#this is my first drawing of red headed claire i think

[hsslilly-blog]

🩰🎶 State Street Ballet Academy presents Pippi Longstocking with Claribel Swanson

newspaper clipping from one of claire’s first big roles on stage as a child! she’s 12 here, but she had been dancing/acting/singing for years already. inspired by a tag left by harley on claire’s wiki article!!

[hannahssimblr]

For a brief period last year, I had this thing about wasps. Miss O’Reilly spurred the whole thing on after poring over my sketchbooks with me. She made some offhand comment about how nice it would be to see some animals too, amongst the endless scrawl of human arms and legs and feet and heads on every inch of every page, because it would expand my anatomical knowledge. This had never occurred to me.

So across town to the zoo I went. Where, through the spring and the earliest days of summer I would draw gorillas in their glass enclosures, giraffes, sloths, red pandas, while parents and children looked over my shoulder at my work, ogling as though I too was part of an exhibition. 

I returned that August, late, in that last week before school starts when the sun still warms you, but the wind carries autumn with it. By then, the leaves had lost that vibrant green and hung tired from branches, curled and russet at the edges. It was wasp season, when they emerge, as though from nowhere, angry, confused, in a ferocious pursuit of sugar. 

One landed on my sketchbook, near the thumb that held the page, and I resisted the tingle of fear in my body, the urge to swat him away. Instead I watched him, and then I drew him, his alien eyes and hairy body, papery wings and the abstract black and yellow stripes like caution tape wound around his horntail. I feared wasps - I think. One had never stung me and had no reference for the pain, but coincidentally, I had read about them in an insect encyclopaedia from the school library. I’d learned about their sad Augusts, when their purpose had been fulfilled, and their queens cast them out of the nest to die. 

That wasp, eating the ice cream fingerprint from my page, was no different. Here he was, addicted to sugar, drunk, perhaps, from the fermenting fruits he had managed to find. If I swatted him away, could I really blame him if, in his desperation and pain, he attacked me? He really was just another creature fulfilling his purpose, adapting to the new environment in which he had been thrown. 

“Oh, God!” Michelle cried, and whacked him with her zoo map. His insides left a stain on the paper, and I turned to her, outraged. “Why did you do that?”

“It might have stung you!” 

And things escalated, as they normally did, to an argument by the elephant enclosure. She erupted in front of a family of four and asked me when I became such a fucking vegetarian about wasps. We didn’t speak a word to one another on the bus home, and then, come September, we forgot about wasps for another year. 

A wasp lands on my arm. I feel it first, the weird little legs tickling my skin. Someone splashed cider on me in the Foo Fighters’ mosh pit. That’s what he’s looking for. For the first time in a year, I think about wasps again, while the rest of my friends plan their next move. He shouldn’t be out at night. He must be confused. Maybe he’s about to die. 

“Oh! Gosh! You’ve a wasp on your arm!” Claire waves her hand about me and the wasp makes a drowsy departure and swoops toward the overflowing bins by the barriers. 

Several seconds pass before it occurs to me to react. “Yeah.” 

As the others head towards the bar, she and Shane hang back, peering at me with that wary concern, as though there’ve sensed something deeply unhinged about me. “Are you okay?” She says gently. “You look like you got a bit of a knock there in the mosh pit.”

“No, it was fine. It felt good to kind of shove everyone around.” It’s true. I wasn’t thinking in there where I was thrashing to The Pretender, but I know how I must look. She eyes the collar of my t-shirt, stretched completely out of shape from where some beast of a man grabbed me to fling me out of his path like a rag doll. it was violent, but it felt good, like something that I needed.

“Look,” Shane scratches his head, “The lads there, they were talking about going to that rave at midnight. They wanted to grab some shots first, but like, if you don’t want to go, and you’d rather go back to the tent or something, that’d be okay.”

Claire nods. “We could even go with you, right? I wouldn’t mind just hanging out and taking it easy if you wanted company.”

Do I really seem that bad? I shake my head. “No, it’s fine. I’ll just do what everyone else is doing.”

They pause, and I press the issue. “Do I seem like I won’t be able for it?”

“Not that.” Shane says. “You just seem a bit wrecked.”

“I’ll survive another concert.”

“Yeah, I’m not saying you won’t, like.”

“Right then.”

They exchange a look, and I sigh. “I don’t know what you think is wrong with me, but I’m not drinking, I’m not on drugs,” I lean down to show them my pupils, which I realise too late is quite a manic, on-drugs thing to do, but I don’t know how else to prove my sobriety. “It’s just been a day, okay? I’m just… it’s been odd.”

“We can talk about it if you like,” Claire says, in that very kind, Claire way, but I shake my head. 

“Let’s not bother. Come on, we’ll just go to that rave thing and dance, yeah? Then I’ll go back to the tent and we can take it easy.”

“Okay, if you say so,” she says, and with her arms around herself against the midnight chill, she and Shane march past me, towards the big top of the marquee across the bottle-littered fields. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[mossyivy]

𝔹𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕒 𝔾𝕠𝕠𝕕 ℝ𝕦𝕟 [𝔼𝕟𝕕]

DI!Leon Kennedy x Reader

Summary: Leon finally wakes up...

Words: 1.5k

Content Warning: kinda Cliff hanger end (sorry not sorry), talks of loneliness and emptiness

[Previous Part]

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. A whole lot of nothing.

He huffs in irritation, rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes as he shuts the filing cabinet with his hip. An hour of searching this entire room and nothing.

I'm getting too old for this job...

Glancing over at you, he turns his flashlight off, walking over as he slips it into it rightful place in his pocket. Leon leans on the desk, moving closer down to your level.

"Anything interesting?" You shake your head.

"Nothing useful. Just a bunch a money transfers and employee back and forth... You?" You look up at him from the desk chair. Frustration written across your face.

"They cleaned the place out. Not a single scrap of anything useful."

"You still got that flashdrive with the copies of anything we could get off from the servers that wasn't blocked by a password?" Leon nods, giving you a curious slide eye.

"Why?"

"Claire is gonna want copies of everything we could find. Especially if this is another outbreak contained to Havana. TerraSave would appreciate it."

In the moment all he can think back to is Alcatraz and the hell that day was. How he could have been turned himself if it wasn't for the luck of Rebecca showing up at the right exact time with a vaccine.

With the life he's had alone, he wouldn't wish that on his worst enemy.

He softly shrugs with a nod. You were right, whatever information you could find in the moment was important. If you didn't gather it, it just be destroyed to save face for the bioweapon creating organization you were investigating this week.

You look over at the rows of servers, blue lighting up against the wall, grinning you look back at Leon.

"You feel like destroying shit?"

"What did you have in mind?" He smirks watching you reach into your holster pouch and pull out a grenade.

"Boom boom?" He breathes out a laugh, grabbing your shoulder and giving it an approving squeeze.

"That's my girl, I'm teaching you well."

Within minutes you were both rushing out of the room, the clunk of the grenade echoing as it bounced across the floor. The sliding door to the room shutting behind you both as the loud BOOM pierced the air.

Causing the metal door to indent outwards and slowly clang onto the floor. You stare at the door rocking back and forth on its indent. Leon looks at you, giving a nod of approval right before the hallway turns into a flashing red color and sirens start blaring.

"Okay, maybe that wasn't the best idea!" He yells over the loud screeching.

Both turning you hall ass back the way you originally came in. Stopping in your tracks you both look as a metal gate closes over the end of the hallway, you're only exit.

"Son of bitch..." You mumble, turning to look at him. He starts looking around, trying to formulate some kind of plan.

Leon pushes a door open gesturing for you to come over, stepping to him you see a staircase going up.

"I guess you could say, things are looking up." You groan at his stupid remark he definitely thinks is funny.

"Boo, hiss. Bad joke." You push past him and start up the stairs.

"Oh, like you could do any better Smartass." He quickly follows, keeping up with you. Making it to the first landing you turn and look back at him.

"Did no one ever tell you? You can't trust stairs Leon, they're always up to something." You feign irritation as he smirks.

"God, I really am teaching you well."

"Shut up."

You two travel up the stairs, checking each door, finding it locked. Until reaching the 5th and final floor.

Reaching the landing you both notice the door is wide open. Leon draws his weapon, you following suit as you step into the hallway, noticing the mess of papers across the carpeted floors. Office doors all left open for all the world to see. Most likely when the building was originally evacuated not long after everyone arrived.

"Looks like everyone really was in a hurry to get the hell out of here."

"I doubt anyone's left up here," Leon adds, looking into a nearby office, "and we don't really have all the time in the world to search every room. We need to get back to the group."

"So what's the plan then?" Watching Leon he steps around the corner, you follow behind without much thought. Soon you both approach a set of double doors and press them open.

Walking in you're met with a long hall, metal grates beneath your thick boots as you step in. The red lights from before illuminating the area. You both look to the sides of the rails seeing that there's a high drop on both sides.

"I knew we'd find this eventually," Leon looks at you, his eyes filled with accomplishment, "this is the long stretch we saw connecting the office to the hospital side when we arrived."

"Oh, good find then Kennedy."

Continuing forward you both holster your weapons and start walking the long stretch. Clanking fills the hallow room as you both walk.

"Do you think they cleared the hospital completely?" You question, glancing at Leon in your peripheral.

"I'd assume so. Though Chris hasn't contacted me like he's supposed to so-" Leon's cut off by a loud metal scrapping with a wet gurgling sound rattling against the walls.

You look up at the wall to your right and see it. A disgusting gooey looking monstrosity with 4 long tentacle like arms, clinging to the wall. It shrieks before lunging and missing you both and wetly slopping onto the metal grates behind you.

Taking off towards the end of the walk away you both draw your pistols getting ready to fight it. Leon turns and fires at it, pushing you to keep running towards the exit.

Hearing him to pop shots you turn seeing it quickly making it's way across the high ceiling, directly for you. You aim and fire a few shots, hitting it and blowing a hole in one of it's long arms.

Before you reach the exit the monstrosity drops in front of the door blocking your way to freedom. It swings it injured arm out, wrapping your legs up swiftly, Leon shoots at it's arm, your gun goes flying from your hand and off the platform.

Being jerked into the air you feel a crunch in your leg, shooting pain going to your ankle as you scream in agony being waved around, your body flailing like a rag doll as gun shots continue to pop through the air.

The beasts arm finally snaps off, sending you over the edge of the walkway and into the dark abyss below. Screaming for help as you plummet into whatever lies below.

"NO!" Leon looks over the rail seeing you disappear almost instantly into the darkness below. Finally hearing a loud crash a few seconds later.

Looking at the thing in his way he makes the quick decision to just do what he knows best...

Blow it to hell.

Grabbing his own grenade her grabs the trigger and pulls the pin throwing it at the monster. He jumps over the railing diving into the dark as he hears the explosion blow above him.

Darkness... He's surrounded by darkness as he hopes to live, for the first time in a long time he cares if he lives. He needs to know if his partners okay...

Being swallowed by the only black he sees the hole you've made, you laying lifeless on tile right before he almost lands next to you.

...

The darkness soon breaks... Being replaced by a bright blinding light.

A blinding florescent light.

Leon cracks his eyes open, looking down at himself. A white hospital blanket pulled up to his shoulders and a thick fleece gray blanket covers his lower half.

I'm in a hospital?

To his right she sees a heart monitor, IV bag dripping liquids into him and a tiny thin tube leading somewhere to him.

The hell happened to me...

Looking to his left, he sees you. Curled up in an arm chair asleep, covered by a black blanket. Your hand holding onto his for dear life.

"mmm..." He can't really talk yet, but he weakly clenches his hand around yours. Giving the strongest squeeze he can manage in his weakened state.

Your head lifts slowly, sleep invading your eyes as you swore in your sleep your felt something. Looking up at Leon you see his head slightly turned towards you, blue eyes on you, brightest you've seen them in these past grueling week.

"Leon!" Darting up from your chair, you lean over him. Staring at his eyes as you study him to make sure you aren't having some cruel dream.

"Where..." His voice is so hoarse as he tries to talk, you stop him.

"Don't, don't talk... Just let yourself wake up." You look at the table grabbing the nurse call button and start pushing it a few times.

"You're at a rehabilitation hospital in DC... There's a lot to explain."

A nurse and Dr. Owens comes in as you take a seat, watching them do an exam on Leon as he responds the best he can.

It took a while for Leon to be able to respond properly, his doctor doing more scans, tests and anything possible to test his abilities.

Sadly you both found out that Leon would have to relearn how to walk again and get his strength back up. Both very possible through physical therapy.

...

But through it all he still has you. From being in a wheelchair at your retirement dinner, moving him into your tiny apartment to keep an eye on him and watching him take his first steps again without assistance.

An now, 4 months later, he still has you by his side. Making sure he's taken care of and cherished like he's supposed to be. He knows he's loved, he's never felt this loved before in his life.

Even now as you walk out of the restaurant you went to for his 40th birthday. A day you made a huge fuss about, something he probably wouldn't have done if you didn't make him enjoy himself.

You look up seeing him walk out, cane pressing against the sidewalk with a soft click as he waltzes over and sits next to you on the bench.

"You okay, Hun?" He nods with a smile, messing with something in his pocket. He looks nervous almost.

"I just don't get why you made such a big deal out of today." Leon looks at you, letting his cane go and holds onto the edge of the bench.

"It's your 40th birthday, Dumbass. Of course I'd make a big deal, the day is all about you." You smile watching his eyes light up, hands gripping the bench. Squeezing rhythmically, almost like it's a stress ball.

"Well," he begins, looking back at you with an inviting smile, "what if I don't want my birthday to be only about me?"

Your eyebrows wrinkle, confusion falling on your face before he starts fiddling around in his jacket pocket.

"You know, for the longest time I've felt lonely. Years, it's been years. Since before we met. Before I started working for the government."

"Leon, what's-" He cuts you off before you can say anything else.

"Please, let me talk. I promise I'm going somewhere with this." He sounds serious, nodding you shut up and let him go.

"I guess you could say that I felt empty. Tried filling the void with... a number of different things. Nothing ever made me happy or feel whole... Until I met you."

He pulls his hand out of his pocket and covers his hand with his other hand. Not taking his eyes off you.

"You were such a hard ass when we met. Didn't let me breathe wrong way without putting me in line. But, I liked it. I liked that you were blunt and not afraid to speak your mind or call me stupid. Especially if I was being stupid... And it made me feel like someone truly had my back. After all the shit I've been through."

A soft pop sound comes from his hands, a blue cap falling from his hands. Bouncing across the ground a few feet away.

"And then you told me you loved me. An proved it... Proved that I could depend on you. Stuck with me through recovery, even if the past few months have been a personal hell for me. You really showed me what it was like to be loved. Loved by someone who wanted the best for me and actually cared."

Finally, he moves his hands reaching into a small white cup, pulling out a plastic ring with a giant fake diamond on it. You gasp soft, looking at it your eyes start welling with tears. A few slipping out and leaving wet streaks down your cheeks. His smile grows larger, looking at you fondly. Like he always looks at you when he thinks you don't notice him.

"Now, I know it's nothing *fancy* and we can get you something real. I just haven't had the chance to leave your side and get something... not 50¢."

He grunts, sliding off the bench and to the ground, bad knee up and his good leg under him. Taking your hand you give a wobbly smile.

"I don't want to spend another day where I can't call you my wife... My actual wife. I don't want anybody else. Just you... Just you and me. Just the two of us."

He takes a deep breath, holding the ring up.

"Will you marry me?"

[renee-writer]

Love Comes First Chapter 8

AO3

Trigger warning for child abuse

“Promise?” Her eyes are intense. Tabby swallows hard before nodding, “Thank you. I had to talk to someone but …”

 

“My da could…”

 

“You promised.” Her best mate reminds her.

 

“I know and I will keep it.”

 

That night she lays looking up at the ceiling. She can’t sleep her thoughts to heavy on what Sarah told her.

 

“It wouldn’t be telling if I prayed about it.” She whispers.

 

“What wouldn’t be?” Startled, she turns and looks at her sister.

 

“I thought you were asleep.”

“I was. Got up to pee. Came back and saw you. What’s on your mind?”

 

She shakes her head. “I can’t tell. I promised Sarah.”

 

“If it is bad enough to keep you awake, you need to share it with someone.”

 

“I am by praying about it.” Tabby argues back.

 

“Okay. Just know I am here.” Tabby smiles over at her.

 

“Thanks Faith.” Aye she drives her crazy sometimes. But, for the big things, she can always rely on her sister and her God.

 

“God, You know. Everything. What Sarah told me. I don’t know why she is going through this but, You can stop it, right? Not to be bad but why haven’t You then? This is bad, real bad. Can’t You just do something?” She sighs, “You have, aye? She told me. But God, I promised her I wouldn’t  say anything. It is to much though. Maybe I could tell da and he could help. She might be mad at me but … I got to, right? Aye, I do. Thank you God. Jesus Name, Amen.”

 

The next morning

 

“Da, may I speak to you?” He frowns at her serious tone before taking her arm and leading her into his home office.

 

“Aye Tabby. You know you can always speak to me.”

 

“I made a promise but, I prayed on it last night and I feel it is alright to break it.”

 

“A promise to who?”

 

“Sarah. She told me something. It’s bad but...” she starts to pace the room, “I thought I could help her by keeping it. I can’t. It’s to big for me.”

 

“Tabitha, whatever it is, it is alright to share with me. Children, ah, young women, aren’t  meant to bear adult problems.” He feels his heart pound. His children have always came to him for small problems. This, he knows, isn’t small.

 

“Aye, I can’t. Da, her own father is touching her baby sister. She saw him one day. He didn’t see her.” It was a relief to place it in his hands.

 

“Touching?” he needs to make sure.

 

“In a bad way, a sexual way.” It is whispered, her head down, her red hair covering her blushing face.

 

Jamie says a quick prayer before responding. “I am glad you told me,” He takes her face in his hand, “I know it was hard for you.”

 

“I promised her I would keep the secret.” Tears start dripping on his hand. He swallows hard.

 

“Promises are important but so is protection. You did the right thing, you know that right?” She nods, “There are some things you can’t keep to yourself. “

 

“She is going to hate me.”

 

He can’t deny it. “Aye but not forever. She knew they need help. That is why she shared it with you.  Do you think she thought you could help?” He waits for her head shake, “ she told you praying you would share it with someone who could help.”

 

Her soft sobs turn to hiccups. “That makes sense.”

 

“I am going to help. I promise.”

 

“I know da. Thank you.” She hugs him and hurries off to clean her face before her siblings wake up.

 

Jamie takes a seat on the couch, his head going into his hands, his fervent prayers rising to heaven.

 

“Jamie?” He doesn’t know how long he sat there in prayer until Claire ‘s voice draws him back to the present.

 

When he looks up, the look on his face draws her down by his side.  He tries to smile at her. “It isn’t our children.” He takes her hand.

 

“What is it? Or can you tell me?” Sometimes he can’t.

 

“Keep Sarah and her family in your prayers.” It is all he can tell her. She nods.

 

“Serious?”

 

“Very. I need to talk to Murtagh.”

“I love you.” She hugs him and he feels the beginning of her bump.

 

“I love you.” He gently kisses her before heading out to talk to his Godfather who is also the local police chief.

 

“Jamie lad, what can I do for you?” he can tell by the serious look on his face it isn’t simply a social call.

 

“Tabby told me something about her mate, Sarah MacDonald. Something she witnessed.”

 

He nods and opens a new page on his computer. “I am listening.”

 

“Her father, she saw him molesting her baby sister. I believe she is around six.”

 

He frowns. “Is she sure. I mean, about what she saw?”

 

“I haven’t spoken to her. It was better to report to you, wasn’t it?”

 

“Aye. Let’s go speak to the family.”

 

It is a Saturday and they find all the MacDonald’s home.

 

“Pastor Fraser,” the father opens the door, “what can I help you with?”

 

Jamie looks at him in a different way now.  The idea that he had let Tabby spend the night with Sarah now has him feeling sick.

 

“Mr. MacDonald, I am Murtagh Fitzgibbons, police chief. We need to speak to you and your children.”

 

His happy demeanor immediately fades. Arms cross. “About what?”

 

“Just to clear a few things up,”  Murtagh isn’t intimated, “may we come in or would you like to  discuss this in front of the neighbor’s?”

 

“Fine. Come in, “ He takes Jamie’s arm as they walk past, “What is this about?”

 

“Please take your hand off of me.” 

 

Sarah, at seeing them, immediately turns white and Jamie knows what she told Tabby is true.

 

“Sarah, it is okay.”

 

“She promised not to tell!”

 

“What is going on?” Mrs. MacDonald pulls her child up against her side.

 

Jane, her sister, runs over to her mam and buries her face in her clothes.

 

“Mr. MacDonald, are you going to make your daughters tell me? Or are you going to be a man?”

 

“Dan, what in the world is going on?” his wife holds her weeping children close.

 

“I have no idea.”

 

Sarah can stand no more. “Stop it dad! I saw. I saw you with Jane, what you were doing to her.”

 

“What!” His wife stares at him. Head drops as he shuffles his feet.

 

“She lies. I never…”

 

“You had her touching your penis and you were touching her too.” Sarah whispers.

 

“Daddy’s wee makes yogurt.” Jane says, her tiny voice barely heard. Nevertheless, her statement drops like a bomb.

 

“Dan MacDonald, you are under arrest for felony child molestation.”

 

“She will be okay, won’t she da?” He sits with Tabby after seeing to the family. Nelly MacDonald had fainted after her baby’s statement. An ambulance was called out and she was treated for shock. The  girls were then taken to their pediatrician to be examined.

 

Thank God both are found free of STD and any other physical issues from their father’s  abuse. To no ones surprise, it turns out that he has also abused Sarah, stopping when she started to grow up.

 

“With time. She will need your support.”

 

“If she will even talk to me.” She buries her face in her hands.

 

“She will. She is relieved. Didn’t  want to see Jane continuing to go through this.”

 

He holds her as she cries.

[botanicallyinclinednerd]

The Umbrella Academy season 4 episode 3

January 23 1995, huh?

Giant squid, you say? Ben?

That's a hand? A face?

Jennifer?

Fucking Hargreeves

Not sure how I feel about the Umbrella being upside down

Ouch

Oh OUCH

OOP

Ray walked out huh

Clearly you do give a shit

I see both sides on this

Luther is so funny

I really don't like Lila saying "and then there were six." Just- the vibes and call backs it draws forth are not good

Nah it is really funny

Neither of them are good at being domestic

I feel like this is gonna end up divorce

They need to stop with this song

Not doing so hot there, ay Ben?

Jennifer has the glowy red too

To they need to stay together now?

Oh my god it is alpacas

Oh my god I just placed Gene's voice. Is he Ron Swanson (it is)

These bitches have formed a whole ass cult around a girl popping out of a squid and saying the words "the cleanse"

She has no one cause you've isolated her.

You are not safe, and you can't trust them

She keeps seeing Ben...

Don't drink that!

THE VAN IS NAMED WANDA

Five truly is an old man

Weren't they hours away? How'd he get home so fast? Without a car???

Klausssssss :(

KLAUS >:(

This is breaking my heart

Oh Claire

THEY BREAK MY HEART THEN HAVE DIEGO HEAD FIRST IN A BOX GOING "Damn it smells like ass" EMOTIONAL WHIPLASH

The report mentions the Umbrella Academy

Hmmmmmm

Is Diego going to think that Lila is cheating on him with Five? Cause that's stupid (and if they actually fucking go there that's even MORE stupid cause it makes no sense)

2006 THATS WHEN BEN DIED. SO JENNIFER IS HOW BEN DIED (or it is at least connected)

Good job Diego Im so proud of you

I don't trust Sy for SHIT

I do think Ben needs to go be with Jennifer

Oh them joining causes this "cleanse" doesn't it. And the cleanse I imagine, is a cleansing the earth in fire type thing

Damn, I didn't know tenure COULD be revoked

Who is the person lurking in the barn doorway?

Okay, so she is, according to the nutcases, the key to destroying all but the "one true timeline"

Oh Jennifer :(

FAMILY NEWS LETTER

Aw Viktor

Sup lady

They are SO confused

FLOATING

Oh my GOD Klaus

"I guess we know who wears the monocle in this relationship" made me laugh, oh my GOD

All of them combined, eh? Fascinating

Oh no

OHOHOHOHOHO THE PLOT FUCKING THICKENS WHY DO ALL THREE OF THEM HAVE THAT AS A PROGRAMED RESPONSE???? *HOW* DO THEY???

Oh my god

Wait, I would be fascinated to know if Klaus ALSO doesn't remember. Cause he had Ben's ghost following him around for 16 years soooo

I like her, but I don't trust it. She's far to nice and level headed to be with Reggie. She's gotta have a dark side of some sort, right?

Oh my god the way he walks with the tentacles

FUCKING BRUTAL LILA

[another-clive-blog]

clive impalement basically (plus anemia-induced delirium)

You sure have, buddy !! God, this is hurting my soul :') (Not the fanart itself, it's a good fanart that looks awesome !!)

I tried to write a little something, not sure about the quality ?? It's hard to capture the feeling of dying from blood loss ! Also I tried to match your vibes a bit, especially at the end ^^'

TRIGGER WARNINGS are impalement, blood, injury, and uh. Not a graphic description of injury but there is a pretty clear metaphor.

Clive gripped tightly the cold metal, as if he was scared of falling otherwise. Far below, at the feet of the mobile fortress, was screaming and burning London, a few flames refusing to go out amidst the ashes.

Clive couldn't see the city : he could only see his failure, Bill Hawks slipping through his fingers, his whole fortress and plan self-destructing.

"No- It won't end this way !!" There had to be something left to do, anything. Maybe he could fix the generator, stabilize the fortress, keep it from breaking apart-

A loud snap. Clive startled, staggering back to better see the cause of this concerning noise- and the cause of the concerning noise, a tube of some sort, came swinging down at him. Clive didn't have any time to react and try to brace for impact : the tube hit him in the head, and the impact was so brutal that he lost his balance and fell back.

Cold metal under him. An explosion of pain. A wet sound.

It took a few disorienting, agonizing seconds for Clive to figure out what had just happened : firstly because he was now laying on the ground among literal debris, secondly because one of said debris was sticking out of his chest.

It wasn't a flattering thing to admit, but Clive's first reaction was to think that this pointy metal stuff had nothing to do on him, and he therefore grabbed it with the intent of throwing it away. He didn't go through with it of course, because the second his hand closed on the metal he felt something... wet on his palm : upon closer inspection, he noticed that his hand and the metal were now stained red, which shouldn't be the case. Metal didn't bleed, because this was absolutely blood, he knew what it looked like after all, and he also knew metal didn't usually have blood.

Only then did he become aware of the excruciating pain he was in.

He hadn't noticed at first : the initial collision with the tube had been brutal, so it made sense for him to hurt. However, the pain had now propagated to his whole body, lighting every single nerve in fire : it was especially bad in his chest, a minefield of pain just waiting to explode. His chest hurt- it hurt so bad. It hurt almost as much as that time he had inhaled smoke and couldn't stop coughing, when he was thirteen and his whole world had gone up in flames. Except that it wasn't smoke this time- just a giant metal tube piercing his chest, wreaking part of his lungs, keeping him from drawing another labored, long, longed for breath.

Some things never changed. His parents had died that day, and now he- he would-

He would not be awaiting death here. He was more than a tragic story, an ironic retelling of the same sad old tale- he was a person, and he'd keep living as such.

His hands were trembling as he raised them, gripping the metal pipe : he examined it, ignoring the warm liquid streaming down his chin whenever he'd cough. Well, this thing wasn't moving anytime soon : it was wider at its base than at the part sticking out, which meant that he couldn't just pull it out and go about his day. He'd have to- uh- what- have to-

Stand up. Then take it off. Yeah.

Why was his mind so foggy all of a sudden ?

Clive shook his head, hissing in pain as the movement amplified the feeling of his insides being torn apart. It was best to- uh- yeah. What was the plan again ?

"Okay, here's the plan : I'm going to help you stand up, and then we'll wait for the professor to return," Claire said firmly, and Clive only nodded. Wait, when had she gotten here ? Had he fallen asleep ? Passed out ?

He may have passed out actually, because the pain was increasing just as his blood flow was decreasing.

Claire gently grabbed his arms. Apparently, the- thing he was impaled on, couldn't be moved, which meant that he had to be moved. Without it. And it was fine, really, it would be easier to tend to his injury without some pipe obstructing the way, but Claire seemed worried : she kept muttering something about blood loss and the professor coming back quickly, whatever she meant.

She wasn't making a lot of sense, and Clive was tired."Hey- Hey !" Claire snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Stay with me, okay ? I need you to work on getting up because I'm not doing all of this alone."

Clive laughed- he wasn't sure why, actually. Probably because her face, a mix of confusion and concern, was an hilarious sight. She looked stupid. "You look stupid," he said, and giggled some more.

"That's rich coming from you," she said, looking upset- had he irritated her ? It would be fun and stupid. Look at her, she's upset about him insulting her rather than everything going to sh- "Alright," Claire said, "Lean on me."

Uh ? Oh. Hey, he was fairly certain he was impaled just a minute ago ! Oh well, it was probably nothing. There was nothing left after all, just a big old hole on his chest. He should poke it.

"Do not touch your injury !" Claire snapped at him, pulling a bit harder on the arm she was holding to help him up : the movement made him stagger, and it took a couple seconds to regain his balance.

Alright, alright, none of that. It was itchy, though. "It's itchy," he said.

"No it's not."

"Yes it is," he said, because this was his injury and he knew very well what it felt like. "Probably because of the worms trying to crawl out. They make it all fuzzy."

"The wo- oh." Claire said unhelpfully, before falling silent. She looked paler, all of a sudden, refusing to glance at Clive. "The worms- uh, the worms are good actually. They're trying to stop the itching."

Clive thought about it, then thought some more, and decided that it probably made sense. He wouldn't take out the worms then. "They'll have to work hard to heal me, though," he said about the worms.

Claire wasn't talking about them. "I don't think they will be able to."

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

1, 12, 14 for Lucius and Driscoll? 👀

HELLO FRIEND THANKS FOR ASKING!! referring to this post.

since this all qualifies as Deep Lore Hours (which i love!! you're the best!!), and i'm a wordy person, have a cut checkpoint on your dash:

1. What was the first element of your OC that you remember considering (name, appearance, backstory, etc.)? 

lucius actually happened because i asked claire for a starting blirb [sic] in ms. mecoli's creative writing class in high school (remember that???), and she gave me a bit about lucifer standing outside a churchyard with a big black dog*, and i thought "hm. bit on the nose," (for the weird little christian fiction thing i thought i was writing, which has obviously since mutated Significantly), so i changed it to lucius. originally he was the Antagonist��, and human although he didn't realize he came out of a test tube just like bewinged lili did, and all i knew about him was grown-up white dude with black hair.

obviously, he has since undergone SIGNIFICANT revisions (lol. lmfao, even), but embryonically he started with a modified name!! (i went digging through my archives, and i do in fact still have the index card with claire's pencil writing below my pen request! wild.)

(i don't actually remember when i decided he needed wings too, but i think it was around the time i realized i wanted my protags to be all Not Exactly Me, and therefore boy protag would be Different, and then he got his black wings!)

*the big black dog has also made it back into this version, after falling out of the intermediates!! vanya, my beloved, ...

for driscoll, i vaguely remember the purple hair probably being first (i recall chewing on finding The Right Name for a while?). to confirm, i went into THAT archived notebook (red, helpfully labeled "LIMINAL PREWRITE," with "LANGUAGE AND COMP" obliterated beneath thanks again, high school).

weirdly, the first four (4) pages of the driscoll thing is NOT the character profile (that shows up on page 5, and does mention purple hair/brown eyes/physical appearance), but one of these OC ask meme type things, transcribed into the notebook. hilariously, the very first question is "If they want to buy a firearm, what would it be for?" which. omg. (my answer eventually got to "no they wouldn't lol," but it's wild to see how that slow revelation happened on september 3, 2017, when i was first figuring this kid out.)

so apparently first for driscoll i wrote some random character finding Q&As, and then i have the story of their misplacement, and then the physical details, which: wild, on all fronts, to me. (it's a good thing i keep my notebooks in an archive refrigerator tower, or i would've bluescreened on driscoll 100% haha.)

12. What have you found to be most difficult about creating art for your OC (any form of art: writing, drawing, edits, etc.)? 

oooh, good question. my lucius answer is probably biased, because i hadn't started doing the Bitch Journal while i was working through that drafting/those revisions (and i have the object permanence of a fruit fly), but i THINK my biggest difficulty was figuring out the right balance of ~Interiority~? and i still don't love where i left that querying draft at (now, after four years' distance, lol), but getting the right balance of Thoughts and Reactions down on the page was difficult for me, which i suspect was because i've been too in his head for so long, if that makes sense? like the things he notices and what he narrates on imply enough of the interiority to me that i don't see gaps readers do (because, shocker, they HAVEN'T been living in his head since uh. 2007.). and i think i cut away some of the interiority in my preliminary Wordiness Passes, which nerfed me, but i started fixing that in the fourth draft!

my driscoll answer is just. a web of angst lol. and i know most of it is Living Situational/Circumstantial, so we're going to Ignore That and just answer with the Actual Textual Difficulties.

so: driscoll's Actual Textual Difficulties are mostly that i started out writing thing as "someone i'd like to be" with regards to kindness and gentleness and how much they care about people, but somehow i had to backpedal and get a Character Development Conflict in there, which is hard when my starting point was "very good noodle." i think i'm getting there!! but nesting competing wants into a late-stage draft without breaking anything (or, y'know, while finding stealth-broken things that i didn't think were), is a Trying Time™. i'm leveling up about it! enjoying the leveling up!! i'd be leveling up faster if i wasn't burning all this emotional bandwidth on a bullshit living situation! we're fine!!

14. If you had to narrow it down to 2 things that you MUST keep in mind while working with your OC, what would those things be? 

OH FUN, i percolated on this on my WHOLE BIG WALK yesterday, thank u for this enrichment

lucius: first, physicality is key. he has to be Very Aware of where he is in physical space/how much of it he's taking up (because an 18+ foot wingspan really doesn't fuck around, and only half the time is he somewhere that his dimensions are accommodated). when his awareness slips, it (1) has to be for a good reason and (2) usually results in something breaking, and both of those are fun to play with >:D

second, what he notices needs to read like More Than Human--he's got raptor vision, and he's spent half his life around other hybrids with combat training, so he's very visually Intense™ and good at reading a wide variety of body language. and because he's Friends with these combat trained hybrids, he's asked a lot of questions, and he notices a lot more than human people would.

driscoll: first, child, you have physical limitations, and you ignore them at your own peril. i put this kid in a shifting monsterscape armed with pretty much just a flashlight and the distinct ability NOT to be able to run away from their problems (because their lungs don't cooperate), so both driscoll and i have to be very aware of the Exit Plan for any situation they get themselves into (and they get into a Lot of Situations).

second, another dual-wielding type of thing: driscoll is both weirdly in tune with In Between and mostly cannot tell people that, so how i write about them navigating has to change depending on who they're with. hazard is the only one they're fully open with at the start, and they have to be carefully guarded with the other walkers/crew, AND they have to tell newly misplaced just enough to inspire confidence without revealing so much that they (the newly misplaced) will be Suspicious if they stick around to become townspeople themselves. it's a Lot to keep in mind (perhaps uh. More. than i kept in mind. in drafts two and three lol. we're working on it.)

THANKS AGAIN FRIEND THIS WAS SO FUN!!!

[our-blood-is-our-ink]

You ask me for all of mine, turn about's fair play, I want all of yours. 😈

But specifically V + S Claireve. Because. My actual children.

EVIL EVIL TURN ABOUT IS NOT FAIR PLAY HOW DARE YOU ONLY HAD FOUR I HAD FIVE

Anyways, they're all below the cut 😭

Claire blurb-fic:

And then something big must have happened in her private life, because Claire is an absolute menace even to you one Monday, tearing through the office morale like a hot knife to butter.

You don't dare say a thing, even when she snaps at you later that night for being incompetent, and you just sit and take it.

She doesn't mean it personally.

You know that.

But by the time Thursday rolls around, her attitude hasn't changed, and you've found yourself retreating, becoming as small and invisible as possible in an attempt to spare yourself from Claire’s wrath.

*I didn't take from what I had written I honestly don't want to bother with smut warnings on this. But please trust I did add!!

Idk:

Nobody important will be upset if you decide you don't want to do it. Or if you want to wait. Ima gives Claire Elizabeth a knowing look. Mama would be more upset to find out you went into this not a hundred percent certain than if you were to back out. You aren't trapped in this role yet, little witch. You don't have to be if you don't want to be.

Claire Elizabeth can't think of a way to express her thoughts, so she remains quiet, thinking as they walk.

They're getting closer to home when she finally finds the right words.

I don't think there is a way to be completely certain this is something I want. Claire Elizabeth softly says. Because it's the sort of thing I need to experience first. And once it is something that I experience, it'll be hard to pull away simply because of the nature of the job I'm agreeing to undertake. I don't have the luxury of trial and error, and I've made as much peace with that as I am able. I know I don't have to become crown heir, but I want to. More than I am scared, more than I am unsure. I want to help Mama, and I want to help our people. That's what's more important to me.

Snapshot Three:

“Excuse me.”

Hela lifts her head, angry words waiting to be used, when she sees who it is that has spoken.

“What is it?” She asks instead, her tone clipped.

Wanda, the young witch Agatha had settled on for her heir since she and Hela had decided children were not for them, bites her lip, and Hela can see out of the corner of her eye the red head's twin nervously waiting.

V+S Claireve:

The pleasure Eve feels only heightens Claire’s and she moans uncontrollably as waves of ecstasy wash over her.

She can feel how her fingers dig into the soft skin at Eve’s waist, and she eases it a bit, before she can accidentally break a bone or draw blood.

“No.” Her wife whimpers. “Please.”

*this isn't explicit just implied so

Goddess Agatha x Eve:

Eve goes from merely holding her wine glass to clutching it at her neighbor’s words.

She doesn't know much about Emmiline, the other woman mostly keeping to herself, having moved in next door when Brendan had been about three.

But Eve does know she had always treated the three of them kindly, whenever they crossed paths.

Two of you. Her mind whispers, and she takes a big gulp of the smooth, deep red liquid.

[mokolat]

Mamma mia mini-comics explanations

SPOILER (maybe?) + Do not take my world as thrust : I see some infos/articles about possibilities in S4, but I need to found the sources. So, keep in mind I maybe misunderstood and all is still speculative at these point. ♥

____________________________________________________________

Voici some explanations and analysis about my mini-comics. I first plan to draw this as a S4 opening, but many useless references come to my mind that I have to put them in. So, you could see it like an intro, as well as a symbolic S4 sequence refering the whole serie and characters developpements, at your choise !

Reginald and Abigail : what a better start than the ending of S3 view of these two leading the new world to opened the serie ? (and how the falling view suit for the music intro of the song!) Reginald the manipulative and Abigail the very mysterious woman who lead the dance since… when??? Do you remember the E.T.-man came to Earth siecles ago?! Do we'll having some explanations about the Reginald lights giving birth to the 43?!!

Viktor : our violonist need to be happy! (and to bring back his violin! please). So I give him some friend… love interest? Who know. Time passing by, and the lil' shy moon-breaker (ah, well, don't paid attention to details…) grown as a more confident person! Look at him now ! ♥

Five : yeah, look at him ! Professor Five canonnicaly working somewhere at university (I am right?) Teaching about (hypothetical) times traveles and (possibles) consequences as he could learned to not play with! (unless…)

Diego and Lilas and their canonnicaly 3??? children (I am right?) : So. When I heard that Diego and Lilas will have babies, I imediatly think about the comic Klaus-and-his-baby jumping-from-a-helicopter (in « The Umbrella academy » third volume: « Hotel Oblivion »). Obliviously, his a Lilas things, while Diego posing as the (ex) super-hero he is… Aah, what do these two becoming without adrenaline in their life ?! (I also have my stupid theorie that Diego and/or Lilas become parents AND FBI agent or something cool and thrilling like that in these new universe… I really have the idea daily life hold them crazy without fight and actions). Ah yes, Diego cutting himself without his power : I know. Very predictable joke. BUT I WAIT FOR THIS AND I DRAW WHAT I WANT!... ... ..........

Ben the 3th : the traitor ! The enigmatic !!! Let's go for the idea that he is Reginald subaltern, the one who lead the others into troubles at any Regi signal ! (Oh by the way : do you hear the (seven) bells ring too ?) And : ah-AH ! Five, who leading the red thread of the intro!, discover something don't work with his calculs ! Something concerning Regi reign ? Something about the 43 mysterious births ?! Does we'll have some answers ?!! (my head the new problems are all Regi fault!!!)

Mama mia… here we go again !

Klaus : Robert Sheehan said that Klaus could fall again into his destructive habit losing his powers (I am right?), so how could he resist to his immoderate love for drug and alcool ? (also : Klaus, the medium-exentric-Idontdothingliketheothers is the only one to talk/sing during the comic. So he is the only with colored handwritted written).

Parallel : do you note the Klaus drug addiction and Five apocalypse one's ? Do you thought about it too?!? (tell me « yes »).

Luther : the moon is his reference as he searching for his lost love (I think about Sloane and their moon interest, buuut, Allison comming just after is an interesting coincidence as their past relationship reference and how he could miss her too now they are all apart…) And yes : Luther in TOKYO! (Tell me we have these comic ref on S4, pleaaaase!)

Allison : she need happiness ! She is happy ! She has found Claire and even Raymond, let's them lives their best familly lives! (until the next disaster… … ……).

(End of the intro : ) A new doom to fight. A pretext to reunited the familly once more !!! Oooh, Five realize how much he missed them all ! Why did he ever let them go ?! Now he really know : he could never let them go ! ♥

So : Five is the red-thread of the comics, and lyrics could refer to him specialy in some way. There is many others things to say, many lil' ref and play (love playing with design, music tones, lyrics association !, instrumental cesure !!, scenaristic loop !!!, etc), do not hesitate to tell what you notice and your own interpretation/S4 prevision !

Thanks for reading and enjoying my fanarts ! Love you all ! ♥

[starshipsofstarlord]

Omg thank you so much for writing my request for tom :) Can I ask for a part two where you try not to read the comments, but end up doing so, and most are good, so it's fine. Until you post a picture of you on your account, and tom's fans start calling you names, and tom's so tired of all that happening that he posts on his account a whole paragraph about how his personal life it's no one's business?

Posted

This is part two, find the first part here

Summary | previously Tom had accidentally posted a picture of the two of you, exposing your relationship. And so, you decide to purposely do the same on your Instagram, though the response is much different than what his post had received.

Warnings | hate comments, some angst, swear and demeaning words

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Tom was asleep beside you, his head tucked into the crook of your neck, you were able to feel his gentle, slumbering breathing against your skin, and it caused goose bumps to prickle upon the outer layer of your flesh.

The two of you had vastly fallen asleep upon the couch, and your phone was on the coffee table, and to say that you were itchy to reach for it was an understatement. There would be comments on the picture that Tom accidentally put online, and you were hungry to see them, whilst simultaneously nervous.

Tom was a big actor, known for his presence in the marvel cinematic universe upon many other projects, and some of his fans, whilst proven during Comic-Con panels, were borderline crazy. They’d snap if they even so much as saw something that they didn’t like, and this time, you would be on the receiving end of it.

Being motionlessly captured, with your face on show, was certain to bring much attention. You too were within the acting department, but there had been no correlation between the pair of you until now, most of the world weren’t even aware that you knew each other. And not to mention, your span of reaching an audience was smaller, although, certainly not non existent.

You had reprised fame during your appearance on Modern Family, as the friendly neighbour of Phil and Claire, and a classmate of their eldest daughter, and not to mention Luke was crushing hard on the character you played, though, with that said, your character laughed his efforts off due to the age difference, yet still found his pining weird and often uncomfortable.

Another role that you were becoming known for was your character in Netflix’s Irregulars, where you met Harrison Osterfield, Tom’s best friend. Through filming the show, you were introduced to the Spider-Man actor, and the pair of you had hit it off almost instantly, if you didn’t include Tom keeping his amorous distance, wary just in case there was something going on between you and your mutual friend. To his relief, there wasn’t.

And thus, when he received that confirmation, he was far more forward, yet respectful at the same time with his intentions. That was how you had ended up here, as he half used you as a pillow, his arms wrapped around his ribs, and his soft peaceful snores filling the void in the air.

Stretching your arm at its furthest length, your fingertips wrestled with the side of your phone, padding it closer to yourself, so that you could slide it across the small living room table, and closer to yourself. You were victorious in your efforts, and so on you unlocked your screen, going to your camera app, and leaning sideways so that you could snap a few pictures of your predicament with your loving and sweet boyfriend.

Looking at the images that you had captured, a smile arose upon your face; you truly did love this man, and you wanted the whole world to know how much you adored him. You wanted them to see that you cared about him, and that he was in good hands with you, to cool off any of his fans that were processing their hurt feelings for seeing Tom with another woman, show him that he was getting the love that he deserved.

Extreme courage coursed through your veins, focusing within your fingertips as you opened insta, gulping as you readied to post the image. There was no editing required, it was perfect just like him. And so, the caption was something to think about, you didn’t want to make it too obvious that you were dating as the online community already assumed, the priority was to show them that you cared about him.

‘He’s taking a nap, and crushing my hip a little, but I don’t mind 😌’ you typed, your finger hovering over the post button as you chewed your lip. It was easy to press your digit down, and so, taking a breath, you did just that, encouraged by the previous and kind comments on Tom’s earlier post.

Within a matter of minutes, your phone was blowing up, and you were too tempted not to glance at the growing comment section. There were various accounts, some supporting your confidence to show such a domestic version of yourself with Tom, you assumed that they were your followers, and the ones that weren’t so light hearted were those that intently watched anything on the media that involved Tom.

‘He’s too good looking for her, she should be dating someone within her league. Tom is clearly taking pity on this hoe.’

‘Aw look at him, and ew, look at the state of her. He could do sm better 😔’

‘Why doesn’t she look like his exes, they were hot af, and now he’s with some rando that is after his fame and money. Maybe she should just take better roles if she wants to get noticed so bad.’

Your eyes kept reeling through the intentionally hateful words that continued to come through beneath the image. Tears began to fall from your eyes as you tried to stifle the movements and the sound of your gentle sobbing, as to not wake Tom. Quickly, your fingers raced through the social media, and you, knowing that there would still be presence of the image somewhere online, you deleted it, muting notifications and shuffled back into Tom.

The man stirred, tugging you closer by your waist, pressing a kiss to your locks as he awoke. He noticed however the way that you refused to face him, and so he rolled you over with a gentle grip on your shoulder, frowning when he saw the recognisable redness beneath your eyes, and the sad expression floating within your eyes.

“Princess, what’s going on?” He wiped his thumb beneath your bottom lashes, collecting your tears as he worriedly looked down at you. His brown eyes searched every inch of your face for an idea, but found nothing but your broken hearted expression.

“It’s nothing Tommy.” You tried and failed to convince the man, wincing half heartedly as he sat back on his thighs, gripping your hips so that he could pull you up with him, giving him a clearer view of your face. It was clear that he did not believe you, and he hummed, trying to make you give in. Eventually, after much concerned staring, you gave in, slumping your shoulders as you tucked your arms around the back of his neck. “I posted a picture of us, the response wasn’t great.”

Instantly, Tom’s brows uplifted, surprised by your action, though he had a strong inkling of a feeling that the reaction that you had earned was not complimentary. These were not tears of joy, instead they were stricken rivers of anguish and insecurity running down the length of your face.

“Let me see.” He spoke, softly to you, but his intents towards defending you strong. You shook your head lightly, tracing circles upon his knees as you gulped, flickering your guilty gaze up to his watchful eyes.

“I deleted it. I just couldn’t deal with knowing that the longer that it was up, the more hate would be directed at me. I’m sorry.” Tom grasped your face by your tense jaw, his fingers stroking your chin as he sadly stared at you.

“Never be sorry. Now send me the picture you used so that I can give everyone a piece of my mind.” Reaching for your phone, you sent the image to him, and in a second his device pinged, revealing that it had successfully sent to him.

“Cute.” He described the picture, his hands furiously typing away on his phone, his constant unsettling of his rabidly moving fingers drawing anxiousness from you. “And some.” Tom finally breathed, closing his phone as you went to his account, checking what he had posted publicly.

‘This may concern some people, who keep sticking their noses in where it does not involve them. I appreciate you all, the support, the love, everything. But one thing that I do not stand for is people coming at my girlfriend just because they don’t approve of our relationship. If you check mate, I never asked for your opinion, I love y/n, and some online hate, that needs to stop otherwise you are not someone I want to be calling themselves a fan of me, needs to stop. It makes no one happy or feel healthy with spreading such toxicity around the internet, if you don’t like something, then keep your blood mouths shut, this has nothing to do with you, it is just me and my girlfriend. I’d think you’d want me to be happy, because I want the same for all of you, so can people please give my partner some respect, she’s done nothing wrong but bravely chose to reach out to you all, and she had that spat back in her face. It’s not on, and I want this to stop now.’

“Tom...” you were shocked by the paragraph, it came across as aggressive, and very over protective. His action, that could affect how he was cried by people that put him on a pedestal, and that made you feel guilty that he had reached out to them in such a way.

“It’s okay baby, I’d do anything for you, and you know that. No one messes with my girl.” He put his arm around your shoulders as he pulled you close placing a kiss upon your forehead. Not only was he your boyfriend, but he was your protector, your knight on a shining cell phone.

[thefanficmonster]

I may or may not have just sent the 3 word challenge in my real account instead of anon... I'm sorry. Please don't answer there. :)

When you post, post answering here please.

Again, much love,

📚🌻

Don't worry dear! Your identity shall remain a secret 🥰 Here's yet another fic with my Resident Evil OC: Gwen Winters (she’s an adult guys, don’t worry. However this is still an Older Man/Younger Woman relationship)

The words dear  📚🌻 Anon gave me in their previous ask were: Unruly, endurable and system. Please enjoy!

What happens in the gym....

Pairing: Chris Redfield x Female OC

Warnings: Swearing, Spoiler Free 😊

Genre: Angsty Romance

“Sure, throw me in the fire like you always do, Leon!“ Chris snaps, clenching his fists tightly as he glares at his best friend while the two stand in the dimly lit gym.

“Chris, you’re a BSAA captain, for the love of God! You should know better than to complain about something as little as this!“ Leon, while significantly calmer tone and demeanor-wise, is glaring daggers of his own.

“Why me, damn it?! And why her?!“ Chris is not done with his attempts to get out of the situation Leon’s trying to land him in and his partner’s honestly done with it.

“And why not?! You see the same potential I see, why would it be so hard to train her? She’s a quick learner, she’s disciplined when she wants to be and she’s already skilled to a certain degree. You’ve made soldiers out of total wimps before, why is she such a hassle to you?!“

“Because she’s disciplined when she wants to be and I guarantee she won’t want to when she’s around me. She’s unruly, selfish, arrogant and a Chris-phobe. I’m telling you, she hates me!“

It’s about time Leon’s had enough of this conversation. To be honest, he was done with it as soon as it started but he stayed, thinking he’d be able to change Chris’ mind but seeing as how this is a hopeless case, he’s just been wasting his time. “Does she? Or are you projecting your hate for her onto her?” Slinging his duffel bag containing his training gear over his shoulder, Leon finally makes that realization that these are ten minutes of his life he’ll never get back and storms out of the gym without another word.

Chris doesn’t attempt to stop him, in fact, he’s relieved he left. He sighs, silently hating himself for all the shit he said and how he meant none of it. It was all hard bullshit and he doesn’t know whether to be thankful or disappointed that Leon didn’t realize. Either way, he’s been cleared of possible suspicion, even if training the newest BSAA rookie still remains as his task.

Gwen Winters, she’s such a fucking handful. One cannot tell if it’s because she’s angry with the world, angry with herself or just straight up picked up on the habits of the family that took her in when she was rescued from Raccoon City where she was held as an experiment hamster. A chemistry project basically. Ethan and Mia were recovering from the events back in Louisiana at the time, still probably are, that is not some shit you get over, so they thought having another person in the house would help them. And help Gwen did. See, Gwen isn’t a handful with everyone. In fact, she’s a real sweetheart and Chris knows it too, despite his bogus claims. He knows she’s got a heart and soul of gold and is built with the will of a BSAA soldier already. All she needs is a bit better fighting skills and she’s good to go. 

He sees how she acts with everyone around him. She’s been quick to make friends with Jill and his sister Claire and she’s even got Leon’s liking and trust which is hella hard to get, especially after all the shit with Ada. She’s overall a super sweet and lovely girl, even with him from time to time. He’s seen her welcoming, friendly smiles whenever he stops by the Winters’ home. He’s heard her laugh at the jokes he rarely cracks.

Then why does she act like she hates him so often? And why does he claim he hates her?

Chris is snapped back to reality by the sound of rough impact. It’s a very distinct noise, one he places immediately: the sound of fists hitting a punching bag. It’s the middle of the night, almost midnight actually, and knowing how lazy the soldiers on his team are, he can only assume it’s either his sister or Jill, given that Leon just left. However, they’ve had people sneak in to train for free before, so it’d be for the best if he went to check who was releasing some pent up energy on the poor punching bag. Judging by the intensity of the punches being thrown, sounds like the person might be angry as well.

And they have every right to be. Because they are Gwen.

Chris’ face goes a bit red at the sight of the infuriated rookie giving the punching bag her all, punishing it the way she’d want to do to her superior she just heard call her all the names she hates being referred by.

“Winters I-“

“Unruly?“ Punch “Selfish?” Punch “Arrogant?” Punch

She stills herself, sighing and wiping the droplets of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, “You say all that and expect me not to be a Chris-phobe?” She lets out a bitter laugh, rolling her shoulders before continuing her wrath over the piece of equipment she’s threatening to destroy. She hasn’t spared him a single look yet, something he’s rather grateful for because the last thing he wants to see is whatever her gaze is hiding right now. “I’ll talk to Leon.” She says, her voice leveled and breathy, far from the pissed off tone she was just using. This calmness is a lot scarier though. “I’ll tell him I don’t want you to be my trainer. To be perfectly clear, I never wanted you to train me in the first place. I’m just not the type to complain, you know. I’m not picky. Beggers can’t be choosers. I take what I can get. And you were all I was offered, but...” she trails off, delivering a particularly hard punch, “It’s not gonna work. I may not be picky, but I know when to draw the line. I know when I deserve better.”

“Kid, you really have no idea what the case really is here.“ He attempts desperately, taunted by the thought of acting on his instincts and approaching her even if that means being the recipient of one of those hard punches.

“You know, I’m strong. I’m skilled. I can hold my own in a fight quite nicely. I’m endurable. I’m not afraid to work my ass off and sweat and pant like a dog after workouts. There’s not a line I wouldn’t cross, but you still choose to make me feel lesser than any soldier you’ve ever come across, that’s really lovely of you, Captain Redfield.“

“Winters, please...“

“It’s ok, I won’t tell Ethan and Mia. I’m sure they’ll send you to hell over it. I’m not petty like that.“

He’s had enough. He’s had enough of hearing that hurt tone in her voice. He’s done hearing these words she’s so certain are true but aren’t. He’s done lying to her and to himself. Before he can even think twice about it, he grabs her by the arms gently but firmly, turning her to face him despite her hostile attempts to free herself from his hold like a wild animal caught in a trap. He’s surprised when she relaxes, probably seeing that as a quicker way out of the situation rather than struggling though if she tried to free herself any longer he would’ve probably let her go.

“Fucking hell, Gwen, listen to me.“ He looks her dead in the eyes, catching onto the spark of shock created by his use of her first name. But he also sees something else, something that looks dangerously a lot like tears. He knows she won’t cry, especially not in front of him, but knowing that he’s the cause behind the welling of those crystal droplets in her always shiny, always smiling eyes breaks him. When she doesn’t look away nor protest, he continues, “I can’t be your captain. I can’t be your trainer. I can’t be any of that. I’m a strictly professional man, and it’d be highly unprofessional of me to take you in as my soldier.”

“But why?“ She’s fully aware she sounds like a whiny kid - exactly how she thinks he envisions her sometimes - but she couldn’t care less. She wants and needs answers. She knows she won’t be able to fall asleep or keep coming back to the training center if she doesn’t get them.

It’s blatantly clear this is far from easy for Chris. His first instinct is to look away, let go of her, run away like he always does - not that she’d let him do such a thing but still. He’s finds the words impossible to spit out yet he oh so desperately feels the need to get them out of his system. And so, he gathers all the strength within him and finally forces himself to say it.

“Because a captain isn’t supposed to look at a soldier the way I look at you.“

Sure, it sounds cryptic as heck but he has no doubt she’ll catch on. Gwen is a smart and sharp girl, among many other things. She confirms this when barely three seconds after he’s said it, he notices her eyes widening

“Sir, I-“

“Don’t.“ He says simply, a small, regretful smile playing across his lips as his hand slides down her arm to take hold of hers, “I just admitted my dirtiest secret to you and you are still gonna remind me how unprofessional I am by using my title, Kid?“

She purses her lips, the shock momentarily replaced by her signature mild glare, “Well, you just admitted your biggest secret to me and yet you still choose to call me ‘Kid’, huh?”

He chuckles, letting his other hand repeat the movements of the first, “Sorry, force of habit.” His thumbs brush against her knuckles briefly as his head falls, his gaze fixating on where their bodies are connected, “You know, I didn’t tell you this to get myself any pity or anything. I just wanted you to understand and....wanted to get it off my chest. Ethan will kill me if he finds out, won’t he?” He suddenly asks, regaining the courage to look up at her once again.

She giggles, “Who says he’s gonna find out?”

Chris bites the inside of his cheek, shaking his head, “You’re right, there’s nothing really to find out abo-”

Gwen has never been a chatter nor can she tolerate when people beat around the bush so she’s quick to cut them off sometimes, no matter how rude that may seem or sound. However, just to clarify, her chosen method of cutting a person off isn’t always kissing them. Just saying - this is a special situation requiring special methods.

Taken aback by the sudden feeling of her lips on his, Chris’ eyes close automatically but not even a second later he responds to the kiss properly: wrapping his arms around Gwen’s waist as her hands travel up to cup his face. The kiss is short - too short if either of them is to be asked - but it’s worth all the words they didn’t say despite wanting to.

When they pull away, Gwen gives him a mischievous smile, “Now he could find out about that and then shit would go south. That’d suck, wouldn’t it Chris?“

He’s only ever heard her say his name twice, once in passing conversation with Claire and once earlier when she paraphrased his term ‘Chris-phobe’, both time spoken with some dose of dislike he now realizes was a cover-up all along. Turns out the two are a lot more alike than they initially thought. Regardless, hearing her say his name with fondness instead of bitterness makes his heart flutter, his body yearn to have her closer, his lips wanting to be in contact with hers again. But he’s a patient and self-controlled man, he’s nothing if not willpower sculpted in a human body, so he keeps his distance, waiting for her to pick the moves, waiting for her to make the decisions just like she’s his captain.

“Big time.“ He manages to say, voice coarse all of a sudden, barely able to leave his throat. “So it stays here, right?”

She giggles again, bringing her lips within an inch or two away from his, taunting him, threatening to break his self-control, “What happens in the gym stays in the gym, Redfield.”

Golden rules of discretion, ones he mustn’t break ever. Especially not when his captain - Captain Gwen Winters - holds so much power over him.

[felswritingfire]

April Brain Rot #11

Prompts:

74. Rome

46. "Hold me just a little longer."

15. Tackle Hug

Rook Hunt x Reader

Summery: The Gods are waging war and you wait for your God to come back patiently. But, when the war leaks into the mortal realm, will he be able to get to you in time?

TW: Blood; Violence; Threats; Religious Themes (very loose)

Word Count: 1,594

A note from Fel: This one, I've had done for over a damn week??? Like, I love Rook to death and my girlfriend really likes this one so like * high fives self * ALSO I LOW KEY WANT TO DO A SERIES WITH THIS??? IT'S JUST- I HAD SO MUCH FUN (if y'all want to send in any requests centered around this, you will own my whole H E A R T)

It had been a long time since he had waved to you, walking off into the forest, his bow slung over his shoulder with his quiver of arrows hanging from his hip. You had watched as the shadows devoured your god that night.

The seasons had changed and yet the angry clouds, rumbling with thunder lingered throughout each of them. Now, a thin frost had covered the fields, leaving you to shiver and pull your shawl closer to you. You stood at the start of the forest, the looming trees acting as a wall. You grip your basket tight in your arms, shifting the dried meat and the few fruits and cheeses you managed to save, the loaf of bread still warm. Your friends had tried to tell you not to go- told you that the gods would not be back for a long time. The war in their world was too important. You knew that. You knew that the first time a shower of red poured down on you and the fields you were tending to. You had watched as your neighbors fields faded, still hesitant to pray to lord Epel for good harvests. And, yet, you couldn’t just give up- not on your god, not on the one who so gently took your hand that night and saved you from the bandits who had burned your village to the ground; who burned your family to a crisp.

“You have no need to fear,” he had said to you, picking you up in his arms and cradling your head close to his heart. “I will protect you no matter what, for you looked up to me and asked for me to save you, Mon Clair de Lune.”

He had taken you to this village, where the gods held a special spot for the people- giving you the home closest to the forest. He had asked you if you knew how to draw a bow and you told him you did. You think that’s when the two of you truly connected.

The laughs and shrieks of joy as he would chase you around the fields and trees just to wrap his arms around your waist were memories you held dear to you everytime he went back into the forest to answer Lord Vil’s calls (no one could deny Venus his wishes).

“I will be back, Mon Clair de Lune. Je t'aime.” He whispered into your hair, running his hands along the expanse of your back.

It had made you nervous when he was hesitant to let go, like he was afraid he wasn’t going to come back. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and cheeks before turning and waving with a soft smile.

You sigh, another shiver shot through you as the wind picked up. Your eyes squeezing shut and you blow a breath of white air out from your lips. Maybe you’d see if Ace (you refused to call him Lord Ace, you were much too close for that by now) could dial down on the winds- though it might not even be him dictating these winds for once.

You sigh, turning to go back to your home when you hear a strange gurgling noise to your side. You furrow your brow- it almost sounds like a creek, you think as you turn to see where the noise was coming from. There, off in the distance, a black mass pulsated and writhed. You felt yourself go stiff as it jerked to and fro, red dots rolling around the expanse of its flesh until they finally pointed forward to look at you. The basket in your hands dropped as you turned to dash somewhere away from the village, as you hear flesh tearing and a bone rattling shriek leave from somewhere behind you.

You rush past the fruit fields and through the flower beds, praying that Jack could forgive you as you feel the delicate stems crunch beneath your foot. The sound of thundering steppes racing behind you causes a ball to form in your throat, pushing yourself to run faster and faster.

You had hit the creek, the bottoms of your wool pants and boots frigid in the rush of cold water as you slosh through it. You’re almost to the other side when you stop: yellow eyes stare at you through the leaves of the bushes. The shrieking comes to a stop behind you and you look over your shoulder to see the black mass staring past you as you turn back. The eyes had moved, now well above the branches of the tree, you can make out long arms, veins straining underneath skin, and white teeth glinting in the light of the early morning sun.

You nearly begin to rush up stream when a voice says, “I wouldn’t.”

You freeze, looking back at the pair of eyes to see a long snout peeking out from the bushes.

It’s mouth smiles, showing off sharpened fangs, as it steps further into the light. It towers over you, hunching over as it pushes branches out of the way. “You look delicious- all of the humans here do.” It hums to itself as it takes more heavy steps towards you. “Maybe it’s because you all have been blessed by the gods-” it throws its’ head back to release a wheezy laugh- “the ones that left you to fight a war they won’t win.”

“The gods will win.” You’re surprised with how much confidence you say it, but you try not to let it show as you watch it tilt it’s wolf-like head to the side.

“Not if you are all dead. Gods have nothing without their worshippers, you know?”

You shiver from the mix of the cold water and the realization, crinkling your nose at the smell of rotten meat and old blood that wafts from it’s hulking body. You look up at it, glaring. “Do-” you almost gag at the smell and it almost seems to laugh- “do not doubt the strength of the gods. They’ll come back to us and they will save us no matter what.”

“You put so much stock into them, human.” It crouched on its haunches, sliding a hand under your trembling chin. “So cute and delicate.” You can hear the other behind you shuffle, grunts and wheezes following its movements. The other in front of you laughs again as it watches your gaze begin to shift. “Do not take your eyes off of me.” Your eyes stare at it, swirling with a dread that it finds positively delectable. “I will take your head without you realizing it.”

Your vision began to grow glassy as its maw stretched wide; hot, humid breath, that smelled of rot, hitting your face as a row of giant teeth showed itself to you. You clasp your hands together, praying with all your might, with every ounce of your soul, that Rook would come and save you. That your huntsman would come and shoot down the beasts that wished to devour you.

Just like that night when he had first saved you.

"Si ma lune prie pour que je vienne, je le ferai.”

The creature screamed in pain, the sheer volume shaking your bones and piercing deep into your skull. It shoved you away, your body falling under the frigid stream of the water. You hear a muffled scream from above as you break the surface of the water. You gasp as you suck in air, dragging yourself to the side of the bank where Rook rushes to meet you.

You're leaning on your elbows as you catch your breath when Rook’s body barrels into yours, knocking you back with a loud ‘oof!’ coming from you. His face nestles into your neck and you swear you feel him tremble. “R- Rook?” You wrap your arms around him, running them along his back to see for any wounds. “Are-” you breathe out a cold breath- “are you ok?”

He’s muttering in that tongue he adores so much (French- you remember him calling it), squeezing you tighter.

“Rook?”

“Hold me just a little while longer.”

You freeze, your eyes blurring with tears at his tone: devoid of everything carefree and casual. He sounded like he was in pain. You wrap your arms tighter around him, burying your face into his neck.

“I am so sorry, Mon Clair de Lune. I should have come sooner.” He pulled away, his hands cupping your face as he pressed his forehead against yours, his green eyes glassy. “Were you afraid?”

You blink, trying to keep the tears from spilling over your bottom lashes. “I was.” You close your eyes. “But, I knew you would come for me. I knew the gods wouldn’t abandon us.”

He laughs, soft and tired. “You are too important for me to let you die so easily.”

“And I will not die so easily as long as you will it.” The quiet that settles between you two is gentle and you can’t bring yourself to want to leave his embrace despite the cold of your wet clothes seeping into your skin and making your bones ache. You open your eyes to look into his. “Is… Is this truly going to be a war?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I’ll stay by your side. No matter what.”

“And I shall protect you no matter what, Mon Clair de Lune.”

He presses his lips against yours and you let yourself melt into it, holding onto the last semblance of peace that may allow you rest for a long time.

<The Next Chosen Character>

Thank you for reading!

[renee-writer]

The Heart Don't Lie Chapter 27

AO3

He sits, head in hands. She sits across from him, waiting, unwilling to break the silence until he is ready to speak.

 

“She did the same thing to him,” his voice is muffled but she understands him, “Rose, well she can be excused by her age and immaturity. My excuse is that I thought him just a rubbish bloke,” he lifts his head and she sees his eyes are red, “I was wrong.”

 

She reaches for his hands. “Tell me.”

 

“His wife answered the door and Rose blurted out why she wished to see Simon. The poor lass,” she feels his hands shake in hers, “she turned bone white and hurried away to confront him. I admit, I wished to hurt him. I never gave thought to the innocents,” he lets out a shuddering breath, “or I would have stopped her.

 

A moment later, he came out, angry that we had upset his wife. Stopped dead at getting a good look at Rose. Saw Anna. I imagine he knew then that what she said was true, that she is his biological daughter.

 

He only cheated one time. He was also drunk,  had a fight with his wife.”

 

“That witch.” He offers her a half smile.

 

“Aye, she seems to have a type. He never told his wife. Until living proof of his indiscretion shows up at his door. Then his son comes out… wants to know why mam is crying,” she gasps, “ exactly. He looks so much like Rose,” he shakes his head, “she has another sister too. A family we blew up.”

 

Her head is fiercely shaking. “No! She did. She took men that weren’t hers to take, used them without thought or care for the consequences. You told the truth. Yes, it could have been done with more tack but,” her hands tighten on his, “you didn’t know. You didn’t know that he is a family man used by her. You thought him rubbish that cheated on his wife and abandoned his responsibility.”

 

“Aye, I did. He had no idea she existed.”

 

“Had you known the truth, you would have been more careful in the telling.”

 

“I would have,” He rests his head back on the chair. The sit in the great room at Lallybroch, “thank you, Claire. I can’t help wishing we had handled it differently but, talking it out helps.”

 

“As Anna was the only time maybe they can get past it.”

 

“Maybe,” he knows she is thinking of Randall and his own philandering. Janet, it turns out, was just the latest in a continuous stream of students he was cheating with. With the university now aware, he is fighting to keep his place. Her barrister foresees an easy divorce, “I am sorry that he was so unfaithful.”

 

“Thank you. I should have seen it. It didn’t seem to matter,” she shakes her head, “I should say, I couldn’t be bothered to care much, ignoring things, justifying them. When you marry out of spite…

 

“Or out of trickery…” he adds.

 

“Then the resulting marriages aren’t what they should be. A part of me wonders if you love her, or loved. Willa, you had another child with her. It seems…”

 

“I did my best too. I wished for a son. She wanted two children. I adored my little mini me from the first time I held her. She was born out of a comfortable marriage, a marriage where we were both trying to make the best of the situation we found ourselves in. No, I never loved her the way I do you.”

 

Her breath hitches. He didn’t say loved, but love. She exits her chair, moving to him. She starts to crouch down in front of him. He draws her instead to his lap.

 

Her legs lay on either side of him as their lips come together. She tastes desperation and tears, as her hands bury themselves in his hair, holding him in place.

 

His hands move under her shirt, moaning at finding skin. They are pelvis to pelvis and she feels him rise to meet her under the denim of his jeans. She is just as hungry.

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair 

Chapter 31: Counsel of a Witch

Summary: Jamie turns to the bookstore owner in search of help

Read on AO3

Read chapter 31 on tumblr below the cut

Previous, master list, next

Chapter 31

***

Jamie was at the end of his rope. With every passing hour, he watched Claire get worse and worse. She was pale, drawn, with dark circles stark under her eyes. Her ashen skin, so different from the soft gleam of its usual pearl, made him want to break down sobbing. She was so different from the vivacious faerie he’d come to know. It broke his heart to see her despondence, and he loved her far too much to endure her suffering in silence for even a moment more. 

So he decided to turn to the one place he might find help. 

The bookstore owner. 

It seemed foolish— bordering on mad— to go to a complete stranger for help on the love of his life. Only this Geillis seemed to be the only one besides Claire herself that knew anything about the Fair Folk. Jamie couldn’t simply take her to a hospital. Going to Geillis was the only thing he could think to do. He was out of options. 

He sat then on the couch, with Claire draped over his lap like a flesh and blood blanket, having just arrived at a decision. 

“Mo ghraidh?” he said quietly. 

He reached out a hand to tangle gently in her curls, his fingers delighting in the softness of it. 

“What is it, Jamie?” she asked. 

Even her voice came off weak, hard as she was trying to sound unaffected. There was a breathy tonality, as if she couldn’t quite draw in enough air. A chilling reflection of her exhaustion. 

“I’m goin’ tae go back to the bookstore,” he said simply. 

At that, Claire sat up, pushing her hands against his thighs to brace herself enough to get upright. Big whisky eyes regarded him with a bewildered expression. 

“To see the witch? Why?”

It took Jamie a second to realize what she had just said. He was opening his mouth to answer the “why” when the first part of her question finally sunk into his brain. His heart stopped beating for a solid second at the same time as his brain ground to a halt. 

“Did ye say ‘witch’?” he asked hollowly. 

Claire furrowed her brows and stated simply, “of course. The one who gave you her notes on traveling through the stones? That witch?” 

“I—” Jamie’s tongue was tied in knots as he struggled to get on board with this new reality-shattering revelation, “I didna ken witches were real,” he finished lamely. 

“Oh,” Claire said, with the same patience Jamie had when explaining something like toothbrushing to her, “she is. That just means she is a human who understands about our realm.”

Blinking, Jamie gave her a look. He was struck dumb for the moment, but as soon as he regained the ability to speak, he demanded, “ye kent she was a witch all this time and didna tell me?”

Claire blinked her weary eyes and gave a nonchalant shrug, looking a bit more like herself as she answered with a straightforward, “It didn’t seem all that important.” 

“Ehmm... so… how did ye know?” he asked, trying to keep up. 

“Sensed it. I just sort of… knew. Like how you know when someone is from a different place that you haven’t been. We both saw each other for who we are. Plus it makes sense, since she obviously knew I’m of the fair folk, that’s why she gave you the book.”

Jamie gave a hesitant nod. He was about to ask more questions about witches when he noticed Claire was raising a hand to her head and rubbing it wearily. His stomach turned over in sympathy. 

Overcome by the bittersweet tenderness, he reached out a hand to replace hers, cupping her face gently. 

“I’m goin’ tae ask her if she kens anythin’ that can help ye, lass,” he said gently, “Just because ye dinna ken what’s goin’ on doesna mean we canna find answers.” 

She leaned her face into his touch until his hand was the only thing keeping her head raised. 

“That’s not a bad idea, Jamie,” she said quietly, “let’s go.”

“‘Let’s’?” Jamie echoed, “nae, a nighean. Ye can barely stand on yer own two feet. I wouldna have ye do anything other than rest.” 

“And I would not have you go to a witch alone,” she countered. 

Jamie’s eyes widened and he felt his brain kick into overdrive. “Do you mean she might be dangerous?”

“No,” Claire said with a shake of her head, still leaving her face pressed into his hand, “I know she’s not. But I’m coming.” 

His stubborn lass. 

Jamie brought his other hand up to frame her face, fixing her with his best admonishing stare. 

“I said no, mo Sorcha. Ye’re stayin’ here.” 

He saw the spark of resistance flare in her eyes before she made the move. Pulling away from him, Claire stood abruptly to her feet. Weak as she was, she swayed for a second, thrusting out a hand to grab hold of the top of the couch and steady herself. Jamie popped up beside her, getting ready to reach out to grab hold of her waist, but she took a hasty step back. 

“I’m going,” she insisted. 

Jamie was left trailing after her as she began to walk stubbornly toward the door (her weakness only betrayed by the way her body shook with tiny tremors). She grabbed the bolt and slid it free with a clang before throwing open the door and walking outside. 

“Claire!” Jamie called, running out after her, barely snagging the car keys and his wallet from the table before he did, “wait!”

She whirled around— the most energetic thing she’d done in a long while, it hurt him to recognize— and placed her hands on her hips. As she did though, her eyes grew wide as if she was suddenly feeling dizzy, and her hand shot out instead to brace against her knee. 

Getting hold of herself, she straightened once again. “Like I said, I’m coming with you. Now, should I do it myself or are you going to help me?” 

Knowing he’d lost the battle and terrified that he’d be forced to watch her collapse as she stubbornly walked to the car if he refused, Jamie caught up to her. 

Gently taking her by the arm, he said quietly, “alright, a leannan, my stubborn lass, you win.”

***

Claire had laid her head down on his lap the moment they were both seated in the car. She spent the majority of the ride to Inverness slipping in and out of consciousness while Jamie worried over her. He prayed under his breath that God would send them answers in the form of this witch. She’d provided him with revelations once before, so Jamie could only dare to hope she’d have a solution just waiting for them. 

As he pulled into the public lot nearest the bookstore, he found himself daunted by the distance Claire would be forced to walk. She hadn’t seemed to have noticed that they weren’t moving anymore, and her breathing was shallow as she drifted in that odd state of half-consciousness. 

“Claire,” he said gently, his voice catching in his throat, “we’re here, a nighean.”

She raised her head, curls falling back behind her, and then dragged her body upright. She rubbed again at glassy eyes, trying to find the necessary strength. 

“Take yer time,” he said softly. 

When her hand fell away and her eyes connected with his, the desperate look inside of them sent him crumbling to pieces. 

“Do you really think she’ll know what’s happening?” she asked in a tiny voice. 

The air in his lungs was expelled with a whoosh. She wasn’t asking him that, not really. She knew he would have no idea— he’d only just learned about the existence of witches mere minutes ago. No, she was asking him to tell her everything would be okay. And that much he could do. 

“Aye, a nighean. I pray that she can gi’ us somethin’. It’ll be alright.”

She gave a shaky nod, and Jamie took that as her being ready. He went around to her side to take her hand and pull her out of the car. She got out easily enough, but once she was standing outside, she fell against Jamie’s chest. He quickly encircled her in his arms, holding on tight to keep her upright. 

“Woah,” he murmured, “take a second. Ye’re okay.” 

The words felt weak even in his own mouth. 

She took his advice, leaning against him for a drawn out moment before she raised her head just enough to say. “Okay, let’s go.” 

Of all the tortures Jamie’s brain had conjured in his life— speculations about how it might be to die by fire versus drowning or other such morbid games— the torture of the next few minutes of watching his very ill faerie struggle to walk down the street topped any agony he’d considered before (save maybe the time when he’d left her at the stones and thought he’d be facing a life without her). 

He kept one arm wrapped tightly around her waist the whole time. The weight of her leaning against him was obvious, and he worked to support her as much as possible. As she struggled to put one foot in front of the other, drained as she was, Jamie cursed himself for giving in so easily and allowing her to come along. 

But she pushed on, his stubborn lass. After a couple slow and shaky blocks, they arrived at the bookstore. There was only time for a single exchange of hopeful looks before Claire stepped away and took his hand instead. 

He pushed open the door with a jingle. 

*

Just like the last time, they were greeted by the air of other-worldliness. Knowing as he now did that Geillis was, in fact, partial to things not of this world, the odd atmosphere made more sense. It took a moment for Jamie’s eyes to adjust to the dim lighting and an even longer while for the goosebumps on his arms to ease. 

Claire must have sensed Geillis’ presence before Jamie did because there was a squeeze to his hand the second before a red head popped out from between two shelves in the back. 

“Ooh, the lovers, back again. Did ye read my wee notes, fox cub?” Geillis cooed. 

She emerged from between the shelves holding two old books to her chest, looking quite excited. 

“Yes, they were verra… informative. I thank ye for it. That’s actually why we’re here…”

Jamie was about to launch into his plea for help when Geillis suddenly stopped dead in her tracks a few feet before reaching them. Her eyes went wide as she looked at Claire, a frown slowly forming between her brows and on those cherry colored lips. 

“I see…” she said softly, “something is wrong wi’ yer fair one, aye?” 

Sensing something— maybe it was a laxness in her fingers or maybe it was just his intuition— Jamie glanced down at Claire just in time to see her face freeze and eyes go distant. He let go of her hand and whirled around to catch her just before she collapsed. Both of his arms went around her tightly and pulled her to him as her knees buckled. 

Looking down at her pale, scrunched features, Jamie was relieved to see that she wasn’t unconscious, but she certainly wasn’t doing well. Her eyes were glassy as she blinked hard, trying to keep herself aware. 

He looked up from his suffering love to give Geillis a pleading look. 

“We need yer help,” his voice broke on the word help. 

Geillis looked somber, studying him and the faerie in his arms. Then, she gave a nod. 

“Bring her back, and then tell me everything.” 

*

“Back” apparently was referring to a back room. Geillis had led them to the back of the bookstore as Jamie all but carried Claire, and then she pulled back a curtain to gesture them into another room. 

With Claire tucked tightly into his side, Jamie ducked through the doorway. 

On the other side was a whole second bookstore with the same crowded shelves and haphazard organization. Only this side also had shelves of all kinds of paraphernalia— vials of colorful liquids, bowls containing small animal bones, and all types of odd trinkets. Jamie tried to take everything in, but his mind was so fixated on Claire that he had trouble taking stock of all the things Geillis had in her secret stock. 

His survey was interrupted as Geillis gestured them toward a window on the far right. There was a bench seat built into the window, and Jamie brought Claire over to it and sat her down before joining her on the smooth, wooden surface. Geillis appeared a second later with a chair, setting it up in front of them before settling in and regarding him with raised brows. 

Claire was leaning against his side, quiet as a mouse and their fingers entangled where they rested together on Jamie’s thigh. Her head tilted down slowly to rest on his shoulder— too tired even to feign strength. 

Geillis looked at them for a long moment before saying, “tell me everything.” 

So Jamie explained. How he found her on the hill. Her story of wandering on the moors when she fell through the stones. How he’d taken her into his home before reading the book and trying to take her back. Her choice to stay. And finally, her deteriorating condition— the exhaustion that rendered her drained and lifeless. 

In the middle of his explanation, Claire had drifted down to lay her head in Jamie’s lap and curl her feet on the bench. It had made the lump in his throat grow, nearly choking off his words, but he’d pressed on to finish his story, knowing how important it was to get answers. 

Once he’d finally closed his mouth, Geillis gave a thoughtful hum, looking down at the faerie in his lap with a worried expression that was almost pitying. 

“I could tell the moment she walked in that somethin’ was wrong,” she said softly. 

“Anyone wi’ two eyes could see that, she can barely stand on her own two feet!” Jamie snapped. He regretted it instantly. Geillis was their greatest hope and her comment didn’t warrant that response, he was just so worried that he was strung nearly to breaking. 

He started to apologize when she cut him off. “Nae, I meant her aura is wrong. Worse than wrong it’s… barely there.” 

Jamie couldn’t help but ask, “that’s how ye kent she was a faerie the first time, aye?” 

Geillis nodded. She was quiet for another gut-wrenching moment, looking down at Claire. The lass in his lap was unconscious, and Geillis seemed to be longing to talk to her instead of him. Or maybe she was just studying her.  

“Do ye ken what’s wrong then?” Jamie couldn’t help but ask, “please? Any ideas at all. I—” he started to try to express how terrified he was, how he couldn’t bear for anything to happen to her, but the words clogged in his throat. He looked down at her as hot tears pricked in his eyes and brushed those beautiful curls back in a way that was probably more soothing for him than it even was for her— out of it as she was. 

When he looked back to meet the startling green eyes, there was sympathy there. 

“I have a theory…” she said, but trailed off. 

Jamie felt his entire body lift. His back straightened as he eagerly asked, “tell me?” 

Her eyes flicked down again to his hands stroking Claire. “Ye willna like it.” 

The hope that had begun forming in his chest popped with suddenly ferocity. He felt sick to his stomach, worse than he ever had on a boat or plane in the worst of his motion sickness bouts. He wished he could just refuse to hear the bad news that was about to come, but he had to face it, for Claire’s sake. No matter what, he would keep fighting. 

“Tell me,” he said. This time it wasn’t a question. 

Geillis settled back in her chair, folding her hands in her lap. 

“Ye said she came through the stones by accident, aye? I think…” for the first time ever, Geillis looked hesitant, “I dinna ken how else to say it…. I think she’s becomin’ human.” 

“What?!” Jamie burst out, loud enough to make Claire jerk in his lap. He quickly looked down, placing his hands on her again to settle her. She hadn’t fully woken, so his touch on her side and face was enough to soothe her back into tenuous sleep. He looked back up to Geillis and repeated, more quietly this time, “what?” 

She looked uncomfortable as she looked at Claire like the theory was forming in her head. “Well, not exactly becomin’ human. Not really. She’s still fae. It’s jes— ye ken she’s from another plane, aye? Well now she’s separated from her realm, and things are different here. She canna draw energy in the same way. Going through the stones— being here in this realm— she’s cut off, and she canna eat and drink like the rest of us to sustain herself, her body isna capable. She’s likely been drawing on what energy she can, but it isna the same as in her realm.” 

Jamie came back to himself to find he was clutching the end of Claire’s hair in a balled-up fist. He felt like Geillis’ explanation had torn him open and ripped him inside-out. 

“So...” he spoke through the bile rising in his throat, “she’s essentially starvin’ to death? From lack of energy?”

She nodded solemnly. Her fixed gaze on him was so intense that he had to look away. He tried to look down, but the sight of Claire’s pale face as she slept in his lap made his eyes burn with tears. 

“Do ye—” Jamie tried to ask, choking back tears, “what can I do?” 

Geillis looked sympathetic but made no move. 

“Take her back to the stones,” she said simply. 

Jamie shook his head violently, his very body tense, as if it could expel the idea. “No, no, she doesna want that. There has to be another way. She could eat— or—”

“That won’t help her, that’s not what she needs. I’m sorry, fox, I… I don’t know of anything else,” her voice was so low and excruciatingly sympathetic that Jamie wanted to scream. 

He found himself still shaking his head in denial. There was a sharp ache in his stomach, as if his heart had shoved its way down there. 

“I dinna think I can—” he choked as the first tears began to fall. Trying to find the barest hint of comfort, he stroked Claire’s hair again, his fingers brushing her face. 

“There’s no choice,” Geillis said finally, “she’ll die.” 

*

Jamie wanted to leave the bookstore. He almost wished that he had never come— only he could never wish to be ignorant about such a thing, even if it was tempting. He glanced down at Claire in his lap. 

She was unconscious, her face nearly ashen in the light from the window. There was no hint of her usual golden warmth— only pallid skin and dark circles under her eyes. He could feel her shallow breathing, 

He wanted to break down completely. The allure of giving into his grief was so strong, but she didn't deserve to languish in this place any longer. He would see her home. 

The polite thing would have been to thank Geillis for her help. Only his throat was so clogged that the words never would have come out. He couldn’t even spare a glance up at her. 

A silent tear dripped down his cheek as he reached a hand down to gently shake Claire’s cheek. 

“Mo ghraidh?” he choked. 

He was suddenly overcome by the acute desire— no need— for her to wake up. He had to see those golden eyes or he’d die. He couldn’t draw breath, he couldn’t—

She opened her eyes slowly, blinking dazedly up at him from where her head rested in his lap between his hands. He expected her to murmur out “what’s wrong?’ as she usually would have upon finding him in such a state of extreme distress. But she didn’t say a word. She was likely too tired to sense his emotions, too tired to even bring herself to confront the reality that was showing on his face. She just breathed in shakily. 

Jamie somehow found a strength inside himself that he didn’t know he possessed. He gathered his composure— for her sake. 

“Let’s go home,” he said softly, his voice astoundingly even. 

He gathered Claire up in his arms with the utmost care, lifting her under back and knees until he was standing face to face with Geillis. 

“Take care of her, fox cub,” the witch said solemnly. 

Jamie swallowed hard. Unable to verbalize it out loud, he gave her a nod. 

A promise. 

He would send her back. He would do what needed to be done to save her. 

At that moment, Claire stirred in his arms. 

“We’re leaving?’ came her breathy question. 

“Yes, a leannan. We’re going home.”

To his surprise, her hand pushed against his chest— her touch weak and lacking any real force, but still insistent. 

“I don’t— they’ll—” she sounded distressed, which broke Jamie’s heart. But she was so incoherent he didn’t have any idea how to assuage her. 

“What is it, a nighean?” he asked, on the verge of tears. 

“Don’t want them to see,” she finally managed. 

That did him in. More tears leaked from his eyes to pour down his cheeks. He swallowed the sob in his throat.

She had always hated other people seeing her— accustomed as she was to being invisible to humans— and now she was embarrassed by the thought of Jamie carrying her through Inverness. 

“Dinna think about them,” Jamie answered, barely able to contain the heartache in his voice, “no one matters except you, mo ghraidh.” 

She still looked distressed. Her eyes were squeezed closed again, her brows furrowed, and she shook her head. 

“Jamie, I…” 

Her voice trailed off. Her head lolled on his shoulder, and he nearly broke down all over again. 

He turned his teary gaze to Geillis, giving her his best look of pleading. 

“Is there nothin’ ye can do tae ease her?” he asked brokenly. 

Geillis looked wrecked too, staring at Claire as if the sight of his wee faerie suffering was too terrible to look away from. “I’m sorry,” she said with a sad shake of her head, “there’s nothin’ I can do.” 

Jamie bit his lip, hard enough to draw blood, and then refocused on his love. 

“Damn the world,” he told her firmly, “we’re goin’ home.” 

***

IMPORTANT:

Hi, friends! I mentioned a few chapters ago that I will be going on hiatus for a short time. I've finished writing arc II now, and in the interest of leaving you all at a decent stopping point before I go on hiatus, I will be dropping a chapter a day. There are 3 more chapters after this one until arc II wraps up. BUT the story will be far from over, so I truly hope you stick around until I get back in a number of weeks. I love this story and these characters so much and I'm really excited for arc III.

With that being said... I will now be running off to hide in fear of my life. IknowIknowIknowI'msorry! SORRY!

Next

[in-tua-deep]

Hey, hope you don't mind me asking, I don't want to pressure you, but I was wondering about your narnia au, love your writing, and hope your having a good time

narnia au is something that I ever so occasionally add to whenever I’m in a sentimental and wistful mood - which I have been watching an unreasonable amount of call the midwife lately lmao

so here’s a snippet - 

--- “We all have ghosts, Five.”

“Klaus can literally see ghosts. I think if Dad was hanging around, the whole house and half the city would know about it by now.”

Susan gives him a disappointed look that makes him look away, out the window. “You know that isn’t what I meant, and you know it.”

“If anyone has a monopoly on ghosts, it’s my brother.”

Susan sighs, reaching up to cup Five’s cheek in her hand. Her skin is soft, it doesn’t feel like tissue paper against his cheek but it feels delicate, fragile. He can feel the way her fingers shake ever so slightly, stabilizing against his jawbone. “Oh, love. We don’t choose the ghosts that haunt us, and how we live with them until we can put them to rest.”

“My ghosts are my own fault. I was the one that killed people. I was the one who said that my siblings were more important than anyone else, than anyone else’s siblings.”

Susan taps her fingers against his cheek, “Oh? You killed your father? You hadn’t told me that one yet. Good, bastard deserved it.”

It’s enough to draw a startled laugh from his throat, “No! I mean, maybe I should’ve, but Dad died thanks to his own stupidity not mine, thank you. That’s one thing I won’t take the blame for.”

Susan hums, leaning back and taking her hand from his cheek to reach down and grasp his hands between them again.

Fire hesitates, looking down at their entwined hands so that he doesn’t have to look at Susan in the eye. “Sometimes I wake up and I forget, just for a minute. I wake up thinking that I have to get up, because Dad hated us being late for breakfast. He’d give us a swat with a ruler for every minute we were tardy. Allison always teased me about being late even though I could jump, but he was always twice as mad when I did that.”

“It must be a relief to realize you can lie in.” Susan smiles, but Five can’t smile back.

“No. There’s a moment in the morning when I think Dad is still alive, and that’s terrible, but in the same moment I think I’m going to go downstairs and my siblings are going to be standing at attention around the table. I think that I’ll see Klaus trying to kick the back of Ben’s knees without Dad noticing, that I’ll see Vanya hiding a book in her cardigan, I’ll see Luther’s stupid judgemental face even though Allison was late more times than me and she never got his stupid faces. And then I remember all over again, and I lose them all over again.”

Susan looks at him with sad eyes. 

“Is that why you moved to America?” Five asks, shaking his head to try and ignore the stinging between his eyes, “So you wouldn’t get stuck in memories so much?”

“Sometimes.” Susan says slowly, “I won’t say that it wasn’t a factor, that I didn’t think about it. That I don’t think about the English countryside and think of Lucy with mud on her face and Edmund trying to put tadpoles down the back of Peter’s shirt.”

“Klaus put spiders in our beds when he was mad at us. It only ever scared Luther, though. I think Vanya just cried because she thought she squished one by accident.” Five whispers, and Susan graces him with a smile. “I thought about that, in the apocalypse. I ate spiders, sometimes, when I could find them. I always thought of Vanya crying when I did it.”

“Lucy scolded Edmund something fierce over it as well.” Susan shakes her head at the memory, “She was in tears when Edmund pointed out that people ate frogs, but I think they were more angry than anything else. He had a bruise for weeks where she thumped him, yelling about how we didn’t live in France.”

They spend a little while in silence, taking a moment for themselves to remember their respective siblings. 

Susan pats Five’s hands gently, “I was a bit like you, you know, when I came back the first time. Not right away, when we were at the professor’s house, but when we went back home. I hadn’t realized how much I’d forgotten.”

“Forgotten?”

“About home! I went back up to my room, and there were all the things I’d forgotten. My collection of hair ribbons was still on the dresser. My favorite ones were a royal blue, I’d thought I looked so distinguished with them in. I’d forgotten all about them, until I saw them on that dresser.” Susan pats his hand, looking faintly wistful.

“My room looks the same as well.” Five admits, “Exactly the same. It threw me off, at first. It was all rubble in the apocalypse, I didn’t even think about it until I had to go upstairs to get my uniform. My books were still on the nightstand.”

Susan nods sagely.

“At least, I think it’s exactly the same. I don’t remember, is the problem. If - if my siblings moved stuff around, or took anything away, or - or anything like that, I don’t think I’d know. I think it bothers me, that I don’t remember.” Five shakes his head, “It’s been so many years. There’s so much I might have forgotten, but how will I know I’ve forgotten it?”

Five can’t help the affronted look that settles on his face when Susan just shrugs. His mulish expression must be terribly amusing, because it makes Susan’s eyes twinkle with laughter.

“It’s important to remember the past.” Susan tells him gently, the twinkle never fading, “But I think it’s equally important to forge the future, to make new memories. I left England because it was painful, yes. But I also left because America was new, and brilliant, and exciting. Because I wanted to.”

Susan squeezes his hands gently, he isn’t sure if she can squeeze much harder anyway. Her strength seems to come and go like the tides these days.

“Change isn’t a betrayal of what came before, love. Sometimes change is necessary.” Susan hums, “I threw out those hair ribbons, when I came home. Edmund and Lucy swapped rooms entirely. I learned how to put on makeup - they didn’t have red lipstick in Narnia, I can tell you that. It was different, but different was good. Less painful.”

“Allison’s been talking about painting.” Five offers. “She wants to set up a room for when Claire comes to visit. I can’t imagine her in the mansion though. She always sounds so happy, on the phone. Claire, I mean. So carefree. I don’t think we were ever that carefree.”

“If your home isn’t one you can imagine happiness in, perhaps you should ask yourself how you can change that.”

Five snorts, “Doing away with the wall art would be a start. Daily reminders on exactly where to stab each other with our silverware.”

“How ferocious.”

[drakewalkerfantasy]

My little angels (Tatum x Claire)

Summary: Two births. Two different experiences. Two sisters. And only 3 years and 3 month apart.

Prompt: 43. A kiss pressed to the top of the head.

Words: 2442

Rating: PG

Warning: labour / emergency c-section / childbirth / pain

A/N: Thank you, dear anon for your request. I hope you will like it, I’m not sure if I’m particularly happy with all parts, and it got too raw too quickly. I literally wrote what I felt, so sorry for any kind of mistakes. Read under the cut

The crucifying pain shot through Claire in a flush, knocking the air out of her lungs and leaving her breathless.

Her breath caught in her throat and the dry lump of emotions formed there with the tears that started to burn at the corners of her eyes, while the feeling of another inevitable bout of pain washed over her. Getting ready to tear through her with the sob and the plea, that she couldn’t push back anymore.

But before she could say anything or plead for mercy... the seconds before she could feel another fit of pain rip through her, she felt two strong hands gently wrapping around her bringing her closer to a firm muscled chest, soothing her… calming her, and just for a second making her forget about the pain... just for a second.

“You are doing so great,” whispered a familiar voice, breaking through the fog of agony she was into. “I’m in such an awe of you,” said the man pressing a soft affectionate kiss to the top of her head.

Her forehead dropped onto his chest while she was breathing heavily, feeling his fingers drawing soft soothing circles into her scalp, making the pain step back for a little bit longer. Her eyes closed from exhaustion, while she tried to breath.

“I cannot...,” she half-sobbed, half-whispered into his chest. Her voice hoarse and dry from all the pain and emotions. The lump still blocked her throat making it almost painful to speak, while his hands gently tightened around her feeling how her body stiffened with another rush of pain. “It hurts... so much,” Claire breathed. Her fingers curl around the crisp material of his shirt, and the pain is so strong that she almost forgets how to breathe. Opening and closing her mouth in a futile attempt. Her eyes squeezed shut, hoping that if they will remain like that, then the pain will not come.

“Hey, look at me, breathe.... just breathe. One in... and one out,” Tatum murmured, cupping her face in his hand. His voice is calming and soothing, guiding her through the process, breathing in unison with her. So gently... so carefully... Her rock... her strength…

One in... and one out. One in... and one out.

“You are almost there,” Claire heard another voice breaking through the fog of her mind and she prepared herself for another wave of pain. Squeezing her eyes even firmer, but breathing at last. 

One in... and one out.

“Soon we will finally meet our little girl,” Claire breathed, finally opening her eyes and raising them to meet Tatum’s, smiling weakly at him. Her hands still curled around the material of his shirt, while she breathed in and out, feeling the calming movements of his chest with every breath he took.

She could feel how another rush of contractions surged onto her. Her forehead wrinkled from pain and her eyes squeezed shut, while she grunted into Tatum’s shirt. Their breathes synced, calming her as nothing else could before another command to push followed after another excruciating wave of pain struck her.

Push... push... push... followed after every contraction and she did just so... following without questions, bravely meeting the pain, but still no result, and she almost wants to give up. Just to close her eyes... and forget all the pain... rewind the days and try next time... but she doesn't.

Instead Claire squeezes her eyes, and pushes with the last bit of strength left in her before collapsing back into Tatum’s arms. Feeling, how they softly curl around her offering her all the strength and support he can... all the strength and support she needs.

“Sorry... I can’t... I just.... make it stop... please just make it stop,” she sobbed into his shirt, while he brushed the strands of hair out of her eyes. His hand cupping her cheek gently, making her look at him, while they still had time before another command and another contraction would inevitably follow.

“Honey, you can do that. I know you can,” he whispered softly, locking his eyes with hers, before pressing their foreheads together. They breathes synced, while another command followed only a second later and she pushed. Her hands dug into his. Her nails breaking the skin of his forearms, while she cried out and pushed with the last effort and strength she could find in her.

Her body fell into Tatum’s embrace in exhaustion and her eyes snapped open, focusing on the midwife and the small figure covered in a red bloody substance in her hands. Both waiting with the bated breath, while the seconds were ticking.

One... two...thr... faint soft sigh... cry.

The baby was crying. Their baby was crying.

And they could feel how they finally could breathe again. Feeling how their own tears started to flow, while Tatum pressed a soft kiss to the top of Claire’s head, to her forehead, her nose and then finally to her lips.

Murmuring the words of gratitude and love over and over, while covering her in small, affectionate kisses. Their tears mixing together before the baby, cleaned and wrapped into the blanket, was finally brought to them and put into Tatum’s hands.

“You did it,” he said in a voice full of awe and love. His cheeks still stricken by tears and his eyes moist, while he pressed a soft kiss to the baby’s forehead.

“We did it,” murmured Claire looking at Tatum with a weak loving smile, before dropping her eyes to their baby girl, letting her small little hand wrap around her finger. “Hey, Lilibeth. Welcome to the world.”

Lilibeth, the filipino name that mixes Lily and Beth, his mum’s favourite flowers and the name of Claire’s grandmother from her father’s side.

————————————————

3 years and 3 months later, same hospital and she once again in pain. Claire’s hand firmly gripping Tatum’s, doubling with a scream, while waiting for someone to come after them. She wasn’t so far into the labour and another three weeks till her due date, but the pain is so much worse than with their first and she knows... or at least she suspects that it’s only the beginning.

Her forehead covered in beads of sweat, while she gritted her teeth. Her waters broke an hour ago, but pain seems to jump from zero to ten in one go... with the gush of water to the kitchen floor where she was laughing till her sides hurt only a second before with Denise and her father in law over one of Tatum’s childhood memories. While he was scowling just meters away, mumbling something under his breath before he heard her gasp and he was right next to her in a flash. Cradling her in his strong, comforting arms before she screamed, feeling how her abdomen tensed and the pain shoot through her, making another young man rush to them with the panicked look on his face.

Should I have coloured my hair back to my natural colour or should I let them wash out... the sudden thought strikes her. The thought that seems to be coming from nowhere through the flush of another spasm and pain. Her brow furrowed in concentration trying to determine where it even came from. Doing everything she could to get distracted from pain. And even though she knows that Tatum loves her in any form and appearance, the doubt still creeping, overlapping with another contraction in her abdomen, that makes it rock solid, and the grip on his hand bone-crashingly firm.

“Everything will be okay. Doctor will be here in a moment,” tries to calm her Tatum, easing her hand gently while it didn't break any bones in his.

“You are the one to talk,” Claire snapped, bracing herself for another wave of pain, her stomach getting firmer and she could feel the pain rushing onto her like a wrecked train. The tears welling on her eyes, while she tried to breathe. “God... how did I even let you do that to me again...,” she sobbed, gripping his hand firmer, while another gripped the lapels of his jacket. “Never again... Oooof.... fuck you and yours.... Oh God...,” she panted, feeling his hand squeezing hers, while another wraps around her waist, letting her bury her face on his chest, whimpering softly.

“I think that was the reason why we got into that position in the first place,” chuckled Tatum into Claire’s hair, rubbing her back softly and kissing the top of head.

Realising the mistake of his words only an instance later, when she hit him hard in his chest. Baffling him only a second later, when he heard a muffled bark of hoarse laugh against his chest. But before he could say anything his eyes stopped on the midwife who was finally approaching them with Blaine hot on her heels. And he could feel how some of the tension left his body, thankful to Blaine for getting someone to finally look at them using his status. The thing Tatum knew for a fact Blaine hated to do, but still done for them.

“Thank you,” said Tatum, turning to Blaine as soon as Claire was put into the wheelchair and rolled to the examination room. “Hey, she will be okay,” tried to convince him Tatum, or was it he himself who needed that, or both when he met a panicked look on Blaine’s face. But before he could say anything else or followed after his wife and midwife they heard an alarm coming from the room where Claire disappeared. Tatum felt instantly numb feeling how the fear that something happened washed over him and they both ran into the room.

The scene they were both met with, made Blaine instantly look away while Tatum froze, the words failing him and he could distantly hear the question that he was asked.

“Yes... yes, I’m her husband,” numbly said Tatum, watching how Claire was moved to the gourmet.

“You shouldn’t worry, we will make sure...,” said the woman placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, but he didn’t hear her, as the only sounds in his ears were the pounding of his own heart and the roaring of his blood.

He didn’t feel how Blaine led him to the waiting area, didn’t hear him trying to comfort him and he didn’t know how much time had passed. The only thing he could feel and hear was a paralysing fear, the one he never felt before, the one that grabbed him with a stranglehold and did not let go... the one that made his breath shallow and his vision blurred... the one he didn’t know how to deal with.

It was minutes... or hours... or seconds. He didn’t know... he just didn’t... the fear unlike any other gripped at his throat, when he felt a hand placed carefully at his shoulder bringing him back to present... tearing him away from the thoughts he was having...

He couldn’t lose her... Their little girl cannot lose her... 

The fear punched holes in his heart, and his breathing hollows, almost like a panic attack he didn’t have in years... since the early childhood after his mother’s death, after he needed to become strong for Claire... and now he was losing her... them...

Distantly he could feel someone’s hand on his, but he couldn’t move, trying to breath, until the hand squeezed his firmer, and he could hear someone’s voice trying to break through to him... through the beating of his heart in his ears... through the fear... until he felt something small got placed in his hands, helping him held something... someone, realisation dawned at him a second later. His eyes dropped to the baby, the small bundle in his hands before raising them to meet Blaine’s gaze who was squatting in front of him, preventing his arms from shaking, helping him to hold the baby... smiling.

“She is okay. Both of them,” replied Blaine to an unasked question, watching how relief washed over Tatum.

“Can I...,” the question stuck in Tatum’s throat while he raised his eyes watching over Blaine’s shoulder at the elderly woman behind him.

“Mrs. Mendoza is still recovering from anaesthesia, but you can see her,” sounded a reply. “She suffered some minor blood loss, but other than that both her and baby are feeling good and will be able to go home within a day or two,” the woman said, while Tatum carefully stood up holding their newborn girl and following the nurse toward the ward.

First what she felt was the dryness of her throat, like she didn’t have anything to drink for days... weeks even or if she would spend some time in a desert.

The second, was the heaviness of her eyelids. And the feeling that she wouldn’t be able to open them even if she would try. So heavy that she kept them closed, trying to adjust her other senses first.

And the last, she felt a fear that quickly turned into relief when Claire heard the voice of her husband... her Tatum, cooing with someone... their daughter. Thanks God... she wanted to cry and laugh at the same time, relief rolling over her in waves together with a raspy cough ripping through her throat before she cleared it.

“Hey,” she spoke, her voice raspy and hoarse and cutting her throat as nothing else did. Her eyes still closed before she tried to flutter them open. “Is she okay?”

“Yes, she is. She is precious,” she hears next to her and she tries to sit or at least she thinks she tries to do that before she feels a warm hand over hers. “You did it,” Tatum’s voice so close to her now, and she can feel his soft lips pressing to her forehead in a lingering kiss, while her eyes finally flutter open to meet his, and to look at their girl.

“We...,” she tries to object, but the soft press of his lips to hers cut her off.

“You did it,” murmurs Tatum against her lips. His arms holding hers securing them around their daughter, helping her to hold their girl.

“She is perfect,” Claire murmurs still hoarsely,

“Yes, she is... and as strong and brave just like her mother,” he whispers, leaning toward the little girl cradled in their arms, pressing a softest kiss to her forehead. His murmur like a rustle of leaves on the wind. “Hey, Ana. Welcome to the word.”

Ana... Anita, the name of the Spanish origin, the middle name of her mother’s, as strong and as brave like the woman who gave her life and who he loves.

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