the pouches in front of his father. 

"What if they are poisonous? Hold on… JaeSun!" He called for his guard. 

"Yes, your highness."

"Go and call the royal wise-woman quickly!" He sent him. "How do you feel?" 

"Better than ever… also can you ask them to get me some lavender oil and lavender flowers for the bath from now on?" Yunho sheepishly asked. 

"Did she add those in your water?" King asked and Yunho smiled widely. 

"You asked for me, your highness?" The wise-woman asked. 

"Yes, can you please check these herbs and tell us what they are for?" King asked. 

"Of course," Yunho handed the lady the pouches. She opened them and examined the ingredients inside. "Oh, your highness! Was your health that bad? I'm so sorry for not giving better herbs. Did you faint?" 

"Ah, yes. And I had a high fever as well. It's alright," Yunho replied. 

"Oh. No, I thought that it was a normal fever so I gave you the regular mix… and these are an advanced mix. The purple herb is actually for immediate sickness. People usually carry them while traveling so that they can reach the nearest wise-woman easily. And the other one is for fever and healing. It's perfect. Whoever gave you these must be highly knowledgeable on herbs," King sighed after hearing this. Then he let her go. 

"Well that's a relief," the king said. 

"... I think, whatever happens, is indeed for a reason. I think I was meant to meet Hei-Ran," Yunho smiled as his father's face lit up after understanding his words. 

.....

Sanaa's note:

Should we do part 2?

The behavior of all the characters is visualized.

Taglist:

@veneziamadness @cheline @jhmylove @sansmilkbread

*lemme know if you wanna be added to the permanent or specific taglist*

Have a nice day/night💓

[mrsavery]

OUR MIRACLE

Massimo Torricelli x Reader 

Warnings: None

Summary: You give Massimo the most precious Christmas gift that he always has wished but never got.

Word count: 1808

It had been exactly five years since your first Christmas together. Five years filled with love and happiness. The Christmas lights were dancing on the Christmas three, and soft music was playing in the background, as you walked through the empty house with a gift in your hands. It was for Massimo who, at this moment, was away for business but should be home in a few hours.

As you sat is down under the three and looked around the room, you could not stop smiling, knowing that one day things were going to change. You left the room and went to the kitchen, humming ‘All I want for Christmas is you’ under your nose. Since your husband was gone, the house felt empty and foreign, and you were counting hours until his return. The clock on the wall showed that it was only four in the evening, meaning that Massimo would not be home for another three to four hours.

You knew all about his lifestyle, about his work and family. It scared you at first, because you were afraid of his life not yours, knowing that every day could be his last. Never ever in the five years of being together you had been in danger, had been kidnapped or touched by others. Massimo had been doing everything to keep you safe, and he is keeping his promise.

You walked back to the living room and sat on the couch with a cacao mug in your hands. You will wait for your husband here and, while waiting, read a book that you have not been able to finish in a long time. It is a novel that Massimo gave you on your twenty-fifth birthday a few months ago. Your husband knows how much you love reading, and because of that most of his present are books.

One hour passes, then the other and soon you have finished reading the book. You put it in the bookshelf and return to your place on the couch. When ‘Last Christmas’ starts playing in the background, you close your eyes and let your mind take you back to your first Christmas together.

Massimo’s warm hands wrapped themselves around your waist, as he sat behind you on the floor. He put his head on your shoulder and inhaled your scent, like he always did. It helped him to calm down.

“Is everything alright?” You asked him.

“Si.” Massimo replied and afterwards kissed your cheek. “How was your day, farfalla?”

“I talked to my brother a few minutes ago.” You said and looked at the fireplace in front of you. The fire was dancing, and you felt Massimo shifter against you. “He said that my parents still cannot forgive me for leaving.”

Seven months ago, you left home, ran away from your arranged marriage and things that you knew. You were born and raised in a small town in west England where everyone knew everyone. There were two farms in your town, where most of the people worked. One was owned by your father, and the other was owned by the Carter family. They wanted to unite both farms, and the only way how to do it was by marriage. As the Carter family only had a son your age, and you were the first-born daughter in your family, you both were supposed to marry. Jonathan Carter was beautiful, but you did not like him.

You tried everything to get break the arrangement, even gave your place to your sister who wanted to marry Jonathan, but it did not give any results. Jonathan only wanted to marry you, claiming that you were the most beautiful girl in the town. Your brother, seeing tears in your eyes two days before the wedding, helped you to leave. You flew all the way down to Italy and started a new life there.

You missed your family very much, but the life was better for you here. If you tried to return… You did not know how it would end and did not want to find out. You had a new life here, a man who loved you and who took care of you. Massimo was giving you the world, but the pain in your heart did not leave easily.

You felt Massimo’s thumbs on your cheeks wiping away the tears that had fallen. “Everything is going to be alright.” You whispered and turned around to face your boyfriend. You got into his lap, wrapped your hands around his neck and kissed his lips softly. You looked into his dark eyes and whispered words that both never have told loud. “I love you.”

Massimo just smiled and kissed you back, this time with more passio. “I love you too, farfalla.”

You opened your eyes when your phone made a quiet sound. You took it in your hands and smiled because it was a message from your brother. He had sent a family picture of him, his wife, and their three years old daughter. You decided to call him in return, and your brother answered almost immediately.

“Hi, Merry Christmas!” You said with a smile.

“Merry Christmas to you too! Did you see the picture?” He asked. You could hear your niece’s laughter in the background.

“Yes, you all look amazing, when Massimo comes, I will show him it too.”

“Where is he?”

“Some unexpected things came up, and he was forced to go to the work. He should be back soon.” Your brother thought that Massimo owned a company and was CEO there. It was a partly true, since he owns a few companies around the world, but he mostly uses it as a cover, because truly he is a Don to the biggest mafia in Europe, but your brother did not need to know that.

“I will hope that Massimo comes home fast. I do not want you to spend the Christmas alone.” He said, and you heard pain in his voice. You have not seen him since your wedding that was four years ago, and both of you wanted to spent time together with your families, but never really had a chance.

“I will not.” You said and put a hand on your stomach. “Alice is growing up fast.”

“Yes, she is. It is like only yesterday she was born… I have been thinking about you and Massimo. You both are happy, but a little child would make things even better. You are already twenty-five, and he is, let me count… thirty-five.”

“We will think about it.”

“I have to go, [Y/N]. Mother is calling. Talk to you soon, alright? And give Massimo my greetings.” You were not able to reply, because your brother ended the call. You as well put your phone away and smiled when you looked outside the window and saw your husband’s car approaching. Massimo was finally home!

You stood up and made sure that room looks perfect, before walking to the front door. Before you could open them, Massimo beat you to it and smiled seeing you. “Hi, farfalla.”

“Hi, Massimo.” You let him take of his jacked and shoes before you ran into his embrace and kissed him with force. You had missed your husband all day, and you could not wait for him to open his present, because it was a tradition for you and Massimo to open presents on Christmas Eve instead of the next morning. “How did the meeting go?”

“I would have been happier to stay home with my wife instead of listening to them.” You chuckled at his answer.

“Nobody is perfect.”

“Only you.” Massimo said kissing your bare neck. “Can we skip presents and go up?’

You turned around and put hands on his chest. He was much taller than you, but the height difference had never been an issue for you. “After you open your present.”

He groaned. “Why does my present is so important? In my opinion, sex with my wife is more important than presents, because you are the biggest present that I have got.”

“Because after you open it, we will be able to go and celebrate.”

Massimo raised his eyebrow to you. “A celebration?”

You nodded and got out of his embrace. You walked to the tree and got out a little blue box that you had placed there earlier. “This is for you.” You said giving it to your husband. You sat down next to him on the sofa, as he slowly opened the present. Massimo undid the white bow tie, then unwrapped the blue wrapping paper, never leaving your eyes.

You smiled at Massimo when he opened the small carbon box in his hands and froze. He took out the white stick that was showing two pink lines and then looked at you. Massimo was too shocked to talk, and his tears were evidence of that.

It was a miracle that you were pregnant. Ten years ago, when Massimo was shot and his father was killed, he got the news that changed his life. He had survived an attempted murder but lost his chance to become a father. The chances of him becoming father were almost non-existent. Over the years he had reconciled that he will not have children, and once Massimo told you that you were free to leave him because of that.

You stayed, knowing that without him, you were nothing. Massimo came into your life as a savior, to save you from the darkness, but in the end, you saved him too. Doctors had said that chances were very low, even with artificial insemination, but you both managed to beat it all and become pregnant without trying.

When you saw these pink lines appear in the morning, you could not stop crying. It was a real miracle that you will always be thankful for. You and Massimo had talked about adoption, but it always ended with a fight and a make-up sex later. As much as you were ready to be a parent, you were not sure that you would be able to love a baby that was not genetically yours. There would always be fear that his or her real parents would show up and take him or her away from you. It would break you, so you both decided that it was not an option.

Massimo took his eyes off the pregnancy test and looked into your eyes that were full of tears too. “I’m pregnant, Massimo. We are going to have a baby!” It took him about three seconds to throw the stick on the glass coffee table and take you in his arms. You were wrapped in his large embrace and your husband’s wet cheek was pressed against yours.

“We are going to have a baby.” He whispered and put one of his hands on your flat belly. “A baby.”

You put your hand over his large one and said. “Our baby.”

farfalla- butterfly

[whump-town]

Counting Down The Days

The real kicker here is that I don't even like Christmas and I don't know at all why I thought of this...

Fluff, not really sad

No Pairings

Spencer has never liked Christmas.

As a child, December rolled in and cast over the city an impossible task. His thin wrist grabbed as he tucked pudding into his sweater and his ears tugged at when he bolted for the door, knowing getting caught one more time would mean child protective services would come back. And each time he picked his mother up off the floor, every time he tucked himself in the coat closet to try and hide from her wailing and shouting, he knew they would see through the veil. His mother wouldn’t survive having him taken away. No one else can get her to take her medication. No one else could read her books in their original forms. German and Arabic and Spanish. And what was the point in reading Don Quixote except to do so in the original Spanish?

But not getting caught shoplifting in December, when all of the staff of every store was watching for just that, is impossible. December met icy cold fingers dragging through his stomach and lying to his mother that he had eaten something while he made her ramen. He can go one more day but she can’t take her meds on an empty stomach.

As an adult, these things have changed drastically. Christmas is great. He really can’t complain. He loves dressing up for Dave’s fancy dinner and turning into a bragging point. The feeling of Dave’s heavy arm around his shoulders, showing him off to his friends. Finally being able to understand what it must feel like to have a parent bragging about you to other adults, even if at a certain point they’re just trying to show up to their friends. That doesn’t change the flush in his cheeks or how nice he feels smiling and stuttering around an explanation of his PhDs. Stomach twisted up and cheeks hurting when Dave finally leans in and relieves the guests with a “see? Kids so damn smart I don’t even understand what he got a degree in!”

He misses Morgan and Hotch.

They’ll come around for Christmas, he knows.

Hank is getting so big and he’s carrying on the tradition of all of Spencer’s other nephews and calling him “weed” but there’s nothing like that big baby smile when he comes in through the door. Tottling steps and an armful of baby. It just makes him want his own kids but for now, he’s content with his nephews. Jack calls him a lot. He got the ability to do math from somewhere but certainly not from his parents -- Haley was an English major and Hotch uses a calculator for basic math. So Reid is generally the only person that he knows who can talk math. Christmas will bring Henry and Jack home from college. There’s speak of a boyfriend but Emily knows only minimally about this from what she’s heard from Hotch and what Jack has told Hotch is also minimal at best. Henry is… JJ gets a lot of radio silence from him but Hotch is quick to assure her that is just typical. Jack did the same thing but now he’s a senior in college and Hotch is lucky if he goes three consecutive hours without some sort of text or call.

“Who is my doctor at home?”

“Do you think Uncle Derek can change my oil? Wait, can I go that long without checking it?”

“What year was Aunt Jessica born? Don’t tell her I asked you that.”

“How old are you again? 53? 60?”

Spencer is just excited to have everyone under one roof.

Hotch and Emily grew up under the kind of parties that Dave throws for Christmas. Tokens to be shown off by their parents and ignored under every other circumstance. Both having been shipped off at least once during their childhoods when they no longer fit a certain look. Emily was no longer young enough to attract her mother’s friends, breast a little too formed, and acne that could not be tamed. Hotch with shadows of bruises that would not heal. Dead eyes that no longer raised from the floor.

Dave’s parties bring out the worst in them. Emily is a very bad influence on Hotch and together they have considerable tolerance for alcohol, they can do some damage. But they’re not loud. Spencer loves to watch the two of them, the way they ease into the night. Hotch warm now, his edges softened to pleased little smiles and thoughtful hums. Emily is chatty, leans into touch, and stretches out like a cat bathing in the sun. The night ends with their soft arguing. Spencer could butt in at any time to the subjects that they talk about but he finds himself far more content to sit and watch. Emily’s toes tucked under Hotch’s thigh and his head turned on the sofa, lazily listening to her speak.

They always approach every subject as if it’s the simplest thing. Let it be Marx, spending the hours in front of Dave’s parlor fire speaking in hushed tones about surplus-value and what makes a commodity. About the ins and outs of Cormac Mccarthy, Hotch loves The Sunset Limited and Emily does not. Whitney Houston and how poor Hotch’s Spanish is and if that’s his fault or hers.

Garcia loves the parties even if it does create a little cognitive dissonance for her. Her parents would hate this but she feels pretty in her gown and no one lets her forget it. She keeps track of the kisses placed on her cheeks. Derek smelling of something woodsy as he leans in with a wink, “you’re very beautiful this even, mama.” And Savannah smells warm and inviting and she gives the very best hugs. “Green,” she whispers, “is very much your color.” How Hotch hums along to songs and always gives in to her request for one dance, his smile growing wild as she steps on his toes.

And Spencer loves that she always asks him to match her. So he’ll proudly come in with his matching bowtie or pocket square. Lending her his elbow as they step in, stepping just out of the way that the right people come to greet him and no one else. Morgan is warm and tight, always squeezing just a little too hard. JJ fussing with his hair.

But it’s only September.

He’ll have to pass through Halloween. Jack and Henry are too old these days to run through the bullpen dressed as whatever fictive hero they have grown obsessed with this fall. Coming up to his desk knowing he’s hidden the largest bowl of candy, that he’ll sneak into their pockets whole-sized candy bars to eat as they trick or treat. At best he might get some pre-game pictures from them both, neither having grown out of their love for Halloween. Jack is still very into dressing up but Henry will still throw something together.

There will be Thanksgiving, a holiday choppily shared between them all. Just showing up at Dave’s randomly or Morgan’s depending on who wins that argument this year. He’ll be lucky to see them all under the same roof. If it’s at Dave’s then he’s guaranteed warm and cozy Hotch and Emily. Both bothering Dave in the kitchen, their lost childhoods always burning the brightest around one another, and exasperating Dave. Maybe Garcia will win her favorite game and Dave will teach her to cook whatever he’s decided they’ll have this year. If it’s at Derek’s then at least he’ll get to see Hank. JJ and Savannah will be there, they’re pretty good friends. Garcia will certainly be cooking something and Derek will be manning the grill.

But it’s months out until December.

And all Spencer wants is unabashed affection.

Dave’s arm around his shoulder and his high sung praises.

Emily snagging him up to dance to “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” and kissing his cheek for the trouble.

To see Matt and Luke interact with the team. Dave’s attention turning to point out his other boys, “knuckleheads but they mean well”. How Tara will take up the empty space left on the couch and butt into Hotch and Emily’s argument, turning warm and comforting like the other two. And Spencer can’t wait to see how similar the three of them are-- you just have to see through the layers.

Until it’s nearly two in the morning.

Jack and Henry are missing, Luke thinks he might have seen them on the back porch.

Emily is sleeping, head in Tara’s lap and feet in Hotch’s. The other two blinking slowly into the fire, glasses of wine warm in their hands and dangerously close to falling.

Matt is sitting on the floor, children spread out around him.

There’s the buzz of conversation still coming from the kitchen. Garcia, JJ, Savannah, and Kristy giggling over wine and gossip they’re certainly not supposed to know.

Spencer looks up at the calendar sitting above his desk and crosses off the day.

He always hated December. He never got to appreciate Christmas. They represented everything he didn’t have, all the things he thought he could never have. But as mid-September leaves a crisp edge to the air, he finds himself counting down the days tell what used to be a measure of his insignificance.

Now it’s the only day that seems to matter. The only day he feels like he matters. Surrounded by the warmth of familiarity. By love.

He misses his family.

[abbygrabska]

The Doctor Dances

The gas-mask people are surrounding us. 

Then the Doctor stares sternly around at them, “Go to your room.” 

The people hesitate, so he shouts, “Go to your room!”

The people cock their heads to one side. Jack, Rose, and I look at each other.

“I mean it! I am very, very angry with you. I am very, very cross! Go… to… your… ROOM!” He points violently in no particular direction and all the gas-mask people turn away. They all climb back onto their beds.

The Doctor sighs in relief, “I’m really glad that worked. Those would have been terrible last words.”

“Why are they all wearing gas masks?” I ask, looking at the people. 

“They’re not. Those masks are flesh and bone.” Jack answers.

“How was your con supposed to work?” The Doctor asks.

“Simple enough. Find some harmless piece of space junk… let the nearest Time Agent track it back to Earth. Convince him it’s valuable, name a price. When he’s put 50% upfront, oops! A German bomb falls on it, destroying it forever. He never gets to see what he’s paid for. Never knows he’s been had. I buy him a drink with his own money, and we discuss dumb luck. The perfect self-cleaning con.” Jack explains.

“Yeah. Perfect.” I scoff.

“The London Blitz is great for self-cleaners, Pompeii’s nice if you want to make a vacation of it though, but you’ve got to set your alarm for volcano day.” He laughs at his joke.

The Doctor merely looks at him.

Jack’s laughter dies away, “Getting a hint of disapproval.”

“Take a look around the room. This is what your ‘harmless piece of space junk’ did.”

“It was a burnt-out medical transporter, it was empty.” He denies.

I look up at the mention of the word ���medical’. Some things click into place in my head but there’s still something missing from the whole picture.

“Abby, Rose.” 

I look at the Doctor, “We gonna investigate the child now?”

He nods so I follow him. 

I hear Jack call after us, “I even programmed the flight computer so it wouldn’t land on anything living, I harmed no one! I don’t know what’s happening here, but believe me, I had nothing to do with it.”

“I’ll tell you what’s happening. You forgot to set your alarm clock. It’s volcano day.”

A siren goes off in the distance. 

“What’s that?” Rose asks.

“The all-clear.” Jack answers.

“I wish.” The Doctor leaves the ward, the rest of us following after him.

We run down a corridor, looking for the Doctor. Jack and Rose dash past a flight of stairs, I stop by them.

The Doctor pops his head around the banister, “Have you got a blaster?”

I hear them skid to a halt and come back my way.

We run up the stairs and end up standing outside a door.

“The night your space junk landed, someone was hurt. This was where they were taken.” The Doctor tells us. “What happened?” I ask.

“Let’s find out.” He looks at Jack, “Get it open.”

Jack grins and points a blaster at the door. The Doctor, Rose, and I stand back.

“What’s wrong with your sonic screwdriver?” I ask quietly. “Nothing.” He grins.

Jack’s blaster cuts a perfectly square hole around the lock of the door and it squeaks open.

“Sonic blaster, 51st century. Weapon Factories of Villengard?” The Doctor guesses. “You’ve been to the factories?”

The Doctor takes the blaster from Jack for a look, “Once.”

“Well, they’re gone now. Destroyed. The main reactor went critical. Vaporized the lot.”

He gives the blaster back to Jack, “Like I said, once. There’s a banana grove there, now. I like bananas. Bananas are good.” He smiles pleasantly at Jack and enters the room.

The Doctor switches a light on. The room looks as though it has been vandalized. The window is broken and there is stuff all over the floor.

“What d’you think?” He asks.

“Something got out of here…” Jack says.

“Yeah. And?” “Something powerful. Angry.”

Jack enters a room off to the side, I stand in the doorway. The floors and walls are covered with a child’s drawing. There are a few toys on the floor a little bed in the corner.

“A child? I suppose this explains ‘mummy’.”

“How could a child do this?” Rose asks.

The Doctor plays a tape.

Listening to the tape, the pictures on the wall start to make sense, all of them are of the child’s mother, “I’ve heard this voice before.”

“Me too.”

“Always, ‘are you my mummy?’. Like he doesn’t know.” Rose says.

‘What if he doesn’t know?’ I think.

The Doctor starts pacing around the room.

“Doctor?

“Can you sense it?” He asks.

“Sense what?” Jack questions. “Coming out of the walls, can you feel it?” The Doctor stops to look around at us, “Funny little thing human brains, how do you get around in those?” 

I get closer to the wall and pick up one of the drawings.

“There are these children living rough around the bomb site. They come out during air raids looking for food. Suppose they were there when this thing, whatever it was, landed?”

More things click in my head, I look at Jack. He’s just insisted the med-ship was harmless.

“You keep saying that. What if one of them was affected, altered?” I ask.

“Altered how?” Rose says.

“It’s afraid. So afraid and powerful. It doesn’t know it yet, but it will.” I laugh looking at the Doctor, “It’s got the power of a god, and you just sent it to its room.”

A loud crackling noise fills the room.

The Doctor informs us of the end of the tape, “It ran out about 30 seconds ago. I sent it to its room. This is its room.” He spins around and the Child is standing by the tape machine.

“Are you my mummy?” They tilt their head to one side, looking at me, “Mummy?”

“Okay… on my signal… make for the door. Now!” Jack violently produces a banana and points it threateningly at the Child. 

The Doctor grins and produces Jack’s sonic blaster, blasting a square hole in the wall, “Go! Now!”

I squeeze through the hole with Rose and wait for the Doctor and Jack on the other side.

We end up back in a corridor. The Child starts to approach us from inside the room.

Jack grabs his sonic blaster off the Doctor, “Give me that!”

He points the blaster at the wall, and it rebuilds itself, blocking the Child out, “Digital rewind.” He tosses the banana back to the Doctor, “Nice switch.”

The Child thumps the wall from the other side, cracking it.

We rush down a short flight of stairs and another corridor before we encounter all the patients bursting out of the ward calling out for ‘mummy’. We backtrack but find gasmask people coming from that direction too. We end up back where we started where the Child is breaking through the wall.

“It’s keeping us here so it can get at us.”

Jack points his blaster in each direction, “It’s controlling them?”

“It is them. It’s every living thing in this hospital.” The Doctor explains.

“Okay. This can function as a sonic blaster, a sonic cannon, and a triple-enfolded sonic disrupter. Doc, what you got?”

The two begin arguing about the sonic until the Doctor admits what it is he’s got. Jack spins around. The Child finally manages to punch through the wall. He begins to climb through the hole. 

I grab onto Jack’s wrist and make him point the sonic blaster at the floor, “Going down!”

I blast a hole in the floor. We fall through into a messy heap on the floor of the ward below.

“You okay Doctor?” I ask. “Could’ve used a warning…!” He groans.

I roll my eyes at him, getting up and brushing myself off.

Rose and I start looking for a light switch as the men argue.

I finally find one and turn the lights on. All the gas-mask people lying in the beds sit up and start calling ‘mummy’.

We rush to the door as the patients start getting out of bed. The Doctor opens the door and we dash through it when Jack fails with his sonic blaster. He slams the door shut behind us and locks it with his sonic screwdriver.

Jack runs to the window, “I was gonna send for another one, but somebody’s gotta blow up the factory.” He glares at the Doctor.

“Oh, we know. The first time we met him, he blew our job up. That’s practically how he communicates.” I tell him.

“Okay, that door should hold it for a bit.”

“The door?! The wall didn’t stop it!” Jack shouts.

“Well, it’s gotta find us first! Come on, we’re not done yet! Assets, assets!” 

“Well, I’ve gotta banana, and in a pinch, you could put up some shelves.” Jack says.

The Doctor goes over to the window.

“Barred, sheer drop outside. Seven stories.” Jack denies.

“What’s in your backpack, Abby?”

I set it on the ground and dig through it, “I’ve got a lighter and a small can of mace. Nothing else in here is useful to anyone but me.”

Jack sits in a chair, “Well the assets conversation went in a flash didn’t it?”

The Doctor turns and eyes him for a moment then looks at me, “So where’d you pick this one up, then?”

I look down and feel my face burn.

“She was hanging from a barrage balloon, I had an invisible spaceship. I never stood a chance.” Jack grins. “Okay, one, we want to get out of here. Two, we can’t get out of here. Have I missed anything?”

I look in Jack’s direction, “Yeah, Jack just disappeared.”

Rose and the Doctor spin around to see Jack’s empty chair.

Rose moves towards the Doctor, who is now sitting down, “Okay, so he’s vanished into thin air. Why is it always the great-looking ones who do that?”

The Doctor gives her a look, “I’m making an effort not to be insulted.”

She waves her hand dismissively, “I mean… men.”

I give her a look, before turning to the Doctor, “I think you’re great looking.”

He smiles, “Thanks.”

An old radio springs to life and Jack’s voice transmits through it, “Guys? Can you hear me?”

We all hurry over to the radio, the Doctor picks it up.

“I’m back on my ship. Used the emergency teleport. Sorry I couldn’t take you.”

The Doctor holds the wires that have been ripped out of the radio.

“It’s security-keyed to my molecular structure. I’m working on it, hang in there.”

“How’re you speaking to us?” I ask.

“Om-Com. I can call anything with a speaker grille.” He explains. “Now there’s a coincidence.” The Doctor says.

“What is?” Jack asks.

“The Child can Om-Com too.” The Doctor tells us.

“It can?” I ask worriedly.

The Child speaks through the radio, “And I can hear you. Coming to find you. Coming to fiiiiind you.”

“Doctor, can you hear that?” Jack questions.

“Loud and clear.” He answers.

“I’ll try to block out the signal. Least I can do.”

The Child reiterates that it’s coming to find us.

“Remember this one, Abby?” Glenn Miller’s ‘Moonlight Serenade’ plays through the radio.

My eyes widen and I bite the inside of my cheek. The Doctor turns to look at me questioningly.

“Our song.” I whisper with narrowed eyes.

The Doctor nods. Rose shifts from foot to foot uncomfortably.

Rose shuffles around in the wheelchair, bored. The radio is still playing and the Doctor is doing something to the window.

Rose spins the wheelchair around in the Doctor’s direction, “What are you doing?”

“Trying to set up a resonation pattern in the concrete. Loosen the bars.” He explains.

“You don’t think he’s coming back, do you?” I ask.

“Wouldn’t bet my life.” “Why don’t you trust him?”

“Why do you?” He counters.

“I trust him cause he’s like you. Except with dating and dancing.” I say.

He gives me a look.

“What?”

“You just assume I’m…”

“What?” “You just assume that I don’t… dance.”

“I know you do, he’s just more…” I trail off.

“Suave?” Rose offers.

I roll my eyes at her, “Expressive.”

“Doesn’t the universe implode or something if you… dance?” Rose asks. “Well, I’ve got the moves, but I wouldn’t want to boast.”

Rose grins before going to the radio. She motions for me to go to the Doctor. I look at her confused and she turns the music up.

The Doctor looks around. Rose motions me forward. He looks determinedly back to the wall.

I sigh before stepping towards him and hold my hand out.

“Rose, I’m trying to resonate concrete.”

“Jack’ll be back, he’ll get us out. So come on, the world doesn’t end ‘cos the Doctor dances.” Rose teases him.

The Doctor turns his sonic screwdriver off and puts it in his jacket pocket. He steps away from the window towards me, an odd expression on his face. He stands in front of me for a moment. 

He takes my hands and turns them over, “Barrage balloon?”

I realize what he’s talking about, “Oh… yeah. About two minutes after you and Rose went inside. Thousands of feet above London, middle of a German air-raid. Strawberries all over my chest.”

The Doctor raises his eyebrows, “I’ve traveled with a lot of people, but you’re setting new records for jeopardy-friendly.” He goes back to examining my hands, “Hanging from a rope a thousand feet above London. Not a cut, not a bruise.” He shows me my hands.

“Yeah, I know. Captain Jack fixed me up…”

“Oh, we’re calling him Captain Jack now, are we?” He asks.

I tilt my head at him confused, “Well, his name’s Jack and he’s a captain…”

“He’s not a captain, Abby.”

“D’you know what I think? I think you’re jealous.” He says nothing, taking my hands and we begin to dance.

The Doctor is in intimate proximity to me, “If he ever was a captain, he’s been defrocked.”

I smile, “Shame I missed that.”

“Actually, I quit. Nobody takes my frock.” 

I look up in surprise, we’re standing in Jack’s ship. Rose is sitting on the armrest of Jack’s chair, watching us.

“Most people notice when they’ve been teleported. You guys are so sweet. Sorry about the delay. I had to take the nav-com offline to override the teleport security.”

“You can spend ten minutes overriding your own protocols? Maybe you should remember whose ship it is.” The Doctor says.

“Oh, I do. She was gorgeous.” He smiles, “Like I told her, be back in five minutes.” He ducks into a compartment underneath the console.

The Doctor looks around, “This is a Chula ship.”

Jack calls up, “Yeah, just like that medical transporter. Only this one is dangerous.”

The Doctor snaps his fingers, and his hand is instantly surrounded by a golden light.

“Those are what fixed my hands up! Nanogenes, right?”

“Sub-atomic robots. There's millions of them in here, see? Burned my hand on the console when we landed - all better now. They activate when the bulk head's sealed. Check you out for damage, fix any physical flaws.” The Doctor banishes the nanogenes with a wave of his hand and turns to Jack, “Take us to the crash site. I need to see your space junk.”

“As soon as I get the nav-com back online.”

The Doctor looks mildly annoyed.

“Make yourself comfortable. Carry on with whatever it was you were…” He gestures to the two of us, “doing.”

“We were talking about dancing!” The Doctor denies.

“It didn’t look like talking.” Rose smirks.

“Didn’t feel like dancing either.” I say.

The Doctor looks at me.

We walk over to the rail station near the bomb site. We peer over the barbed wire.

“There it is.” Jack says, before spotting the guard pacing up and down, “Ay, they’ve got Algy on duty. Must be important.”

“We’ve gotta get past.” The Doctor says.

“The words ‘distract the guard’ head in my general direction.” Rose says.

I purse my lips, looking at the guard, “I don’t think you’re his type, Rose.”

Everyone looks at me, “What? It’s called a gaydar for a reason.” I nod at Jack, “You do it.”

We watch in horror as Algy turns into one of the gas mask people. 

We rush over to Jack, and Algy - who is lying on the ground, lifeless. I stare down at him in shock.

“The effect’s become air-born. Accelerating.” The Doctor explains.

“What’s keeping us safe?” I ask.

“Nothing.” He says.

The air-raid siren sounds.

I look at Jack in concern, “Didn’t you say a bomb was gonna land here?”

He nods. 

I can hear someone singing. I start to follow the noise until I reach a shed.

The Doctor goes inside and emerges moments later with a teenage girl, who I assume is Nancy.

We go back to the bomb site. The Doctor and Jack uncover the Chula med-ship.

Rose, Nancy and I watch.

“You see? Just an ambulance.”

“That’s an ambulance?” Nancy asks.

I put a comforting arm around her, “It’s hard to explain, it’s from another world.”

The Doctor and Jack begin arguing and then an alarm goes off.

“Didn’t happen last time.” Jack says.

“It hadn’t crashed last time. They’re the emergency protocols.” The Doctor tells him.

“Doctor, what is that?” Rose asks.

The gates at the other side of the bomb site start shaking so I call for the Doctor’s attention.

“Captain, secure those gates!”

Jack obeys. 

The Doctor turns to Nancy, “How’d you get in here?”

“I cut the wire.” She tells him.

“Show Abby.” He tosses me his sonic screwdriver, “Setting two thousand four hundred and twenty-eight D. Reattaches barbed wire. Go!”

The sonic screwdriver buzzes as I work on the wire. Nancy holds the two ends together as I fuse them.

“Who are you? Who are any of you?” She asks.

“You’d never believe me.”

“You just told me that was an ambulance from another world. There are people with gasmask heads calling for their mummies, and the sky’s full of Germans dropping bombs on me. Tell me. Do you think there’s anything left I couldn’t believe?” She asks rhetorically.

“We’re time travelers from the future.” I tell her.

“Mad, you are.”

“We have a time travel machine, seriously!”

“It’s not that. All right, you’ve got a time travel machine. I believe ya. Believe anything, me.” She looks up at the sky, “But what future?”

There are explosions happening mid-air. Planes are soaring around, dropping bombs.

I look up with her, “Nancy this isn’t the end. I know how it looks. But it’s not the end of the world or anything…”

“How can you say that? Look at it.”

“Listen to me, Rose was born in this city. And I live here, in like, 50 years’ time.” “From here?”

“Yes.” “But… but you’re not…” “What?” “German.”

“Nancy, the Germans don’t come here. They don’t win.” She furrows her brow.

“Don’t tell anyone I told you so, but do you know what? You win.”

“We win?”

I nod smiling. Nancy laughs.

“Come on!” We jump to our feet and head back to the Doctor and Jack.

Once we join them, I hear the Doctor ask, “What do you expect in a Chula medical transporter? Bandages? Cough drops? Abby?”

“Nanogenes.” I answer.

He looks at Jack, “It wasn’t empty, Captain. There were enough nanogenes in there to rebuild a species.”

“Oh, God.”

“Getting it now, are we? When the ship crashes, the nanogenes escape. Billions upon billions of them, ready to fix all the cuts and bruises in the whole world. But what they find first is a dead child, probably killed earlier that night and wearing a gas mask.” The Doctor says.

“And they brought him back to life? They can do that?” Rose asks.

“What’s life? Life’s easy. A quirk of matter. Nature’s way of keeping meat fresh. Nothing to a nanogene. One problem, though, these nanogenes, they’re not like the ones on your ship. This lot has never seen a human being before. Don’t know what a human being’s supposed to look like. All they’ve got to go on is one little body, and there's not a lot left. But they carry right on. They do what they're programmed to do, they patch it up. Can't tell what's gas mask and what's skull, but they do their best. Then off they fly - off they go, work to be done. 'Cos you see now they think they know what people should look like and it's time to fix all the rest. And they won't ever stop. They won't ever, ever stop. The entire Human Race is gonna be torn down and rebuilt in the form of one terrified child looking for its mother, and nothing in the world can stop it!” His voice has risen to a shout.

Jack speaks defiantly, “I didn’t know.”

The Doctor fixes him with a cold stare for a few seconds before going back to examining the med-ship.

“Abby?” Nancy calls.

I follow her gaze. The gasmask people stumble towards us over the rail track.

I rush over to the med-ship, looking at the flashing red light on the control panel, “It’s bringing the gasmask people here, isn’t it?”

“The ship thinks it’s under attack. It’s calling up the troops. Standard protocol.” He explains.

“But… they aren’t troops…”

“They are now. This is a battlefield ambulance. The nanogenes don’t just fix you up, they get you ready for the front line. Equip you, program you.”

“That’s why the Child’s so strong. It’s a fully equipped Chula warrior. All that tech in the hands of a hysterical four-year-old,” I look at Nancy, “looking for his mommy. And now there’s an army of them.”

The gasmask people surround the fence. We all look around nervously.

“Why don’t they attack?” Jack asks.

“Good little soldiers, waiting for their commander.” 

“The child?” Jack says.

“Jamie.”

“What?” He asks.

Nancy glares at Jack, “Not ‘the child’. Jamie.”

I look at her.

“So how long until the bomb falls?” Rose asks.

“Any second.”

“What’s the matter, Captain? A bit close to the volcano for you?”

“He’s just a little boy.” Nancy says.

“I know.” I say.

“He’s just a little boy who wants his mummy.” She tears up. “I know. There isn’t a little boy born who wouldn’t tear the world apart to save his mummy. And this little boy can.” The Doctor says.

“So what’re we gonna do?” Rose asks.

“I don’t know.” The Doctor says.

Rose sighs.

“It’s all my fault.” Nancy says.

“How can it be your…” I trail off, looking at all the gasmask people, calling for their mummy, then back at Nancy who is sobbing uncontrollably.

“Nancy, how old are you? Twenty? Twenty-one? Older than you look, yes?” I ask.

I ignore everything in favor of staring at Nancy, “How old were you five years ago? Fifteen? Sixteen? Old enough to give birth, anyway.” 

Nancy looks at me then away again, ashamed.

“He’s not your brother, is he?” I ask.

She shakes her head, tearful.

“A teenage single mother in 1941. So you hid, you lied. Even to him.”

The gate swings open. The Child stands at the forefront of an army of gasmask people, ready to charge.

“Are you my mummy?”

“He’s gonna keep asking, Nancy. He’s never gonna stop. Tell him.”

The gasmask people begin to walk forward.

“Nancy… the future of the human race is in your hands. Trust me… and tell him.” I give her a gentle push in the direction of the Child. He keeps asking for his mummy until Nancy finally answers, “Yes. Yes. I am your mummy.”

She faces him. The Child slowly walks forward.

He calls out again.

“I’m here.”

“Are you my mummy?” She kneels before him, “I’m here.” “He doesn’t understand. There’s not enough of him left.” The Doctor whispers to us.

Nancy looks at her little boy, “I am your mummy. I will always be your mummy. I’m so sorry.” She takes him into her arms.

The nanogenes surround them, making them glow with a golden light, “I am so, so sorry.”

She starts stroking his hair.

We stare at the two of them surrounded by the nanogenes.

“Come on, please. Come on, you clever little nanogenes, figure it out! The mother. She’s the mother! There’s gotta be enough information, figure it out!”

“What’s happening?” Rose asks.

He points, “See? Recognizing the same DNA.”

Nancy falls away from Jamie and to the ground, as the nanogenes disappear.

We run over, the Doctor stares down at Jamie, “Oh, come on. Give me a day like this. Give me this one.”

He reaches out to the gasmask and removes it. Nancy stares in delight and the Doctor laughs ecstatically. 

He lifts Jamie into the air, swinging him around, “Ah-ha-ha! Welcome back! Twenty years ‘til pop music, you’re gonna love it.” He hugs Jamie, laughing. “What happened?” Nancy asks.

“The nanogenes recognized the superior information, the parent DNA. they didn’t change you because you changed them! Haha!” He sets Jamie down in front of her, “Mother knows best!”

She cries out for her son, “Jamie!”

“Doctor, that bomb…” I say as one lands close by.

“Taken care of it.” He says.

“How?” Rose asks.

“Psychology!” He gestures to Nancy and Jamie.

The bomb plummets towards us, and is suddenly snatched out of the air by a blue forcefield. A moment later, Jack appears hovering in the tunnel of light.

He calls down to us, “Doctor! The bomb’s already commenced detonation. I’ve put it in stasis but it won’t last long.”

“Change of plan, don’t need the bomb. Can you get rid of it? Safely as you can?” The Doctor asks.

“Abby?”

“Yeah?”

“Goodbye.” He disappears.

His ship zooms off into the night sky. The Doctor walks a few paces away, staring intently at his hands. He summons the nanogenes. They flutter around his hands.

“What’re you doing?” I ask.

“Software patch. Gonna email the upgrade. You want moves, Abby? I’ll give you moves.”

He throws the nanogenes away from him, towards the gasmask people who are still milling around on the train track. The Doctor gives his widest grin as the gasmask people fall to the floor, the nanogenes surrounding them.

“Everybody lives, girls. Just this once. Everybody lives!”

The people get to their feet, normal again.

The Doctor bounds over to Doctor Constantine and starts talking to him before coming back over to us.

He stands on top of the med-ship, “Right, you lot! Lots to do! Beat the Germans, save the world, don’t forget the Welfare State!” 

Everyone begins to walk away and he turns to us, “Setting this thing to self-destruct, soon as everybody’s clear. History says there was an explosion here. Who am I to argue with history?”

“Usually the first in line.” I say.

The Doctor grins at me, I grin back.

We enter the tardis, the Doctor still chatting away happily.

“Look at you, beaming away like you’re Father Christmas!” Rose says.

“Who says I’m not, red-bicycle-when-you-were-twelve?” Rose and I look at him in shock.

He spreads his arms wide, “And everybody lives, girls! Everybody lives!” He pings a switch on the console, “I need more days like this.”

“Doctor…” I start, “What about Jack?” The Doctor’s smile fades away, and he carries on working as though he doesn’t want to answer this.

“Why’d he say goodbye?”

Jack dashes into the tardis at the call of Rose.

The two of them are waltzing around to ‘Moonlight Serenade’. Rose is trying to teach the Doctor dance moves.

“Right, and turn…” He spins her around, twisting her arm.

“Okay, okay, try and spin me again, but this time, don’t get my arm up my back!” I giggle at the Doctor’s sheepish face.

“I’m sure I used to know this stuff.” He turns to Jack, “Close the door, will you? Your ship’s about to blow up, there’s gonna be a draft.”

Rose grins and leans against one of the pillars. 

The Doctor flicks a switch and the engines startup, “Welcome to the Tardis.”

“Much bigger on the inside…” Jack says.

“You’d better be.” The Doctor jests.

“I think what the Doctor’s trying to say is… you may cut in.” Rose says.

The two grin and she takes his hand.

“Abby! I’ve just remembered!!” I look at the Doctor, “What?”

‘In The Mood’ blares out of the speakers. Lights flash all around the room and the Doctor moves towards me in time to the music, clicking his fingers, “I can dance!”

I giggle and take the Doctor’s hand. He spins me perfectly. We dance around the console room. He suddenly throws me backwards over his arm, earning a cheer of delight from me.

I pull myself up and rest my head on his shoulder, laughing.

[itsthenovelteafactor]

Fall of the House of Hargreeves

So I mentioned a while back in my Superhero Gothic meta that there were a number of parallels between the season one finale of The Umbrella Academy and the Edgar Allen Poe short story The Fall of the House of Usher and that I could probably write a whole meta on that if anyone was interested. Shout out and love to the anon who requested that I do that! 

It’s been a minute since I’ve done one of these long form metas, but I am very excited to get back to writing about two of my favorite things: gothic literature and chaotic superheroes. 

Part I: The Fall of the House of Usher

The Fall of the House of Usher (which I’ll call House of Usher for convenience for the rest of this meta) is a short story by Edgar Allen Poe first published in 1939. It is considered a classic gothic short story, and deals with themes of family, madness, inheritance, and isolation. 

Since it’s in the public domain, I’ll go ahead and link a pdf to the story here. If you aren’t interested in reading, though, or just want a refresher, the story follows an unnamed narrator going to visit his ill friend, a man named Roderick Usher in his isolated (and very spooky) family estate. Upon arrival, he discovers that Roderick’s sister, Madeline Usher, is also ill, and has a tendency to fall into dreamlike trances.

Over the course of the visit, Roderick confesses to the narrator that not only does he believe the house is alive, but that it is connected to the fate of the family which, at this point, only includes Roderick and Madeline. He later comes and tells the narrator that Madeline has died, and enlists his help in order to bury her in the family tomb beneath the house. They do so, but for the next couple of days Roderick is suspiciously...on edge. 

Then, one dark and stormy night, Roderick shows up in the narrator’s room incredibly worked up, and throws open the window, and starts low-key (read: high-key) having a breakdown. The narrator is unsure as to why until he hears ripping and tearing sounds coming from somewhere in the house. These ripping and tearing sounds are revealed to be Madeline whom Roderick and the narrator buried alive whose appearance scares Roderick to death, right before she collapses, also dead from the strain of tearing through the foundations of the house.

The narrator decides this would probably be a good time to leave and is very much right about that because as soon as he leaves, the house (which was already in pretty bad shape) splits in two and collapses into the lake surrounding it. The end.

Part II: Umbrella Academy as Gothic

So, there are probably a couple similarities between House of Usher and The Umbrella Academy season one that stand out right off the bat, but I’d like to start by taking a step back to talk about thematic parallels between the two works. If you’d like to read a very long winded explanation of why I consider The Umbrella Academy to be a modern gothic tale, I have a really long meta about it. 

If not, here’s a quick overview:

Gothic does not have a clearly defined set of requirements as a genre, but its purpose is to explore the contradictions and the failing edifices of convention in a way that is dramatic and often fantastic. 

Gothic fiction plays with reality, but usually in a way that is representative of the characters and story. 

It often situates itself during times of great change, as there is something haunting about the irreversible passage of time, particularly for those that struggle to acknowledge it and hide behind conventions that have grown increasingly irrelevant. 

Poe is considered one of the classic authors of gothic fiction (though the genre significantly predates him), and is decidedly one of the best well-known examples of it. 

The Umbrella Academy is a family drama about former child superheroes dealing with their trauma while trying to prevent an apocalypse that their every move seems to set further in motion. It explores the messy and complicated relationships between siblings who have been abused and pit against each other for years. And yeah, it’s fun with great music and talking gorillas and dance sequences, but the premise is kind of hard for me to read as anything other than gothic.

Part III: Parallels

Like House of Usher, the first season of Umbrella Academy takes place in a massive, largely empty mansion where siblings gather with disastrous consequences. Both works explore a family that is past their prime and disconnected from the present. They also both explore the psychological toll of isolation, the consequences of tyrannical family rules, and why it is a really bad idea to lock your unstable sister in a basement and just leave her there. 

Let’s start with some thematics parallels. Everyone in House of Usher is extremely isolated, and the absence of anything resembling the modern world amongst the house full of relics is part of the horror. All of the siblings in Umbrella Academy are defined by their isolation as well, physically (Luther, Five, and Ben), socially (Vanya, Diego, Klaus, and Allison), and emotionally (legit all of them). It is this isolation that drives the conflict of the story, feeding into every characters’ choices. 

In both House of Usher and Umbrella Academy, the main characters are trapped in this isolated state as a direct result of their familial legacy. In House of Usher, the titular house is a character itself, a manifestations of the obligations Madeline and Roderick hold as members of an aristocratic family that is so far divorced from wealth and status that it keeps them from ever fully moving on and rejoining the real world. In Umbrella Academy, the characters are similarly trapped by their familial legacy, this time in the form of the specter of their abusive father, and the roles he created for them. Like the Usher siblings, the Hargreeves have no way of maintaining the roles their family left out for them – they were never given the tools to function in the real world and it cripples them – but are trapped in them regardless. 

Part IV: The Woman* in White 

*As of the time I am writing this, nothing has been said regarding Vanya’s gender identity being written to match Elliot Page’s. I am using she/her pronouns for Vanya, as that is what has been used for the character thus far. 

Aside from thematic parallels, however, the most direct connection between the short story and series, and in fact the reason I was inspired to write this meta in the first place is the way both of the stories end: with a sister trapped beneath the house clawing her way out to face her brother(s and sister) and creating a disruption of the family legacy so great that the entire estate crumbles.

Madeline Usher is described at this point as wearing a white dress, strained with the injuries she sustained from physically breaking herself out of the basement tomb her brother buried her alive in. Vanya, of course, becomes at this moment the White Violin, and though she has not yet had the epic violin-music-so-powerful-it-changes-the-color-of-her-clothes scene, the principal still stands.

As characters, there are also a couple of noteworthy parallels between Vanya and Madeline. The narrator at one point describes “the illness of the lady Madeline had lone been beyond the help of her doctors. She seemed to care about nothing” (Poe, 27). The reader never knows what illness precisely is the cause of Madeline’s apparent madness, but we see the effects. It dulls her emotional responses to situations and leaves her withdrawn and powerless. Similarly, we learn over the course of the first season of The Umbrella Academy that the medication Reginald Hargreeves prescribed Vanya for her anxiety is actually a power suppressor for her abilities that has much the same effect – because they are strengthened by extreme emotion, the drugs numb Vanya’s emotional responses and deprive her of the ability to access her powers.

Additionally, the final scene of the story story shows Madeline escaping her tomb during a great storm and going to face her brother who put her there, the storm itself being a metaphor for her anguish that tears the house apart. Vanya’s connection to the destruction of the house is a bit more literal, but it is similarly a manifestation of her anguish and trauma. She sees flashbacks of her siblings being distant and rude to her in their childhoods and the anger she feels rips the foundation apart. 

It is not entirely clear in the short story why Roderick buries Madeline alive – there are a lot of theories: he genuinely believed she was dead, he wanted her out of the picture, he himself was succumbing to the madness of the house, etc – but the guilt he feels for doing so manifests as him hearing her scraping her way out for several days preceding her escape. The justification for Vanya’s imprisonment is more clear in text, but the series of flashbacks make it clear that it is not just the imprisonment that has driven her over the edge. It it guilt for her sister, anger at her abusive upbringing that is much more easily directed at her siblings than her father, the newfound emotions experienced by being off her medication for the first time since childhood, Leonard’s manipulations, etc. 

In both cases, amidst a spiral of emotions and experiences folding in on themselves, Vanya and Madeline experience a single, cold moment of clarity that drives them to escape, and it is that moment of clarity that breaks the shadow of the family legacy. They observe the situation as it stands and realize that it is completely unacceptable, and it is the realization that leads everything to crumble. Because gothic literature is focused on the complexities of maintaining that which is out of date, the realization that things must change can break the spell.

Part V: Conclusions 

As per usual, I have no great theories on why this is or what it means. One of the reasons I love gothic literature is that it is rife with meaning that can be more easily felt than deciphered. I welcome any and all interpretations, theories, (politely worded) disagreements, and comments. 

Thanks for taking the time to read; I have a lot of fun doing these. Enjoy spooky season, y’all. 💛

[a-cat-with-a-knife]

A Sticky Situation (Spider-man AU)

Chapter 1

Warnings: Swear words and spiders (i know i hate them too):

“I’m leaving early today,” Ari said. 

Holly looked up. The class room was empty besides the two of them working on the school newspaper as they were the main members of. The two of them would often stay late after school together just working. 

“But you never leave early, not even when, you know what happened,” 

“You can just say when my mom died, its not a big deal,” 

Holly ground, rubbing her eyes. She’d known Ari for years by now and yet the girl's bluntness still left her stand every time. They’ve known each other for years but Holly could never quite call them friends as they almost never spoke outside of the newspaper club. But that wouldn’t stop Holly. Pushing aside her half edited paper she stood up. 

Walking over she sat herself on Ari’s desk. Ari gave her a look of distrust but didn't object. Holly gently placed a hand on her shoulder. 

“Is everything alright? You know you can tell me,” 

“It’s nothing,” Ari huffed. “I just need to go to her work to pick up the last of her things,” She didn’t dare look Holly in the eyes. Ari turned stiff, starting to close in on herself. She began to move away but Holly quickly raped her arms firmly around Ari. Pulling into a tight hug. 

“I know it can’t be easy, but I want you to please understand that I'm here for you,” She said softly. 

“No matter how hard you try to push everything away,”

With that Ari seemed to crack. Her eyes became damp with tears. As she returned Holly’s hug. Holding her as if she’d never been held before. Silently weeping all the tears she had been holding in. 

After a few minutes Ari pulled away and Holly let her. She too moved, pulling herself off the desk. The room was quiet as Ari regained her composure, wiping her eyes and fixing her dark black hair. She took one more deep breath and went back to work. 

Holly was unsure what to do but decided to follow her lead returning to her work. The school year was wrapping up and their workload had increased. One being the school dance for the students graduating and it was the school's papers jobs to help spread the word.  

They fell back into the rhythm of pen scratches and clicks from the keyboard. And they worked that until Ari got up. 

“Well I should leave now,” she said. Packing up her back and slinging it over her shoulder. She stopped at the door, looking over at Holly.

“Thank you,” Ari said, rather awkwardly. “I’m here for you too if you need it,” 

And with that she was out the door. Holly smiled softly as she turned back to her work. The sun seemed to shine just a bit brighter. 

-

Walking into the very large building the doors were almost 3 times her height. It’s been years since she was last here, her mother wouldn’t bring her offen as a medical testing site wasn’t the safest place for a child. 

Stepping up to the recipient's desk, she greeted the men in cashel work attire, flashing him her I.D. He smiled sadly, welcoming her in.

“The doctor has been waiting for you,” he stood. “Let me take you there, ma’am,” 

They walked through a winding hallway and two different elevators. But they stopped at a glass wall with a shiny gold plank written ‘Doctor Arachnia’ on it. This was it.

He opened the door and stepped in and she followed. The room was dimly lit 

“She’s here,”

“Close the door on your way out,” he nodded, doing what he was told. The woman turned in the office chair. The last time they had seen each other had been at the funeral. 

“I would have thought you would have come sooner,” she said, standing up. She towered over Ari, Ari was not tall in any sense in the word but she was a cool 5’9 (176 cm) at least. She gestured towards a small box on the floor. 

Walking over to it Ari briefly gazed over the contents. A few stress balls, pens and 2 framed pictures. One of her mother sitting on a plane chair and the other being of the two of them in matching black long sleeved dresses. Ari guessed she mosted have been at least 8 years old. 

“It’s not much, but you know how she was,”Ari nodded quietly.

“What about her work,” 

“Classified,” 

“Even thing that killed her,” 

Doctor Arachnia sighed. “I know it must be hard for you but your mother would understand. Her work was her top priority,” 

Placing a hand on Ari’s shoulder Doctor Arachnia leaned closer. A shiver running down her spine. 

“If you’d like to know, I can alway help you get a foot in the door. You can come work under my wing and I can teach you just as your mother would have wanted,” 

Ari completely froze. Blacky staring. The woman walked back to her desk and handed her a business card.

“I’m a very busy woman and you’re a smart girl,” 

She smiled. 

“Don’t keep me waiting,” 

-

Finally at home Ari kicked off her shoes and headed straight for the couch. She sunk into its warmth, finally alone. Oh if only her mother was here to see her now. Ari was exhausted. 

She eyes the box that held the last of her mother’s worldly positions. Ari took out the framed photo of her and her mom, dust cover every inch. She felt bad she hadn’t come soon to get them. That’s what her mother would have done. 

A spider no bigger than a thumbtack climbed from behind the frame. Ari dropped the photo. It crashed to the floor. 

“What the hell,” Ari yelled, jumping to her feet. She felt a small poke of pain in her hand. Looking down there it was. The spider bite her! 

The bite was quickly turning a bright pink with slight swelling. She rushed into the kitchen, swinging open the medicine and applied basic first aid hoping that would be enough so she wouldn’t need to make a trip to the hospital. Well she’ll have to just wait and see. 

Sitting back onto the couch Ari began to feel a wave of exhaustion crash over her. Little nap wouldn’t hurt she thought as her head in the arm of the couch. 

-

Part 2 is on its way shorty!

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

i only chose this because of you

jimmy novak character study for father’s day, 1.3k. read on ao3 here.

Everybody wants to be a father.

Oh, you don’t need children to be a father--you can parent a dream, you can foster hope, you can say a kind word to a lonely person.

There, you’re a father.

But Jimmy doesn’t believe this.

He’s unable to understand what his friends feel when they speak of marriage, of fatherhood, of new life in this world. He feels like something’s missing; is there something wrong with him, that prevents him from feeling this way, like he’s supposed to want all of these things?

When Jimmy meets Amelia, he doesn't love her immediately.

He likes her. A lot. But like is not love and so at first they are study partners, friends, each other’s ride homes. Then there are first kisses, first dates, and first fights. A first time, that they are both sure God will condemn.

But fire does not rain down upon them, and they live. Graduate. Marry. Buy a house.

He is not sure who he would have married if not her.

Because the others--no.

He has heard it enough at church, shouted from the pulpit. People like that will burn in the fire of hell.

Jimmy is safe with Amelia, and he is happy with Amelia.

But something is still missing.

------------------------------------

Two years later, Amelia gets pregnant.

For their families, it’s a great source of joy. A grandchild, a niece or nephew, someone to coddle and pin the Novak hopes and dreams onto.

It’s more complicated for them.

What their families do not know is the woe of many doctors appointments, of nurses’ worried expressions during sonograms, of medicine and praying and laying on of hands.

This child could die before they even get to meet her.

Jimmy’s relationship with God is tenuous--they used to be friends, Jimmy thinks, before people started telling him he was going to die in God’s name.

(If they did not know they were speaking to Jimmy--does that make it okay? No, he decides.)

But he needs something to believe in, so he prays anyways, and maybe God is listening at the time, because when their daughter is finally born, she is healthy. More importantly, she is alive, and that was all Jimmy had let himself hope for.

They name her Claire. It means bright and clear, and she is certainly a light in Jimmy’s life. He is beginning to understand those who want to be fathers--because there is no one more precious than Claire. The silence, the cavern inside of him, is deafening, but when he is with his daughter, in the late night hours in her nursery with a bottle, it feels a little bit fuller.

And Amelia is happy, with a child around.

So he has no choice but to smile.

------------------------------------

Amelia gets a job.

It’s at the library, and she loves it, wears cardigans and floral dresses and runs out the door, off to do something very important.

Jimmy sells ad time and he doesn’t love it at all. He feels lonely and like he’s not doing any good in the world by trying to get people to buy things. His God warns of overabundance, but Jimmy is empty most of the time. He lies awake at night, his wife asleep, Claire in the next room murmuring to her stuffed animals as she drifts into slumber.

Amelia’s job is less flexible than Jimmy’s, and so he begins to be the person who takes Claire everywhere. Dance recitals, soccer practice, school, friends’ houses...her car seat takes up permanent residence in the back of his car, the pockets of his trenchcoat filled with candy wrappers, tissues, rocks she found on the playground.

He learns how to dress her, and then how to argue with her about how he’s dressed her, how to plait her long, blonde curls. Claire is developing a personality--stubborn, funny, clever, curious.

Full of heart.

He loves her more each day, even as he slips away from this world, anchored only by her drawings from class on the fridge and her sparkly, light-up sneakers left right in front of the door.

Then the voice comes.

------------------------------------

The voice’s name is Castiel, and Castiel is an angel.

Jimmy hears Castiel only when he is alone--on the radio, in pictures on the television, or just in his head. Castiel tells him to do many things--prove your faith. Prove your strength. And Jimmy does them.

The things his pastors and fellow churchgoers have said must be done to prove one’s faith are far less painful than what Castiel asks of him. Castiel says there’s a task for Jimmy--that Jimmy is the only one who can do it. The hole inside him is starting to fill with echoes of the angel’s voice, night and day.

Claire notices nothing different--she still pulls him to her room to play with dolls, still shows him all her assignments from school. He puts her 100 on a math test on the fridge, stacks up her books for reading class. Bridge to Terabithia. Charlotte’s Web. The Westing Game. Kids sure talk a lot about death.

But Amelia notices, and she tells Jimmy’s doctor, but he doesn’t take the medicine.

Amelia thinks he’s slipping.

Jimmy thinks he’s better than ever.

When Castiel finally asks him if he can borrow Jimmy’s body and use it as a vessel, Jimmy only asks one question.

“Will my family be okay?”

Castiel promises yes.

So Jimmy replies in kind.

------------------------------------

For almost a year, Jimmy watches the world through the angel’s eyes. He hates and loves Castiel at the same time--for wearing his face, for wanting the Righteous Man, for saying to his daughter I am not your father.

He just hopes Claire is safe, like Castiel promised.

From inside his own skin he watches his hands smite and heal and hold and when he finally gets out and as himself meets the Winchesters, those for whom all this trouble was apparently worth, he vows never to go back.

It’s like being strapped to a comet, he tells them.

He gets to have dinner with Claire again.

Amelia is wary, and Jimmy understands. The angel has burned him, carved the hole wider instead of truly filling it, and Jimmy wonders: if this is an angel, what is God like? Where is He, if this is what is happening on His earth? Monsters and Lucifer and the apocalypse impending?

Jimmy cries over dinner, cannot pray. Not to God. Not to anyone. He is ready to return home, to hang up that trenchcoat--he is done traveling--and leave this behind. Leave saving the world to the Winchesters and their friends.

But instead a demon comes.

There is a scuffle, ropes and burning and Jimmy is nearly dead by the end of it all, delirious as his hair is smoothed back by his daughter, but it’s not his daughter.

“Your time is done,” the angel says.

Jimmy shakes his head. This can’t be how it ends--Claire doesn’t deserve to get her soul carved out, but Jimmy does, he’s already halfway there.

“Take me instead,” is what he says to the angel wearing his daughter’s face, but what he means is, let this not all be in vain. Let my last act be saving her. Let her live.

Castiel says Jimmy will die.

Jimmy says he knows this. He knows, deep inside, he was dead from the beginning. It just took some time to accept it.

The angel agrees to the deal, and Jimmy Novak is burned out from the inside, and is no more.

------------------------------------

Years later, in Heaven, a guest arrives, a woman who looks familiar, who has tears in her eyes, who rushes into his arms. His wife. Amelia. All he can ask is how is she? And Amelia tells him, she is beautiful. You would love her.

Jimmy does love her. That is why he did not watch her grow up.

[idreamofplaid]

Bigger Dreams

Square Filled: Photgrapher!Jensen for @spnchristmasbingo & Pregnancy for @spnfluffbingo

Characters: Jensen x Reader 

Rating: Teen

Summary: Sometimes dreams can change, and sometimes they can work out even more beautifully than you imagined.

Word Count: 2174

Created for @spnchristmasbingo & @spnfluffbingo

He would be home soon, and you’d be waiting for him by the door, well near it at least, with a cup of hot coffee spiked with Irish Cream. The barometer outside had dropped, just a little more and snow for Christmas was a possibility. The warmth in the cup would drive the chill out of him and put him in a better mood.

You heard Jensen’s key in the lock right on schedule. He always hurried home as soon as he could. Your relationship was still new, and you couldn’t get enough of each other. He smiled as soon as he saw you, closed the door, and crossed your tiny living room to join you on the sofa.

As he sat down, you held out his cup of coffee. He took it from you, letting his fingertips brush over yours as he did. “How was it today?” You started to massage his shoulders, working out the stress induced kinks there while you waited for his answer.

Jensen relaxed under your touch. “Three screamers, two criers, and one runner,” he answered, rolling his neck and making a contented sound. It was working; he was feeling better and letting the tension of the day fall away. 

You stopped massaging and let your hands rest on his shoulders. “I’m sorry, babe.” Jensen considered photography an art, his chosen artform; but it was hard to make a living as an artist. Until he was able to do that, he made a living in the much more lucrative world of family photography; and the holidays were the busiest time of year in that line of work. It seemed nearly every parent in the city decided it was necessary to dress their kids up in red velvet and have professional photographs made.

You could understand why they would want to do that, much better now. Absentmindedly, you ran your hand over your stomach. Jensen never said much about the kids he took pictures of, except how much he hated it. They wouldn’t sit still, wouldn’t smile, and the worst was when siblings started fighting. That could really “fuck up a schedule,” and the frequent result was an unhappy client with some expensive pictures of red faced kids.

It made what you needed to tell him that much harder. This pregnancy wasn’t planned, instead it was the result of a night of too many tequila shots that made the two of you careless, but from the first moment the doctor had verified there was a baby growing inside you; you’d loved your child. It was an instant and all consuming love. Problem was, you had no idea how Jensen felt about being a parent or how he was going to react.

The only time you’d ever talked about children was when he told you about the kids he worked with, and those conversations weren’t favorable. Maybe it’d be better to give him a chance to shower and change clothes. You could feed him and then tell him. 

Several minutes later, Jensen was wearing his favorite henley and a pair of jeans. You were putting the last of the dishes on the table as he walked up behind you and circled his hands around your waist. He kissed the side of your neck, then raised his head and scanned the table. “You outdid yourself tonight, babe.”

Jensen sat down and took another look at the spread in front of him. All his favorites were there. “When did you find time to do all this? Didn’t you have two auditions today?”

You hadn’t expected the conversation to take this kind of turn. Lying to him wasn’t an option. You just weren’t going to do that, but you had been hoping for more time to lead up to what you were going to say. Your finger played with the edge of your plate. “I did, but I cancelled them.” The roles you had planned on auditioning for weren’t for pregnant women.

Jensen stopped spooning potatoes onto his plate. “What is it, baby? Are you feeling okay?” Normally, nothing would cause you to miss an audition. Your desire to be an actress had been similarly as strong as Jensen’s was to make art through his photography. 

You moved your finger from your plate, opting to fiddle with the napkin on your lap instead. You smiled weakly at him. “I’m fine, Jensen. It’s just those parts aren’t right for me.” 

“What changed your mind, sweetheart? You were so excited about those auditions.” He looked down at your almost empty plate; morning sickness had started to set in. “Are you sick, Y/N?”

You paused for a second. “No, Jensen. I’m not sick.” Why was it so hard to say this? So many thoughts were swirling through your head. He had plans for his career, and you’d had plans for a career as well. Finding out you were going to be a mother immediately changed that for you, and you were happy to change your way of thinking. Visions of baby booties were now dancing through your head, and you were mentally making plans of how you wanted your baby’s nursery to look. 

Jensen’s eyes reflected the various colors of green like a prism, and those beautiful eyes now filled with concern. It was time to tell him the truth. “Jensen, I…” You stopped, took a breath, and tried again. “I know we haven’t talked about this, and I wasn’t trying. Jensen, I wasn’t. I promise I wasn’t.” Tears started to roll down your cheeks. 

He got up, walked around the table, and kneeled beside you. “Y/N, honey, what’s wrong? What are you talking about? Talk to me.” He reached for your hand and took it into his. 

You loved Jensen’s hands. They were broad and strong. Whenever he touched you, held you, it never failed to make you feel cherished and safe. This time was no different. 

With his other hand, Jensen reached up and brushed your cheek with his knuckles. He wiped away your tears as he did, and the words bubbled up past the knot in your throat. “Jensen, I’m pregnant.”

It took a couple of seconds for recognition to register in his mind. “A baby?” His eyes fell to your stomach, and his hand started to move toward it before he stopped it in mid air. Jensen looked to you, a softness now filling his eyes. “Can I?”

You took his hand and led it to your belly. “Of course you can.” 

His hand was warm, and even though he couldn’t feel anything at this point, Jensen’s eyes grew a little wider. “We’re having a baby?”

You didn’t let go of his hand, and Jensen made no effort to move it. You focused on his hand beneath yours and drew strength from it. “I want this baby, Jensen. I know you have so many plans, and this wasn’t one of them.”

The strength you had been feeling just a few moments earlier ebbed and faded away. You felt a fresh wave of emotions wash through you, and the tears started to flow again. “I don’t want to ruin your life and mess up everything you wanted. I’m sorry.”

Jensen wiped away more of your tears, but they were coming almost faster than he could brush them from your face. “Sweetheart, it’s okay. I want this baby too. This is incredible, Y/N.” He took you into his arms. It felt safe; he made you feel wanted, you and the baby. Or, was that just all in your mind because it was what you wanted to believe? Jensen stroked your hair for several minutes; not saying anything, just repeating the soothing motion of his hand over your hair.

Your tears turned into full blown sobs; the pregnancy hormones were already reeking havoc with your body. “You don’t like kids. You never said you wanted any.”

You were starting to sniffle and trying so hard to stop crying. You’d done this to yourself. You took the napkin Jensen handed you and tried to daintily blow your nose.

“Y/N, sweetheart, why do you think I don’t like kids?” One of his hands was resting on your knee and the other was cupping your cheek.

“B...because they stress you out so much. You come home from work tense and miserable most days” You clutched the used napkin tightly in your hand. 

Your eyes were still filled with tears, blurring his handsome face, but you could hear him clearly. “I like kids, Y/N. It’s just those kids I work with are unhappy because they don’t want to be there. They don’t want to wear the fancy, itchy clothes, and they don’t want to sit still. They want to run and play and laugh. Just be kids. I don’t want to be there either. Photography is art to me, not taking glorified snapshots. I want to take pictures that will hang in galleries, maybe even a museum one day.” 

His eyes focused on yours, and his voice grew gentle. “It doesn’t mean I don’t like kids. It means I’m frustrated with where my career is right now.” He smiled at you, and his eyes took on that reflective dreamy quality that had shown you the depths of this man and made you fall in love with him. “I knew I wanted to have kids with you almost immediately. I’ve never known a kinder person.You are going to be the most amazing mother. Our baby is the luckiest kid in the world. You’ll teach our baby to be a good person just like you.”

 He touched his lips to yours, kissing you in a way that was clearly beyond chaste, but it didn’t seek anything more than what you gave him in that kiss. When he pulled away, the glimmer of a tear was shining in his eye too. 

“I’ve got an idea,” he said excitedly as he stood. He came back with his camera in his hand. “Will you let me take your picture?”

“Jensen, I’m a mess.” You smoothed your hands over your hair, but that wasn’t going to help your tear stained face. 

“I’ll focus on your stomach this time.” He leaned in to kiss you again. “I want to capture every part of how beautiful you are through this whole process.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Next December

It was the most festive and happiest of nights. One year ago, on this very day, you’d told Jensen you were pregnant. Now, you were holding your precious little daughter in your arms at her daddy’s first gallery opening. You watched him across the room, networking, making the contacts he would need to ensure he was never stuck in a job ever again that didn’t bring him happiness.

Jensen left the group he was talking with, walked over to you, and took Leigh from you. The way he smiled at her was like nothing you’d ever seen. “How’s daddy’s little angel?” He turned his attention to you, kissing your cheek. “Mommy looks gorgeous.”

You lowered your head. “Jensen.” He was making you blush like a schoolgirl, or maybe it was the pictures of you all over the room in various stages of your pregnancy. He had named the collection “The Blossoming of a Mother”. If you didn’t know you were the subject of those photographs, didn’t remember posing for him while he took them, or the way he’d made love to you after every single one of those photo sessions; you’d never believe they were pictures of you. You’d never known you could look like that. 

Jensen held Leigh in the bend of his arm, took your hand, and led you to one of the photographs. You were dressed only in a blush pink silk sheet that was billowing around you, one of your hands cradling your round stomach and the other on your breast. Jensen leaned in and whispered so only you would hear, “I’m keeping that one.”

You also lowered your voice to a whisper. “How do you feel about pictures of me being on other people’s walls, being in places where anyone can see them?” It wasn’t the first time you’d talked about it, but you wanted to hear him say it again. “It doesn’t bother me because I know they’re never going to see you the way I do, never hear those beautiful sounds you make when we’re together.”

You were blushing again. “Jensen, stop.”

He smiled at you with that sexy flirtiness he possessed glinting in his eyes. “I promise that’s not what you’ll be saying later tonight.”

You watched him turn and walk back across the room to a group of potential clients. He could certainly fill out a pair of dress pants. If you weren’t careful, Leigh would have a little brother or sister soon. A smile crossed your face as you observed him showing off his daughter to the gathered crowd of people, proving to you that she was an even bigger dream for him than his art. 

Everything: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @onethirstyunicorn @peridottea91 @logical-princey @emilyshurley @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @shaniquacynthia @mariekoukie6661 @tumbler-tidbits @67-chevy-baby @fandom-princess-forevermore @terrarium-jpeg @emoryhemsworth @crashdevlin @heycasbutt @jules-1999 @mrsdeannafuckingwinchester @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @mrs-meghan-winchester @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @lonewolf471 @dawnie1988 @volleyballer519 @outcastedangel @kdfrqqg @lizette50 @sorenmarie87 @winchesterxfamilybusiness 

Dean/Jensen: @deansyahtzee @flamencodiva @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @focusonspn @akshi8278 @ladywinchester1967 @sgarrett49 @wingedcatninja @coffee-obsessed-writer @adoptdontshoppets @ellewritesfix05​ @weepingwillowphoenix​

[caswellprmanager]

drawbridge

read it on ao3

Ship: Ricky Bowen/EJ Caswell

Summary: Snippets of EJ Caswell's life leading up to the mystery that is Ricky Bowen.

Notes: Hello. I decided to bite the bullet and post something here! This technically is in my Trans!EJ and Genderqueer!Ricky AU but I haven't properly written anything for it yet so consider this one to be the first official fic within that universe. Feel free to send some asks or other headcanons in my inbox about the AU! I'd love to hear what people think (but don't be unnecessarily mean. I will delete that very quickly.)

Disclaimer: I'm not an expert in all things transgender or genderqueer. I am writing from my own experience within the spectrum however so it's truthful to what I have been through, but will not represent everyone else's experiences. I also have friends within the spectrum who have given me great advice on how to go about these things but once again, it won't be accurate to everyone's experiences.

Warnings: Mentions of gender dysphoria, transphobia, and neglectful parents

People always told EJ that he had the picture perfect family.

His mom and dad were successful corporate lawyers, they lived in the wealthiest suburb in all of Salt Lake City, and he was the kind of child other parents would compare their own children to saying, "why can't you be more like EJ?"

But EJ knows that's farthest from the truth.

He doesn't have the picture perfect life or the paragon of White American families that people think they do. His parents are affectionate and supportive only when there are people around to comment on it. Most of the time, they're not even at home, leaving all of the child raising to their maids and other house servants. EJ spends more time at Ashlyn's house than he does at home because at least his aunt and uncle actually treat him like a son.

Because there are days his parents would forget they have a son. Sometimes they'd slip and call him their daughter, which makes EJ want to disappear from this world altogether. He supposes he should be grateful that they even bothered to pay for all the things he asked for — binders, testosterone shots, and regular visits to the doctor to check up on him throughout his transition. And he is grateful. He knows so many kids like him that can't even afford a decent sized binder without going bankrupt. He used to be that kid until he gathered up all his courage to come out to his parents.

But what they told him?

"Well, if you're gonna be our son, you will have to work twice as hard to make us proud now."

Yeah. It's a lot to process when you're 12 years old and scared shitless that you'd be disowned for "disrupting the natural order." But he figures things could be worse. So he sucks it up and vows to become the kind of son that his parents could truly brag about.

When EJ was a kid, he loved mysteries. His parents were the greatest mystery of them all. He's spent so much of his time trying to figure out what makes them happy, or angry, or sad. He's put the clues together and has a cork board of pictures and red string at the forefront of his mind whenever he so much as tries to interact with them. Soon, he sort of figured out what makes his parents smile at him — when EJ is excellent.

So, he became excellent at all kinds of sports, took up piano lessons, studied until his eyeballs burned with the lowlight of his desk lamp — all so that he could maybe get a pat on the back from his dad and a small smile from his mom. Their versions of "good job" or "keep it up." He drank that all in, craved it even, and worked his whole life until now to get even an iota of his parents' affection.

So, when he meets Ricky Bowen, the lanky and extremely clumsy skater who seems to live in the detention room, he was met with a brand new mystery to solve.

"Who's that?" EJ whispers into Nini's ear, who just seems to be irritated by the new person's presence.

"That's Ricky," she says with the barest hint of affection but with a whole lot of irritation. "My ex."

"Huh," He says, intrigued by the way Ricky's movements stutter like a half-finished stop motion film and how their wide doe eyes scan the room like — unironically — a deer in headlights. They looked nervous, confused, and all around terrified and EJ wants to reach out to them and tell them that this was a safe space. That they could be whoever they wanted to be in the theater.

He glances at Nini when Ricky starts singing a song that she seems to recognize. The immediate tensing of her shoulders and the way she subconsciously reaches out for EJ's hand for support tells him that this song... means something. Or meant something. EJ's not quite sure but he squeezes Nini's hand in silent reassurance, bringing himself to half-glare at the guitar playing skater just a few feet before him.

--

He met Nini during theater camp. A firecracker of talent with a voice that could melt the heart of even the coldest man on earth. She was beautiful in the spotlight and even more ethereal beneath the stars. She was kind, gentle, and a mystery that EJ solved quickly enough. She wore her heart on her sleeve despite it being broken because she believes that broken hearts can be mended with time and patience.

Nini was patient with him. She was patient with him when he took her up the little hill next to the campsite just to watch the stars on an old picnic blanket he stole from the camp counselors. She was patient with him when he couldn't keep up with the dance steps. Her hand was warm in his own and the flush of her palm by his neck was a grounding force that kept his head from going in the clouds.

She was especially patient with him when he took her to an empty tent and told her about his life. Nini was kind. Nini was patient. Nini was safe. And if she were to walk away and tell him that she wanted nothing to do with him after what he told her, he would have understood and learned to not associate kind brown eyes and ukulele calloused fingers to what could be barely described as home.

But she held his hand in her tinier ones, a smile on her face that radiated warmth that seeped into the depths of his soul, and told him that she was proud of him.

It was the first time that someone was proud of him... for just being him.

He cried into her arms that night, knowing he's got a lifelong friend within the kind brown eyes and ukulele calloused fingers of one Nini Salazar-Roberts.

--

"She thinks I'm a Chad?" He asks, less incredulously and more with a burning curiosity.

Nini rubs his arm comfortingly but he keeps staring at the cast list like it was going to burst into flames any second. "You're still a Troy understudy! You could still go on as him in one of the shows."

"Shows only run for three nights, Nini." He says with barely concealed frustration. Great. If he can't even get the role he was technically destined to play, how the hell is he going to explain himself to his parents?

You're not the lead? Oh, then we won't watch. If you're not onstage the whole time, why be there?

EJ grits his teeth and slowly brings his gaze to the person who has just taken away one more way for him to prove himself to his parents. Ricky Fucking Bowen, who stands there once again with their enormous brown eyes, gaping like a fish. EJ wants to deck them in the face. But Nini's hold on his arm grounds him back to reality and he lets out a long breath through his nose.

This is gonna be a long next few months.

--

"Look, I'm just trying to make the best out of a bad situation."

"Don't try," He ends up saying, still wiping at the blood caused by the basketball Ricky hit him with only moments ago. "It's painful to watch you do something you clearly don't want to do."

"What makes you think I don't want to do this?" Ricky asks with furrowed brows and EJ throws the wadded up tissue paper stained with his blood into the trash.

"You hated musicals before you auditioned. You landed the part of Troy without even fucking trying. And now you think you can get through rehearsals without fucking trying? It's tiring to work with someone who couldn't give two shits about this musical in the first place!" He says, every sentence rising in volume as he steps closer and closer to Ricky. "You also need to stay the fuck away from Nini."

Ricky scoffs then. "Why? Cause you're her boyfriend?"

"What? And you are?" He retaliates, which effectively makes Ricky click their mouth shut. EJ smirks. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

"Nini can choose whoever she wants to talk to." Ricky ends up saying with tense shoulders and a glare that could murder if EJ weren't already a person who doesn't fear death. "You can't tell me what to do."

"Well someone has to!" EJ throws his hands up in frustration, grabbing his jacket and zipping it up angrily. "Because you don't listen to Nini though, do you? Have you ever listened to her? Do you listen to anybody?"

"EJ I—"

"You better listen to me right now Ricky Bowen," he laces every syllable of Ricky's name with venom. "Stop trying to make things right. Stop trying to become a person you're not. If you actually cared about Nini or – god forbid – the musical, you'd stop trying and just get your shit together."

EJ doesn't even bother to look back at Ricky as he exits the bathroom, unaware of the look in Ricky's eyes when he walked away.

--

It isn't until Ricky approaches him one day after rehearsals that EJ was finally starting to unravel the mystery that was Ricky Bowen.

"Hey... EJ?" Ricky asks, looking at anywhere but at him and EJ would have been annoyed if it weren't for the way Ricky was holding themselves in front of him. They were tense, eyes glassy and unfocused whenever EJ caught a glance, and their fingers were gripping their bag straps so tightly that he was afraid Ricky was going to rip it apart if they weren't careful.

"Hey Ricky," He says with a softer voice than he's ever used with Ricky. "Is there something you need?"

Ricky's eyes dart around the still full rehearsal room, at the dangerously close proximity Miss Jenn was, at the stage managers that were just behind EJ who were reviewing the blocking notes, and finally at Nini who was engaged in a conversation with Carlos and Seb. Ricky's eyes lingered on Nini for a bit before they reluctantly settled on EJ's pristine white sneakers. "I would have normally asked Nini for this but – and you can say no by the way I'd completely understand – it's just..."

Ricky looks around again before leaning closer to EJ and shakily whispering, "Do you have any tampons?"

And just like that, the walls that were built around a certain Ricky Bowen were starting to crack. And EJ was allowed to see the smallest snippet of the kind of vulnerability that Ricky was capable of.

And it was the kind of vulnerability that he could relate to completely.

"My emergency stash is in my locker," He says, hastily packing up the rest of his things while Ricky continues to stand there dumbfounded. When EJ turns back to him with his own bag over his shoulder, he could see that there are a few unshed tears shining in Ricky's eyes. EJ softens for a second, knowing how difficult it must have been for Ricky to come to him for something so private.

"Come on. I'll even guard the bathroom for you." Ricky eventually follows him after a few seconds of just staring at his back and they fall in step around the corner. Ricky stays silent, fingers all fidgety and eyes still darting around like they'll be caught any second. EJ, instinctually, wraps a comforting arm around Ricky's shoulders. Ricky doesn't relax immediately but they do lean a little closer, somehow finding the weight of EJ's arm around them safe.

They eventually reach EJ's locker and Ricky smiles a bit because it's directly across from Sharpay's famous pink lockers. "Did you choose this spot specifically for Sharpay's lockers?"

EJ glances behind him and chuckles, rummaging through his stuff. "Oh yeah. If you say Ashley Tisdale three times in a row while touching her locker, you're guaranteed good fortune for at least a week."

Ricky looks at him with a smirk. "Have you tried that before?"

"Every year during finals week. I'm telling you, that shit works."

"Or maybe you're just really smart."

"Maybe," EJ says, finally locating his emergency stash of period essentials. "Or maybe it's just Ashley Tisdale bopping me to the top."

That's when Ricky lets out a laugh — an honest to god booming belly laugh that makes EJ pause just to stare at him. They look... nice like this. Without the worry lines and longing gazes at a girl who won't give them the time of day. They look just like a little kid, carefree and alive despite the world crumbling all around them, and EJ feels a weird surge of pride at being the person who made Ricky laugh like that.

He wants Ricky to laugh like that more. He wants to be the person who makes Ricky laugh like that more.

And so the walls around Ricky crack a little further, and the drawbridge is opened for one weary traveler to come in.

EJ doesn't notice the cracks on his own walls, nor the knowing little princess who watches from the east tower, smiling.

--

"Hey, what are your pronouns?"

Ricky doesn't look up from their practice skateboard, concentrating hard on their balance. "I don't have any. I'm just Ricky." They look up though, giving EJ a warm smile. "But go ahead and use any pronouns with me. I don't mind if it's you."

"So would you mind if I call you your majesty?"

EJ doesn't miss the flush on Ricky's cheeks at that and definitely doesn't miss the way they say "I'd like that very much." with the barest hint of embarrassment.

"Okay," EJ says with his chin propped up in his hands. "Your majesty."

Ricky falls off of their practice skateboard then, soon glaring up at a cackling EJ still with a blushing face.

--

EJ forgot his binder today.

And his body loved reminding him every time he took a step.

Thankfully, there wasn't going to be water polo practice today and he could get away with wearing multiple layers to school. But even with the sports bra, the t-shirt, the sweatshirt, and the letterman jacket doing a good job at making his chest look flat, he still felt his skin crawl looking at the mirror. His jeans hugged him a little too tightly, forcing him to notice the still feminine curve of his hips. His sports bra was a tad smaller than the last time he wore it, so the pinch at his chest doubled in size.

EJ resolved that he was not going to have a good day today.

But today was tech rehearsals and he couldn't ditch that. He was starting to really enjoy rehearsals now that he and Ricky are on good terms. Even the stage managers ask him to hang out with them time to time outside of rehearsals. EJ actually felt like... he really belonged somewhere now. And he wasn't going to let this ruin it for him. Not today.

"Hey EJ," He heard Nini say to him as he got out of his car. "What's with all the layers? It's pretty hot today."

"It's one of those days, Neens." He says with a heavy sigh and Nini just grabs his hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. Ricky rolls up to them two seconds later, their head suspiciously missing a helmet.

"How many times do I have to tell you to wear a helmet when you're skateboarding, Ricky?" EJ tries to scold the junior despite this weirdly overwhelming fondness growing inside of him every time he even looks at Ricky now.

"Haven't gotten into an accident yet," Ricky shrugs, smiling politely at Nini and changing it into a cocky little smirk the second they look at EJ.

"Yet being the operative word here," EJ rolls his eyes and opens his trunk for Ricky to stash his board in for later. "I won't drive you to the hospital if you end up getting a concussion for not wearing a helmet."

"Yes you will." Ricky says, knocking their shoulders together. "You love me!"

EJ freezes for a bit but before he could even respond, Ricky is already catching up to Big Red and Gina, waving back at EJ and Nini with a wide grin. EJ stares at him for a few seconds, not quite sure how to process the last few moments, until Nini waves a hand in front of his face.

"Hello? Earth to EJ?"

"Huh?"

"Care to share with the class what's going on?" The little smirk on her lips says it all and EJ was not going to fall for that.

"Nope. There's nothing to share."

"Mhm," She says, looping her arm around EJ as soon as he closed his trunk. "Of course there isn't, EJ." Nini pretends not to see EJ staring at Ricky as they walk into school. EJ pretends to not notice that she's pretending to not see EJ pretending to not overtly stare at Ricky.

Besides, EJ has gotten pretty good at pretending.

--

Aaaannndd that's it for now. I hope you guys liked that! I really enjoyed exploring trans!ej and genderqueer!ricky through this au and it means a lot to me. Maybe next time I'll write something in ricky's pov but for now thanks for reading !!

[walviemort]

hidden blessing (7/?)

Summary: Killian thought the only thing he was left with after Milah’s death was a broken heart and a thirst for vengeance. It’s not until he gets to Storybrooke, after so many years spent in stasis, that he discovers something else: he’s carrying her child. How does this new, tiny blessing change his path? (Canon-divergent from 2x12.)

rated T | part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | AO3 | 3.4k

a/n: Sorry for the long gap between chapters! Life and all that. But hopefully there will be less gap between this and the next ones, and hope it was worth the wait!

To Killian’s surprise, part of Emma’s plan of preparation was rest; she was pointedly looking at him when she made the suggestion, and honestly, he’d been too relieved at the idea to say anything against it. Even more shockingly, Regina agreed, and for the first time since they’d set foot in this accursed land, Killian finally felt rested; even the nausea had abated, though he was sure it wouldn’t last long.

What did concern him, however, was the sound of David struggling once they finally set off toward Pan’s camp. Snow teased him, but Killian was worried that his brush with the Lost One’s arrow had been far too close.

And then, of course, Pan moved the camp—in the opposite direction that they’d been moving. As usual, Regina was quick to blame him and call for the use of magic. Which was a terrible idea, and he told her so, but did give him another.

“How are we going to find it?” she sniped.

“By using someone he trusts,” he replied, patience waning.

“Who?” David challenged. “Because I guess he certainly doesn't trust you.”

He’d never gain ground with David, would he? “A fairy who lived here when I was about,” he explained, ignoring the jab. “She might still be on the island. She'd be an inside source, knows all about the camp, can get us in. She might even have some pixie dust left. Perhaps we could fly in.”

In the continuation of their hot-and-cold relationship, David supported the idea—and Emma apparently discovered another person she knew to be fictional was real. If he ended up raising this child in Storybrooke, he’d have to be sure to keep such tales far away from them.

They redirected, but David was flagging. And Killian hated that he knew why.

It took some prodding, but David eventually was convinced to show Killian his injury, lifting his shirt just enough to expose his lower abdomen. The more hormonal part of Killian was slightly jealous of the man’s not only flat, but incredibly well toned stomach, briefly mourning the loss of his own, but it gave way to dread: there was a long, shallow slice along David’s side, and black veins were already spreading from the cut.

And yet, David still tried to argue that “The arrow only nicked me.”

But Killian had seen enough brushes with the vile poison to know what lay ahead. The sight turned his stomach, dredging up painful memories. But the stubborn prince wouldn’t heed his advice to tell his family.

“Pixie dust,” David insisted was the answer. “You believe in this Tinker Bell's power? In her pixie dust?”

“Indeed, I do.” Tink had never given him reason not to. (Though, to be fair, most of their interactions were a bit more physical than verbal, and with the way the slightest thing had him aroused right now, he didn’t dare wander down that path of memory.)

“Then let's get her and that dust.”

It was hard to argue with that.

Her treehouse was still in the same spot; given his familiarity, he headed up first, only to find it empty. (Although still far too familiar; memories of one particular night spent in that hammock definitely stirred some things he hadn’t wanted stirred. Bloody hormones.)

Thankfully his pants were still loose enough to hide anything he didn’t want shown as the rest of the crew joined him in the treehouse, although their search came up empty.

Well, not entirely—while Emma and Snow were reminiscing on the hovel’s resemblance to some places they’d lived, David uncovered a handkerchief. Of Regina’s.

He should have known Tink would be steps ahead of them; she usually was.

Thankfully, she hadn’t caused Regina any harm—and Emma managed to convince her to join them. He wasn’t really surprised—Emma clearly had that way with lost souls such as themselves—though he had assumed his own rapport with the fairy would be required. 

(He was pleased, however, that Tink was not averse to his flirtations, even if she was no longer the main object of them.)

Their shared history meant she could read him too well, though. On the trek back to their campsite, she sidled up to him. “So who knocked you up?” she bluntly whispered.

How the hell could she tell? Not that it really mattered, he supposed. “First time you’ve seen me in 30 years and that’s your first question?”

“Well, you weren’t the last time I saw you. Oh god—it wasn’t me, was it?”

He chuckled. “No, lass, it was not.” He had a keen memory for these things and he and Tink, despite the numerous positions they explored, never managed the specific one required for conception. “And actually, I was when you last saw me; I just didn’t know it yet.”

The moment of realization was visible on her face. “Oh my goodness. Then let me say congratulations.”

“Thanks, love.”

She then punched him in the shoulder. “You better be damn careful.”

“Bloody hell; that doesn’t exactly help.”

She helped them gather up some coconuts to share before settling in for the night (or whatever part of day it was; his circadian rhythm was definitely off, and his random bouts of fatigue didn’t help). After they’d passed them around, he sat down and was starting to notch a hole in one with his hook when Emma took a seat next to him.

“Hey, are you doing okay?” she asked quietly. “Stomach feeling alright and everything?”

He was speechless for a moment; despite her previous admission, he was surprised she cared. But her green eyes were staring him down, demanding an answer. “Aye; nothing too bad today; thank you for asking.” He broke through to the hollow core of the coconut and handed it to Emma. She took a sip and smiled.

“Damn, that’s good. I didn’t just take yours, did I?” He replied by grabbing another one and holding it aloft. “Good. You need to stay hydrated.”

“I’m aware, doctor.”

She snorted at that and took another sip, but then her smile drifted away as she swallowed. “So, uh, you seemed to know Tink pretty well.”

“Aye, you could say that; we go back quite far.”

“Were you two—is she—?” Emma stammered, then nodded toward his midsection. He had to bite back a laugh.

“Yes and no,” he answered. “We did know each other intimately, but not that intimately.”

She adorably scrunched her face in confusion, then shrugged. “Okay, I was just curious. You still need to explain all that to me, but not tonight.”

“No, not tonight; you better rest up.”

“You too, okay?”

“Aye, captain.”

She rolled her eyes, but stood and headed back toward where her parents sat. The longer he spent in her presence, the more he felt it when she left. This was definitely not the time or place to be warring with those feelings, but he couldn’t seem to help it. He was mature enough to set them aside and focus on the bigger picture—saving Henry and escaping this cursed realm—but bloody hell was it difficult.

The near-constant flutters within began their tiny dance again; he hoped the way his hand rested on his belly was perceived as casual. Feeling that was yet another reminder of his goals here: to make it out alive for the sake of the babe, and let no harm come to them. 

He was allowed to have some fun along the way, though—right?

-------------------------------------------

Of course, those moments were few and far between. The next day brought Tink’s uncomfortable reminder that they’d yet to figure out a way out of Neverland, and led them chasing ghosts across the island as he brought them to Bae’s old hideaway.

He had never let the lad know that he was aware of its location. Or that he’d been keeping an eye on him ever since he left the Roger. That was still his greatest regret, and he hoped no one noticed the tears brimming at his eyes as he moved to uncover the entrance to Bae’s cave.

Deflection usually helped; he did find a brief moment to engage Emma, but David stepped in before she could reply. It was hard to tell if it was fatherly protection or pure stubbornness against his own fate that was the motivation. Of course, David didn’t want to hear another lecture about his situation as they opened the cave, but he got one anyway; perhaps this pregnancy was elevating Killian’s already intense protective instincts, but the man’s insistence on hiding his condition was infuriating and heartbreaking.

Honestly, the only thing that kept him back from really tearing into David was Emma calling out for him from the cave. His heart gave a leap at that, one that was clearly distinguishable from the rolling of his stomach that typically accompanied nausea, and he headed in with one last glance at David. He could deal with him later, but he’d not leave a lady waiting.

“What is this place? What are we doing here?” she demanded impatiently, trying to make out anything in the dark of the cave. Ever one for the dramatic reveal, Killian headed straight to a waiting torch on the back wall and quickly made to light it with his flint against his hook. At least, he had hoped it would be quickly, but the ever present humidity made that difficult; and then David was again pushing him aside with some firestarter from his realm. Bloody hell, was that man stubborn. But it had the desired effect, and Emma quickly realized where they were. “Neal,” she said on a breath, studying the chalk drawings that covered nearly every surface. “This is where he lived.” 

“Aye,” he confirmed. “Baelfire spent some time in Neverland as a boy. This was his home.” His eyes were immediately drawn to a reproduction of the port and starboard coordinates that were still etched into the Jolly Roger’s helm, sending a wave of guilt and sadness through him.

The group wasted no time in beginning to search for a clue as to how Bae had left; clearly, it had been in a rush. And if Killian used it as an excuse to hover around Emma...well, that was his business. 

“Anything important?” he asked as she inspected the wall.

“I can't tell yet. I didn't know he liked drawing.” 

“He got it from his mother,” Killian found himself blurting out; it was also easy to see Milah’s influence in Bae’s style, and his hand immediately fluttered to his belly on instinct. Emma gave him a sympathetic half smile, but then turned her attention back to the task at hand—and in the process, discovered the way off...partly. 

It was a rather ingenious device, he had to admit: a star map hidden in a coconut. Practical and creative; he couldn’t help the rush of pride he felt when he explained it to the group.

“Then you can read it,” Regina stated, uncharacteristically hopeful. Which made the next part all the harder. 

“Sadly, no.” Because of course, Bae had made sure to encode the coordinates in a manner that only he could read.

“Which means the only person who can read it is dead,” Emma summarized, clearly upset. She tossed the map aside and hurried out of the cave in a fluster. Her parents tried to follow, but didn’t get far before she told them she needed space.

Kililan only waited a minute before following.

She was only a few yards outside the cave entrance, forearm pressed against a tree as she stared at the ground and, most likely, was trying not to express any undesired emotion.

“You alright, love?” he said quietly, not wanting to startle her. 

She huffed. “No, not really. Just one step forward and three back, every fucking day.”

She continued to rant without any input from him—about the jungle, about Pan, about missing Henry, and her mixed feelings toward Bae. And it became abundantly clear to Killian that she needed a respite (he certainly could use one, too).

He knew just the place, too. “Swan, can I show you something?”

“Is it another way off the island?”

“Afraid not, but I think it’s what you need right now.”

She sighed, mildly defeated (which was still as much as he’d ever seen from her), but nodded.

It was a short walk to their destination—still within earshot of the Charmings if needed—but far enough to give them both some needed room to breathe. He brushed back a swag of foliage (after checking for dreamshade) and gestured for Emma to step through. 

Years ago, he’d discovered the small spring here; one of the few parts of the island not bent on murdering its inhabitants. The water was fresh and cool, and various fruits and edible plants grew around the edge. Back then, he’d made a point to keep access to it open for Bae; he was relieved to see nothing had changed, save for the few vines grown over the entrance. 

“It’s beautiful,” Emma sighed—a heavy thing of both awe and relief. 

“Aye. Only a few places like it on the island.”

“Let me guess: the water is acid or something?”

He chuckled. “Blessedly, no. It’s one of the safest places here, actually. Bae would come here often—for water, and to bathe.”

She sighed. “Yeah, one of those sounds great right about now.”

“Go right ahead,” he said, gesturing to the spring. “I’ll keep a lookout for you.”

She arched an eyebrow and smirked. “How do I know this isn’t just a ploy to get me out of my clothes? Don’t forget: I know what pregnancy hormones are like.”

She wasn’t wrong, and he couldn’t help the rush of thrill when she flirted with him like that, sarcastic as it was—or the slight southern rush of blood. “Well, I had planned to do the same, if you’d offer me the same courtesy once you’re done.”

“Okay. But turn around,” she directed. He couldn’t say no to that.

He also wasn’t about to divulge the places his imagination wandered as he heard the gentle splashes of water as she cleaned herself.

She didn’t take long—he could tell she was used to being efficient when it came to hygiene, like he was—and was fully dressed by the time he turned around, though her wet hair was still dripping. And he was more relieved than he planned on that she was already facing away when it came time to remove his tunic; he was by no means ashamed of the curve of his belly, but showing off something that was apparently unnatural to the woman he fancied was suddenly a mortifying endeavor.

He was quick, too, in washing up, and in getting redressed—at least his tunic; he let his vest hang unbuttoned for a bit. It had also been a minor bit of relief to undo it, and he’d need a moment to subtly loosen the laces in order to make it both more comfortable and better disguise his slight bump.

He’d given Emma the all clear to turn around before he did that, though, lest she get suspicious. Although—she seemed mildly disappointed when she did.

“What’s wrong, love?”

“Nothing, just...you didn’t have to hide your bump, if that’s what you were doing,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

“Bummed you couldn’t see me shirtless?” he quipped.

That drew a wry, side-eyed grin from her, before she sat down on a stone near the edge of the spring and took a long sip from her freshly filled jug. There was enough space on it next to her for another person to join, but he didn’t want to impose...at least, not until she called out, “Are you gonna join me or not?”

He picked up his vest and coat from where he’d left them in the sand of the small beach and made his way over, then settled next to her. She passed over the canteen; the water was cool and refreshing—and he nearly dropped it when the babe gave a strong kick. “I guess this one likes it too,” he said after he passed it back, and let his hand rest over his belly. It wasn’t often he felt strong movements like that, but each one was reassuring—that his babe was safe from all the dangers of this murderous island.

“Have they been doing that a lot?” Emma asked.

“Here and there; that’s one of the stronger ones I’ve felt.”

“I remember when Henry first did that,” she started. “I dropped my lunch tray, I was so startled. And they wouldn’t give me any more food. But it was...kind of incredible.”

He only understood half those words, but understood the sentiment. “I was still locked up in Tamara’s apartment when I felt the first one.”

“What a coincidence; I was in prison.”

He was growing to hate the number of parallels in their lives.

“Anyways—how’s everything else? Any nausea, cravings, anything?”

It was touching that she was so concerned, but he didn’t dare complain about anything other than the intermittent nausea. As she’d said, she knew about the hormones. “Although, my boots have been annoying tight,” he did add, “and I need to loosen my vest a bit.”

Her eyes had drifted to his midsection, but quickly glanced up. He couldn’t fault her for being curious, so he tugged the edge of his tunic up to reveal his stomach.

“Aww, that’s a cute bump,” she gushed; it was an odd thing to say, he thought, but she clearly meant it as a compliment. “You said sixteen weeks, right?”

“Aye,” he answered, impressed she remembered.

“Yeah, I think that’s where I was with Henry around then. I carried it all in front, apparently.” She quickly grew quiet, and he could tell that wasn’t the sort of thing she shared with too many people. But then her expression grew quizzical. “Can I ask...how, or where, exactly are you carrying?”

“I clearly have a womb,” he said, trying to make light of what was clearly going to be an awkward anatomical conversation.

“Well, yeah, but…you’re a guy. Also clearly,” she responded, eyes glancing at his groin.

“Yes; I have both, then, if that’s what you’re asking, but my womb is...I suppose less functional than yours.”

“So...what, you don’t get periods or something? How does this all work?”

He chuckled at her bluntness and explained—how his womb was something of a secondary characteristic, menstruation only occurred once a year or so, and conception was also only possible at a specific time and when the female partner was on top (a fact that made her blush). “Milah and I...our last joining before she died, it would have been the right circumstances, but given how slim the chances of conception were, it wasn’t something we were concerned with.”

“It only takes once,” she said knowingly.

“That it does,” he agreed.

They settled into an easy silence, and the baby started kicking again, even more once he put his palm over it.

“Do you...want to feel it?” he asked; no one but the doctor had thus far, but he knew women and their partners and friends usually shared those moments. They counted as friends, right?

He was worried she might think he was crossing a line, but she grinned. “Yeah!”

Gently, he took her hand and placed it over the spot just to the side of his navel where the babe was pressing. Hopefully, she didn’t notice his quick intake of breath at the feel of her warm palm on his skin.

If she did, it was quickly forgotten when the little one was kicking at her hand; her eyes lit up. “Hey there, kid,” she said softly. “Look at you, growing big and strong.”

She looked up at him, smiling—and very close to him, a fact she too seemed to suddenly realize, and she quickly moved away. 

They lingered at the pond a while longer, enjoying the respite from the craziness of their journey. 

But Killian couldn’t stop his heart from racing, and he wasn’t sure if it was from Emma’s proximity, or her interest in his babe, or both.

(Emma, she was surprised to find, was facing a similar predicament. She couldn’t linger on it, she knew, but maybe when they were done, she could try to figure out what that meant.)

But for one minute, they were just two friends enjoying a quiet moment.

————————————————–

thanks for reading! tagging  @cocohook38​​​​​​ @wyntereyez​​​​​​ @jennjenn615​​​​​​ @superadam54​​​​​​ @ashley-knightingale​​​​​​ @justsomewhump​​​ @teamhook​ (let me know if you want a tag!)

[lepus-arcticus]

50.

Life, she’s always been taught, begins at the moment of conception. 

It begins, then, at some undetermined hour; on some dappled afternoon on the floor of her living room, her legs twisted tight around Mulder’s narrow, urgent hips. Or it begins on his couch, her sweat-damp back slick against the scarred leather, traces of brewer’s yeast and buttered popcorn lingering on his tongue. A boozy night in the generative lather of the sea. An after-hours liaison in one of the cramped Hoover laboratory bathrooms. A stripped motel queen-size, her bliss-bright eyes shining back at her from the mirror above the dresser. But life does not begin at conception. It begins years and years ago, in an office underground. It begins with his hot palm meeting hers in a lazy handshake, his sylvan gaze tempting her down into the underworld. It begins with Quantico, with Stanford and UMD, with a textbook on the beach, a rabbit’s maggoty corpse, a B.B. pellet in the shredded neck of a garter snake. 

Life begins before life, in the dark, secret world of her own mother’s womb. The female fetus, at 20 weeks gestation, already carries a million ova; ova that her body whittles down to 300,000 specimens by the time she reaches biological maturity. Even then, the body only offers up roughly 400 of these ova for fertilization during the body’s reproductive career, sacrificing a handful of failed follicles at every full moon, only presenting one or two perfect beads of potential, primed for transcendence, awaiting the wriggling violence of one similarly tenacious and unlikely spermatozoon.

It is a survivor, this little life. It has escaped the unearthly harvest; it has slipped through the procreative gauntlet. It has been activated by the only person remotely capable of such a thing, gifted a spirit, invited quietly into the endless spiral dance. 

Mulder—

-

Scully fights her way up through the terror, jolting awake with a gasp. 

Stiff hospital bed beneath her, monitors sedately beeping, sweat dampening her collar. Her heart hammering, her stomach sour. His screams echoing through the pathways of her nerves. 

She recalls so little—it was all light, just a scorching, fulgent light that stirred and fluttered, trying to make figures and faces before melting back into itself over and over. What remains is how she felt when they returned her; gravely violated, afflicted with a bizarre and foreign emptiness, as though she’d been turned inside out and back again, clumsily stitched back into something only slightly resembling the body she used to inhabit. 

But God, surely they’d keep him unconscious, surely, please God, at least let him be unconscious—

And why did she play with him like that, why did she tease him so relentlessly, why did she need to hear him say it so many goddamned times, what was she thinking—

And maybe he wouldn’t have gone if she’d just—

She swallows the rising lump in her throat, trying to calm herself, because this is not the right time, because panic is not productive, because she remembers a pregnant Tara telling her that stress is bad for the baby—the baby, my God—

Slowly, she slips a trembling hand over the flat plane of her belly, a callous from handling her gun catching on the thin hospital robe. She tries to feel something, anything, reaching out desperately to any part of herself that might be able to sense the surreal phenomenon taking place within her, any sliver of herself that knows, like any good mother should, that she is not alone. 

The blood test has confirmed it. She has the science to back it up. She has done her due diligence, scheduling a dating ultrasound with the help of a bubbly nurse, sending a restless Skinner to the pharmacy for prenatal vitamins and cocoa butter. 

But evidence is not enough. For the first time in her life, hard evidence is simply not enough. 

Mulder—

-

Strangers in their office, frenzied as vultures at the kill. Kersh stern and sneering. It is the sickening indignity of Melissa’s sham of a murder investigation all over again—these men don’t want the truth, and they never have. They don’t care if they find him. They don’t respect his work, don’t know his heart, can’t even begin to comprehend the beauty or importance of his radical curiosity. Mulder is, to these people, an anecdote to relay at the Fourth of July block party. He’s a joke. 

It’s no wonder the man they chose to head the task force isn’t even a good enough agent to tell a convincing lie. As if Mulder even had the time to sleep around, not to mention the inclination—Mulder, who alone had stolen her back from forces unknown in Antarctica. Mulder, who picked up her dry cleaning and her mail, who’d borrowed and scrawled notes in half the books in her bookshelf. Mulder, who was so obsessed with eating her out that she often had to yank him off by the hair. 

Mulder, who’d been asking her to marry him since 1998. 

Mulder. 

-

The room is dark, the gel is cold, the ultrasound tech blessedly sedate and straightforward. Scully watches as the image on the screen between them refines itself with every exploratory glide of the wand over her skin, becoming clearer as the tech zeroes in on her uterus and taps at the keyboard, adjusting the picture with tidy, sure movements. 

“Placenta,” the woman murmurs in affirmation, as if to herself. Scully watches the static, colourless landscape carefully, closely, her breath suspended. 

“And… here... is the fetus.”

A bright smudge floats in a pool of dark night. Indistinct, amorphous, curled in on itself. But one thing is unmistakable: in its center, there is a rhythmic, flickering heartbeat. The scientist within her marvels. The wife within her mourns. 

“And you can’t confirm the date of your last period, correct?” 

“No,” she breathes, blinking back tears, unable to look away from the soundscape effigy displayed on the screen. “I mean, yes. I mean... it’s, uh, it’s been a little erratic since… I’m a cancer survivor, it’s been… my cycle's been unpredictable for some years.” Scully explains, feeling a small twinge of shame, as though she’s a teenager who’s been deeply irresponsible in her boyfriend’s back seat on homecoming night. 

The tech nods, expressionless. She silently takes a few measurements, typing cryptic notes in rapid succession, leaving Scully to grapple with a myriad of emotions she assumed she’d never have the occasion to experience. “Well, Ms. Scully,” the tech says. “I don’t like to leave my patients in the dark—I’d like to assure you that everything is looking perfectly normal. I’ll just slip out and have the doctor look over these to confirm, but to my estimation, it looks like you’re about nine weeks along. We’re all done—feel free to clean yourself up, dispose of the napkin in this bin here—” 

Scully wipes her midsection clean, trying to visualize what lies beneath the skin, achingly aware that this still feels like a dream, a nightmare, like anything but real life.  

“Congratulations,” the tech offers straightforwardly, before snipping the door shut behind her. 

Nine weeks. Nine. Before the jinniyah, before the cigarettes, before even California. Nine weeks. 

Mulder—

- 

The acrid burn of bile in her throat, her mother’s cold and empty answering machine. A ghost of her lover walking the halls of her apartment building, or a copy, an imitation. 

She absconds to Hegel Place, prays for the first time in years, falls asleep clutching a dirty shirt, hunting for any comforting trace of his cologne, his spiced and musky sweat. She sees Missy from afar in her dreams, shouts her name, watches her walk away. She sees Mulder, metal, light. 

When she wakes, she is not alone. It’s clear that in this chase, it is she who is the fox, and John Doggett the hound, calling back to his ruthless, frothing masters for blood while she is trapped in her hollow, trying only to protect her young. Theirs—

Mulder—

-

Gibson Praise underground, dust in his hair, his fibula snapped. Empty sky stretching over a cruel expanse of sand, dreams upon dreams, shapeshifters twisting, searching, disappearing into the night. She paces the drifting hills like a penitent, seeking forgiveness from the universe—she believes, she believes, she feels him, have mercy—

God, Mulder, please, have mercy—

-

She shoots a monster who looks like a friend. The enemy cradles her like she is a child. 

She dreams, she wakes. She calls out, and Mulder answers her from deep inside her womb, and from somewhere beyond the starline. 

- Incrementum