#my stressed out middle aged anxious queen | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

that-was-anticlimactic · 4 years ago

Text

Sokka with Tourette’s Headacanons Part Two

that no one asked for but here they are because I wanted to write more

Part One here and links to all of my other TS headcanons and such at the end!

*rubs hands together*

let’s start with premonitory urge and Sokka’s experience with it!

for those who don’t know, premonitory urges are essentially sensory tics. It’s when you feel a sensation or a discomfort in your body where you want to-- no, need to do something for touch something. For example, it can be as simple as this feeling in my body and head that I need to rub my phone screen a certain way. If I don’t rub it, the uncomfortable feeling will linger and make me anxious or extra fidgety. They can also increase tics.

Now, in Sokka’s life with TS, he has had... some problems with premonitory urge. When he was younger and training to be a warrior, there were multiple occasions where he almost sliced his fingers off because he kept getting this physical feeling that he had to touch the swords or spears etc... a certain way.

When he gets older, he finds that they start to bother him during council meetings in the Fire Nation, especially when Zuko is doing important stuff so he has to sit far away.

They’ll be in the middle of an important meeting when Sokka looks up from his doodling to glance at Zuko and this tingling, gravitational feeling suddenly moves through his body and he can’t stop staring at the edge of Zuko’s chair and he knows that he needs to rub it.

Obviously, he can’t just get up in the middle of the meeting, walk over to the Fire Lord, and rub his chair (even though they are dating and Zuko would definitely let him)

I have had experiences like this during class where I would mentally shut down or have to calm myself down from an anxiety attack because I need to rub the white board my teacher is writing on or the teacher’s desk but we are literally in the middle of class so I can’t do that (doesn’t always end like that, but that’s worse case scenario). And it sucks. So much. So, Sokka is miserable.

One time Sokka was so focused on not having an anxiety attack because his body was telling him that he needed to rub the surface of a Fire Nation elder’s desk-thingy that’s in front of his chair (because sometimes his body hates him and it happens to people he doesn’t know that well’s stuff) that he mentally shut down. He ended up squatting in his chair, rocking back and forth for ten minutes after the meeting ended without realizing it because all he could think was don’t interrupt the meeting, don’t be weird, don’t embarrass Zuko

Zuko, being the fantastic boyfriend he is, noticed that Sokka didn’t leave the meeting and thought it looked like an anxiety attack. He kind of just sat with him. He didn’t touch him because he knew Sokka wouldn’t want it and wouldn’t be able to coherently answer if he asked to touch him. Zuko just started talking about random things to try to get his mind off of the feeling.

Once he got back into the moment (with help from Zuko’s dulcet voice), he ran to the desk-thingy and rubbed it. Like, almost dramatically ran his hand across the desk and kind of just let his hand take over and rub whatever part he needed to.

Zuko was confused because this had never happened before (well, it had, but not to this extreme in front of him and Sokka never said anything) so Zuko never knew).

Sokka was kind of embarrassed, but he told Zuko about it and together they came up with a signal for when it got really bad so Zuko could either call a five minute break or make an excuse to switch seats so he could sit next to his boyfriend.

This is another reason that Zuko keeps random things on him at all times so if it gets bad, Sokka will have more to do with his hands than draw, write sentences over and over again, take notes, and tap.

Actually, lowkey stealing this particular headcanon from @tikmasjiens and their story For When He’s Being a Dumb*ss (which I highly suggest reading-- it’s fantastic!): Katara and Zuko (for the purposes of later in life when they’re dating because of course imma make it Zukka) carry little fidget kits / bags around for Sokka because he is forgetful and is sometimes so focused on one particular thing that he starts to run late for a meeting or lunch or hang out that he forgets his own personal fidget things.

The amazing Katara and Zuko have random things: brushes, atla equivalent at paper clips (aka metal things he can bend) (yes, yes, we’ve been hiding this from the world, but people with Tourette’s are actually paper clip benders lol), dice, Pai Sho tiles, and other little trinkets.

One time when Sokka was walking around an Earth Kingdom market out of boredom (and this is after the war because I just want him to not be on edge during this), he sees this young girl making noises and movements similar to him and he sees these two other kids mocking her and laughing at her and Sokka just sees red.

He actually goes over and scolds the kids (who don’t care enough to stay and listen ugh but that’s not the main focus of Sokka’s concern so it’s whatever for now) and this young girl sees him (at around age 17-18) making noises and moving ‘weirdly’ too and she’s just like “I’ve never seen anyone else do that stuff before”

and Sokka kind of just sits down with her and talks to her about his own experience and it’s not anything to be ashamed of, even though it can feel like that sometimes.

he rummages through his pockets and pulls out some of his fidget stuff and gives it to her. He, Zuko, and Katara have plenty of fidget stuff for him. Losing a few won’t matter.

Eventually, her parents return and they part ways. They never see each other again, but they never forgot each other either. It was both of their first time seeing someone else like them.

(and personal anecdote, but one time I was faculty at a camp for the weekend, and one of the kids in my group had just gotten diagnosed with Tourette’s and that was one of the most meaningful experiences I have ever had. I got to talk to him and his mom about my experience and it was... I’ll never forget that)

Sokka may be the protective older brother, but Katara is also the terrifying ‘you hurt my brother I will ruin you’ younger sister. One time, someone mocked Sokka’s tics and Katara’s protective instincts kicked in and she lectured them so hard. and very loudly. so everyone heard.

again, y’all, I know this is about Sokka with TS but WOW I love Katara too, what a queen. Let’s take a moment and appreciate the queen that she is.

Ty Lee and Sokka do yoga together at least twice a week. They both find it relaxing and fun and nice, but it also helps Sokka begin the day with less stress in his body. It doesn’t cure his TS, because there is no cure and he needs no cure, but it definitely helps sometimes.

Something that absolutely kills Sokka is that he wants to cuddle with Zuko at night so badly, but sometimes he genuinely just can’t. Zuko’s arms around him will make him feel too trapped and restrained, his arms around Zuko make him paranoid that if he moves too much, he’ll make Zuko uncomfortable and just stressed himself out by only being able to think about “am I moving too much?” “can Zuko feel me move?” “stay still stay still stay still” and it’s just not fun and he gets tense

But sometimes, he can cuddle and he loves it! Because as much as he hates being held, he desperately longs to be held. As self-conscious as he gets when he holds Zuko, he wants to be able to hold Zuko.

So when he feels like he can cuddle with Zuko, he gets so excited!

Zuko swears up and down that the lack of cuddling on occasion does not bother him, but Sokka still has trouble believing him (not that he doesn’t trust him, but he can’t understand how someone would be okay with it)

One time, Sokka was so distressed about whether or not Zuko was upset with him or pretending not to be upset to spare his feelings that Zuko invited Toph over so she could inform Sokka that he was, in fact, telling the truth about it being okay that they can’t always cuddle and be physically affectionate.

Sokka’s verbal tics both annoy him and don’t annoy him. He’s so used to hearing them that they don’t bother him anymore, but sometimes they make it hard for him to talk and he can feel them and that’s what bothers him.

He’s also self-conscious that everyone hates his verbal tics and are annoyed by them.

On a really bad head day for Sokka, the gaang was going to see a theatrical show per Zuko’s request and it was the first time in months they had all been able to hang out together and Sokka wasn’t having a good tic day and was so genuinely afraid to go to the show because he was going to tic and make noises and what if he distracted everyone? what if the strangers in the audience got mad at him? what if the ushers forced him to leave? how embarrassing would that be?

so he pretended to be sick and didn’t go

but Toph saw through his crap and stayed behind as well because “you’ve heard a play once, you’ve heard it a thousand times” and when everyone leaves, she calls Sokka out and asks him what was up

and he knew he couldn’t get away with lying to Toph, so he told her the truth and she just kind of laughed and went “they don’t bother any of us, seriously”

and Sokka was just “how do you know? It’s not like how much my tics don’t annoy you come up naturally in conversation”

and Toph goes “I don’t need to talk to them about it to know that no one’s bothered by them. Besides, they care about you more than they care about what sounds you make” then punched his arm

(and if Sokka silently cried, no one needed to know)

so, overtime, he gets the nerve to ask everyone individually (because there’s no way he could do everyone at once) just to make sure he wasn’t bothering them. He doesn’t get to ask everyone because some of them kind of get a feeling that he’s anxious about it (and if Zuko maybe mentioned it to some people so they approached him and causally mentioned they weren’t bothered, no one needs to know oops) (don’t worry, Zuko didn’t say anything super personal. Just like “tell Sokka his tics don’t bother you because he thinks they do”. Not like the details and stuff Sokka told him in private)

Katara didn’t answer, just asked if she could hug him and said that she loved him no matter what (and ten minutes later asked him if anyone told him that because if someone in the gaang said it, then she wouldn’t be afraid to spill blood)

Zuko, ever the dramatic and romantic one, knelt in front of Sokka (who was sitting) and went “I love you. I love every single part of you.” *kisses his hands* “I love you for your finger clenching and fist pumping.” *kisses his shoulders* “I love you for your shoulder rolling...” *kisses his neck* “your neck twitches...” *kisses his nose* “your nose scrunching...” *gently kisses each eye* “your blinking...” *kisses his lips* “and for every verbal and motor tic you’ve ever had and ever will have”

(look, I’m just... I’m so soft for that moment and I think about it constantly)

Suki gives him this hard and serious look and says “you are not annoying. You never have been and you never will be” and from just her stare and tone of voice, he knows she’s telling the truth.

Aang immediately just starts rambling and is like “I’m so sorry if I ever made you feel that way but you as so far from annoying! Honestly, sometimes I forget they’re even there I’m just so used to them-- not that they’re forgetful or anything, but they’re just so normal to me that I don’t notice-- why are you crying? Did I say that wrong? I’m sorry--”

and Sokka just grabs him and hugs him and says “No. I love you. Thank you.”

Mai is bad at emoting but she tells him “I don’t mind them. They’re comforting. Sometimes. Better than the sound of an empty house or screaming.”

Ty Lee immediately goes into “who told you you were annoying? I have some new moved I’d like to try. Give me names and they’re test subjects number one” and even Sokka feels fear at the look on her face even though the anger isn’t directed towards him

Azula is kind of snarky at first (because she’s trying not to, but it’s hard and it’s not her fault). She just gives him this seriously? look and kind of goes “you really think they’re significant enough to bother me?” and Sokka knows that’s Azula’s healing way of saying “no, they don’t bother me”

okay but let’s also talk about Hakoda and Piandao and Iroh because I want to and I love them

Hakoda kind of does what Katara does and asks if he can hug him and just tells him how proud he is of Sokka for the man that he’s become and that his TS is a part of who he is and it’s a part of his identity and there’s nothing his TS could ever do to make him any less proud

Piandao actually talked to Sokka about it during Sokka’s Master because it was holding him back of bit. Sokka was kind of embarrassed and was getting frustrated with it. Piandao sat him down and told him that perceived weaknesses are actually one of our greatest strengths. Being a nonbender looks like a weakness to many benders who rely solely on their bending, but it takes a certain kind of person to be a nonbender and that’s something to be proud of. The things that make you different are sometimes the things that teach you how special you are.

Piandao just sees so much potential and good in Sokka and Sokka looks up to him so much.

Iroh always lends Sokka extra or old Pai Sho tiles to fidget with. He also has this relaxing tea that helps his mind feel calm. Again, not with the intent to “fix” or “cure” him, but it helps his anxiety levels go down, in turn helping his tics relax.

Iroh tells Sokka that his tics are nothing to be ashamed of and that true friends would stick with him, tics or no tics.

hey? hey? guess what? Bumi ll didn’t just inherent the nonbending from Sokka, he also got the Tourette’s genes:)

imagine the Uncle / Nephew bonding between them

like, Bumi ll asks him why Kya and Tenzin don’t do weird things but he does? and Sokka just smiles sadly because he knows the feeling and talks to him about Tourette’s.

Bumi ll also got lucky because Katara saw the signs instantly and got him tested as soon as she could.

Let’s just say, aside from the gaang, the Kataang family is the most supportive family of his TS:) (it doesn’t hurt that his aunts and uncles will hung down anyone who ever makes him feel like trash and lecture them or their parents oops)

this is something I have mentioned before, but Sokka struggles to sit through meetings. Having TS and ADHD make it so hard for him.

sometimes he just feels so out of place because in this room full of people, he’s the only one rocking back and forth in his chair and changing his position every three seconds and jerking his head. He just feels... so wrong when he sees how still everyone else is sitting. Yeah, occasionally he’ll see some people tapping their foot or tapping the table in front of them with their fingers, but it’s not the same.

BUT on a happy note and not to make this all depressing (because TS sucks sometimes, but there’s nothing wrong with it or us and it’s a part of who we are) Sokka 100% has a top ten list of his favorite and least favorite tics of all time (I don’t know if people keep track of their favorites or if that’s just something I like to do, but I would imagine that a decent amount of people with TS know their favorites and least favorites)

I won’t bore y’all with an actual list, but his favorite tic is rocking back and forth. The motion is so soothing and comforting to him. Like, it feels right to be rocking. Yeah, sometimes he gets self-conscious about it, especially if he’s the only one in the room moving, but it feels so nice and right.

Sokka: *tics a couple times in a row* ughhhh that was not fun

Toph: *jokingly* wow, I mean, can’t you just, I don’t know, stop? Just, not do it?

Sokka: *jokingly* great idea, Toph! Why didn’t I think of that? All I needed to do all along was just not want to tic!

Toph is the only one ever allowed to do this bit with him. Sokka thinks it’s the funniest thing and it never fails to make laugh

Toph said that out of sarcastic instinct one time and almost choked on her drink because she felt so bad but Sokka was stifling a laugh and replied super sarcastically and then just laughed.

Toph still felt really bad and apologized (Sokka told her it was fine and he wasn’t upset, but she’s also been on the other side of jokes like that and it’s not fun).

Now, though, it’s kind of their thing. They do it every once in awhile and it flows like any other banter. It just happens and they don’t even blink.

(if anyone else did that to Sokka, though, Toph would probably rob them or like soak their clothes in cactus juice so they’re all sticky idk, she just wouldn’t stand for it)

Sokka actually takes a leave of absence from being an ambassador to travel around the four nations and visit schools with Toph and Zuko (who also take breaks). The three of them go to educate schools on disabilities (their own and others).

Sokka also personally makes it his mission to sit in one class at every school and see if there’s anything that he can give advice on. Sometimes, he talks to principals and teachers about how to help accommodate students with learning or “disruptive” disabilities so that they can get the best education that they can while still feeling comfortable and safe.

Now, the three don’t get this all done at once, it takes a year or two, but they do it and all three are just... really proud of it.

Sokka really struggles with Locus of Control (LOC). For those who don’t know, LOC is “ a psychological concept that refers to how strongly people believe they have control over the situations and experiences that affect their lives” (Ed.glossary.org).

Sokka, as many headcanon, likes having control over situations or likes having things ordered and scheduled. He doesn’t like changes to his schedule, he likes having schedules... his tics, on the other hand, are not something he can control or schedule

Giving up that control is hard for him. It wasn’t too bad as a child in a super small village, but once he left the SWT with Aang and Katara, he realized how different having tics was (although he was the only one back at home with tics, he often worked with restless children)

He went through a period of time where he thought that he could control his tics, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t. Thus, the loss of control he feels.

He actually went through a ‘phase’ once where he thought that maybe he was making his tics up and doing them on purpose for attention or to be different or something. Katara quickly shut him down and told him that he wasn’t doing that.

I once saw someone say that Sokka has imposter syndrome and I think it correlates a bit with LOC in this context (I should actually do some research about that...).

Learning to understand that he won’t always have control is hard for him. Like. Really hard. He tried so desperately to control his tics and it just increased his anxiety and wore him out. Trying to control tics freaking hurts.

Aang is actually the one to help him with that. He’s had a lot of experience of not being able to control his own life, and although their situations are different, he has methods he uses to attempt to prevent himself from overthinking too much and letting his anxiety take control.

After that, Sokka doesn’t struggle with LOC as badly as he did before. It still sneaks in time after time, but it’s never too prominent and Aang is always there with some advice and distractions:)

(I just also love Aang so much and he deserves the world)

Although Sokka is “weird” with touch, there is one type of touch he is almost always on board with: massages. Massages. I’ll say it one more time: massages. They feel so nice. He carries so much stress in his back and shoulders because of how much he moves them due to his tics.

Zuko can tell when Sokka’s shoulders and back start to hurt really badly and will just sit behind him, heat his hands up (not too much), and give him the absolute best massages.

No. Seriously. Zuko gives the best massages (Sokka once wanted to return the favour and uhhh.... Zuko was not a fan. Although Friends isn’t the best show to take examples from, but uhh Sokka gives massages like Monica Gellar. That is all. Zuko gets his massages from Ty Lee).

Suki gives the second best massages.

Katara third.

So, there’s this one Kyoshi Warrior that works with Suki on guard that Sokka just can’t crack. She has an RBF and rolls her eyes and stuff a lot and she uhhh is kind of rather facially expressive but like, RBF style, so one time when Sokka is having a bad tic day, she makes a face.

It wasn’t aimed towards him, it was about something else, but his heart just breaks because this girl he had been trying to get to open up a bit to him and let loose and not be so freaking serious all of the time hates him.

and later she approached him and just “Sorry. I don’t... I don’t get annoyed by your tics or you or anything. I find them soothing and, I don’t know, nice. Like a reminder that the Fire Lord’s boyfriend is still safe. And they sound nice. I don’t hate them. Or. You.” (look, feelings are hard for her)

and Sokka just :D

alrighty, this is longer than I intended... so we’ll end with me mentioning something I mentioned last time: Yue! (I love her). She never once brings up Sokka’s tics. She never makes faces or asks him why he makes sounds. She’s studied a lot, and while there isn’t too much out there about TS, it’s the NWT, they have lots of books. She could see the signs and assumed.

Never once in the amount of time that they knew each other did she mention it. Sokka appreciated not having to explain himself. He felt safe and welcome there with Yue.

Thank you for reading, anyone who made it to the bottom! I enjoy talking about TS as well as my own experience with it. I love writing about Sokka with TS in particular. There isn’t a lot of TS rep out there, really only the one episode of South Park (don’t watch the show, but I watched the clips about Tourette’s education that the Tourette’s Association of America approved of. It was really heartfelt and lovely to watch and is also a good representation of coprolalia!) and the movie Front of the Class.

My ask box is always available for questions about TS, Sokka with TS, Jay (Ninjago) with TS, anyone’s personal TS headcanons or experience, or any underrepresented neurological disorder that you want to share!

List of TS Stuff Already Written: Part One here , Deeper Than Words (a oneshot I wrote on ao3 of Sokka with TS), a lovely Sokka with TS oneshot written by @tikmasjiens (sorry for tagging you twice ahhh) here , Stuck (a Sokka with TS excerpt from a fic I’m writing), NInjago Jay!TS Oneshot

169 notes · View notes

aclosetfan · 4 years ago

Text

I’m still mad about Bunny from an earlier post so here’s some headcanons for an au affectionately titled “what could have happen if CN didn’t nuke the one ppg with an intellectual disability”

Long post! Look under the cut!

Bunny has Down Syndrome!

The Professor is a little...tifted when he finds out his children made another child, but Professor is a man full of love, so he takes it in stride. He’s never mad at Bunny, but the triplets have a very long and thorough talking to.

Bunny is an adjustment, but so were the triplets. Professor adjusts well to the change. He doesn’t like his lil honey bun (cause ofc he has embarrassing nicknames for her too) to go out and fight. He doesn’t want her getting too overstimulated and would rather leave the bigger villains to the girls. He can’t stop Bunny from running to help when her sisters call though!

Bunny is no damsel in distress!

But for the most part, Bunny does her part for the team by helping the professor in the lab! She’s a little uncoordinated when she gets excited, but so is the Professor, so it’s a match made in heaven. She has her own lab gear and happily hands over tools and chemicals (w/supervision!) at the Professor’s request. She also very good at reminding the professor when it’s time for a break. Bunny doesn’t let him miss snack or bedtime.

She also makes sure his experiment have a touch of cutesy because Bunny loves her a bit of sparkle and frills!

Having a sister with an obvious disability is difficult for the girls in their own ways. But Bunny really teaches the girls a lot!

For Blossom, she has a hard time puzzling how Bunny was going to live a fulfilling life in an unforgiving world. Since Blossom strives for control over things she doesn’t understand, it takes her a little bit (and a few lectures from the professor) to realize that Bunny will find her own place and that she doesn’t have to be so anxious. Bunny will be fine. She’ll be okay. She’s not so fragile. (But Blossom still has bouts of extreme worry that her little sister won’t ever be accepted) Like I said though, Blossom strives for control and tries to help the Professor keep Bun well structured and safely entertained, but Bunny’s has an independent mind of her own and teaches Blossom that while structure is good, everyone deserves a little fun!

For Buttercup it’s a giant lesson in calm and patience, which if you follow the show, is generally the lesson Buttercup needs to learn. But Bunny isn’t Bubbles or another kid on the playground, she’s special in a different way and even though she has super powers too and can get a little rough—because Bunny often forgets her own strength—Buttercup has to often be remind that she needs to be gentle. It takes a little bit for Buttercup to realize that Bunny doesn’t get things right away and what Buttercup thinks is funny can be hurtful to her. But Buttercup does learn and she’s extremely protective of her baby sister. She finds games and sports that they both enjoy, and every once in while Buttercup will buckle down and play the princess that Bunny has to save. Fr Bunny and Buttercup never give up on each other.

Bubbles is immediately the best with Bunny. It’s not so much her disability that Bubbles has an issue with, it’s more like the family displacement. Bunny gets a lot of the extra attention Bubbles has been use to. Bunny and her like a lot of the same things—dolls, coloring books, things that glitter and sparkle, bright colors, stuffed animals etc. They’re both very much into everything girly. And that means Bubbles really has to learn to share. Her stuff, her sisters, her professor—everything. Sometimes she gets a little jealous, but after an incident with Octi (where the beloved stuffed animal was ripped in two and crudely taped back together by her little sister in apology), Bubbles eventually realizes that Bunny looks up to her as a strong, tough older sister and that’s A-Ok w/ Bubs. And I know it’s cliche but I think Bubs would give Bunny Octi—not forever mind you—they share.

School’s interesting! Bunny goes to preschool with them and gets her own special teacher. But kids can be cruel and the bullies of the preschool (which is, yeah, Mitch and his group) do what they do. The sisters learn early on how to deal with insensitivity and it’s not easy (especially for BC/Blossom), but with the help of Ms. Keane, the Professor, and Bunny herself, the preschool learns that Bunny’s just a little girl who likes to play too!

I mentioned this one in a previous post, but I think Mr. Green should be her parateacher instead of the girls substitute. That way his character can stay in the show and they can have the “don’t judge a book by its cover” episode. But now it can wrap back into the episode of Bunny’s first day of school to really hit the point home! Mr Green can explain that Bunny was “different” but the girls loved her anyway, so “hey give me a chance to, I promise I won’t let you down!” (The intensity of the episode would be heightened because the girls would be extra protective of Bun) (Bunny absolutely adores Mr. Green and Ms. Keane appreciates the help!)

Bunny teaches them how to stim!! Whether it’s flappin around or playing with slime the sisters like doing it together (and tbh they’re fun stress relievers that the triplets carry into adult life)!

Also, now that I think about, I don’t feel like Bunny would get over stimulated often, but it takes her a bit to calm down when she does. Bubbles is the best at calming her down when she gets too excited, but when she’s angry, it’d be BC. I think that’s because Buttercup’s marked as an aggressive kid and, like I mentioned earlier, her and Bunny’s relationship would be filled with “learning to be calm” lessons.

Bunny has sensory issues! Nbd we all do, but Bunny doesn’t like her ears being touched so sometimes it’s hard to brush her hair. She loves Blossom’s hair though and Blossom can usually convince her that if she wants long pretty hair she needs to wash and brush her own. Blossom and the Professor are the only ones allowed to touch her hair!

Sensory wise, Bunny only likes soft cotton clothing. Everything else is too ichy. She also only wears dresses because they’re both pretty and light. good thing t-shirt dresses exist!

Purple! Bunnies! Purple! Bunnies! She has a niche and my baby fills it!

Hard ‘T’s are hard for Bunny. They round into ‘D’s instead. So Buttercup becomes Buddercup except Buddercup can sometimes be too much too, so Bunny more often then not calls her sister Buddy and that’s how Buttercup eventually earns the nickname Bud.

If you h/c the girls with fingers, the Utonium’s learn sign language, which helps when Bunny become too over stimulated or has bouts of being non verbal! Buttercup has the hardest time, Blossom catches on the quickest, Bubbles and Bunny keep making up their own signs, and Professor’s just trying to teach them all!

Can’t stay in preschool forever! Kids grow up! Sucks though :/ because the girls don’t stay in the same class. But don’t worry the triplets make sure they always eat lunch with their sister! And two weeks into middle school they realize that their baby sister doesn’t need them much anyways. She’s the queen of the SPED room. She’s so helpful, kind, and popular that she’s socially doing better then her sisters 😂😂

Bunny really gets into gymnastics! She wants to be in the special olympics, but she has super powers and the Professor has to explain that having super powers is a bit like cheating. She throws a tantrum and Bubbles, with all her crafty genius, saves the day by making fake medals and trophies. The Utoniums though are still very involved in the special olympics and other like activities . It makes them all happy and Bunny gets to hand out the medals! (Helps that she’s a superhero 😏😉 always getting that special treatment)

Guys, my gal? She’s a huge flirt! If you’re like ew no, that’s morally wrong, you need to re-evaluate what YOU know about Down Syndrome! Yes developmentally she’s a little slower, but Bunny’s still a teenager—a growing young women—and very much human, so romantic idealtions are very normal. And that applies to all our friends irl too. It just depends on a persons mental capacity! Admittedly, the Professor was a little uncomfortable at first too because there’s consent and power imbalances to think about, but the people of similar age that Bunny interacts with on the daily are people just like her—like minded individuals with puppy crushes. You can’t deny a person their humanity, so when one of the boys in her SPED class gets the courage to ask her on a date the Professor buckles down and calls the boy’s mom.

Their date is a at a park, properly chaperoned by their parents. They swing and have a good time. They end it with a hug! It’s very exciting and Bunny doesn’t stop bragging about it. Two days later she’s broken up with her new BF for the next brave soul. (Truly everything stays completely innocent don’t worry. I can understand anyone’s concern—Bunny isn’t a sexual being she’s just a romantic. Also there’s ALWAYS a chaperone)

Her family still worries though. Blossom because she always worries about Bunny and the things Bunny could be missing out on. The Professor for much the same reason + she’s his little girl. Bubbles because her LITTLE sister keeps getting more dates then her. And Buttercup doesn’t worry much, but she is annoyed because if the Professor isn’t available, she’s the one who ALWAYS has to chaperone.

Why buttercup? Don’t let her fool you. She actually volunteers. She’d chaperone any of her sisters’ dates if Blossom and Bubbles would let her. Ain’t no gross boy touching her sisters.

Tbh bunny flirts with boys most of the time to embarrass and get a rise out of her sisters. She’s a lil shit sometimes. (It’s the spice in her)

Bunny also makes sure to keep her sisters IN CHECK. If she thinks they’re being too judgmental or mean to the “bad guys,” she makes sure they remember how they were mean to HER.

Most of the main villains though don’t know her. Mojo tried something once and ended up being carted back to Townsville Correctional Facility in a gurney. Bunny has an aversion to violence after the “you’re being bad” incident, so she isn’t one to fight/protect herself (protecting her sisters is another story tho lol she’d kill for them), but her sisters are fiercely protective. Incredibly protective. So protective that when the other main villains saw Mojo carted into jail they went ��😬😬 and stayed away.

She meets Princess though! She likes Princess for all her glittery dress-up shit. Idk how yet, but I think she’d be a good catalyst for Princess’s redemption arc (along with Robin, who yes is also Bunny’s best friend). She thinks Princess’s hair is pretty and really let’s be honest Princess goes soft because she likes the positive attention. In Princess’s defense, she was never insensitive to Bunny’s disability. She’s a ppg and a ppg is what Princess wants to be. Sure, she’s petty, but goodness gracious, Blossom, she’s well versed in etiquette and that’s just uncouth.

And she meets the boys because she’s a flirt remember? Boomer’s name is her favorite but she never gets the “-er” part out. Just likes the way BOOM sounds. Her sisters have to remind her to use her inside voice, but Boomer’s a good sport about his ear drums being blown out and usually yells right on back. She thinks they’re cute! Like Princess, Bunny makes the boys feel liked and needed and helps them along their redemption arc! But they’re hesitant to be around her because they saw MoJo and....😬😬😬 (hell would freeze over before the girls let them near her anyway) (their fear is also why they aren’t completely insensitive shits towards Bunny—Mitch is a human so he got away from a beating, but someone like Butch?? Nah, BC’s always actively looking for a reason to decimate him)

Bun’s fave villain though is Fuzzy. He’s like a giant fuzzy pink teddy bear!

Bunny’s essentially made out of the exact same stuff as Blossom, Bubbles, and Buttercup. Sugar, Spice, and Everything Nice. So what if she’s a smidge bit different. Everyone loves her just the same!

#headcanons #ppg Bunny #I’d die for this girl #she deserves love #and the next story I write I’m putting her in it #if someone thinks I need to amend of change anything lemme know!!#no intention here to be insensitive!#I wrote this in a daze so sorry if it isn’t coherent

108 notes · View notes

twinkleallnight · 4 years ago

Text

The Visitor

This is my submission for Creepy Campfire Tales!

This is my first attempt in writing something creepy.

Thank you so much @speedyoperarascalparty for helping me out through this. I needed that approval!

Pairing: Liam x Riley, Drake.

Word count: 1046

Rating: Mature

Warning: hospitalisation, accident.

--------

Liam stormed into the hospital with Bastein.

“The situation is under control, your majesty. The queen has escaped with some minor injuries.” Dr Ramirez updated him as they strode to the room where Riley was been taken care of.

Dr Ramirez scurried ahead to maintain her pace with the anxious steps of the king. She finally slowed down in front of a door with a sign 'Restricted Entry.’

“We have given her some painkillers so that she feels relieved. She may be sleeping now.” She said as she opened the door for Liam. There, lying peacefully was his love, her skin looked pale against her lustrous brown curls.

Liam looked with pleading eyes at the doctor. His stoic demeanour had parted from him, the moment he had received the news. The doctor could see, not a king, but just a husband waiting to hear about the well-being of his beloved wife.

“Your majesty, she is stable. She should be back on her toes, soon” She reassured him.

“Can I wait beside her?” Liam asked with concern.

“ Yes, you may. We will keep her under observation for 48 hours.”

Liam nodded in agreement. He tiptoed and sunk into the chair next to her bed while the doctor gave them some privacy.

He gently slipped his fingers into Riley’s and held her hand. Her eyes fluttered open at his touch. “Li…”

“Love, I am so sorry. I should have been with you.”

“Please don’t say that. It wasn’t your fault. I should have listened to Mara. I thought, what harm a single ride can be without you. I was stubborn.”

Riley went for a horseback ride alone when Liam did not show up for their planned evening. Mara tried to follow but the horse Riley chose was too fast and soon it was out of control. It went beyond the estate lands, into an area Riley didn’t know well.

There was a knock on the door. Drake came in with a sullen face. “Brooks!”

“Drake, please don’t make that face.” Riley said with a sad smile.

“Either the training I gave you was insufficient or training that damn horse was a waste.” Anger surged through his veins.

Riley couldn’t control her laugh, even in pain. “ Are you going to punish the horse or me?”

Drake walked to the other side of the bed and bent down, “Never! How are you feeling?”

“I am good. Thanks to the timely help by that gentleman.”

“ Who?” Liam and Drake asked in unison.

“I fell at a place where there was some old trail. I thought this is it. No one will be able to find me here for ages. But then I heard the heavy engine of an old motorbike. And there he was. A middle-aged man, he helped me, he called the paramedics.”

“ Oh, we should express our gratitude for his timely help, then. Let me check where he is.” Liam got up to find out about the man who saved the love of his life but returned without any clue.

“We will find him out later. You need to rest now.” He placed a kiss on her forehead and she relaxed.

--------

After two weeks when Riley was in a healthier state, she insisted on revisiting the site of her accident. They still had no information about the stranger who helped the queen. Drake came along. As Riley had explained, it was a lonely trail and there was no one around.

“Are you sure this is the place?” Drake asked her.

“Yes, I remember that oak tree very well. It is unique here, you see?” Riley pointed to a red oak tree.

Liam knew well that his country mostly had white kermes oak trees. This was a much taller oak tree with red and orange leaves of autumn compared to the regular ones that were native to his land and were evergreen.

“Where do you think that gentleman come from?” Drake was getting restless as he questioned. Riley showed the old trail going around the red oak and vanishing in the woods. “We are getting nowhere with this!” Drake threw his hands up in the air.

Liam was much patient and knew Riley's strong wish to thank the person who saved her. “Do you remember anything else about him, dear?” He asked her.

“Yes, his motorbike, it was old style. It was… it had…” she peered into a zero, stressing her mind to recollect something. “ It had the symbol of king’s guard on it.”

Drake interrupted her. “That’s not possible. Such a vehicle won’t be...” She gave him an irritated look and he thought it better to shut his mouth.

She was again ruminating and suddenly blurted, “VAL 6374. That was the number! Yes, I am sure Liam. We can find him through the vehicle registration!” She was excited now and held on Liam’s arms, almost jumping.

She missed out the shocked look on Drake’s face. Drake was staring at Liam, his mouth agape while Liam was bracing for the bolt from the blue.

“Love, are you sure about the number?”

“Yes, I was flat on the ground. All I could see was the front tyre of his bike and the number plate before he got down to help me.”

Drake showed interest for the first time quizzing her. “What did he look like, Brooks?”

“Shabby dark brown hair, rugged look with a beard. He said he can’t fail the queen of Cordonia when he lifted me.” She was talking fast in enthusiasm.

Drake was not sure if he was doing the right thing but he couldn’t stop himself thinking about the probabilities. His hand moved to the rear pocket of his denim to remove his old leather wallet. He flipped through it to retrieve an old photograph and held it out for Riley. “Was this whom you met?” He could feel his heart palpitating.

“Yes! That’s him. You know him!” Riley was thrilled.

Liam calmed her down by resting his hands on her shoulders. “Riley…”

Riley took a pause and looked at her husband and her best friend puzzled. They were both serious and sharing a knowing look.

“What is it?” She was perplexed.

“Brooks, you are saying you were saved by my dead father Jackson Walker.”

Writers: @speedyoperarascalparty @walkerswhiskeygirl @kat-tia801 @riseandshinelittleblossom @cordonianroyalty @katedrakeohd @texaskitten30 @burnsoslow @twinkleallnight @queenrileyrose @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @cordonian-literature

Readers: @mom2000aggie @kingliam2019 @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @drakexwillow @liamxs-world

Permatags: @ao719 @aloneautumn @bebepac @charlotteg234 @choicesficwriterscreations @choiceskatie @cordonia-gothqueen @cordonianroyalty @drakewalker04 @gkittylove99 @glaimtruelovealways @kat-tia801 @hopefulmoonobject @hopelessromanticmonie @iam-the-kind-and-thoughtful @islandcrow @jovialyouthmusic @jaxsmutsuo @kingliam2019 @lovablegranny @mrswalkers-blog @no-one-u-know @ntoraplayschoices @princessleac1 @ritachacha @shanzay44 @texaskitten30 @sanchita012 @sfb123 @theroyalheirshadowhunter @xpandabeardontcarex @yourmajesty09

89 notes · View notes

deathbyworm · 3 years ago

Note

1, 9, 24, 30, 37, 66, 79, 80, 89, 98 for the ask game <3

1 - 'What is your middle name?' I have two! But the first one is Joan

9 - 'How tall are you?' ,,,,about 5'3 >:/

24 - 'Baths or showers?' baths for relaxing but showers if i need to properly wash my hair

30 - 'How many pillows do you sleep with?' 6 pillows, three blankets and a dog lol

37 - 'Favourite swear word?' quite fond of bastard

66 - 'Do you like long or short hair' long hair cus i enjoy plaiting it when i'm anxious or stressed on both myself and others lol

79 - 'Who was your first real crush?' does Storm from X-Men count lmao?? cus 100% her, my dad has this big xmen book and when i was younger i'd just sit there staring at the artwork on her page lol

80 - 'How many piercings do you have?' just one on each ear! I think it'd be cool to get more on both ears though :D

89 - 'Do you like your age?' I'm the dancing queen, young and sweet, only 17 so hell yeah

98 - 'Do you have any scars?' One on each knee from where i fell out a tree into a patch of brambles as a kid but they're only really visible when i get a tan

#ask game #ask #THANK YOU FOR ASKING #NOBODY HAS ACTUALLY SENT ONE OF THESE IN BEFORE SO THIS IS VERY EXCITING FOR ME

1 note · View note

bensakindofmagic · 5 years ago

Text

Dad and His Son

so i wrote an au based on this post, because apparently i like to hurt myself. you can read it if you like to hurt yourself too.

w/c: 1.8k

no warnings, just fluff

A/N: this is an au in which roger is ben’s dad, and for the sake of ease/clarity/my laziness, his mum is a fictional woman. i didn’t want to get bogged down in research and step-parents and exploring those relationship cause this is just a light-hearted wee blurb. don’t get mad about it. right. that’s the admin done with.

“Hey, it’s gonna be fine,” Ben said calmly, coming round to your side of the car as you got out and taking your hand in his considerably larger one. You took a deep breath, exhaling hard, as you took in the house before you. It had been intimidating from the end of the drive as it was slowly revealed behind the automatic gates, and as it grew before your eyes your pulse had started to quicken. It was beautiful, and enormous, and surrounded by fields and forests. You would have marvelled at its magnificence had you not been so nervous of what lay inside.

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered, disgruntled.

“It’s just my parents, and they’re going to love you, Y/N/N.”

Just his parents. Meeting the parents for the first time is hard enough, but when your boyfriend’s dad is Roger Fucking Taylor, that makes everything a little more tricky. Needless to say you were shitting a brick.

He rang the doorbell, even though they had already buzzed you in through the gate, and what was supposed to be a steadying breath rattled in your chest. Ben squeezed your fingers.

“Ben, darling!” his mum gushed, engulfing him in a hug. She managed to wrap him up entirely despite being significantly shorter than him.

“Mum,” he said, detaching himself from her after kissing her cheek, “This is my girlfriend, Y/N."

You smiled in your best impression of someone who’s not feeling horrifically awkward and contemplating a runner, “Hello Mrs Taylor.”

“Oh love, call me Jodie.” She smiled warmly and immediately pulled you into a hug. Ben grinned at you over her shoulder. “Come on in, lunch is nearly ready. Roger! They’re here!” she called into the house, bustling into the kitchen.

“After you,” Ben gestured, raising his eyebrows.

The house was massive, but beautifully light and spacious. A large staircase stood proudly in the middle of the hall, splitting the room and leading to the upstairs realm. Evidence of Queen’s rock-god days lay casually scattered everywhere, hiding in plain sight — framed gold discs were hung on the walls beside artworks, photos of the band were camouflaged between groups of children smiling giddily up from their frames. Conscious of not appearing nosy but wanting to see everything, you peered furtively through a half open door to see piles of old records surrounding an enormous speaker.

“Come on,” Ben gestured with a nod of his head, “I’ll give you the tour later.”

You allowed him to rest his hand lightly on your lower back, anchoring you to him as you ventured into the kitchen/living room.

Roger — that being Roger Taylor. Actual Roger Taylor — was sat in an armchair, idly flicking through the channels on the TV. He glanced at you over his shoulder, piercing blue eyes like ice as they caught you in their hooded stare. Ben may have got the green from his mother but the intensity of colour, the gaze that turns you into a puddle on the floor, that was all from his dad’s side.

“Rog,” Ben’s mum admonished, “come and say hello.”

He stood slowly, and crossed the space between you: it seemed to take a lifetime. Your heart thumped loudly around your head, the sound bouncing between your ears with each step.

“Dad, this is Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he said, testing the word on his tongue, and held out a hand to you. His skin was soft with age but still calloused in the places where his drumstick fit between his fingers. A smile hid beneath his moustache. “Ben’s told us a lot about you, but I see he didn’t mention how beautiful you are.”

Your blush was ferocious.

Ben scoffed, “Yeah, alright Dad. I know you still fancy yourself as a ladies’ man, but can you not flirt with my girlfriend please?”

“Well someone’s got to do it,” he mumbled, turning his attention over to his extensive wine rack. You laughed, incredulous, and Ben just rolled his eyes.

You sat down for lunch and gratefully tucked into the beautiful food Ben’s mum had made, making sure to to compliment her and thank her for her hospitality. You were desperately careful, as images of knocking over wine glasses or sending plates crashing to the floor with your elbow flooded through you mind’s eye. Ben felt your tension and laid a palm on your knee under the table.

He gave it a gentle squeeze and shot you a slight smile.

“Are you keeping up your drumming, Ben?” Roger asked.

His hummed his assent while he swallowed a mouthful, “Yeah, not as much as I’d like, what with work being so busy, but it’s a good stress reliever.”

“Are you a musician, Y/N?” Jodie inquired.

“No, no I’m not. I’m a music lover, for sure, but I never learnt an instrument.”

“But she has an incredible voice,” Ben interjected.

You fought a blush and admonished, “Given present company I think that’s something of an overstatement.” Roger chuckled; you felt a small glow of pride in your stomach.

“Y/N, sweetheart, tell us about yourself. What do you do?”

“Uh, I’m a film journalist. I actually met Ben to interview him for a piece.”

“So your thing is movies? Which is your favourite?” Roger asked.

You shook your head, “I can’t answer that, it’s like picking between your children.”

“That’s easy, Ben’s sister Rory, she’s the smart one.” His face was stoic but his glinting eyes betrayed him.

Ben grunted sarcastically, “Cheers Dad.”

Ben held conversation a lot of the time, knowing how nervous you were and how you struggled to make conversation with new people as it was. He talked you up wherever he found an opportunity and made it easy for you to engage. By the end of the meal some of your nerves had worn away and the gnawing in your belly was replaced with a satisfied fullness. Roger sat back, sated, and announced, “Alright Y/N, you get one question.”

You looked to Ben in confusion, “I’m sorry?”

“People are always dying to ask about Queen, and I like so you I’m going to give you one question. Make it a good one, mind, not just ‘what was Freddie like?’ Or ‘which is your favourite song?’”

“No pressure then,” you sighed. “Okay, who was best at scrabble?”

Roger laughed heartily. “Oh Brian, obviously. He got the highest score I’ve ever seen — it was ‘lacquers’ and he scored 168, the bastard. But Fred was a bit of a dark horse too. He used to just put one tile down and connect this here and that there and tot up all these points.”

His eyes glazed as the memory played out in them. He gave a sad smile, cheeks dimpling with the weight of it. “Oh the adventures of life on the road.”

You got the tour of the house after lunch; Ben showed the studio and his old bedroom and you delighted in seeing his old photos in his room. You gasped, picking one up, “Oh my gosh, Ben, is this you?”

A smiling Freddie Mercury was holding a blonde, rather pouty-looking baby.

“Yeah,” Ben smiled softly, “I never knew him properly, he died when I was still really young. But it’s pretty special to think that he knew me.”

There were more traces of Queen, and other rock ’n’ roll bands, around the room, posters and albums, and the drum kit in the corner bore the band’s logo. Photos chronicled his childhood, frequently featuring a much younger Roger. It was bizarre to you, to see that version of the man you recognised from your favourite band, holding a young boy who would grow up to become the love of your life. How strange, that those two strands of your life converged in the preserved bedroom of a teenage boy.

“I didn’t know you were such a Queen fan, Ben. You don’t talk about it much.”

Ben shrugged, “I was a bit obsessed when I was a kid. Obviously I’m still so proud of Dad, and I love the music, but I guess I’ve toned it down a bit. I’m following my own path now, but back then I wanted to be just like him.”

His hand was sat limply in his pocket, so you threaded your arm through his and kissed his cheek. “I think it’s sweet.”

“What do you think of them?”

“Your mum and dad? They’re lovely.”

“Not going to scare you off then?”

“Never,” you smiled.

Back downstairs you offered to help Jodie with the washing up while Ben and Roger talked shop in the studio about some new drum kit or other.

“You’re too good to them, letting them skip out on helping clear away,” you joked as you dried up.

“Oh I wouldn’t usually,” Jodie mused, “but Rog likes it when Ben’s home. I think he misses the kids more than he cares to admit. But I hope that means you don’t let Ben get away with not doing his fair share!”

“Absolutely it does. He’s good about it though, you taught him well.”

“I’m glad to hear it… You know, you’re the first girl he’s ever brought home to meet us,” she said, glancing at you. Your movements stilled. “I think he’s always been nervous about it. I suspect he was worried that they’d be intimidated by the whole thing, that his dad would scare them off. But he was very keen for us to meet you. He was most anxious that we make a good impression.”

Her words took you aback; you had been so worried about your own nerves that you’d barely stopped to consider his. When you came to think of it, there had been a slight tension in his shoulders, a hint of rambliness about the way he had spoken, as if he felt he had to fill the silences before they materialised.

Jodie continued, “You know, I thought you must be someone pretty special if he wanted us to meet you so badly. I’ve been very excited about it.”

You smiled meekly, pressing your lips together, “I hope I didn’t let you down.”

“Oh of course not darling, it’s been a pleasure. And it’s very sweet to see you with Ben, he looks so happy with you. I think he’s quite smitten.”

You were spared your blushes by footsteps in the doorway and Ben came in, followed by Roger, asking, “What are you two gossiping about? Already ganging up on me?”

He slipped his arm around your waist and looked down fondly at you.

“Hm, something like that,” you hummed, and returned Jodie’s knowing smile.

He leant down to whisper in your ear, “I think they like you,” and nudged your cheek with his nose.

Roger smiled, eyes sparkling, “Son, I’d say this one’s a keeper.”

#ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy fanfic #ben hardy blurb #ben hardy au #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy x female reader #taylor!ben hardy #soft ben #roger taylor #dad!roger taylor #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #queen #the absolute shit i put in these tags #*shakes head in disappointment with myself*

198 notes · View notes

coffeecupsandquiet · 5 years ago

Text

ISOLOPHILIA

“If you're lonely when you're alone, you're in bad company.” ― Jean-Paul Sartre

Basic Information

Full name: Jordan Rojas

Pronunciation: JOR-DAN RO-HAAS

Nickname(s): dont even think about it

Birthdate: January 12

Age: 23

Zodiac: Capricorn

Gender: Cis-male

Pronouns: he/him

Romantic orientation: homoromantic

Sexual orientation: he is what the kids call, morosexual….. Jk homosexual

Nationality: American

Ethnicity: mixed (hesitate to comment beyond Italian due to my inability to track down definitive sources of Rob Raco’s ethnicity)

Current location: miami baBY

Living conditions: immaculate and modernly simplistic. A clean house is a calm house.

Background

Birthplace: unknown

Hometown: Chicago

Social Class: upper middle? I think?

Educational achievements: nothing formal, but he does consume books at an unhealthy rate

Father: unknown

Mother: unknown

Sibling(s): unknown

Birth order: unknown

Pets: ABSOLUTELY YES OF COURSE! He has five sweet honeys, one queen named Melon, and four beautiful kittens, Cantaloupe, Sugar, Honeydew, and Galia. Fun fact, but all of the kittens names are names of melons.

Previous relationships: non existent….. lol

Arrests: ….uhhhhhhh, absolutely not

Prison time: ^^^^^^^

Occupation & Income

Current occupation: he do be a thief for a crime organization tho

Dream occupation: a librarian… or maybe an archivist for a famous museum…. yeah

Past job(s): being a full time SQUARE

Spending habits: hm, careful with his money, but will spend extra to make sure what he is wearing/doing/seeing is up to his standards

In debt?: this is MY fantasy and in it, i have NO DEBT so NO

Most valuable possession: his babies… but followed up by his gold leafed edition of the Grimme Fairytales.

Skills & Abilities

Physical strength: Above Average | Average | Below Average

Note: pre-determined that he lifts to carry the homies

Speed: Above Average | Average | Below Average

Note: do you really think you’d catch him running in gucci shoes? no

Intelligence: Above Average | Average | Below Average

Note: jordan says ‘fuck the school system!’ and then read books forever

Accuracy: Above Average | Average | Below Average

Note: jordan is very good with powers, but uh, i don’t know if he’s good with a gun. I imagine he’d flinch at the recoil

Agility: Above Average | Average | Below Average

Note: he’s a bit of a snake, but erm, not enough to be considered wily i think

Stamina: Above Average | Average | Below Average

Note: he goes to the gym, but not for endurance so-

Teamwork: hell no. total lone wolf, which is why it's a miracle he gets along with Len

Talents/hobbies: reading, obviously, but he also dabbles in piano and writing I think. Lets make fun of Jordan for writing bad poetry!!!!! Im going to throw that nerds books in the fountin

Shortcomings: stubborn as hell and also extremely stuck up. Partially because he is naturally untrusting but also partially because hes kind of a dick.

Languages spoken: English and conversational Spanish

Drive?: hell no, hes gay

Jump-start a car?: hell no, hes gay

Change a flat tyre?: hell no, hes gay

Ride a bicycle?: yes, but the last time he did he was like 8 or something so

Swim?: yes! He actually likes it I think, but usually only if he’s alone.

Play an instrument?: Piano!

Play chess?: Obviously. Not seriously or anything, but he can play.

Braid hair?: Yes! He plays with his own hair when he’s bored.

Tie a tie?: oh my god yes of COURSE he does. If he didn’t he would have to bully himself.

Pick a lock?: he’d be a pretty shit thief if he couldn’t

Cook?: yes! Nothing quite like knowing what to cook with his nice white wine

Physical Appearance & Characteristics

Faceclaim: Rob Raco

Eye colour: blue

Hair colour: black

Hair type/style/length: shoulder length and wavy

Glasses/contacts?: contacts

Dominant hand: left

Height: 5’9”

Weight: i don’t want to answer this because i don’t know

Build: slender and lightly defined

Exercise habits: i feel so embarrassed admitting that jordan do be lifting three times a week

Skin tone: i….. Golden? idk

Tattoos: contrary to his many gifs, he doesn’t have any i don’t think

Piercings: his ears are definitely pierced though

Marks/scars: some scars from some “playful” rough housing. Nothing too extreme, just a nick on his left calf and a hidden one in his right eyebrow.

Clothing style: clean cut. He prefers dress shirts and slacks for most occasions, and is rarely seen dressed down further than a short sleeve button up. Putting on his clothes is like putting up a front. Just a reminder to hold everyone at a distance.

Jewellery: he does have a watch and earrings and perhaps a couple of necklaces

Allergies: none

Diet: vegetarian i have just decided right here right now

Physical ailments: none

Psychology

I did a test with Jordan in mind for each of these fuckers.

MBTI type: INTJ-A: Bookish and reclusive are two words to describe this type, and that lines up pretty well with Jordan’s personality as well. They value themselves more so than the relationships they make, and pride themselves on getting things done.

Enneagram type: Type 6: the Loyal Skeptic. Taken from the website “The committed, security-oriented type. Sixes are reliable, hard-working, responsible, and trustworthy. Excellent "troubleshooters," they foresee problems and foster cooperation, but can also become defensive, evasive, and anxious—running on stress while complaining about it”

Moral Alignment: Chaotic Neutral- Driven by their own purposes, willing to do anything to secure themselves. They aren’t inherently evil, but are only usually only good when it serves their purposes.

Temperament: Take from the website: Phlegmatic - The phlegmatic temperament is fundamentally relaxed and quiet, ranging from warmly attentive to lazily sluggish. Phlegmatics tend to be content with themselves and are kind. They are accepting and affectionate. They may be receptive and shy and often prefer stability to uncertainty and change. They are consistent, relaxed, calm, rational, curious, and observant, qualities that make them good administrators. They can also be passive-aggressive.

Element: Earth

Emotional stability: At the moment in our time line, horrid. Non existent. He is just a giant ball of feelings and he HATES IT because usually he is very put together.

Introvert or Extrovert? Incredibly introverted, if it wasn’t already obvious.

Obsession(s): Books! Clearly. But also his cats as well as fashion and cleanliness and coffee!!!!!

Compulsion(s): Making sure all of his mugs are facing the same direction in the cabinet.

Phobia(s): Claustrophobia

Addiction(s): none

Drug use: Remember the Jordan is a pot head meme. Yeah. That

Alcohol use: usually just a glass or two of wine. Nothing to big. Usually.

Prone to violence?: Heavens no! For all of his lifting, if someone threw a punch at him he’d probably run away.

Prone to crying?: Not in front of people, but he can be a weepy drunk depending on the time nad place

Believe in love at first sight?: Although he is a realist, he has a very very romantic and soft heart, so this one is a yes, although he would never admit it.

Mannerisms

Accent: American

Speech quirks: talks like he’s a bored victorian scholar

Hobbies: reading, writing, playing piano, playing with cats, making coffee.

Habits: sleeping with a light on

Nervous ticks: he touches his hair when he’s nervous or thinking

Drives/motivations: his biggest motivation is staying alive and safe from the government. He knows his power could be used to hurt everyone, not just him, and that is important because there is safety in numbers. Also, he knows that there are mutants who will help him just because he is one of them.

Fears: being taken and tested on or used against other mutants. There is litcherally no fear greater than that for him

Sense of humour?: dry and sardonic. Usually takes amusement in knowing more than you

Do they curse often?: Heavens no! If they are cursing, they are either drunk, scared, surprised, or PISSED OFF. or all of them together LMAO

Favorites

Animal: cat for obvious reasons

Beverage: a classic latte, for obvious reasons

Book: The Door into Summer by Robert A. Heinlein

Colour: Mahogany

Food: Yogurt and berries

Flower: traditional roses, because he is a romantic

Gem: Mahogany Obsidian

Mode of transportation: Foot or bus

Scent: Lily and lets be real, good kush

Sport: he’s gay…...

Weather: sunny rainshower

Vacation destination: into his own bed and then no one bothers him

Attitudes

Greatest dream: to not feel hunted no matter where he goes. He also wants to settle down with someone whom he loves and who loves him, because romance is something he has always fantasized about

Greatest fear: dying before he’s ready, but worse so, being captured and used against his will

Most at ease when: he’s snuggling up with his cats with a nice book

Least as ease when: he is in a high stress situation with no familiar faces.

Worst possible thing that could happen: being captured and used

Biggest achievement: Securing his place in the Kings and consequently out of the police as soon as he possibly could once he turned 18.

Biggest regret: Never resisting the orders of those in his foster home.

#mrtask #(tw. weed)#(tw. alcohol)#(tw. kidnapping)#this is just ramblings #it doesn't feel like an official post but #also i didn't have a cool header

9 notes · View notes

bullseyegames · 5 years ago

Note

♦ ☯▼ ∇ for Desdemona and Euphrasia?

My market girls ;3

♦️- quirks/hobbies headcannon

☯️- Likes/dislikes headcannon

▼- childhood headcannon

∇- old age/aging headcannon

Desdemona:

♦️- When Dez is feeling stressed or anxious she can be seen strolling up and down the peppled beach. She often stands on the shoreline allowing the waves to sink her paws into the sand to help her relax and calm her nerves after a fight. She also uses these these walks to find new pieces of shells for her necklace.

☯️- Desdemona loves fighting in the ring and overseeing the fights. There is an exileration to fighting and a strong feeling of responsibility to watching over everything that she greatly enjoys. She absolutley despises however, when any cat fighting in the ring keeps hitting a cat while they are down. She will personally beat the shit out of a cat if she sees them pulling anything like that.

▼- When Dez was strolling along the coastline in her youth she came across a family lounging on the beach having a picnic. She joined them and had a lovely day. When the family was leaving one of the children tried to pick her up to take her home, but Dez panicked and ran off. She sometimes finds herself wondering what life would have been like with that family.

∇- As Dez grows older she only seems to become a better fighter, making up for her decreasing mobility with patience and strategy. When she is finally beaten in the ring it’s a fair fight with a cat she greatly respects. She smiles at the cats assembled, packs a small pack, and walks along the shoreline back in the direction of her birthplace. She is never seen by the market cats again.

Euphrasia:

♦️- Euphrasia makes mental note of areas of the market that smell good and tends to spend time simply sticking her muzzle in whatever she enjoys the smell of. Humans and cats alike will often see her in a sort of scent induced trance with her muzzle shoved into a bouquet of flowers or a bag of coffee beans.

☯️- Euphrasia absolutley adores exploring every nook and cranny of the marketplace and seeking out small hidden areas. She has been on rooftops, in back alleys, in hidden rooms and ventilation systems. However, one place she won’t go and she absolutley despises is the sewers. Several cats in the market live in some of the drainage pipes, but Euphrasia never goes in them and cats notice her fur bristles whenever she is near them. No cat knows why.

▼- Wupjrasia only remembers bits and pieces of her childhood, but one of her clearest memory is of her singing and dancing in the middle of a circle of long forgotten cats. She sometimes recalls this memory to cats who ask, and every time she finds herself shedding tears at the memory.

∇- As Euphrasia ages she decides to settle down in the stall of the woman who made her cloak. She still patrols the market occasionally, but finds that most cats will gladly come to her for guidance when it is needed. She silently appoints another young queen to be the next protector of the marketplace and trains her for a few years. When Euphrasia officially relinquishes her duty as queen of the market, she gives her pupil her cloak and passes on the crown.

#cats the musical #jellicle oc #ask meme #euphrasia the market cat #desdemona #dez #my beautiful girls #;-;

2 notes · View notes

hildagirl99 · 5 years ago

Text

Volume 4 : Chapter 10: Truth and Broken Heart

Meanwhile, Hilda and Cagney search for Linda who "escaped" while Luna was talking.

"My god, in the middle of the night, you have to find her and quickly ..." Hilda said.

"You know, she may need her alone ..." Cagney responds.

"Yes, all these revelations must have hurt her, but she must be found before she falls somewhere."

Linda was a few miles away from them in the forest. She preferred to be alone but she got lost. All these trees were the same. Suddenly, a hand grabbed by the arm.

"Aaah, who is there?"

"Shhhhh, it's me, Fio."

"My god ... what are you doing here?" She said, panicked.

"I knew you would come, I sent you a letter in braille, so that we find ourselves here, I quickly finished my speech to find you." said Fio, taking her with him.

"Huh, but I did not get a letter ..." said Linda, confused.

"Oh ... oh ... no importance, you're here."

"Where are we going ?" Does request.

"Behind closed doors." He answers Fio.

Linda starts to stress, because a few minutes ago, thanks to Hilda, in her anger, she learned that Fio was her nephew. To say that she had a crush on him, she wanted to talk to him about it but her words are stuck in her. They stop outside the forest. He positions himself in front of her.

"It's not for nothing that I took you here, I'd like to tell you something." Said Fio, sure what he means. Not far from there, Cagney and Hilda had found them but they remain hidden behind a tree, observing them.

"My god, Fio ... he's about to confess his feelings ..."

"Cagney, you have to stop them, otherwise, they're going to make a big mistake." Said Hilda, anxious.

"I think I love you ..." Fio said putting his hand on Linda's cheek.

She remains frozen. Not knowing what to say.

"But ... Fio, I ... I'm too old for you, you deserve so much better, and then I'll only have problems with my disability ..."

"Age does not matter…"

"But you are a leader, you deserve better than me!"

"But it's you I love, Linda, I don't care what other people can say, I'm sure it's reciprocal for you, don't deny it."

"I can't Fio, I'm ..." ready to tell him the truth, she feels Fio come closer to her face.

"Just let me kiss you." He said getting closer and closer. Their lips were only a few inches until ...

"Nooo !! Fio !! Don't do this !!" Cagney comes running towards his son. Fio jumps.

"Daddy, Mom, but ... what are you doing here?"

"It's not important ... you can not be with her!" Said Cagney, exhausted.

"What are you talking about, why?"

"Fio, what I'm going to tell you will definitely hurt you, the love between you and Linda is impossible." Said Hilda.

"How so ... you don't want me to be happy?"

"It's not our intention, listen ... Linda is ... my sister." She says.

"Huh ??" Crit it. He looks at Linda who is looking at the floor.

"Linda ... tell me it's not true!"

"I ... I'm sorry, I tried to tell you, I learned it today, you're my nephew, and I'm your aunt." Said Linda, she wanted to cry. Hilda takes her in her arms.

"I'm sorry ... I wanted you to learn it differently." Hilda whispered.

"Sorry if we could not tell you earlier." Said Cagney.

Fio, remains frozen, unable to speak. He was in love with his own aunt without knowing it.

"Why did not you tell me!" He said furiously.

"We thought you knew it, but when you told us who you were in love with, we tried to tell you, but we did not want to hurt you."

"My god ... but you realize that, if the villagers learn it, I will be accused of incest!"

"Come on, calm down, you did not do anything with her! we all have our share of responsibility, nobody knows it for the moment, except us, it's still a secret." He said, taking him in his arms.

"Leave me ... I need to be alone ..." Fio said, pushing him away. And he goes back to the castle.

"That was to be expected…"

"Sorry, Linda, I wish you'd learned it differently." Said Hilda still holding Linda in her arms, she sobs.

"All our life was based on lies and secrets, 49 years old I did not know I had a sister, 7 years old I know Fio, I thought I loved him, but you arrived on time, we could have made a big mistake. "

"Shh, I'm here, now nothing will separate us." Hilda said kissing her forehead.

"At last, the time that Fio accepts reality ... the poor man's heart is broken."

Indeed, back in the castle, in his room, Fio refuses to see whoever it is, he locked himself in his room. At bedtime, Oswald challenges Hilda.

"Hilda, what happened, did you find Linda?"

"Yes, don't worry, but the truth hurt, just like Fio, he learned it was his aunt."

"The truth hurts, I can quite understand."

"He needs time, too," she said, yawning.

"I don't hold you back, go rest too."

"Thank you, do you think that will be when you can tell the villagers that I'm Luna's daughter?"

"Not for the moment, the penultimate day, certainly, I'll be at your side."

"Thank you, Oswald."

She turns around and says:

"Good night, and thank you, I got the answers to my questions." She closes the door.

Oswald is moved, although he tries to hide it. He felt he was doing his homework properly. The next day, the atmosphere in the dining room is cold and noiseless, still upset revelations last night.

"Well, please, we're not going to be crazy about that." Hilda said breaking the silence.

"Easy to say ... I'm just disappointed." Fio answers.

"Ok, maybe I should have told you before, as soon as I arrived, that Linda was my sister, but Oswald asked me not to say anything."

"In fact, if I understand, it's Oswald's fault, is that it?" He did not tell us anything before, and why?

"I don't know, but I'm sure it was not his intention, but the most important thing is that everything is said, and that I finally discovered the answers to my questions."

"Fio, Linda, don't worry about that, after all, we're family, right?" Said Cagney.

"Linda ... I'm sorry if I was insistent on you, especially that night."

"I don't blame you, I am glad that you are my nephew, I may have preferred that you are someone other than a member of the family to love you." Linda said, ironically.

Fio smiled at him and laughed.

"Hehe, forget it, I'll always be there for you, always united."

"Aaah, it's so much better when everything is settled." Said Hilda

"Let's enjoy these last days together." Said Cagney cuddling everyone.

Oswald looks at them behind the window, and nods a little, it reminds him of what he lost some time ago.

"Ooh how cute, a happy and united family, is not that what you would like to recover?" Said an icy, muffled voice. Oswald freezes and understands who is talking to him, he presses his pace to hide, out of sight.

"What do you want from me again ... You've made me suffer enough already."

A black mist is taking shape: it was the devil himself.

"So, still not decided to see your family again, did you think about my proposal?" He said with a chuckle.

"I will not give up my soul, I want to be with my wife and my son ..." Oswald snapped.

The devil turns around him, he looks for his words.

"Mmmh very well, since you do not want to give your soul, maybe someone else will do."

"What do you mean ?"

"I see you have the whole Berg family."

"Huh...?"

"I'm not done with this family, I'll have the last Berg."

"But what do you want in the end?" Oswald said, raising his voice.

"The Berg sisters will do the trick ... I want them!"

"No, I forbid you to hurt them, otherwise ..." Oswald said in a fighting position. But the devil catches his arm.

"Or what, to honor your beloved dead Queen, are you afraid of disappointing her?" Said the devil smiling maliciously.

"You had a lot of admiration for her, even feelings, did not you, she was a pretty woman."

"Shut up, I was more than just a counselor for her, I was her dearest friend, and so was her husband!"

"Pffff pathetic ... But that's not important, I offer you a deal: give me the sisters Berg and I'll give you back your family."

Oswald closes his eyes, frustrated.

"Never."

(colo @yonnichan-art )

"Oh, what a pity, to say they could not wait to see you again." Said the devil, revealing a crystal ball, inside, Oswald's wife and son are calling for help. A feeling of fear and anger boils Oswald's heart.

"They are healthy and well treated."

And he makes the crystal ball disappear into a thousand pieces.

"Still not convinced If you still refuse, they will disappear like this crystal ball, poof!"

"You are a monster…"

"You choose, the Berg sisters, or your family, and then what do you have to lose, your dear queen is no longer of this world, she will not judge you, hehe."

Oswald shakes his fists, facing the worst choice of his life.

"Give me the Berg sisters, in exchange your family will be safe, and you will be reunited ..." the devil repeats in a dark and threatening voice.

He does not have a choice.

"Okay ... I ... I'll give them to you ..." he said with disgust.

"Very well, tomorrow at midnight, in the royal square, you'll be there, with them, warned or not."

"The royal place, but ... everyone will see you!"

"And then - everyone will know that you are a traitor, and that you have revealed yourself by mistake, the place where the people of the mountain lived." Said the devil mocking him, and in a sneer, he disappears into the ground, in smoke.

Oswald falls on his knees, his face in his hands, unable to believe what he has just done. He has no choice, he must present himself with Hilda and Linda on the royal square, tomorrow at midnight.

Will he really do it?

To be continued~

#cagney carnation #hilda berg #cuphead ocs #linda #the devil #oswald wind #volume 4 #fio

8 notes · View notes

fuckingthefictional · 6 years ago

Text

Dating Stiles Stilinski would include.

So you and Stiles have known each other since you were in diapers

Your mom was really close with Stiles’ mom, they’d gone to school together and had been friends for yearsss

so when you were born Claudia and Noah were put down as your Godparents.

You were each other’s first kiss at age 3

When you entered kindergarten you met Scott and the 3 musketeers were born

Holy shit you punched a boy in your class because he stole Stiles’ juice carton this was the point where Stiles began to fall in love

S l e e p o v e r s

You got closer when Stiles’ mom died

Convincing him that he wasn’t the reason that his mom died.

Stiles got bullied in elementary school because of his ADHD and Anxiety and he’d get really insecure.

“You shouldn’t be friends with me Y/N.”

“No! You’re my loveable hyperactive spaz.”

He was always in love with you but holy shit that peaked when you hit age 12 and puberty kicked in

“Since when did Y/N have boobs?”

“Stiles shut up she’ll hear you!?”

Your sleepovers abruptly came to an end because your parents and Sherriff Stilinski thought it was iNnApRoPriAte

Didn’t stop you though…

You told eachother everything apart from the fact that you liked eachother

At least once a week you’d have dinner at the Stilinski’s

When freshmen year started you made a promise with Scott and Stiles that you’d never break apart.

Pinky promises were the ultimate promise that you could not break

You always had a compartment in your school bag that had a spare inhaler for Scott and some adderall for stiles just in case they needed it.

You once accidentally left the curtains and blinds opened to your room when you were getting changed.

And Stiles saw you in your new lacy underwear dancing around your room

Let’s just say he had to um relieve himself

When he was in the heat of the moment he may or may not have texted you

‘nice underwear Y/N/N that colour really suits you ;)’

You didn’t know whether to feel mortified or proud over it??

When exam or test season came around you became the most stressed out of the 3 of you.

Like to the point where you had to be taken out of a class because you just had a complete panic attack and breakdown.

And Stiles immediately followed you out and cradled you in his lap, rocking you back and forth.

“Follow the sound of my voice Y/N/N, focus on my heartbeat.”

He’d press kisses on your forehead, on you cheeks, your nose, you jaw, your shoulder and you neck.

That’s when you knew that you were in love with him.

So you did what any rational person would do and you kissed him.

Classic Stiles being a witty little shit and mumbling something about using this ‘strategy’ with you whenever either of you felt anxious.”

You rolling your eyes and kissing him again in response.

When you’d calmed down again you both just decided to skip school and go back to his house

Spending the rest of the day in his bed just cuddling and kissing making out

Make out sessions in the back of his jeep

Make out sessions in the restrooms

Make out sessions on his desk

Make out sessions on the kitchen counters

H i c k i e s

He’d constantly have his hand in the back pocket of your jeans

You’d find yourself going out and playing lacrosse with Scott and Stiles

His lacrosse jersey is basically like a dress on you

The type of boyfriend that would drag you out into the rain and mess around in puddles

Ok but on more than one occasion he’s parked the jeep in the middle of nowhere and turned the radio up and you’d just dance in the middle of the road.

Discovering that Scott is a werewolf together.

Being an immediate part of Scott’s pack

When Allison joined the school and started dating Scott you played the overprotective sister role and had words with her.

“Allison, right?”

“Yeah…”

“Just wanted to warn you that if you ever hurt Scott then you’ll be a dead woman.”

“Oh…Good to know?”

After that you Lydia and Allison got closer you’d earned their respect after showing nerve

Lydia and Allison most definitely picked out outfits for your dates with stiles.

Lydia has taken you lingerie shopping more than once.

“You should get this set.”

“Lyd I love you but I’ve not got the body for this.”

“I reckon stiles thinks differently.”

You end up buying it anyway.

Everytime you go on dates with stiles he picks you up and brings you flowers.

He looks at you like you’re a jewel

Petnames

“Love”

“Batman”

“Angel”

“Babe”

“Doll”

“Honey”

“Baby Girl”

“Guys Please stop it’s so sickening I might die!”

Let’s face it you’d purposely annoy the crap out of Derek

You have wit and sarcasm to rival your boyfriend.

He has a period tracker on his phone and he is the most understanding boyfriend

On the days that you get your period he comes over with food, flowers, chocolate, movies and blankets and he’ll just give you cuddles.

He’s the type of boyfriend that would run you a warm bubble bath when you had really bad cramps.

He definitely has spare pads, tampons and painkillers in his bag.

“Y/N have you seen my red flannel?”

“Nope...Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You both have a section of your wardrobes dedicated for the others clothes.

You were each other’s firsts

He actually trusts you to drive his jeep

It happened when you had both found out about the virgin sacrifices

“Stiles, I’m scared.”

“We have each other. You will always have me.”

“Stiles love, I want you. I need you.” yikes I’m sorry

Mind blowing sex

Jeep sex

Morning sex

Shower sex

Oof you have definitely had more than a few close calls with papa Stilinski walking in on you and Stiles

Being like family to Noah basically the daughter he never had

Your parents have actually asked when you and Stiles will get married or have a baby

“Mom I’m still in school wtf”

On your birthday Stiles gets you a promise ring.

“I want you to be mine, I want to be yours. I’ve been dreaming of being your husband since we had our first kiss.”

When you finally get engaged he 100% uses his mom’s old engagement ring.

I’m not Crying you Are

Talking about your future together.

Lmao the pack being so jealous of your relationship

You’d watch star wars together and bitch about twats at school

“Jackson Whittemore? More like Jackass Whittewhore!”

“Why am I with you again?”

Stiles would find himself just looking at you with love.

“I love you.”

“I know.”

“Did you just?!”

Overall Stiles Stilinski treating you like the damn Queen that he knows you are.

#stiles stilinski #stiles x reader #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski imagine #teen wolf #dylan o'brien #x reader

386 notes · View notes

sunflowervinyls · 6 years ago

Text

Just A Copy Machine

Prompt: The copy machine broke down in the middle of printing, which made this the third worst thing that happened this morning

Paring: Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: idk, a little bit of swearing, and some fluff :)

Word Count: 1339

A/N: this is my first go at a oneshot type thing, so I apologize for any mistakes

You woke up with a rough start. Not only had your mother cause the smoke alarm to go off with her horrid cooking, but she failed to remember the correct way to turn it off. Years and years of being a fully functioning adult and she couldn’t turn off the smoke alarm. You could still hear the atrocious screeching from your path to school. Not even the busy streets of Queens, could drown out the sound of another failed meal.

The walk to school seemed to drag on for ages, the sky continuing to darken with clouds. In the middle of October, the driest month in New York. Rain slowly began pouring, before throwing itself down on you as if it was its purpose. Not only was your hair completely ruined, but the clothes you had worn became sticky and nearly impossible to function in.

Rushing into the school, trying your best to avoid all other life, you rush toward your locker. The force you exude while swinging your locker door open is nearly enough to dent the conjoined metal. Your hands grab at any possible clothing you could change into, only to find your gym uniform. Although recently washed, you couldn’t imagine anything more vile to wear throughout the school day. Luckily a sweatshirt was scrunched up in the corner, and you nearly shed a tear out of happiness.

By no means are you a gloomy person, but for some odd reason this day got through your joyful demeanor. Which most definitely came as a shock to your best friends. Ned and MJ had been the first to approach you that morning. Ned peeked his head around the corner of your locker, something he was famous for, while MJ stood idly by.

“Hey Y/N, how are you this fine morning?” his mellow voice asks and your eye nearly twitches at his mention of the morning. Before you let yourself start crying like a small child, you let out a deep breath.

“Not currently doing great, Ned,” you hiss, motioning toward your soaking clothes. He chuckles slightly, though stops abruptly when he sees the anger in your eyes. You bunch the uniform up in your hands, slamming the locker door shut with a loud bang.

“Ignoring the puddle growing at your feet,” MJ starts, “do you want to come over tonight?”

“Can you ask me about this at a better time?” I widen my eyes dramatically and the two of them raise their hands in surrender, backing away. You quickly roll your eyes, trudging toward the bathroom to get changed in one of the small stalls. You can’t help but wonder if the stalls continue to shrink as you hit your funny-bone on the grey wall.

Before you could find your friends again the bell for the first class rang out annoyingly. You trudge toward your English classroom, feeling as if the day might get better. Your english teacher was one of the coolest guys you’ve met, and you could only hope he could lift your mood.

“Hello Miss L/N,” he smiles warmly once you walk into class and you smile for the first time that day. Just as you sit at your assigned desk he pipes up, “Oh shit! I didn’t print enough excerpts.”

Some kids lift their heads at his exclamation, while you begin opening your book to the page wrote on the board. Before you hear the footsteps, your teacher is already stood next to your desk, looking to you with a hopeful smile.

“Hey kiddo,” he smiles warmly, “would you mind running to go get me some copies of this? I don’t want to leave the classroom as kids are just showing up, you know their whole ‘if the teachers not here in 15 minutes we get to leave’ shit.” He mocks the students as more pour into the classroom.

“Yeah, no problem sir,” you nod your head curtly, taking the bright white price of paper from his grasp and leaving the classroom swiftly. If there was anything that made you anxious, it was missing class, the amount of make up work you might be faced with is enough to force your feet to move quickly down the colorful halls.

The copy machine quickly scans the excerpt, allowing you to let out a relieved sigh. Your smile quickly vanished as the copier lets out a series of noises before going silent, with only one half of the first copy made. The copy machine broke down in the middle of printing, which made this the third worst thing to happen in one morning.

“No, no, no, no, no,” you repeat to yourself, quickly stressing yourself out more. You tug on the paper that’s falling halfway out of the machine, but the machine grips the paper tightly. You hit the top of the machine harshly, not recognizing the amount of sound you’re making.

“Y/N?” A voice asks, with much concern. You look up, with partially teary eyes to find Peter staring at you from the library doorway. His eyebrows crease together when he sees the tears forming under your eyes.

“Oh, hey Peter,” you bring up your hand in a slight wave and he paces toward you.

“What’s wrong?” He asks softly and you kick at the copier lightly. He glances down to the old white machine before looking back to you with a slight smile on his face, “is the copy machine broken?”

“Mmhmm,” you hum with a solemn expression. He chuckles lightly while pulling you in for a light hug. You wrap your arms around his middle quickly, letting out many deep breaths.

“It’s just a copy machine, Y/N,” he shushes you, his voice soft.

“But-But my teacher needs those copies and now I can’t get them because I broke the stupid machine and-“

“Let’s try and see what’s wrong with it, okay?” he interrupts you, his voice still calming. He lets go of you carefully before putting his focus on the now-quiet machine. He stares at it for a little longer before pressing a sequence of buttons and before you know it the rest of the copies start printing swiftly.

“How did you do that?!” You ask, bewildered. He looks to you with a sly expression, shrugging. You roll your eyes at him, and he pretends to be wildly offended.

“I’m quite good with computers, if you haven’t noticed,” he jokes with a small chuckle. You wrap your arms around his waist thankfully, and he grins, hugging you back.

“Thanks Pete!” A large smile lights up your face and Peter’s heart nearly skips a beat. You begin rambling about your morning and he listens along, adding in comments every now and then. Your voice is cut off by a final beep from the copy machine, letting you know that the copies have been made.

You let out a thankful sigh, grabbing the thick stack of Peter before turning around to find Peter again, “wait a minute, why aren’t you in class?”

“I was on my way to chemistry, but saw you through the window,” he admits, a soft blush flooding his face. You smile down at your feet, holding the air in your cheeks. A bell rings out and you look to the sound system with wild eyes.

“Can I walk you to class?” Peter asks, shyly and you nod your head swiftly.

“We’ll both be late, but that’s okay,” you hum and he bobs his head along with your words. The two of you sneak around the corner, and out of the library. You quietly walk to class, the empty hallways only causing your anxiety to grow.

“I’ll see you at lunch?” He asks hopefully once you’ve reached your classroom. You nod quickly sending him a shy smile before sliding into your classroom quietly, trying to remain unnoticed. You carefully set the copies on your teacher’s desk before sitting at your own and smiling down at your hands, maybe the day will end up better than you thought.

16 notes · View notes

patricia-von-arundel · 7 years ago

Text

Sweet Joy Befall Thee

Rating: T

Summary: There were many things in her life Elsa honestly believed she would never have to take into consideration, because they would be forever a moot point as far as she was concerned. Pregnancy was one of those things.

Dedicated, as always, to @no-escape-from-the-storm-inside.

I am leaving this story as it was originally put up, so Alarik’s name will not appear.

There were many things in her life Elsa honestly believed she would never have to take into consideration, because they would be forever a moot point as far as she was concerned. Pregnancy was one of those things. So she paid little attention to the symptoms, at least at first. As always, she was too busy to be slowed by what appeared to be minor illness. She had only very mild nausea, some discomfort and dizziness if she stayed on her feet for too long. She hardly noticed the first cycle missed – stress and diet had always left it irregular. But she noticed the second, made a mental note to send for a physician – then promptly found herself occupied with other things, the thousand demands on her time. It was only when her clothing began to feel abnormally tight that she really began to wonder what might be going on. By then, she was almost three months late. And she could see no obvious, physical changes – but her skirt was pulled across her hips in a way it had never been before. And perhaps she had somehow failed to notice that her corsets were getting harder to pull tight, and that they seemed more and more uncomfortable. She had always dressed herself. Now, she found herself wishing she had employed a lady’s maid – someone who could reassure her, tell her it was just a normal part of aging. Her husband was always up before dawn, working by lamplight, before he came to meet her for breakfast. She was usually awake and waiting, working herself, when he came up. But on that morning she finally faced an unwanted truth, he found her half-dressed before the mirror, in skirt and half-tied corset, feet bare and hair still a cloudy tangle, hands clasped protectively before her. When she caught sight of him in reflection, the tears finally began to fall – silent but insistent. He was closer in a moment, not touching but there, close enough that she could make physical contact if she felt comfortable doing so. “Elsa?” Always the soothing tone, gentle and measured. They had played this game so many times before. She trembled, wrapped her arms around herself, hunched. She could feel the chill seeping into her fingertips. She resisted it. The tears running down her face felt warm, so warm. “I think… something may be wrong?” “Are you hurt?” Still calm, still measured. She shook her head. “No. No, I think I might be… might be…” There was ice beneath her feet, slick and smooth and pleasantly cool. But it had been so long since she had felt this frightened, since she had lost control. She had been doing so good.

But now, she was terrified – heart pounding, unable to get her breath, head swimming and palms clammy. And she was losing her hold, her controlled calm, it – the magic, the cold – coiled inside her, snaking out, looking for release. She felt it. And it only made the terror worse. Because if she was right, how much more damage might she do than she had ever done before?

She saw Anna at five, lifeless in the snow. And for the first time, she felt real, unmistakeable nausea. She sank to her knees and clutched one arm around her middle and closed her eyes, trying to breath deeply, trying not to throw up, trying not to lose consciousness, suddenly dizzy and sick and weak. There was a thick spread of ice beneath her now, an island, and the temperature in the room had dropped noticeably. “Elsa.” He still did not touch, though he was closer now, crouching beside her. “You have to be calm. Deep breaths. You know this, my darling. Please. Deep breaths.” But they had touched – of course they had. All those slow, gentle nights, the progression, his careful touching, stroking, easing her into trusting her own body, her own pleasure. Holding her when it became too much, overwhelmed her – and holding her when she was finally overwhelmed with that pleasure, crying out and clinging and afterward sobbing, relief and fear and love. They had come together in union such as she had long believed she would never experience. And he held her after, stroking and soothing her to sleep, comforted by his warmth, his smell, his voice. They had touched in the most intimate ways – but her trust came from this. When she was upset, he let her keep her distance. Let her keep him safe. “Deep breaths,” he said again. “Calm. You’re going to be fine. Deep breaths.” She struggled to comply. Slowly, slowly, her head stopped spinning, her heart slowed, her trembling stilled. She felt the ice beginning to melt, soaking through her skirt at her knees. She turned to him, offering silent permission. He wrapped an arm around her, helped her to a sitting position well away from the melting ice. She didn’t have the strength to dissipate it back into the air. He had taken her hand; he stroked a finger across her knuckles, but otherwise let her be. “Will you tell me what you think is wrong?” She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her free arm around them. “I think I… I might be…” She couldn’t say the word. She could think of nothing else that would suffice. She turned silent, pleading eyes to him. He squeezed her hand. “Expecting?” For a moment, she just stared at him. Then she nodded. And burst into fresh tears. This was noisier, messier crying, the kind she hated, the kind that felt so completely out of her control. She buried her face at her knees and fought it, fought it desperately. She didn’t pull her hand back and he did not let go, though she knew her fingers were probably painfully cold. “You’ll be fine, Elsa,” he said – and she shuddered, hearing the same words spoken almost two decades before. He had been wrong. She had not been fine. Nothing had been fine. And now, again, she was not fine. She shook her head, her face still hidden. “Yes, you will.” Soothing, always soothing. “Elsa. My darling Elsa.” His long fingers stroking hers. “We can’t even know for sure. And if you are – you love children. I’ve seen you. You’re wonderful with them.” Mumbling to her knees: “I’ll hurt it.” He took a deep, audible breath; let it out slowly. “I had actually considered this might happen. I’ve done some research. I don’t think either you or any children you carry will be in any great danger from your own magic.” She lifted her head and looked at him – tentatively hopeful. He smiled, that toothy, happy smile he couldn’t force back when he was talking about his work. His hair was getting too long again – auburn curls falling almost over his eyes. “There are precedents,” he said, “others born of those with magic – more often fathers, but there have been mothers. From a statistical standpoint, there appears to be no greater risk of complications than there are for anyone else. And the… the protective element appears to come into play, I suspect due to the sharing of essential nature – the mother’s body protects the part of her that is in the baby.” Protects. Elsa trembled. She wanted desperately to believe what he was saying. “What about powers? The children – do they have them?” Now he was actually grinning, excited. “Never. I haven’t found a single case.” Almost against her will, something very like relief bloomed inside her chest. She closed her eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. “I never thought I could conceive.” “I was never sure, myself. Your manifestation is rather unique.” She opened her eyes and gave him a weak, teasing smile. “Always your favorite test subject.” He pulled her hand up and kissed the back of it, his lips ticklish and warm against her knuckles, bringing a pleasant little rush of comfort. “Never a test subject. Only my darling Elsa. And perhaps, very soon, a wonderful mother.” “Do you…” She had to stop, voice catching, then forced herself to continue. “Do you really think I can do it? When Anna… Anna was… She was in so much pain. I don’t know if I can…” “We’ll practice.” He let go of her hands, opened his arms; now that she was calmer, she crawled gratefully into them. She did love him – a deep, frightening love, slow-burning, the kind she had never truly believed she would feel, as pure and true as her love for Anna. “We’ll figure out a way. You’ll do just fine.” She leaned against him, her arms wrapped tight. She wanted to believe him. God help her, she wanted so badly to believe him.

Anna, not surprisingly, was ecstatic when they told her. Elsa was by then approaching her fifth month – finally sure it was truly a pregnancy, finally beginning to show even through the jackets she still favored. She was just too small not to show early.

She felt self-conscious about it, vulnerable. She was used to being stared at, even if she didn’t like it, but this was different – not being examined as her role, as queen, but as Elsa, Elsa as a woman, Elsa as mother-to-be. She worried about what they might be thinking. But it was different with Anna, as things were always different with Anna. Anna didn’t stare any longer than it took to process what Elsa had said – then she was grabbing her, pulling her close, laughing and crying against her hair, completely and utterly overwhelmed. This kind of behavior Elsa was accustomed to – Anna hugged as frequently as others might say “hello” - but she stiffened involuntarily, uncomfortable and self-conscious, when Anna placed a hand on the just-noticeable swell of her belly. Without thinking about it, Elsa took a step back. Anna jerked her hand back as if scalded. She crossed her arms, bit her lip. “Sorry.” Elsa twined her own hands together, eyes wide, fighting the urge to cry. She cried at everything. Even knowing it was not an abnormal response in her current condition, it made her feel so anxious – she feared she would always associate tears with shameful losses of control. She swallowed hard, pushed the inclination back and away. “No, Anna.” Forcing herself to step back towards her sister. “Please – I’m sorry. I just-” But once again, as they had done so often lately, words deserted her. But Anna was smiling – of course she was. “It’s okay. I should have asked.” Elsa raised an eyebrow and only half-forced her return smile. “Yes. You should have.” “Then – can I?” A hopeful grin. “Um… sure.” Gentler now, more tentative, Anna’s warm hands spread across the fabric of her dress, pressed against the beginning of growth. Anna was still smiling, eyes wide and wondrous, awestruck. She looked down for what seemed like a long time, then up again, meeting Elsa’s gaze. “You’re going to be great at this.” And now there was no chance of holding back tears, and Anna hugged her again as she sobbed helplessly and both of them pointedly ignored the ice beneath their feet. It wasn’t the first time. Elsa suspected it wouldn’t be the last. It was Anna who came up with a solution for controlling the magic during labor – still Elsa’s deepest fear. Her husband had suggested practice, but Anna came up with something to practice. “Do you the thing where you draw it in, and-” She pulled her arms to her chest, hands fisted, then threw them out and splayed her fingers. “That. You know what I mean.” Elsa just stared at her from across the dinner table, but her husband said, “Yes! That’s perfect. Anna, you are a genius.” And Anna beamed, as she always did when awarded his enthusiastic praise. They had loved one another so much more quickly than Elsa loved him – or knew it, anyway. And Elsa doubted their union would have survived if this had not been the case: Anna loved him as Elsa loved Kristoff. And he did indeed make her practice – and the practice was hard, so hard. No physical pain could be administered – she was still the queen, and some regulations were inviolate – but emotional pain could be doled out in healthy doses, and usually by Elsa herself. She carried within her head and her heart enough excruciating memories for several lifetimes. One of the best and worst things about their marriage, Elsa thought, was that she and he were both stubborn perfectionists in almost everything either of them chose to do. This time, of course, there was the added insistence of necessity; she forced her way onward through practice no matter how much she struggled to tamp it down afterward, how difficult it made sleep, how much her hands shook. And it looked as though it just might work. She got better – still had to focus and concentrate, but less effort was required. It was different when she was gathering the power from the inside rather than the outside, but she could do it: concentrate, release it all as one, dissipate it away. She wished she had thought to practice this years ago. But even in the small triumphs of learning, improving, fear remained. She found her mind returning again and again to Anna – the only childbirth she had seen was hers; the tears, the crying, the begging – and fearing that no matter how much she practiced, it would be irrelevant when she was in that much pain, and for that long. The thought terrified her. “Even pain can be controlled,” her husband insisted. “You know that. You spent most of your life doing exactly that.” “Not physical pain.” So he ordered away for books – on meditation, mesmerism, medical techniques; books in French and English and German. He made copious notes and painstakingly translated passages for her – the languages in question she knew at a conversational level, but not a technical one. She read them, reread them, studied them, made notes of her own. But they were a temporary respite, never a lasting, certain reassurance. Still, as always, study, learning, theorizing were comforts. Maybe he was thinking of that as much as he hoped they might actually help – keep her calm. Keep her grounded. Keep her focusing on something besides her fears. The weeks and months passed, contradictory, too quickly and too slowly. She gave up corsets altogether, along with shoes with heels, jackets, anything made from wool. Her skin was uncomfortably sensitive; she always felt too warm. She had to sit even when issuing proclamations; for some reason walking was fine, but standing still left her feeling dizzy and weak. And she did walk, quite a lot and often at strange hours of the night, her mind and her legs equally restless. Sometimes, Anna heard the door and walked with her; Anna had always kept odd hours. They never spoke much, but Anna held her hand, and that was a comfort. Elsa found herself looking in the mirror often as she got further along, amazed and nonplussed by what she saw. She knew she should be happy – her husband was right, she did love children, Anna’s most of all – but carrying a child herself was something she would have considered impossible. Would she have been more prepared for what she saw, what she felt, if she had not believed herself incapable of it? There was no way to know, but it made her feel guilty and unworthy – there was a baby within her who had never asked for a mother like this. She should have considered this could happen. She should have taken steps to prevent it. An innocent child deserved a better mother than her. One who was not dangerous and broken. One who could focus not on herself, but on that child. Because she feared, feared so much, her own selfishness. She looked at herself when she was alone, turning sideways, pulling up her bodice or her dress to examine that increasingly stretched, rounded skin. It looked strange, the color no longer quite uniform, striped like the cats in the barns. Sometimes, she allowed herself to rest a tentative hand against the bulge – as Anna was so wont to do – and wondered if she should feel more when she did it, some rush of love or affection. Instead, if she felt anything, it was usually just more panic. The realization that this was not an abstract, that it was real, that she would soon not only experience childbirth but also then have a baby, a child of her own, left her feeling lightheaded. But though ice might spread across the floor in those moments, flurries of snow swirl through the air, the hand against her swollen stomach stayed as warm as her skin ever was. She told no one, of course, about these hideously shameful feelings. She suspected plenty of people already thought – knew – that she would be a horrible mother, that she had no business inflicting herself on a child. Not even Anna seemed likely to understand; Anna had been ecstatic at her own, and now was clearly ecstatic for Elsa. She certainly wasn’t going to tell her husband; his enthusiasm – and faith in her – was very clear. Then came the day when she first felt movement. She was alone in her study, drafting letters, and at first paid little attention, assumed she was just hungry. But the bubbly little feeling was persistent, repetitive, centered. It broke through her concentration, niggling at her awareness – more and more insistent, until she could no longer ignore it. She put her pen down and sat back in her chair. Then it hit her – what it must be. She gasped, and her eyes dropped to the swell. The baby was moving inside her. Moving. She stared down for as long as she could feel it – there was nothing to see, of course, but she couldn’t look away, couldn’t seem to move at all. That afternoon, she sought out the one person she trusted to give her an honest answer – and to neither judge her nor tell anyone else. They had, unfortunately, had to have similar conversations before, though never about Elsa. “Kristoff?” He was packing ledgers into boxes – his record-keeping was meticulously neat even if his penmanship was not; the former something Elsa thoroughly appreciated – but stopped at the sound of her voice, wiping dusty hands quickly on his pants before hauling a chair over the boxes so she could sit. She did so gratefully, offering him a smile. “Thank you.” He sat on the closest box. “How’re you feeling?” “I’m… doing well. All things considered.” “Good.” He waited a moment, raised his eyebrows expectantly when Elsa couldn’t immediately come up with anything to say. “Is something wrong?” She bit her lip and looked to her lap – except she no longer had much lap to look at. “I’m… I’m not sure.” “Elsa?” How many years had it taken him to grow comfortable with using her name? As many as it had taken for her to feel she could approach him like this, as she might Anna – because in some things, Kristoff understood her in ways Anna never would. Their differences, Anna’s and Kristoff’s, complemented one another, and with time and trust, Elsa had come to see the value in both. Fears she could take to neither Anna nor her husband – these she often brought to Kristoff. He was such a calming presence, solid and dependable and honest. And when Anna was herself with child, he had come to Elsa for reassurance. All these years later, she needed to call in the favor. She tried to make herself look at him – he had such kind eyes. “I’m worried. I guess.” “About what?” “About…” She had come to him because she knew he would accept what she had to say, without judgment, but that did not make the saying any easier. Her eyes again looked down as she gestured to her stomach. “This. About this.”

“Ah.” Now it was his turn for a lengthy silence. “Yeah. It takes some getting used to. A lot of getting used to.” “Yes. It does.” She should have given more thought to what she wanted to say before she sought him out. “Anything in particular? Because really, Anna might be-” She looked at him, steely-eyed. “No . Not Anna.” He just nodded, never breaking his gaze, accepting. “Anna would just get upset. I can’t… I don’t handle Anna upset well right now.” He half-smiled. “She’s noticed.” Elsa felt her expression mimic his – of course Anna had noticed. She was highly attuned to Elsa’s emotions at the best of times, and for the last few months, Elsa had been weeping against her shoulder on what felt like a daily basis. “So what is it?” he asked. She hesitated. Placed a hand over the swell, as if protecting the tiny life inside from what she was about to say – as if she had ever been able to protect anything at all. “I’m… I’m afraid…” She closed her eyes, took a shaky breath. “I have no business having a child. None at all. Arendelle has an heir. And I know… I know…” Her voice broke on a sob, and she covered her face with her hands. “I’m going to be an awful mother. And I’m so scared… so scared…” Kristoff, in terms of personal space, was an Anna – touch, for him, was comfort. Elsa felt his hands on her shoulders, wide enough to span them completely, squeezing gently. “No way. Elsa – look at me.” How many people in the last decade and a half had given her an order? Had taken the burden of decision-making out of her hands? She sniffled, tried to get herself under control – and did as she had been told. His eyes bore into hers, only inches away, and she had to resist the urge to pull back. “That’s crazy, Elsa. Absolutely crazy. It’s nonsense.” She did recoil then, involuntarily, startled by the vehemence in his tone. She shook her head, because she had no words. “Look, just – just let me think for a minute. I expected this from Anna, but not from you.” “From… Anna?” But Anna had been thrilled to find out she and Kristoff were expecting – she had come running to Elsa already talking about names and nursery decorations, absolutely euphoric. Kristoff offered that half-smile again. “Anna was terrified. She’d gotten it into her head that you needed an heir, but when she really realized that meant we were going to be parents…” He shook his head, rueful. “What about you?” “Me?” He let go of her shoulders to rub his hands across his face. “I’m still scared I’m not cut out for this. Every single day.” “You’re a wonderful father, Kristoff.” And he was – of that, Elsa had no doubts. “And you’ll be a wonderful mother.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “I have evidence.” “So do I. Every day, almost everything you do is for someone else. Or did you wake up one morning and decide to be queen?” “That’s different.”

“How? There are selfish parents who don’t care about their kids. There are selfish kings and queens who don’t care about the people in their kingdoms. You do care, though. Anybody could see that.” “One does not necessarily have anything to do with the other.” He shrugged. “It might, it might not. It’s what we’ve got right now. Well, and – you love your family, right?” “More than anything.” She smiled, teasing: “Even you, some of the time.” “Only because you’re afraid of Anna.” She laughed. “True.”

There were good days and bad days as she approached the end – the inevitable, terrifying end. But she had always had good days and bad days, one extreme or the other, nothing in between. She felt strange, her body no longer her own, her mind struggling for the self control that had always been so central to her being. Pregnancy defined her every moment, impossible to forget – she couldn’t sleep the way she wanted to, could neither stand nor sit for longer than a few minutes, still grew inexplicably emotional over almost nothing at all. Lack of control – still, probably always, Elsa’s greatest fear. But sometimes – rarely, but sometimes – she could almost believe what Kristoff had said, what she knew Anna and her husband would have said as well. She wanted to think she might be a good mother, wanted it desperately. She found herself looking forward to feeling those fluttery little movements. A few times, it seemed to happen when she spoke. Alone in her room, she spoke directly to that swell, resting her hand on it – halting, hesitant, feeling rather ridiculous, uncertain what to say. And when she felt the response – strong and sure – she was very glad to be alone, because she started laughing and crying and rambling any nonsense that came into her head, just to feel the baby responding.

But then she thought of Anna outside her door, waiting all those years for a response that never came. And Elsa knew she was selfish – so selfish. Selfish as a mother should never be.

There were practicalities to consider – Elsa had always been good at making lists, considering options, reaching conclusions. She felt comfortable with decorating a nursery, and she had Anna’s enthusiastic help. Furniture in shades of pale yellow and white, blankets folded into chests, tiny gowns and soft toys, everything carefully arranged just so. Elsa went back alone in the night, candlelight flickering off lacquered wood, and tried to convince herself of the truth of it – that her child would sleep in that bassinet, would wear these clothes. That she might be here on some not-too-distant night, much like this one, rocking slowly in that chair, soothing a baby wrapped in one of those blankets. She left hurriedly then, pulling the door firmly shut before wrapping her free arm around herself and giving over to helpless trembling, frost climbing the walls. For a moment, it had been real. She wasn’t ready. She was in her eighth month. Her husband brought her books and journals, told her about his research and thoughts. She had scientific treatises on fetal development, on labor and delivery, on the first months of life – she read them voraciously, enjoying them until she reached the ends and could no longer forget that this was not just abstract education. They were going to deliver the baby alone – her and him. Despite the months of practice, despite her increased control, she still feared her reaction to that kind of prolonged pain and stress. Her husband was an expert, had read everything on the subject of magic and childbirth, and, most of all, he helped keep her calm. She didn’t want to risk hurting anyone who wasn’t there voluntarily – and when was anything asked by a reigning monarch answered completely voluntarily? They would do it, just the two of them. She almost wished she was brave enough to go through it by herself. But there was that selfishness again – she couldn’t do it. She knew she couldn’t. They would, of course, call for physician and midwife – the same lovely woman who had been there for Anna – to be on hand in the castle, ready to assist in the event of complications, to be available before and after the birth. And Elsa forced herself to sit through interviews and read letters of former employers in the selection of a wet nurse, of nannies. The process was not something she enjoyed, but it allowed her to reassure herself that the women they picked seemed gentle and loving, were well-qualified, and came highly recommended. She also realized then how little time her own child would actually spend with her – fears of being a horrible mother or not, the thought was a discomfiting one. Many of her daily duties as queen she was finally forced to give over to Anna or advisors; she was always uncomfortable, and was finding concentration increasingly difficult. The smallest things set her off – her husband one morning found her weeping over her frozen desk; her pen nib had snapped, and she could not find another. They tried to help, all of them, and she knew and appreciated it, particularly him and Anna. He rubbed away the worst of the permanent soreness in her lower back, brushed her hair each night, helping her to fall asleep. Anna came to assist with dressing – buttoning at the back, kneeling to tie boots. If Elsa thought about it too much, these things made her cry, too – because she didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve any of it.

Elsa’s labor began as she sat at her desk, doggedly attempting to work, early one morning in May. She had slept badly the night before, unable to get comfortable, and doing something productive finally proved preferable to tossing and turning in bed. Discomfort had been her everyday state for quite some time now – and so now she attempted to ignore the pressure, the occasional mild cramping. She took deep breaths, tried to relax, focused on the papers before her. She was sorting – things she could still handle, things for Anna, things for her advisory council. Monotonous, soothing work. But the discomfort grew. It finally gripped her hard enough to make her gasp, grab the arms of her chair with tight fingers, tense and straighten, almost moving off the seat. She closed her eyes and rode it out – it lasted no more than half a minute, if that, but a moan of relief passed her lips nonetheless when it ended. The unusual pressure remained, but the pain, thankfully, was gone. She wanted desperately to dismiss it – a result of her finally falling asleep last night in a strange position, or maybe a minor illness. It could be any number of things. But her frightened mind knew exactly what it was, and would accept no excuses. She was having contractions.

The baby was coming. She finished sorting her papers – suddenly, inexplicably, it seemed vitally important that she finish. And all the books she had read, all of the articles – all agreed that the early stages of labor were long, very long, though none of the authors could quite agree on what a woman should do during that time. So Elsa spent the beginning of “that time” trying to pretend it wasn’t happening. She had two more contractions before her work was finished. Another as she was walking down the corridor to find her husband, putting a hand to the wall to support shaky legs, closing her eyes and biting down hard on her lower lip until the pain released her. She was shaking all over. There was frost on the wall where her fingers had pressed. For a long moment, she just stared at it, transfixed. “You can control it,” she whispered, hoping to convince herself – but she didn’t believe it. She crossed her arms tightly against the little space that was left to them, and moved on quickly. She didn’t want to meet anyone else in the hallways – she didn’t want anyone else to know. She felt vulnerable and exposed, like they would be able to tell just by looking at her. Her husband was in his study, as she had known he would be, several crumbly-paged books open around him and a notebook before him; he was scribbling frantically. He was dressed but had not combed back his hair, and the loose curls bouncing against his forehead made him look younger than his 39 years, almost boyish. Would their child have hair like his? The desperate desire to better understand the workings of the world, like both its parents? Elsa’s breath hitched, and that was when he realized she was there. He looked up, blinked, clearly trying to move his mind from his books, back into the real world. When it happened, she knew – he was up in an instant, moving around the desk, closer to her, eyes wide and worried. “Elsa, what is it? What’s wrong?” She looked down, at her arms crossed over the huge swell of her stomach, realizing for the first time that she had not taken the time to get dressed. She was still in her long nightgown, one of the ones that seemed to swallow her tiny frame whole, falling off her narrow shoulders. Her feet were bare, her hair falling in tangles to her lower back. She probably looked like a child, seeking reassurance from a nightmare. Except this nightmare was real. She opened her mouth to reply but the pain chose that moment to hit again, and her lips condensed around a desperate little moan. With nothing else available, she grabbed for him, and he pulled her close, so she shuddered against his chest until it was over. Then she just clung to him, desperate and afraid and fighting hard, so hard, against the chill creeping through her veins. He stroked her hair, spoke quietly: “Shh, my darling. Shh. It’s okay. You’re okay.” Slowly, slowly, the shaking eased, her lungs relaxed, she could pull away before she hurt him. She clasped her hands together, protective, and looked at the floor. “I don’t think I can do this.” Her voice hardly more than a whisper. “Oh, Elsa…” He did touch her then, a finger under her chin to gently left her eyes to his. “Of course you can do this. You’re the strongest woman I know.” She forced a smile – wavery, but there. “How far apart?” “About… about a quarter hour?” “Then we have some time yet. Would you like to go for a walk?” She nodded, resisting the urge to cry with relief that she had still some time, time to try to get used to the idea, time to prepare herself. They went out to the courtyards – after stopping for her to put on slippers – and the morning was pleasantly cool, frost dappling fresh blooms, and Elsa felt almost calm as they made slow circuits of the gardens, her hand on his arm. He talked quietly about the workings of the plants, of flowers and fruit, a gentle, soothing monologue in that voice she loved so much. The contractions grew stronger, steadily closer together. She clung to him through each one, trying to keep quiet, trying to keep control. He timed them on his pocket watch, timed the length between as well. “Less than ten minutes,” he finally said, as she gulped desperate breaths and moved away from the ice beneath her feet – it would ruin the silk of her slippers. She was still in her nightgown, because what would be the point of going through the ordeal of dressing? “We’ll need to get inside and make preparations,” he went on, “but before we do – can you do something for me?” She looked at him, surprised, and nodded. “Next time the pain comes, try what we’ve practiced – controlled release. Do you think you can do that?” She squashed as well as she could the panic trying to grow in her chest. There were no words – she just nodded again, still staring at him, mute pleas for reassurance. He smiled at her. “You’re doing wonderfully, Elsa.” They walked on. He was leading them back towards the castle. She wanted to resist, to argue. She wanted to stay out here. She wanted it never to happen. She wanted it to be over. She said nothing. The next contraction hit so hard her legs gave out; he caught her, supported her. “Try it, Elsa.” More command in his voice now – breaking though the pain. “Gather and release. You know how to do this. Gather and release.” She groaned and dug her fingers into his arms, head hanging, pain the center of her world. But when she felt the familiar tendrils of cold, seeking a way out, she seized them, focused on drawing them back. Pressure in her hands as the same eased in her stomach – and she released him to splay her fingers out, power releasing in a single, condensed mass that dissipated away almost instantly. She collapsed against him with a desperate, relieved sob, and he pulled her close, stroking her hair again and whispering how proud he was of her. The next couple of hours were a whirlwind of activity, and Elsa was trapped and pinned at the very center of it. They had a room prepared, near the back stairs so anything needed could be delivered quickly; a fire was built, though Elsa did not really want one, to allow water to be heated. And he asked for water, and towels, and blankets, and a knife. The physician arrived and insisted on looking her over; the midwife came after and did the same; Elsa complied silently with both, already too exhausted and overwhelmed to protest. The midwife said it would likely be mid-afternoon when the baby arrived. Elsa did her very best to thank her with a smile – she seemed to have no words left at all. She paced the room during the blessed rare minutes when she was alone. Made herself sit when others came in – she was still the queen. She was always still the queen. And the queen must always, always appear in control of a situation. Even when all control had been wrested away from her. Finally, it was just her and him. Two large tubs of water, a kettle for heating it. The stack of towels, a smaller stack of blankets beside it. On the table by the door, the knife, a water glass, a roll of string, a roll of bandaging. In the center of the room, the bed Elsa had been trying not to look at or think about. And deep inside her, hard, muscular contractions that were now coming less than ten minutes apart – by her estimate, it was probably closer to five. “How are you?” he asked. He was kneeling near her chair, giving her space. She swallowed hard, told herself she wouldn’t cry. “Scared. I’m… I’m so scared.” He held a hand out; she took it, and he squeezed gently. “I know you are. But you’re doing so well. And it will be over soon.” She nodded. She could still feel the heat of tears behind her eyes. “Can I… Can you help me up?” “Of course.” He walked with her again, across the room and back, holding her through more contractions, gently encouraging her to gather and release, gather and release. She felt a flicker of irritation at him, more than once, but these she tamped down quickly – he was here. She wanted him here. He was only trying to help.

But the room was too hot, and her nightgown itched, and it hurt, it hurt so much, and she just wanted it over. God help her, that was all she wanted, all she would ever ask for. She wanted it to be over. With the next contraction, she felt something give, and gasped as warm liquid trickled down her legs. For the first time since their time in the gardens, she lost control – ice spread beneath her feet, frost climbed the walls. She stumbled away from him – a defense; don’t hurt him – and crossed protective arms across her abdomen. Then she burst into tears. He remained calm – always, so calm. She watched through her tears as he fetched a towel, approached her slowly. “It’s okay, Elsa. It’s really okay.” But it wasn’t, and she knew it wasn’t. She hunched, half-turning from him. “I can’t. I can’t do it, I can’t, I can’t, I-” “Shh,” he murmured. He knelt, lifting her gown up, cleaning her legs. She was trembling almost too hard to stand. “Elsa. My darling Elsa. Shh.” “Please…” But she didn’t even know what she wanted. Except for this not to be happening. She could hurt him. Or the baby – he could be wrong. She couldn’t control herself. She was going to hurt the baby. She cried out as another contraction hit, her knees giving out; she sank to the floor and bent double, the pain making her gasp. “Gather and release,” he said. “I am!” Finally snapping, but somehow that brought her back to focus, and it was almost automatic now, gather-release-dissipate. She shuddered when it was over, still bent around herself, gasping for breath, too exhausted to move. He rubbed her back, shushed her softly until her breathing slowed almost to normal. “We need to get you to the bed, Elsa.” Mumbling to her knees, petulant: “I don’t want to.”

“The baby’s coming soon, my darling. You don’t want to be on the floor.” “It’s too hot. I want to go back outside.” She was whining. She didn’t care. “Elsa-” But a commotion in the hall cut him off – frantic running footsteps, shouting and apologetic murmuring, and then the door slamming open and the whirlwind admitting herself: Anna. She looked around for a minute, then her gaze fell on Elsa, still on the floor, and her mouth fell open in clear dismay. Elsa reacted immediately – trying to get to her feet, struggling for balance. When her husband offered a hand she grabbed it gratefully, standing to face her sister, to reassure her that everything was okay. Anna must have run the length of the castle – she was red in the face and breathing harder than Elsa. “Nobody told me! I had meetings all morning, and nobody told me. Elsa-” But Elsa held up her hands, a silent plea for calm. “It’s okay. I’m sorry. I… I didn’t want to worry you.” In truth, she had not given Anna a thought – more of her selfishness. She had only been thinking of herself – her own worries, not Anna’s. Anna’s face softened. “Oh, Elsa – of course you didn’t. But I’m here now, I’m-” Another contraction hit, even harder and stronger now that her water had broken. Elsa turned her focus inwards, hardly hearing her own frantic gasps, concentrating again on calm, control, gather-and-release. When it was over, when she tried to straighten and smile, she found Anna staring at her, stricken. “Oh, Elsa…” she whispered. There were tears in her eyes. “It’s all right.” Forcing as normal a voice as she could manage, trying to hide her heavy breathing. “It’s… It’s almost over. Right?” Looking to her husband – needing so desperately for him to deal with Anna. Get her out.

Thankfully, he immediately nodded. “Right. It shouldn’t be long at all.” “I want to stay.” Elsa looked back to Anna, feeling her eyes widen, the panic that gripped her heart. “No. Anna, no. You can’t.” “I want to help!” “No. Anna, you have to-” But then the pain had her again, pain and pressure, and her mouth opened on a silent scream as her hands clawed at the air, until he grabbed them, spoke over the pounding of her heart, and it was all she could do to listen, because Anna was here, she had to keep herself under control, but oh, it hurt- “Elsa.” He still had her hands, but he was looking down; following his gaze, she saw blood on the floor. Hers. She pulled a hand away to cover her mouth, moaning, her legs swaying, threatening to give out. “We have to get you to the bed. Right now.” She nodded, still staring at the floor, lightheaded and faintly nauseated. Anna took one arm, but she didn’t have the strength to protest. She was shaking so hard that they did most of the work getting her up. Once on the bed, she turned away from them and curled, wrapping her arms around her middle. She hadn’t felt the baby move all day. She didn’t know if that was normal. “Elsa?” Anna’s voice, tears in it. And at that, Elsa burst into fresh tears of her own, rolling back to face her sister, ignoring the sudden drop in temperature: “Anna, please. Please. I need you to go. Now.” A contraction, and she had lost too much control already – she cried out and pulled desperately inside herself, fighting the contradictory urge to push and the pull of the magic, the need to keep it in. “Anna.” It was his voice now – the same soothing, reassuring tone Elsa knew so well. “Elsa fears… She’s worried she might hurt you.” “But-”

“I know. I really do. But right now – stress only makes it more difficult. For her, and for the baby.” Anna turned pleading eyes back to the bed. “Elsa?” Elsa forced a tremulous smile, reached out a hand for Anna to hold. “I’m sorry nobody told you. I… I didn’t know. But now – Anna, you know how this feels. If I can’t control it-” “But you can.” “But if I can’t.” Irritation flared again – this was why she hadn’t told Anna. Because Anna would not listen. She had never known how to listen. “You can wait just outside, okay?” Another contraction – they were so close together now, the urge to push so strong. She was shaking again, panting, forcing the words out: “Anna, please!” Anna was biting her lip. She was still holding Elsa’s hand. “Right outside?” “Right outside,” Elsa agreed. Anna smiled and squeezed her hand. “I know you can do it.” And then she was gone, pulling the door shut behind her – but a few moments later, Elsa heard a scraping sound, a decisive thump: Anna pulling a chair down the hall to sit, as she had been told she could, right outside. Elsa closed her eyes and let silent tears – pain, regret, desperation, love – flow freely down her face. Anna. It should have been Anna here, having another. Anna was a wonderful mother – playful and patient and kind. It should have been Anna. Her husband gave her time to calm herself – and to get through another contraction. He gave her a towel to wipe her face, brushed sweaty bangs gently back from her forehead. “I don’t think it will be long now.” It was a little over three hours. The longest three hours Elsa had ever experienced. The contractions came closer and closer together, more and more powerful, more painful, sending daggers through her hips, her legs, her back. She couldn’t breath through them, moaned and cried and gasped desperately for air after them. He coaxed her through both. He alternated between tasks now, in his usual, methodical manner – checking her progress, warming water, wetting a towel with the water still in the tubs to gently wipe her face, her neck. And when she held out her hand, he held it, stroked her fingers, until she was ready to let go. She first begged him to make it stop about an hour after moving to the bed. Pleaded and cried, shook, clung to him, clutched his arms. He tried to calm her. She didn’t want to be calmed. She got angry, shouted, let snow hang heavy in the air, ice climb the walls, wind and cold take rein. He only stopped her when she tried to put the fire out – she was still too warm, she was unhappy, she wanted him to suffer as she was. He had known this could happen – known, and never told her. “Elsa.” His voice was still very controlled, but firm. “Stop. We need the fire.” “I don’t. I never do.” “The baby does, Elsa.” Then she started to cry again, and he returned to soothing. She couldn’t get comfortable, and that upset her too. Her legs ached, her back; she rolled and adjusted, sat up and laid back down. Once, near the end, it suddenly seemed vitally important that she get up and go somewhere else – before she hurt someone. Hurt the baby. She had to go somewhere else. He had her shoulders then, gently but firmly keeping her where she was. “No, Elsa. No. It’s almost over, okay? Almost over.” “But I need to- please- I don’t want to-” “Elsa. Listen. Are you listening?” She nodded, trying to focus, to let him bring her back. “You are not going to hurt anyone. Okay?” She nodded again, closed her eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. “Okay. Okay.” “You’re almost there.” Squeezing her shoulders before moving back to check her again, gentle fingers moving her knees apart. “Almost there. Next time, I need you to try pushing, okay? I think it’s time.” At that, she wanted again to scream in frustration, except she didn’t have the energy. It was already everything she could do to gather-and-release with each long, miserable contraction – she couldn’t do anything else. She couldn’t. Tears streaming down her face again, as she let it all overwhelm her. But the next time the pain took hold, she pushed. She gathered, controlled, released, and she pushed. And she did it again. And again. Her whole world focused around it, concentrated, condensed. She could feel it building to a crescendo, tearing her apart, tearing, and she heard herself wail as if from some great distance, her body taut and arched as she bore down desperately. The pain was absolute, unending. She felt something soft being pressed against her hands – a towel – and she clutched it, feeling it freeze and stiffen under her fingers. Her eyes were squeezed shut, black and red behind her lids, and she could hear blood pounding in her ears; her heart beating madly, lungs screaming, and below there was pain, nothing but pain, hot, burning, tearing – and she wailed again, the last air she had, the last burst of energy. She felt something give – the pressure growing impossibly hard, and then releasing, going, sliding away. And then it was gone, the pain was gone, the pressure, and she fell back on the bed, clutching the frozen towel, sobbing in relief, in fear. She was trembling all over, her eyes closed against her tears.

There was a strange little noise from her husband – somewhere between a gasp and an attempt to speak. And he said, “Elsa-” Then she heard the cries begin. Crying. Her eyes flew open and she pushed herself up on her elbows, exhaustion forgotten, the towel finally dropping from her hands. And there, in his splayed, bloody hands, red and wrinkled and wailing – a baby. Hers. Hers. And Elsa burst into fresh tears, but she was happy, so happy, relieved and awestruck and euphoric, absolutely euphoric. She held her arms out, purely on instinct, and he laughed, told her just a minute, let’s get the cord cut and get her cleaned up. “Her?” Elsa’s voice was hoarse, soft – hesitant. “Her,” he confirmed, and grinned that same impossibly sunny smile he could never fully hold back. “A beautiful little girl.” Elsa followed his every move, smiling – unable to help it – at the indignant wails of a first washing. She was tired, sore, and terrified – but none of those things seemed nearly as pressing as watching them. Her husband. Her daughter. Her daughter. He brought her over swaddled warm and quiet in a blanket, helped Elsa sit up against the pillows. And then he placed her in Elsa’s arms – she felt them tuck so naturally around this tiny, perfect creature, still red-faced but silent now, trying to focus up at Elsa with blue, impossibly blue eyes. Elsa shuddered, bit her lip. Stared into those eyes. Drank in the tiny nose, the little bow of a mouth, the tufty hair that even half-dry had a distinctly reddish tint. “Hi,” she whispered. Her husband gently smoothed her hair back again, kissed her forehead. “You did wonderfully, darling.” He stroked the baby’s cheek with one finger. “Wonderfully.” “Thank you.” She was still whispering. She didn’t want to do anything to destroy this perfect calm. “Are you all right?” “Fine. I’m… I’m fine.” She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t look away. He stroked her hair again. “I need to find the midwife. She’ll want to make sure everything’s okay. And the wet nurse, for the first feeding.” Elsa looked at him now, for the first time since taking her daughter into her arms. “First feeding?” “They recommend it within the first hour.” “Oh.” She looked down again, into those perfect eyes that seemed lock on her own. “All right.” “Would you like a few minutes alone with her?” “I…” She was still discomfited, for reasons she could not seem to fully grasp. “Yes. I’d like that, yes.” She could hear the smile in his voice: “How long should I make Anna wait?” She forced a smile too, knowing he would notice if she didn’t. “Five minutes. Or… or just a couple. If she can manage that long.” He chuckled and kissed her forehead again, and then was gone; Elsa could hear the murmur of voices, Anna’s delighted cry – she must have been told it was a girl. Footsteps walking away. Then silence. And Elsa was alone with her daughter. The baby was still staring up at her, blinking and trying to focus, pursing her tiny lips. First feeding. Elsa bit her lip. Hers. Her daughter. Hers. She shifted the baby to one arm, lifted her other trembling hand up to the shoulder of her nightgown, pulled it down. Took a deep breath. Her heard was pounding. She cupped her hand beneath her breast – breathing through her mouth, eyes wide and wet – and shifted the baby again. Watched as instinct kicked in almost at once. When Anna tentatively stuck her head around the door several minutes later, Elsa was sobbing openly, holding her nursing daughter close and warm against her chest. She smiled through her tears. “She’s mine. Oh, Anna, look, she’s mine.” Anna was grinning, still in the doorway, her own face shining, tears and delight. Elsa’s.

They named her Johanna, for the queen regent who had ruled until Elsa’s father had come of age – Elsa and Anna’s grandmother. But Anna shook her head when they told her. “That’s too much for a tiny little thing. Jenny. She’s a Jenny.” And Jenny she was.

Three months later, Anna found Elsa’s husband at the open door of Elsa’s study, apparently transfixed. Inside, she could hear baby Jenny beginning to fuss. “What are you doing?” He smiled and put a finger to his lips, nodded into the room: watch. Anna leaned past him in time to see Elsa put her pen down and rise from her desk, lifting Jenny carefully from the bassinet in the corner. She walked up and down the room slowly, a gentle, rolling walk, holding the baby to her shoulder with one hand, rubbing circles against her back with the other, singing a soft, lilting lullaby Anna could vaguely remember their own mother singing. Jenny’s cries turned quickly to soft, hiccuping little noises, then more gradually to the contented murmurs of resumed sleep. Elsa returned to her desk, sitting smoothly, back straight and regal. Still holding her sleeping daughter against her shoulder with one hand, she picked up her pen and resumed work with the other, as if she had never stopped. “Whoa,” Anna whispered. “Yes. Exactly how I feel.” “Nothing that women haven’t done for all eternity,” Elsa countered – Anna suspected she had been fully aware they were out there the whole time. “Now out, both of you. I have work to do.” There was no wet nurse for Jenny, no nannies or maids. She was Elsa’s.

#frozen #frozen fanfiction #sweet joy befall thee #shardsverse #jenny makes a triumphant return

68 notes · View notes