#we used to take pictures of him every month as an infant to track his growth

[iamdansin]

Something that I really love about Buddy Daddies is how it celebrates the mundane parts of parenting.

Like making breakfast together. It seems so normal by yourself, but when you have a little person helping you out, mixing batter right beside you, it's a whole new experience. The necessary motions of assembling food to shovel in your mouth becomes precious because you're doing it together.

Or when the high chair showed up in their dining table, and that pink step stool in the bathroom. If a random stranger wandered into the apartment, they'd know right away it's a child's home. Miri's parents took the time to buy these things for her because they want to make her life easier and comfortable. It also just screams "MIRI LIVES HERE TOOOO"

And just the daddies' collective ooo's and aww's when Miri debuted her new uniform?? Even freaking CLOTHES become magical accessories that only amplify their baby's cuteness (who's not so little anymore 😭💕).

I think the series realistically portrays how the everyday routines of parenting are so fun and special and magical. It's no wonder so many of us would just love to keep seeing slices of their domestic lives. It's common, normal, and plenty entertaining because of them ✨

[albertasunrise]

Chance - Chapter 5

Warnings: Angst, talk of drug use, overdose.

Pairings: Frankie Morales/ Reader

~

The trip seems to fly by, every day filled with a different activity that seemed to fill little Sophia with complete joy. You and Frankie couldn’t get enough of each other, discovering each other’s bodies and discovering exactly what makes the two of you sing. It was your last night at the cabin and the four of you decided the best way to spend it was sitting around the fire with a beer in hand, reminiscing about your youth or in their case, their days serving.

‘So what made you quit?’ You ask them all, noting that they’re all still young enough to serve.

‘When they kicked Fish out for his Coke habit... We're a team so we quit.’ States Benny, taking a swig of his beer.

‘Coke habit?’ Your expression drops as you pull yourself away from the man in question ‘What Coke habit?’

‘It wasn’t really a habit-’

‘Benny shut the fuck up.’ Spits Will ‘You’ve done enough damage.’

‘Frankie?’

‘I went through a pretty low patch a little while back.’ He confesses, scrubbing a hand over his face ‘My ex was into it and promised it would take the edge off my PTSD and it did... for a little while. Then I got busted and they revoked my licence and I realised that I needed to get my life on track. I told her that she needed to quit it, finding out we were pregnant kinda helped with that. When Fia was born and Lexi left I had to man up and so I got my licence back and I haven’t touched the shit since.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me about this?’

‘I didn’t want you to think less of me.’ He looks at you with a sad expression as he forms his next words carefully ‘You’ve been the best thing to happen to me since Fia was born. If I lost you I don’t think I’d be able to cope.’

‘Don’t put that sort of pressure on my Francisco.’ You snap, standing and swiftly entering the kitchen.

You could feel your tears threatening to spill as you fought hard not to panic. You’d not been completely honest to the boys when you’d said that you had no backstories. You had one. One that still haunted you to this day. Stepping outside with a fresh beer in hand the boys all look at you but you look at Frankie, his expression breaking your heart and you know you need to come clean. You sit down on one of the free chairs and stare into the fire, carefully constructing your story in the hopes it would bring the boys clarity regarding your reaction to Frankie’s confession.

‘I was in a serious relationship about 10 years ago.’ You start, already feeling your voice wobbling as you speak ‘He was everything to me. We were happily planning our wedding, excited for the future. He worked in insurance which was a demanding job but he always seemed to be full of energy. Turns out he had a secret coping mechanism that he had managed to keep hidden from me. So well hidden in fact that I didn’t know about it until he was having a fit on the floor as he suffered from a cocaine overdose.’

You paused for a few moments as you take a long swig of your beer, noting the new tension in the air as they waited for you to finish your story.

‘I did everything I could for him but he had a heart attack. They weren’t able to revive him.’ You let out a sob then, catching the way Frankie is looking at you and so you return his gaze ‘I can’t go through that again.’ You shake your head as you let out a shaky breath ‘I just can’t Frankie.’

‘You won’t.’ He promises, his eyes pleading for you to believe him ‘I never did it heavily. It was just an occasional fix when things got bad. Now I have Sophia I don’t need it. Now I have you.’

‘He’s been clean for over a year Doc.’ Will pipes up, grabbing your hand and giving it a gentle squeeze ‘You were brave to tell us about this. I can’t begin to imagine what you went through but it won’t happen with Frankie.’

‘It won’t Hermosa.’ He confirms ‘I love you too much to ever risk hurting you like that.’

Your mouth drops open as you process what he’d just said to you. He loves you. Until now, those words had not been uttered by either of you, even if you both felt that way about each other. You both figured it was too soon. You’d only been together a few months but you couldn’t deny that you’d fallen head over heels for this man.

‘Shit... Sorry, I-’

‘I love you too.’ You reply, smiling at him as you watch the anxiety in his face melt away.

That night was the most passionate sex the two of you ever had. He worshipped every inch of you as he tried to make you feel how much he loved you. You don’t think anyone has ever made love to you like that and with every kiss and thrust of his hips, you felt your worries fade into nothing. The drive back home was a long one, you still had a few days off so Frankie asked you to stay a few more days, not wanting your time together to end and of course you agreed.

~

‘Can you get that baby?’ Asks Frankie upon hearing the doorbell go.

Carrying Sophia in your arms you make your way to the front door, chuckling when she tries to tug on your bottom lip. Opening the door you are greeted by a face that you recognise from group pictures but never expected to see in person.

‘Is Frankie here?’ She asks, her voices dripping in spite.

‘He is.’ You reply.

Sophia starts to get fussy and you turn your attention to her, rocking her in your arms as her eyes start to fill with tears.

‘Here give her to me.’

‘No.’ You suddenly feel very protective of the infant in your arms.

‘Who is it, baby?’ Frankie asks as he comes up beside you, his jaw dropping at who he sees ‘What are you doing here Lexi?’

‘I came for my daughter.’ She replies, eyes burning holes into you.

‘You what?’

‘She’s my daughter Frankie.’ She starts, shifting her weight from one leg to the other.

‘You gave up the right to call her that when you walked out on us.’ He spits, wrapping his hand around your waist and pulling you and his baby closer.

‘Who’s this bitch?’ She growls, pointing to you with her chin ‘Found a replacement quickly.’

‘A replacement?’ You yell, feeling your anger bubbling inside you.

‘Lexi please go.’ He says as he gives your waist a small squeeze.

‘Fine.’ She spits, glaring at you both ‘You haven’t seen the last of me. I will get her back.’

~

It had been two weeks since Frankie’s ex had turned up at his door. Since then you’d not heard or seen from her but there was always a worry bubbling in the background about what she was planning. You had promised Frankie that if she tried to fight for custody you would do whatever you could to help him, the boys also vowing the same thing. Your shift today had been relatively uneventful, the most serious injury being a sex-related one that you’d rather forget about. You can’t help but watch the clock, excited to see Frankie and the baby. After coming back from your trip you’d more or less ended up staying permanently, he’d gifted you a key the day before you’d gone back to work and gradually your stuff had migrated.

‘Any plans tonight with lover boy?’ Ask Sophie as she gives you a friendly nudge with her elbow and a wink.

‘We both have the day off tomorrow so we were planning on take-out and a Star Wars marathon.’

‘You two are so perfect for each other.’ She chuckles ‘Well have fun!’

You finish up your paperwork and slip into your casual clothes. You practically sprint to your car, not wanting to wait any longer than you had to to get back to your perfect little family waiting for you at home. The universe is obviously on your side as you drive, every light turning green as you approach it and before long you’re pulling up onto Frankie’s drive. Your expression becomes confused as you see that the front door is open but you shrug and grab your bag, stepping quickly towards the house.

‘Baby I’m home.’ You announce.

Looking around you see two mugs on the coffee table and you try and remember if you had left yours out this morning.

‘Frankie?’ You raise your voice a little louder as you walk into the kitchen and find that he’s not there ‘Baby you here?’

You look in the garden but he’s still nowhere to be seen. A gnawing feeling starts to form in the pit of your stomach as you head towards the bedrooms, checking his room and seeing that that room is empty also.

‘Frankie?’

That’s when you hear it. A faint groaning coming from Sophia’s bedroom. Pushing the door open you are hit with a sense of Deja Vu when you see Frankie laying on the ground, his eyes rolling around in their sockets as his body wriggled on the floor. You knew exactly what this was.

‘Frankie?’ You drop to his side, taking his pulse and finding it racing beneath your fingertips ‘Frankie how much did you take?’

‘Lexi.’ Was his reply, his eyes growing wider as his heart rate picked up more.

‘What about her?’ It comes out angrier than you meant it to.

‘She... she...’

‘She what?’

He doesn’t answer, just starts to look around the room in a daze. You pull out your phone, dialling for an ambulance whilst trying to keep your anger at bay. He’s promised. Once you’d gotten off of the phone with the emergency services you ring Will, the fight to keep your anger at bay becoming harder by the second.

'Hey Doc, what's up?'

‘Frankie’s OD’d.’

‘He’s what?’ Comes the older Miller’s voice down the phone.

‘I found him on the floor of Sophia’s room.’

‘Shit. Is the baby okay?’

‘Yeah she’s-’ You stop dead when you notice her cot is empty, your heart starts to race as you start to put the pieces together.

‘You still there Doc?’

‘She’s gone, Will.’ You sob ‘Fuck he said Lexi’s name, I think he was trying to tell me she’d taken her.’ You pause and then it hits you ‘Shit I think she drugged him.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I found two mugs on the coffee table when I walked in. She must have come round to try and sweet talk him and slipped some coke into his coffee.’ You look down at Frankie whose whole body has gone rigid ‘No... no no shit no!.’

He lets out a scream as his body starts to convulse. Eye’s rolling back into his skull. You can hear Will shouting at you down the phone but you can’t reply. You can’t move. You sit there frozen to the spot as you watch history repeat itself with Frankie. This couldn’t be happening again.

~

Chapter 6

[ladyideal]

Ficmas~ Day 12

Pairing: Scones x Gender Neutral!Reader

Word Count: 1576

Warnings: Pregnancy related events

Summary: You have a Christmas baby.

Requested by: @mrs-l-mccoy

A/n: Not so bad for the first pregnancy fic. And I think it went great.

"Y/N? What are you doing here? McCoy will kill me if he sees ye here," A rather displeased Scotty ran up to you the moment an Ensign noticed you in the upper Engineering decks. 

"Working, Monty. I'm sick of being on bed rest, and I'm about to go insane if I don't do something," You answered, waddling past him.

Sure you were nine months pregnant, and looking like you were about to burst any moment. Leonard, the ever so dutiful doctor and boyfriend, had put you on bed rest and medical leave ever since you started your 30th week. 

Honestly, you were just done with this whole pregnancy and just wanted the baby out.

"I can still fix small things, Monty. Please?" You pleaded, heading into his office. "He doesn't have to know. I can head back in a bit. Just want something to do with my hands."

As an Engineering Lieutenant, you met Scotty first. Soon, your relationship became more than just work related. But how Leonard came into the picture was a story for another time. Getting to know you after countless accidents down in the lower Engineering decks and patching you up, he came to realize that it was Jim's fault for his lack of stricter rules. In an effort to apologize, he'd asked you out for dinner.

The Scot looked conflicted, flipping through the work orders on his PADD to keep you entertained. "You would be able to fix the Medbay's biobed in a jiffy, but Leonard is still on duty."

You sent him a sharp glare, letting out a sigh of relief when you sat down. Your lower back ached, and so did your bladder and knees. 

"Here, found it," He rummaged around his piled up desk, retrieving two seemingly perfect PADD and a comm. "Bloody Ensign Zane scared me half to death when he came in unable to fix them."

You snorted, reaching out for them. Ensigns, of course. Newly graduated Engineering ensigns were just as bad as medical ensigns. Len would usually complain about them often when picking up new crew. Happy with being able to work on something, Monty watched you with a relief sigh. 

It might be something Leonard was used to, as the second child. For the Chief Engineer though, this was his first child. Dealing with a pregnant lover was one instance he was completely new too. Violent mood swings, nesting, and so much more honestly scared him at times. 

Giving you another side glance and making sure you were alright, he settled in his office chair and continued going over reports.

"Scotty," A female Ensign popped in, earning herself a frown from you. "Oh uh hi, Y/N. Didn't see you there. Think I have enough room to put these around the office?"

She indicated an armful of mistletoe.

"Whatever Y/N decides," Scotty spoke nonchalantly, but did look interested.

"Sure! Where can I help?" You shifted away the parts and pieces from the PADD you were working on, and heaving yourself to your feet.

"Oh please no. You're pregnant, and I've enlisted help from Alex and River," Your friend spoke, as the other two waved from behind. "You just let me know where to put them."

"Thanks," You gratefully replied, glad that you were still included. Being on bed rest was enough to drive you nearly insane without much to keep you entertained. Monty and Len would pop by often during breaks, but you still felt left out. 

"Come on Monty, it's getting late," You mumbled, placing the last of the repaired electronics on his table. The office, and no doubt the other Engineering decks, were decorated with heaps of dark green mistletoe. "And I got dinner ready too."

"You're forgetting about something, Y/N," He spoke, turning off his terminal and swinging the chair over to face you.

"What?" You frowned when he pointed to the bundle of the green plant hanging overhead.

Realization dawned on you.

"I'll kiss you anytime anywhere, mister. Mistletoe or not," You laughed, pulling him in for the obligatory kiss. 

"Come. Let me find my bloody comm and we can eat," The Scot spoke, his Scottish accent slipping out more strongly after a long shift. 

"I have it," You pocketed his comm away, letting him escort you back to the shared quarters. 

An unfamiliar sensation trickled down your ankle, forcing you to a stop. Eyes widening, you turned to your boyfriend. 

"What's wrong?" He frowned, but panic shone in his eyes. "Is the baby okay?"

"Monty? I think my water just broke."

You'd never seen the Chief Engineer move that fast. Panicking, he'd scooped you into his arms and sprinted towards the Medbay, anxiety eating away at him.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, Monty. I haven't even my first cont-," You stopped mid sentence, gritting your teeth and squeezing your eyes shut as the pain threatened to overwhelm you. 

"Leonard!" Scotty bellowed the moment he stepped in, gently placed you on your feet. 

"Scotty, what did I say about screaming? I just got patients sleeping not even-," The doctor stopped in his tracks, taking in the urgency in his boyfriend's stance and you taking a grateful deep breath. 

"Their water broke." 

Things moved really fast once more. You were placed on a bed, prodded, scanned, gowned, in record time. It didn't take long for Leonard to sit down beside you, holding your other hand. 

"Baby's fine, darlin'. But it might be awhile before it is time," He spoke softly. "If the pain of the contractions gets too much, we can start you on the pain medications."

"We're having a kid, Len, Monty," You smiled over at Scotty who was rubbing small circles over the back of your hand. "Kid's finally deciding to finally meet us."

"You'll do wonderful," Leonard spoke, gently. "Let me help you get comfortable, sweetheart."

As the hours ticked by, so did the frequency and intensity of the contractions continued. Thank goodness for pain medication too, or you had a feeling you wouldn't be able to get through the night. During the blissful minutes between contractions, Scotty would walk around the medbay with you, talking about gossip and congratulations messages from those around the ship. 

By the five minute mark, you were absolutely done with puking and wanted the baby out immediately. A ring of nurses circled around you, and Leonard hovered constantly, fretting often with the numbers affixed on the bed. 

"Len, relax, would you? You're scaring poor Monty," You reached out, catching his sleeve and pointing. The Scot had a mixture of emotions flitting through his face every passing minute. 

"Sorry," The doctor apologized, keeping his mumbles to himself. 

"You ready?" The Engineer spoke, now changed out of his uniform and into a pair of the shirt and sweatpants. 

"More than ready," You nodded. "It's been fun, but I'm ready to have this baby out and stop pressing on my bladder and aching my back."

Leonard had returned with a fresh set of gloves, and settled into a rolling chair in front of your legs. A weak smile plastered on his face, but he looked determined. "Sweetheart, when you get the feeling to push, I want you to push hard. Alright?"

Labor was hard, much harder than you were prepared to be. Soon though, you were relieved when the baby's first cry was heard and everyone within the private room cheered. Although exhausted, you watched with a weak grin as Leonard cradled his baby boy within his arms. 

Once he was cleaned and fed, you watched with an adoring smile as he slept on your chest. A blue beanie, complete with gloves and socks kept him warm and safe. 

"We did it," You grinned over at your two boyfriends. 

"You did it, Y/N," Scotty spoke, carefully feeling the baby's hand with a finger. He was in awe of the little bundle of joy, a creation of life that you nurtured for nine months. 

"Welcome to the world, baby boy." You crooned.

Once you were allowed to leave, Leonard wheeled you out of the medbay. Scotty, on the other hand, cradled the baby. 

"What do you think Jim will say?" You spoke conversationaly. Two days ago you had given birth, and already the Captain was eager to see your child.

"Demand to be his godfather," The doctor shrugged. "What else would the infant say?"

"Congratulations!"

A rather large crowd of officers milled about in the lounge, surprising you when you entered. You smiled as the Captain approached, the first of many.

"You better name him after me after all I did to bring you three together," He clapped Scotty's back, and asked if he could hold him.

Your boyfriend glanced at you for approval, and you agreed with a nod. Watching carefully, Scotty slowly placed him into Jim's slightly awkward arms.

"Wow," was all the blonde could muster, already won over by the baby's cuteness.

"Alright, alright," Leonard grumped after a few minutes. "This isn't the time for "Pass the Kid Around"."

You chuckled, taking Nyota and Spock for their support. 

"In fact, just because I ended up delivering my own baby on Christmas Day, doesn't mean I want to end up delivering any of yours."

All around, as the Christmas lights flickered, candle flames danced, and a small pile of baby shower presents sat on a far off table, laughter could be heard around. 

It was your Christmas wish coming true. 

Eats Everything: @asraime @aspiring-ginger @mournthewicked @bluesclues-1234 @keijibum @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @also-fangirlinsweden @charlielotte @groovyfluxie @mysoulshideaway @fandom-imagination-ss @mayday1284 @sayanythingcreations @bbeasehnsucht @supergeekfangirl​ @your-sparklywinnercollection​

Trekkies: @marvelouslytrekking @lykxzandlove @mrs-l-mccoy @piccolaromana @strange-old-worlds @scraftskhu35 @april-showers-and-flowers @worm-cant-read @fandomismymiddlename @childofthecornflakes @dartheldur @yueci @lgbtqcontinuum @goddess-of-many-fandoms @writerdee1701 @crackheadcastdirector @readingtrek

McCoy: @cobe76 @yakuzussian @space-cowboy2227 @lacychick @kimberlyfletcher @nerdy-wierdo @samanthasmileys @cappuccinosandcosmos @fxngsfogxarty

Urban: @fandomsfeelsandfamily @justa-traaash @morriganwarrior @jkholmes

[allaboutjoseph]

Patris Corde - Apostolic Letter of Pope Francis

https://www.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/apost_letters/documents/papa-francesco-lettera-ap_20201208_patris-corde.html

APOSTOLIC LETTER - PATRIS CORDE

OF THE HOLY FATHER, FRANCIS

ON THE 150th ANNIVERSARY OF THE PROCLAMATION OF SAINT JOSEPH AS PATRON OF THE UNIVERSAL CHURCH

WITH A FATHER’S HEART: that is how Joseph loved Jesus, whom all four Gospels refer to as “the son of Joseph”.[1]

Matthew and Luke, the two Evangelists who speak most of Joseph, tell us very little, yet enough for us to appreciate what sort of father he was, and the mission entrusted to him by God’s providence.

We know that Joseph was a lowly carpenter (cf. Mt 13:55), betrothed to Mary (cf. Mt 1:18; Lk 1:27). He was a “just man” (Mt 1:19), ever ready to carry out God’s will as revealed to him in the Law (cf. Lk 2:22.27.39) and through four dreams (cf. Mt 1:20; 2:13.19.22). After a long and tiring journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem, he beheld the birth of the Messiah in a stable, since “there was no place for them” elsewhere (cf. Lk 2:7). He witnessed the adoration of the shepherds (cf. Lk 2:8-20) and the Magi (cf. Mt 2:1-12), who represented respectively the people of Israel and the pagan peoples.

Joseph had the courage to become the legal father of Jesus, to whom he gave the name revealed by the angel: “You shall call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins” (Mt 1:21). As we know, for ancient peoples, to give a name to a person or to a thing, as Adam did in the account in the Book of Genesis (cf. 2:19-20), was to establish a relationship.

In the Temple, forty days after Jesus’ birth, Joseph and Mary offered their child to the Lord and listened with amazement to Simeon’s prophecy concerning Jesus and his Mother (cf. Lk 2:22-35). To protect Jesus from Herod, Joseph dwelt as a foreigner in Egypt (cf. Mt 2:13-18). After returning to his own country, he led a hidden life in the tiny and obscure village of Nazareth in Galilee, far from Bethlehem, his ancestral town, and from Jerusalem and the Temple. Of Nazareth it was said, “No prophet is to rise” (cf. Jn 7:52) and indeed, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” (cf. Jn 1:46). When, during a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, Joseph and Mary lost track of the twelve-year-old Jesus, they anxiously sought him out and they found him in the Temple, in discussion with the doctors of the Law (cf. Lk 2:41-50).

After Mary, the Mother of God, no saint is mentioned more frequently in the papal magisterium than Joseph, her spouse. My Predecessors reflected on the message contained in the limited information handed down by the Gospels in order to appreciate more fully his central role in the history of salvation. Blessed Pius IX declared him “Patron of the Catholic Church”,[2] Venerable Pius XII proposed him as “Patron of Workers”[3] and Saint John Paul II as “Guardian of the Redeemer”.[4] Saint Joseph is universally invoked as the “patron of a happy death”.[5]

Now, one hundred and fifty years after his proclamation as Patron of the Catholic Church by Blessed Pius IX (8 December 1870), I would like to share some personal reflections on this extraordinary figure, so close to our own human experience. For, as Jesus says, “out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks” (Mt 12:34). My desire to do so increased during these months of pandemic, when we experienced, amid the crisis, how “our lives are woven together and sustained by ordinary people, people often overlooked. People who do not appear in newspaper and magazine headlines, or on the latest television show, yet in these very days are surely shaping the decisive events of our history. Doctors, nurses, storekeepers and supermarket workers, cleaning personnel, caregivers, transport workers, men and women working to provide essential services and public safety, volunteers, priests, men and women religious, and so very many others. They understood that no one is saved alone… How many people daily exercise patience and offer hope, taking care to spread not panic, but shared responsibility. How many fathers, mothers, grandparents and teachers are showing our children, in small everyday ways, how to accept and deal with a crisis by adjusting their routines, looking ahead and encouraging the practice of prayer. How many are praying, making sacrifices and interceding for the good of all”.[6] Each of us can discover in Joseph – the man who goes unnoticed, a daily, discreet and hidden presence – an intercessor, a support and a guide in times of trouble. Saint Joseph reminds us that those who appear hidden or in the shadows can play an incomparable role in the history of salvation. A word of recognition and of gratitude is due to them all.

1. A beloved father

The greatness of Saint Joseph is that he was the spouse of Mary and the father of Jesus. In this way, he placed himself, in the words of Saint John Chrysostom, “at the service of the entire plan of salvation”.[7]

Saint Paul VI pointed out that Joseph concretely expressed his fatherhood “by making his life a sacrificial service to the mystery of the incarnation and its redemptive purpose. He employed his legal authority over the Holy Family to devote himself completely to them in his life and work. He turned his human vocation to domestic love into a superhuman oblation of himself, his heart and all his abilities, a love placed at the service of the Messiah who was growing to maturity in his home”.[8]

Thanks to his role in salvation history, Saint Joseph has always been venerated as a father by the Christian people. This is shown by the countless churches dedicated to him worldwide, the numerous religious Institutes, Confraternities and ecclesial groups inspired by his spirituality and bearing his name, and the many traditional expressions of piety in his honour. Innumerable holy men and women were passionately devoted to him. Among them was Teresa of Avila, who chose him as her advocate and intercessor, had frequent recourse to him and received whatever graces she asked of him. Encouraged by her own experience, Teresa persuaded others to cultivate devotion to Joseph.[9]

Every prayer book contains prayers to Saint Joseph. Special prayers are offered to him each Wednesday and especially during the month of March, which is traditionally dedicated to him.[10]

Popular trust in Saint Joseph is seen in the expression “Go to Joseph”, which evokes the famine in Egypt, when the Egyptians begged Pharaoh for bread. He in turn replied: “Go to Joseph; what he says to you, do” (Gen 41:55). Pharaoh was referring to Joseph the son of Jacob, who was sold into slavery because of the jealousy of his brothers (cf. Gen 37:11-28) and who – according to the biblical account – subsequently became viceroy of Egypt (cf. Gen 41:41-44).

As a descendant of David (cf. Mt 1:16-20), from whose stock Jesus was to spring according to the promise made to David by the prophet Nathan (cf. 2 Sam 7), and as the spouse of Mary of Nazareth, Saint Joseph stands at the crossroads between the Old and New Testaments.

2. A tender and loving father

Joseph saw Jesus grow daily “in wisdom and in years and in divine and human favour” (Lk 2:52). As the Lord had done with Israel, so Joseph did with Jesus: he taught him to walk, taking him by the hand; he was for him like a father who raises an infant to his cheeks, bending down to him and feeding him (cf. Hos 11:3-4).

In Joseph, Jesus saw the tender love of God: “As a father has compassion for his children, so the Lord has compassion for those who fear him” (Ps 103:13).

In the synagogue, during the praying of the Psalms, Joseph would surely have heard again and again that the God of Israel is a God of tender love,[11] who is good to all, whose “compassion is over all that he has made” (Ps 145:9).

The history of salvation is worked out “in hope against hope” (Rom 4:18), through our weaknesses. All too often, we think that God works only through our better parts, yet most of his plans are realized in and despite our frailty. Thus Saint Paul could say: “To keep me from being too elated, a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to torment me, to keep me from being too elated. Three times I appealed to the Lord about this, that it would leave me, but he said to me: ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness’” (2 Cor 12:7-9).

Since this is part of the entire economy of salvation, we must learn to look upon our weaknesses with tender mercy.[12]

The evil one makes us see and condemn our frailty, whereas the Spirit brings it to light with tender love. Tenderness is the best way to touch the frailty within us. Pointing fingers and judging others are frequently signs of an inability to accept our own weaknesses, our own frailty. Only tender love will save us from the snares of the accuser (cf. Rev 12:10). That is why it is so important to encounter God’s mercy, especially in the Sacrament of Reconciliation, where we experience his truth and tenderness. Paradoxically, the evil one can also speak the truth to us, yet he does so only to condemn us. We know that God’s truth does not condemn, but instead welcomes, embraces, sustains and forgives us. That truth always presents itself to us like the merciful father in Jesus’ parable (cf. Lk 15:11-32). It comes out to meet us, restores our dignity, sets us back on our feet and rejoices for us, for, as the father says: “This my son was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found” (v. 24).

Even through Joseph’s fears, God’s will, his history and his plan were at work. Joseph, then, teaches us that faith in God includes believing that he can work even through our fears, our frailties and our weaknesses. He also teaches us that amid the tempests of life, we must never be afraid to let the Lord steer our course. At times, we want to be in complete control, yet God always sees the bigger picture.

3. An obedient father

As he had done with Mary, God revealed his saving plan to Joseph. He did so by using dreams, which in the Bible and among all ancient peoples, were considered a way for him to make his will known.[13]

Joseph was deeply troubled by Mary’s mysterious pregnancy. He did not want to “expose her to public disgrace”,[14] so he decided to “dismiss her quietly” (Mt 1:19).

In the first dream, an angel helps him resolve his grave dilemma: “Do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins” (Mt 1:20-21). Joseph’s response was immediate: “When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him” (Mt 1:24). Obedience made it possible for him to surmount his difficulties and spare Mary.

In the second dream, the angel tells Joseph: “Get up, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you; for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him” (Mt 2:13). Joseph did not hesitate to obey, regardless of the hardship involved: “He got up, took the child and his mother by night, and went to Egypt, and remained there until the death of Herod” (Mt 2:14-15).

In Egypt, Joseph awaited with patient trust the angel’s notice that he could safely return home. In a third dream, the angel told him that those who sought to kill the child were dead and ordered him to rise, take the child and his mother, and return to the land of Israel (cf. Mt 2:19-20). Once again, Joseph promptly obeyed. “He got up, took the child and his mother, and went to the land of Israel” (Mt 2:21).

During the return journey, “when Joseph heard that Archelaus was ruling over Judea in place of his father Herod, he was afraid to go there. After being warned in a dream” – now for the fourth time – “he went away to the district of Galilee. There he made his home in a town called Nazareth” (Mt 2:22-23).

The evangelist Luke, for his part, tells us that Joseph undertook the long and difficult journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem to be registered in his family’s town of origin in the census of the Emperor Caesar Augustus. There Jesus was born (cf. Lk 2:7) and his birth, like that of every other child, was recorded in the registry of the Empire. Saint Luke is especially concerned to tell us that Jesus’ parents observed all the prescriptions of the Law: the rites of the circumcision of Jesus, the purification of Mary after childbirth, the offering of the firstborn to God (cf. 2:21-24).[15]

In every situation, Joseph declared his own “fiat”, like those of Mary at the Annunciation and Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane.

In his role as the head of a family, Joseph taught Jesus to be obedient to his parents (cf. Lk 2:51), in accordance with God’s command (cf. Ex 20:12).

During the hidden years in Nazareth, Jesus learned at the school of Joseph to do the will of the Father. That will was to be his daily food (cf. Jn 4:34). Even at the most difficult moment of his life, in Gethsemane, Jesus chose to do the Father’s will rather than his own,[16] becoming “obedient unto death, even death on a cross” (Phil 2:8).  The author of the Letter to the Hebrews thus concludes that Jesus “learned obedience through what he suffered” (5:8).

All this makes it clear that “Saint Joseph was called by God to serve the person and mission of Jesus directly through the exercise of his fatherhood” and that in this way, “he cooperated in the fullness of time in the great mystery of salvation and is truly a minister of salvation.”[17]

4. An accepting father

Joseph accepted Mary unconditionally. He trusted in the angel’s words.  “The nobility of Joseph’s heart is such that what he learned from the law he made dependent on charity. Today, in our world where psychological, verbal and physical violence towards women is so evident, Joseph appears as the figure of a respectful and sensitive man. Even though he does not understand the bigger picture, he makes a decision to protect Mary’s good name, her dignity and her life. In his hesitation about how best to act, God helped him by enlightening his judgment”.[18]

Often in life, things happen whose meaning we do not understand. Our first reaction is frequently one of disappointment and rebellion. Joseph set aside his own ideas in order to accept the course of events and, mysterious as they seemed, to embrace them, take responsibility for them and make them part of his own history. Unless we are reconciled with our own history, we will be unable to take a single step forward, for we will always remain hostage to our expectations and the disappointments that follow.

The spiritual path that Joseph traces for us is not one that explains, but accepts. Only as a result of this acceptance, this reconciliation, can we begin to glimpse a broader history, a deeper meaning. We can almost hear an echo of the impassioned reply of Job to his wife, who had urged him to rebel against the evil he endured: “Shall we receive the good at the hand of God, and not receive the bad?” (Job 2:10).

Joseph is certainly not passively resigned, but courageously and firmly proactive. In our own lives, acceptance and welcome can be an expression of the Holy Spirit’s gift of fortitude. Only the Lord can give us the strength needed to accept life as it is, with all its contradictions, frustrations and disappointments.

Jesus’ appearance in our midst is a gift from the Father, which makes it possible for each of us to be reconciled to the flesh of our own history, even when we fail to understand it completely.

Just as God told Joseph: “Son of David, do not be afraid!” (Mt 1:20), so he seems to tell us: “Do not be afraid!” We need to set aside all anger and disappointment, and to embrace the way things are, even when they do not turn out as we wish. Not with mere resignation but with hope and courage. In this way, we become open to a deeper meaning. Our lives can be miraculously reborn if we find the courage to live them in accordance with the Gospel. It does not matter if everything seems to have gone wrong or some things can no longer be fixed. God can make flowers spring up from stony ground. Even if our heart condemns us, “God is greater than our hearts, and he knows everything” (1 Jn 3:20).

Here, once again, we encounter that Christian realism which rejects nothing that exists. Reality, in its mysterious and irreducible complexity, is the bearer of existential meaning, with all its lights and shadows. Thus, the Apostle Paul can say: “We know that all things work together for good, for those who love God” (Rom 8:28). To which Saint Augustine adds, “even that which is called evil (etiam illud quod malum dicitur)”.[19] In this greater perspective, faith gives meaning to every event, however happy or sad.

Nor should we ever think that believing means finding facile and comforting solutions. The faith Christ taught us is what we see in Saint Joseph. He did not look for shortcuts, but confronted reality with open eyes and accepted personal responsibility for it.

Joseph’s attitude encourages us to accept and welcome others as they are, without exception, and to show special concern for the weak, for God chooses what is weak (cf. 1 Cor 1:27). He is the “Father of orphans and protector of widows” (Ps 68:6), who commands us to love the stranger in our midst.[20]  I like to think that it was from Saint Joseph that Jesus drew inspiration for the parable of the prodigal son and the merciful father (cf. Lk 15:11-32).

5. A creatively courageous father

If the first stage of all true interior healing is to accept our personal history and embrace even the things in life that we did not choose, we must now add another important element: creative courage. This emerges especially in the way we deal with difficulties. In the face of difficulty, we can either give up and walk away, or somehow engage with it. At times, difficulties bring out resources we did not even think we had.

As we read the infancy narratives, we may often wonder why God did not act in a more direct and clear way. Yet God acts through events and people.  Joseph was the man chosen by God to guide the beginnings of the history of redemption. He was the true “miracle” by which God saves the child and his mother. God acted by trusting in Joseph’s creative courage. Arriving in Bethlehem and finding no lodging where Mary could give birth, Joseph took a stable and, as best he could, turned it into a welcoming home for the Son of God come into the world (cf. Lk 2:6-7). Faced with imminent danger from Herod, who wanted to kill the child, Joseph was warned once again in a dream to protect the child, and rose in the middle of the night to prepare the flight into Egypt (cf. Mt 2:13-14).

A superficial reading of these stories can often give the impression that the world is at the mercy of the strong and mighty, but the “good news” of the Gospel consists in showing that, for all the arrogance and violence of worldly powers, God always finds a way to carry out his saving plan. So too, our lives may at times seem to be at the mercy of the powerful, but the Gospel shows us what counts. God always finds a way to save us, provided we show the same creative courage as the carpenter of Nazareth, who was able to turn a problem into a possibility by trusting always in divine providence.

If at times God seems not to help us, surely this does not mean that we have been abandoned, but instead are being trusted to plan, to be creative, and to find solutions ourselves.

That kind of creative courage was shown by the friends of the paralytic, who lowered him from the roof in order to bring him to Jesus (cf. Lk 5:17-26). Difficulties did not stand in the way of those friends’ boldness and persistence. They were convinced that Jesus could heal the man, and “finding no way to bring him in because of the crowd, they went up on the roof and let him down with his bed through the tiles into the middle of the crowd in front of Jesus. When he saw their faith, he said, ‘Friend, your sins are forgiven you’” (vv. 19-20). Jesus recognized the creative faith with which they sought to bring their sick friend to him.

The Gospel does not tell us how long Mary, Joseph and the child remained in Egypt. Yet they certainly needed to eat, to find a home and employment. It does not take much imagination to fill in those details. The Holy Family had to face concrete problems like every other family, like so many of our migrant brothers and sisters who, today too, risk their lives to escape misfortune and hunger. In this regard, I consider Saint Joseph the special patron of all those forced to leave their native lands because of war, hatred, persecution and poverty.

At the end of every account in which Joseph plays a role, the Gospel tells us that he gets up, takes the child and his mother, and does what God commanded him (cf. Mt 1:24; 2:14.21). Indeed, Jesus and Mary his Mother are the most precious treasure of our faith.[21]

In the divine plan of salvation, the Son is inseparable from his Mother, from Mary, who “advanced in her pilgrimage of faith, and faithfully persevered in her union with her Son until she stood at the cross”.[22]

We should always consider whether we ourselves are protecting Jesus and Mary, for they are also mysteriously entrusted to our own responsibility, care and safekeeping. The Son of the Almighty came into our world in a state of great vulnerability. He needed to be defended, protected, cared for and raised by Joseph. God trusted Joseph, as did Mary, who found in him someone who would not only save her life, but would always provide for her and her child. In this sense, Saint Joseph could not be other than the Guardian of the Church, for the Church is the continuation of the Body of Christ in history, even as Mary’s motherhood is reflected in the motherhood of the Church.[23] In his continued protection of the Church, Joseph continues to protect the child and his mother, and we too, by our love for the Church, continue to love the child and his mother.

That child would go on to say: “As you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me” (Mt 25:40).  Consequently, every poor, needy, suffering or dying person, every stranger, every prisoner, every infirm person is “the child” whom Joseph continues to protect. For this reason, Saint Joseph is invoked as protector of the unfortunate, the needy, exiles, the afflicted, the poor and the dying.  Consequently, the Church cannot fail to show a special love for the least of our brothers and sisters, for Jesus showed a particular concern for them and personally identified with them. From Saint Joseph, we must learn that same care and responsibility. We must learn to love the child and his mother, to love the sacraments and charity, to love the Church and the poor. Each of these realities is always the child and his mother.

6. A working father

An aspect of Saint Joseph that has been emphasized from the time of the first social Encyclical, Pope Leo XIII’s Rerum Novarum, is his relation to work. Saint Joseph was a carpenter who earned an honest living to provide for his family. From him, Jesus learned the value, the dignity and the joy of what it means to eat bread that is the fruit of one’s own labour.

In our own day, when employment has once more become a burning social issue, and unemployment at times reaches record levels even in nations that for decades have enjoyed a certain degree of prosperity, there is a renewed need to appreciate the importance of dignified work, of which Saint Joseph is an exemplary patron.

Work is a means of participating in the work of salvation, an opportunity to hasten the coming of the Kingdom, to develop our talents and abilities, and to put them at the service of society and fraternal communion. It becomes an opportunity for the fulfilment not only of oneself, but also of that primary cell of society which is the family. A family without work is particularly vulnerable to difficulties, tensions, estrangement and even break-up. How can we speak of human dignity without working to ensure that everyone is able to earn a decent living?

Working persons, whatever their job may be, are cooperating with God himself, and in some way become creators of the world around us. The crisis of our time, which is economic, social, cultural and spiritual, can serve as a summons for all of us to rediscover the value, the importance and necessity of work for bringing about a new “normal” from which no one is excluded. Saint Joseph’s work reminds us that God himself, in becoming man, did not disdain work. The loss of employment that affects so many of our brothers and sisters, and has increased as a result of the Covid-19 pandemic, should serve as a summons to review our priorities. Let us implore Saint Joseph the Worker to help us find ways to express our firm conviction that no young person, no person at all, no family should be without work!

7. A father in the shadows

The Polish writer Jan Dobraczyński, in his book The Shadow of the Father,[24] tells the story of Saint Joseph’s life in the form of a novel. He uses the evocative image of a shadow to define Joseph. In his relationship to Jesus, Joseph was the earthly shadow of the heavenly Father: he watched over him and protected him, never leaving him to go his own way. We can think of Moses’ words to Israel: “In the wilderness… you saw how the Lord your God carried you, just as one carries a child, all the way that you travelled” (Deut 1:31). In a similar way, Joseph acted as a father for his whole life.[25]

Fathers are not born, but made. A man does not become a father simply by bringing a child into the world, but by taking up the responsibility to care for that child. Whenever a man accepts responsibility for the life of another, in some way he becomes a father to that person.

Children today often seem orphans, lacking fathers. The Church too needs fathers. Saint Paul’s words to the Corinthians remain timely: “Though you have countless guides in Christ, you do not have many fathers” (1 Cor 4:15). Every priest or bishop should be able to add, with the Apostle: “I became your father in Christ Jesus through the Gospel” (ibid.). Paul likewise calls the Galatians: “My little children, with whom I am again in travail until Christ be formed in you!” (4:19).

Being a father entails introducing children to life and reality. Not holding them back, being overprotective or possessive, but rather making them capable of deciding for themselves, enjoying freedom and exploring new possibilities. Perhaps for this reason, Joseph is traditionally called a “most chaste” father. That title is not simply a sign of affection, but the summation of an attitude that is the opposite of possessiveness. Chastity is freedom from possessiveness in every sphere of one’s life. Only when love is chaste, is it truly love. A possessive love ultimately becomes dangerous: it imprisons, constricts and makes for misery. God himself loved humanity with a chaste love; he left us free even to go astray and set ourselves against him. The logic of love is always the logic of freedom, and Joseph knew how to love with extraordinary freedom. He never made himself the centre of things. He did not think of himself, but focused instead on the lives of Mary and Jesus.

Joseph found happiness not in mere self-sacrifice but in self-gift. In him, we never see frustration but only trust. His patient silence was the prelude to concrete expressions of trust. Our world today needs fathers. It has no use for tyrants who would domineer others as a means of compensating for their own needs. It rejects those who confuse authority with authoritarianism, service with servility, discussion with oppression, charity with a welfare mentality, power with destruction. Every true vocation is born of the gift of oneself, which is the fruit of mature sacrifice. The priesthood and consecrated life likewise require this kind of maturity. Whatever our vocation, whether to marriage, celibacy or virginity, our gift of self will not come to fulfilment if it stops at sacrifice; were that the case, instead of becoming a sign of the beauty and joy of love, the gift of self would risk being an expression of unhappiness, sadness and frustration.

When fathers refuse to live the lives of their children for them, new and unexpected vistas open up. Every child is the bearer of a unique mystery that can only be brought to light with the help of a father who respects that child’s freedom. A father who realizes that he is most a father and educator at the point when he becomes “useless”, when he sees that his child has become independent and can walk the paths of life unaccompanied. When he becomes like Joseph, who always knew that his child was not his own but had merely been entrusted to his care. In the end, this is what Jesus would have us understand when he says: “Call no man your father on earth, for you have one Father, who is in heaven” (Mt 23:9).

In every exercise of our fatherhood, we should always keep in mind that it has nothing to do with possession, but is rather a “sign” pointing to a greater fatherhood. In a way, we are all like Joseph: a shadow of the heavenly Father, who “makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust” (Mt 5:45). And a shadow that follows his Son.

* * *

“Get up, take the child and his mother” (Mt 2:13), God told Saint Joseph.

The aim of this Apostolic Letter is to increase our love for this great saint, to encourage us to implore his intercession and to imitate his virtues and his zeal.

Indeed, the proper mission of the saints is not only to obtain miracles and graces, but to intercede for us before God, like Abraham[26] and Moses[27], and like Jesus, the “one mediator” (1 Tim 2:5), who is our “advocate” with the Father (1 Jn 2:1) and who “always lives to make intercession for [us]” (Heb 7:25; cf. Rom 8:34).

The saints help all the faithful “to strive for the holiness and the perfection of their particular state of life”.[28] Their lives are concrete proof that it is possible to put the Gospel into practice.

Jesus told us: “Learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart” (Mt 11:29). The lives of the saints too are examples to be imitated. Saint Paul explicitly says this: “Be imitators of me!” (1 Cor 4:16).[29] By his eloquent silence, Saint Joseph says the same.

Before the example of so many holy men and women, Saint Augustine asked himself: “What they could do, can you not also do?” And so he drew closer to his definitive conversion, when he could exclaim: “Late have I loved you, Beauty ever ancient, ever new!”[30]

We need only ask Saint Joseph for the grace of graces: our conversion.

Let us now make our prayer to him:

Hail, Guardian of the Redeemer, Spouse of the Blessed Virgin Mary. To you God entrusted his only Son; in you Mary placed her trust; with you Christ became man.

Blessed Joseph, to us too, show yourself a father and guide us in the path of life. Obtain for us grace, mercy and courage, and defend us from every evil. Amen.

Given in Rome, at Saint John Lateran, on 8 December, Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary, in the year 2020, the eighth of my Pontificate.

Franciscus

[olicitysecretsanta]

Convergence

For @swiftletinthecloud 

Hello! We have never met or spoken before, but I am so happy to have you as my giftee because now we have! I was so happy about your response to my anon ask about what kinds of fic you like, because so many of your interests are also mine. It was actually a problem because I had too many interesting ideas for fic that were inspired by your suggestions. Now I just have more fic to write, I guess. 

Anyway, I decided to write this idea for you because it was the SHORTEST of all the ideas I had. You can see how well that turned out. What is below is 2 out of 3 total chapters. The last chapter still needs editing, so your gift will be fully complete when I post this to AO3. Until then, please enjoy these first two chapters of season 1 alternate canon!

Much love, @allimariexf

Title: Convergence

Warnings: No warnings apply

Relationship: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak

Tags: Arrow season 1, alternate canon AU, episode tag 1x21 (The Undertaking)

Chapter 1

Oliver Queen moved like a panther through the underground casino, a sleek and beautiful predator at home among the understated opulence. His eyes strayed around the room, a careless smirk masking his close assessment of the security.

Two pit bosses, a floorman, and six armed guards, two of which flanked a hallway that must lead to Dominic Alonzo’s office. If he was going to get in there, he needed to come up with a distraction.

His mind went back to the document he’d found saved on his computer. Like all the previous messages he’d gotten over the past seven months, it took the form of a simple text file, saved prominently on the desktop of his computer in the foundry.

December 12, 2012: Harold Backman deposits $2 million to Cayman Fidelity on behalf of Dominic Alonzo, known kidnapper.

Also December 12: Walter Steele goes missing.

Coincidence? I don’t think so. 

I know I normally don’t agree with your “shoot first, ask questions later” policy, but I’m willing to give you a pass on Alonzo. He seems like just the kind of low-life someone would pay to kidnap Mr. Steele. How many arrows do you think you’d need to put in Alonzo before he gave up Mr. Steele’s location - probably a lot, right?

Never mind, forget I said that. Alonzo’s private records are offline - likely stored in his office in his base of operations, an underground casino with basically its own private army. Not the best odds, even for you. But I have a plan that doesn’t involve arrows or any other pointy objects, so sit tight and I’ll contact you tomorrow. 

The corners of his lips lifted at the memory. The anonymous hacker who’d been helping him certainly had a way with words, and in their months together she’d often surprised him with her uncannily insightful observations. But if she honestly thought he’d sit back and wait when they finally had a solid lead on finding Walter, maybe she didn’t know him as well as he sometimes suspected. Not when Walter had been missing for almost five months and the likelihood of him being found alive decreased every day. Not with the recorded evidence John Diggle had collected that seemed to confirm his mother had something to do with Walter’s disappearance - and that it was all connected to the List. 

Oliver was tired of waiting for answers. This was something he could do. It just so happened that this time, he needed a bespoke suit of Italian wool, rather than green leather in order to do it.

Eyes tracking the movement of the guards, Oliver positioned himself at a well-situated roulette table. Several wealthy patrons crowded around the dealer, including an elegant brunette who instantly met his gaze. 

“You’re Oliver Queen,” she purred, reaching out with graceful fingers to draw him toward her. Slipping easily into the role, he let his eyes travel down her body as she trailed her hand down his arm. 

Choosing not to answer with words, he winked and held out his dice for her to blow on. It was enough to maintain the part he was playing, and in another life he would have taken her up on the unspoken invitation written in every line of her body. But as his eyes slid down her lithe frame, he barely saw her. Instead, he was seeking something else, some spark of her. 

Huli jing. 

His anonymous hacker ally. 

His thoughts turned to her, as they had increasingly done over the past several months. Who was she, in her normal life? Where was she, what was she doing? When he mingled among the residents of Starling City by day, could she be right next to him, without either of them realizing it? Like always, the possibility sent a thrill of excitement through him.

Part of him was acutely aware that it was futile, even ridiculous, to entertain those thoughts, but as long as they only existed on the fringes of his mind, he indulged them. His life was his mission, and there was no room for anything else, but there was no harm in letting his mind play with the idea of her in his downtime. Not when there was no chance they could ever meet. So when he put in his appearances at Verdant, when he met up with Thea at her favorite cafe, when he picked up his mom from Queen consolidated, he allowed himself to wonder. And if his eyes caught on long red hair, a charming smile, or a long length of exposed thigh, he’d mentally compare the woman in front of him with his mental picture of her. But none of them ever had her unique, undefinable spark. And somehow, by comparison, every woman he saw seemed somehow less because they were not her.

She had contacted him for the first time seven months ago, though “contacted” hardly felt like the right term. He’d arrived at the foundry and booted up his computer one night only to find the entire system had been upgraded, and simple text document saved to the desktop:

I’m truly stunned that no one managed to trace the redistribution of Adam Hunt’s funds back to you. No one else, I mean. 

Now that I mention it, I’m even more surprised you managed to steal that $40 million in the first place. Your system looks like it’s from the 80s.

(And not the good part of the 80s, like Madonna and legwarmers, to be clear.) I maybe spruced things up a little bit while I was in there. Seeing a network that poorly set up hurts me in my soul. Seriously it was like you left a crying infant on my doorstep, except it was like a 30 year old baby and it wasn’t my doorstep, because I was the one who kind of broke into your house. But my point is, you have a severely neglected computer setup, and I guess my maternal instinct kicked in. So to speak.

Oliver had barely finished reading the note before he’d ransacked the bunker, searching for evidence of a breach. When he found none, he read the note several more times, seeking hidden clues as to what the infiltrator knew, what they wanted. The program he used to take Adam Hunt’s money was something he’d taken from ARGUS, and no one should have been able to track it. Deeply alarmed, he read the note again and again. Not until the sixth time did he finally consider the playful tone of the note might be sincere, and only then did it occur to him that there might not be a threat buried in the message at all.  

He remained on heightened alert for several days after that, but only on principle. The improvements she’d made (and she was a she, he was sure) to his system made his ARGUS programs run faster, and while using compromised equipment was normally a risk he would never take, his gut told him there was no danger. For reasons he didn’t examine, he found himself rereading the note, until he had it memorized word for word. 

When he didn’t hear from her for three weeks, he told himself the sense of disappointment he felt was only because lingering questions felt too much like unfinished business. Not because he was intrigued by the hacker. Not because her note had made him smile the way no one had since he’d returned from the island. 

He was starting to think of the incident as an amusing, but ultimately harmless one-time stunt when one night, after an afternoon of failing to get data off of Floyd Lawton’s computer and an evening taking his frustration out on a slum lord, he returned to the foundry and discovered a large data dump open on his computer - along with another note. 

Blueprints to the Exchange Building, where the Unidac Industries auction is scheduled to take place. Gonna be a pretty target-rich environment. For the person who is trying to eliminate bidders in the auction via assassination, I mean. Which, to be clear, someone IS trying to do, according to the SCPD’s unreleased records. Anyway, do with this information as you wish. (Not “as you wish,” as in code for “I love you.” Obviously, I don’t even know you. Though from the captured video footage of you, I can say with confidence that you can really wear a pair of leather pants. Anyway, speaking of Westley, the papers are calling you “the vigilante” or “the hood,” but maybe you should consider adopting Dread Pirate Roberts. A name that inspires fear, so that you don’t have to do so much arrowing in order to get your point across. You should consider it. Good luck with the auction.

Oliver huffed out his nose, struck by her abrupt topic changes and her particular, rambly way of putting things before it even occurred to him to wonder how she’d managed to pull any information off Lawton’s damaged laptop. Or question whether she had any ulterior motive in doing so.

It was unusual for him to trust anyone so quickly, especially someone he knew virtually nothing about. But somehow, he did, and when her tip about Lawton proved sound, he found he wasn’t surprised at all. 

After that he began to seek out her help, adopting her habit of communicating via text document saved to his computer. With each tip she left him, she proved herself invaluable to bringing down another of the city’s worst offenders. He could tell that she was brave, fearless even, and before he knew it, they had developed a rapport. And while it wasn’t exactly a partnership, it worked. 

If I’m the the Dread Pirate Roberts, who are you? He asked finally, against the advice of the inner voice that cautioned him that the more he knew about her, the harder it would be to one day give her up.

But in answer, all she said was, You can call me Huli jing.

The Dark Archer, Ted Gaynor, Count Vertigo, Ken Williams, and the list went on. The notes came more frequently, and Oliver found himself looking forward to them, the first thing he’d check for every night. Even having never been there, she filled the dark, dank foundry basement with a bright presence that was just as tangible as John Diggle’s reliable support. 

What do you think keeps these bad guys up at night? Probably not worrying about that one time they accidentally stared at a man for two full minutes while they were busy trying to figure out what the Cylons’ plan really was. They said they had “a Plan,” like capital P PLAN, you know? Anyway, despite what that guy probably thought, I was NOT creeping on him. But to my point, now that I think of it these criminals probably just close their eyes and get a full 8 hours every night. Sometimes it really sucks to have a conscience.

As the months wore on, he learned that she wielded a formidable intelligence, a sharp sense of humor, an unerring sense of justice, and, somehow, an unshakeable confidence in his mission. In him. She became a voice in his head that he couldn’t tune out. And he found, more and more, that he didn’t want to.

Anyway, while I’m at it, did you ever think about not killing some of these thugs? Look, I get it - they’re taking shots at you and you’re just trying to stay alive, but on the other hand, they’re just hired guns and you’re…you know. You. All I’m saying is, with your aim - which I have seen evidence of, so please don’t start with the false modesty - you could just as easily be shooting these guys in the hand or leg or something, you know? Anyway. Just a thought.

Before he realized it, she had come to haunt his thoughts. When he was wrestling with a problem, he found himself playing out imaginary conversations with her, unerringly channeling her firm conviction and steady support. 

He didn’t even know what she looked like, but he couldn’t get her out of his head. Sometimes he thought he was half in love with her. No; that was ridiculous. It was the fantasy, the not knowing, that fascinated him. The idea that she could be anyone. He told himself didn’t want to know who she really was, because there was no way the reality could live up to the fantasy he’d built up in his mind.

A rough voice, intentionally pitched to grab his attention, cut into his reverie. “Is that Oliver Queen?” 

“No, couldn’t be,” came a loud, theatrical reply, drawing closer toward him. 

“Why not?” the first voice asked from somewhere right behind him. Oliver turned his head to present the speakers with a careless smirk.

“Because Oliver Queen wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this,” the second man sneered, pressing a gun against his back.

The gun cocked. “Well then I guess he has a death wish.”

So much for blending in, he thought as they dragged him toward the back hallway.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Felicity stilled her frantic movements to free herself from the ties that were cutting into her wrists as the door abruptly opened and a man was pushed inside. She tried not to gape as her captor stepped in behind him and roughly zip-tied his hands behind his back, exactly as he had done to Felicity not ten minutes before. 

Despite her situation, she couldn’t stop the flow of words that spilled out of her mouth when she saw who had joined her. “Oh, great. It’s you.” The newcomer whipped his head up and she locked gazes with a pair of striking blue eyes. 

Strangely, the first thought that crossed her mind was that if she had known her curiosity about the hood was going to lead to crossing paths with Oliver Queen, she would never have tried to solve the mystery of Adam Hunt’s $40 million in the first place.

Though to be fair, her interest in the Hood pre-dated the article that mentioned Hunt’s missing money, so she couldn’t entirely blame her entanglement with the vigilante on her compulsive need to unravel knotty mysteries. And it wasn’t just the allure of a dark and brooding man who could pull off leather, either. Something about his single-minded dedication and passion, at the risk to his own freedom and safety, was simply irresistible. 

It was curiosity that first led her to him. Maybe boredom. Her job was monotonous and unchallenging, something she’d sought out after her brief brush with hacktivism had backfired so spectacularly. When she first read about the Hood, she dismissed him as some whacko loose canon. But she followed the story - and the police reports - for lack of anything better to do. But when she read that Adam Hunt claimed the Hood had stolen $40 million, Felicity was intrigued. A crazy person couldn’t - wouldn’t - pull something like that off. So she hacked into Hunt’s accounts, following the trail back to a program that emptied the money and redistributed it to Hunt’s victims. It was shockingly easy, like following a flashing neon sign, and she was legitimately stunned that the police hadn’t managed to do the same. They also had no idea that the missing money had been returned to its rightful owners. On impulse, she erased the digital evidence. 

She could have left it at that, but the mystery was too compelling. She told herself she just wanted to make sure she hadn’t just enabled a psycho or terrorist to do even more psychotic and terrifying things, but the truth was, the fact that he’d quietly returned Hunt’s victims’ money to them cast him in an entirely unexpected light. She needed to know more.

She found that his system was alarmingly, disturbingly unprotected. And primitive. Really, it wasn’t even tolerable for the tiny amount of poking around and passive monitoring that she planned to do. Which is why she discreetly updated speed and capacity as much as she could without added hardware, then added a few dozen security protocols, because anything less was begging the police to come find him. 

Then she established several monitoring programs and alerts, and waited. Just a few weeks later, she got an alert that an unprotected device had been plugged in - a quick remote in revealed that it was one of those Tuff laptops, with a damaged system. It was clear that the Hood hadn’t been able to access the drive, but Felicity was curious, so she remotely cloned the data and opened it on her own system. When she discovered the blueprints of the Exchange Building on the drive, she remembered that the Unidac auction was shortly going to be held there, which naturally reminded her of recent news that one of bidders, James Holder of Holder Group, had recently been murdered. Which naturally then led to a little bit of unsanctioned poking around the SCPD’s internal files, and before she knew it the she found herself composing a message to the Hood before she’d even consciously decided to get involved.

After all, she didn’t actually want to be involved. She was just an IT girl, and she intended to keep a low profile. But the possibility that she could help prevent another murder weighed on her conscience, so she left a message pointing him in the right direction, hoping her suspicions were false. 

When she heard about the shooting at the auction, she poured herself a glass of wine - well, a bottle, really - and gave herself a talk. It wasn’t that she wasn’t glad she’d helped prevent an even greater catastrophe, because she was. It was just that the reality of the situation finally hit her, and she was faced with a choice.

Get involved, take a stance, use her powers in the real world again? She’d been down this road, she’d seen what her interference was capable of. She’d played with fire and hadn’t just gotten burned; she’d burned down her entire world - and Cooper’s. 

But the Hood wasn’t Cooper. He wasn’t innocent. He wasn’t naive to the forces he was playing with. She wasn’t sure what he was. He’d killed, and he would kill again, she was sure. 

But as much as she couldn’t condone the killing, she also couldn’t ignore the good that he’d done, and she realized she already didn’t have a choice. Something was happening in her city, the signs were all around her, and choosing to do nothing would only make her complicit. 

From then on, she kept tabs on the Hood’s activities, always leaving documents on his desktop explaining, briefly, what he needed to know. It wasn’t long until he began leaving notes of his own.

Through unspoken agreement, they never asked each other personal questions, but between the lines, she gained a sense of the man he was. Compassionate. Loyal. Selfless.  

When Oliver Queen was arrested as the suspected Hood, Felicity instantly dismissed the idea. She knew about the arresting officer’s personal grudge against Oliver Queen, which explained why he pursued him like a dog with a bone. But Felicity knew it was impossible; she knew what kind of person Oliver Queen was, and there was no overlap with the kind of person the vigilante was.

Aside from that, she purposely avoided speculating about who the Hood could be. If she had wanted to know, she could have found out easily enough, but she didn’t want to know. She told herself it didn’t matter; that the work he was doing was what was important. She didn’t want to put a face to the hood, because then she would begin to worry about him.

More than she already did, that is. Despite not knowing his name, she felt a connection with him that sometimes felt stronger for their mutual anonymity. His notes were always brief, especially compared to hers, but she learned to read what he didn’t say. And when he was repeatedly crucified in the media while his quietly heroic actions went unnoticed, he never complained, never faltered in his mission. He never even acknowledged the subtle tones of praise layered into her notes. She would almost suspect him of being a robot if it weren’t for the clear passion that underscored every action.

So when Walter Steele gave her the notebook that turned out to be filled with names that correlated with the criminals the vigilante was confronting, she didn’t say anything. There was too much she still didn’t know about the notebook to risk jeopardizing their relationship over it. Because if there was one thing she did know, it was that she trusted him. 

When Mr. Steele went missing, however, she had to break her silence. Without giving away details that could expose her own identity, she presented him with digital evidence of Moira Queen’s involvement of the events that likely got her husband kidnapped, and asked him for help. 

Which was how she now found herself in this hideously decorated criminal lair staring into the supremely beautiful face of Oliver Queen.

Chapter 2

“Oh great. It’s you.”

Oliver looked up at the sarcastic words being spoken by a stunning blonde. Even as he was roughly manhandled, his hands being zip-tied behind his back, he couldn’t help but be a little offended at her tone. “Excuse me?” Beautiful women treating him like some kind of disease was something he’d never experienced before, and while he wasn’t the same person he used to be, he had to admit his ego took a hit.

She stared at him silently, eyes flashing with undisguised contempt, until after Dominic Alonzo’s minion had left the room.

“Oliver Queen?” she finally answered distastefully, tilting her head at him in an exaggerated motion, as if his name was explanation enough. “Entitled billionaire and general asshole?” 

Her stomach swooped as his eyes searched her face. Disturbingly, and contrary to the cool attitude she was projecting, Felicity found his presence a little overwhelming, not quite matching the plastic and glossy picture presented by the tabloids. Rather than being some kind of smarmy Trust Fund Ken, in person he was exquisitely human. Felicity had always suspected she was immune to the appeal of a man in a suit, but on him, the tapered line from broad shoulder to narrow waist suggested an essential masculinity that awoke a deeply primal response she’d never experienced before. In contrast to the brutal strength of his body, his eyes were startlingly expressive; his chiseled jaw was complemented by soft, sensual lips. In short, he was utterly, unfairly beautiful in a way that affected her immediately, physically, and urgently. 

“Wow, okay,” Oliver scoffed, unaware of her internal struggle. “Most people lead with ‘Are you okay, Mr. Queen?’ ‘How did you survive all those years alone, Mr. Queen?’ ‘What does it feel like to be the only survivor in an accident that killed your father, Mr. Queen?’” He spoke harshly, wielding the crude words like a club. While he usually found the subject too intrusive to mention to anyone, let alone complete strangers, something about this woman’s fiery disdain was really getting under his skin, and extreme measures were called for.

Felicity smiled insincerely, holding on to her irritation like a shield from the confusing wave of sympathy that, along with his sheer attractiveness, threatened to undo her. This man slept with his girlfriend’s sister, she firmly reminded herself. “Well, I’m sorry, but my concern didn’t really seem necessary, given the fact that you seem utterly unaffected by what you went through. I caught your appearance at the opening of Queen Consolidated’s Applied Sciences building,” she added witheringly. “You seemed perfectly okay. Or at least as okay as you ever were.” 

Oliver crossed his arms, bothered by her words even though the image she described was the exact public persona he’d been purposefully crafting. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he couldn’t stand the idea that this woman found him so completely and vehemently offensive. Shaking his head, he tried a different tack. “Have we met before? Have I done something to offend you?” There was something compelling and almost familiar about her, but he was pretty sure he would remember if they’d met.

She scoffed dismissively. “No, definitely not.”

“Well, you sure have a lot of opinions about me for someone who doesn’t know me.” His eyes ran over her again, trying to figure out why she seemed so familiar. She was undeniably beautiful, with delicate features animated by a streak of passion that was not characteristic of the type of woman he’d have gone for before the island.

“Oh, I know all about you, Oliver Queen. If it’s on the internet, I can find it. Not -” her eyes flew to the ceiling as she turned pink, “not that I’ve looked into you!” Her sudden lack of composure was completely unexpected and disarming, and Oliver was intrigued and charmed by the new side of Felicity it revealed. And, if he was being honest, gratified by the suggestion that maybe she was not as immune to him as he originally thought. “It’s just that I work for your company,” she continued, straightening her shoulders and meeting his eyes again as sarcasm crept back into her tone, “and it’s a little hard to avoid hearing about all your little…adventures and mishaps.” 

“Hmm,” he answered, covering the dismay he felt at hearing her refer to his past actions when he suddenly, illogically, wanted her to know that he wasn’t that person anymore. “You work for Queen Consolidated?”

“Yeah, I do.” She pinned him with a fierce look. “But don’t go getting any weird ideas. I don’t work for you.” 

Felicity rolled her eyes to illustrate how distasteful she found that idea, and to cover up the effect his nearness was having on her. This was Oliver Queen, Frat Boy Extraordinaire, Professional Heartbreaker. She should not be flattered by any interest he showed to her. Anyway, he was probably just talking to her because there was no one else to talk to, as they were both literally imprisoned together. Speaking of, she needed to stop being distracted by Oliver Queen’s whole overwhelmingness, and start figuring out a way out of her handcuffs so she could carry out her plan to infiltrate Dominic Alonzo’s computer. She was lucky that when they caught her counting cards they brought her here, at least. Though she would have preferred that she hadn’t gotten caught at all, so she could have found her way here without the zip-tie cuffs, as she had planned. But dammit, she was new to this. She didn’t know anything about going undercover in an underground casino. As evidenced by the very great misfortune of finding herself trapped with Oliver Queen, of all people. Well, at least his presence solved one problem. “So anyway, how is it that Oliver Queen ends up handcuffed in the back of an underground casino?” she asked, deliberately toning down her attitude in the hopes that he’d prove cooperative.

“I could ask you the same thing, Miss…” he trailed off in question, a clear indication that she should fill in her name, as he tried to figure out how to respond. 

The truth was certainly not an option. Even if he could trust her with his secret - and for some inexplicable reason, he did feel generally inclined to trust her - doing so would put her at risk. He couldn’t even tell her a half-truth. Sure, the whole city at this point knew that his step-father was missing, possibly kidnapped, probably dead, but there was no good reason why Oliver Queen would be investigating that. Or that he should have figured out that Alonzo was the person who had him kidnapped. 

Felicity met his eyes warily, aware that she didn’t have an acceptable explanation for being there either, and they came to a silent agreement not to press each other for information. For now. “Felicity Smoak,” she supplied.

He smiled. She stared back, refusing to be charmed, even though she detected a hint of dimple.

Needing to get him to stop smiling at her, because she was much more susceptible than she wanted him to know, she hastened on, “It’s good that you’re here, actually, because you can help me.” 

Oliver raised his eyebrows. “Help you?” Help her do what? He didn’t expect his co-hostage to have any sort of plan; rather, he was busy trying to figure out how he could convince her to stay calm, and possibly hide in a closet, while he dislocated his thumb, got out of the zip-ties, searched through the office, and then called the police to come rescue them. 

It wasn’t an ideal plan; he considered all the variables, all the things that could go wrong. Getting made definitely hadn’t been part of his plan. He’d hoped to sneak in the back without being noticed, not get thrown there with the attention of Alonzo and his thugs. And Felicity proved an even bigger problem. While he could easily hold himself back and take a beating if necessary, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do the same if they threatened her; and if it came to a fight, he wasn’t sure how he was going to preserve his secret. 

“Help me get out of these zip-ties,” Felicity answered, taking a deliberate step toward Oliver. Her heart was pounding at what she was about to suggest, but she schooled her expression to appear nonchalant, annoyed by the necessity, even. Not flustered. And definitely, definitely not turned on by the prospect. She took a deep breath. “I need you to get the knife out of my bra.” 

Oliver blinked. No words could have been more unexpected coming from her mouth. “What?” 

She rolled her eyes to distract from the fact that she was blushing. Eyes firmly locked on the ceiling, she elaborated, “There is a pocketknife in my bra and we can use it to cut our binds.”

Oliver stared at her in wonder, steadfastly ignoring the primal thrill that ran through him at her suggestion. It seemed he had severely underestimated Felicity Smoak. His mind was racing with questions, but the one that he blurted out was “Why do you have a pocketknife in your bra?”

“Mr. Queen!” she flared, exasperated nerves causing her to meet his gaze. “Do you want to get out of here or not?”

Oliver’s mind was suddenly reeling with images of what she was proposing. In an instinctual stalling tactic, he said the first words that came to him. “Mr. Queen was my father.”

Felicity gaped at him.

Oliver shook his head at himself, saying nothing as he attempted to get his head on straight. He considered her plan rationally. Aside from the question of why it was so important to Felicity that she get out of her cuffs, and the mystery of what she planned to do once she was free of them, the fact of the matter was that going along with her plan would free him to search the office without having to dislocate his thumb. Deciding to continue their no-questions truce, he nodded. “Okay. But…,” he trailed off, throat dry as he looked looking down into unexpectedly near wide blue eyes.

Felicity was pretty sure they were both imagining what he was about to do. “Yeah,” she exhaled, suddenly very aware of the cadence of his breaths, his intoxicatingly masculine scent. Throughout the course of their discussion, he had moved closer to her, and now his expressive eyes fixed on her, waiting. “You won’t be able to see what you’re doing, but if you’re standing, I can kneel behind you and you can kind of…feel around.” 

Oliver’s eyes widened as she spoke, her matter-of-fact words making the situation more real. More shocking. It wasn’t that he hadn’t done more with women he’d known for less time in much less dire circumstances, but something about touching Felicity in these circumstances felt wrong, like a violation, and he suddenly, irrationally found himself wanting to get to know her first, and to tell her about himself, about the real him.  He briefly reconsidered his original plan of dislocating his thumb. 

Mortified by Oliver’s reaction to her words, Felicity tried to cut the tension. “I mean, I know it’s not ideal, but I figure it’s gotta be better than the alternative.”

Caught up, Oliver automatically asked, “What’s the alternative?”

Her eyes dropped involuntarily to his lips and she swayed a little toward him as she whispered, “Using your mouth.” But when her eyes flicked up to meet his, neither of them were laughing. 

Oliver’s mouth fell open in surprise, his gaze dropping to the deep vee of her bodice, before dragging back up to her face. The action pulled him even closer toward her, and a rush of heat washed over him as he fully took her in for the first time. The red chiffon dress clung to her curves, outlining a deeply feminine, lush  body. She was a study in contradictions, watching him through darkly-lashed eyes that were somehow both innocent and knowing; her face lightly dusted with freckles that contrasted alluringly with a sinfully soft mouth. She watched him with dilated pupils and parted lips, and his cock twitched in response. 

But then reality crashed back in on him as she interrupted, “Not that I’m suggesting anything! I’m not coming on to you or anything.”

Oliver blinked, trying to regain control by reminding himself where they were and why. Catching her gaze, he nodded in an attempt to reassure her. Hoping that she didn’t pick up on just how affected he himself was. 

Felicity took a deep, centering breath. It didn’t make any sense that Oliver Queen was having this effect on her. He was just some shallow billionaire, a douchebag womanizer. None of it made any sense. When he looked at her, it was like he saw her. And as much as she told herself it was impossible, it looked as if he wanted her. No. She had to be projecting. And she didn’t want him to want her, anyway. Sure, he was gorgeous. So, so masculine and touchable he smelled so good, with an essential manliness that was softened by those eyes…but no. He was still Oliver Queen, and the fact that she was so attracted to him only explained why so many women had given in to his appeal, despite the long list of reasons to avoid him. She might have judged those women in the past, but now she could not. 

She squared her shoulders, trying to clear the attraction from her mind and prepare for what had to happen next. “So, okay?” She chanced a look in his direction, not quite meeting his eyes. 

Oliver nodded, and Felicity took refuge in remembering her mission. After all, she was here to help the Hood, and she could not have her sudden weakness to very handsome men - or rather, one specific very handsome man - getting in the way of that. 

“All right, just turn a little to your right,” she directed hoarsely, nodding encouragingly as he complied. “Okay, stop there. I’ll position myself so you should be able to locate the knife relatively easily.” She lowered herself to the ground behind him as she was speaking, her voice only slightly wavering with the awareness that Oliver Queen was about to feel her up. “It’s on the left side,” she rambled, masking her response to the feeling of his surprisingly rough fingers dipping below her bodice, carrying on as if this were normal, as if she were directing someone to the library, as if Oliver Queen’s very large hands weren’t currently sliding along the sides of her breasts…her words tapered off and she bit her bottom lip, concentrating on not moaning out loud because oh god, his fingers brushed against her nipple and her body responded as if he was tugging on a string tied directly to her thrumming core. 

Oliver squeezed his eyes shut, trying to be quick, methodical, and clinical, but he had felt enough breasts in his life to know that Felicity Smoak’s were a rarity. As much as he tried to stay on task,he found himself getting distracted, unable to stop the picture that drifted through his mind. Perfect breasts, not large, but extremely full; firm but very soft, with tight nipples that his fingertips couldn’t help brushing over repeatedly as he wedged his large hand into the tight space of her bodice. Tight, very sensitive nipples, he corrected unhelpfully, judging by the way she gasped softly in response to his inadvertent touches. As her voice trailed off, he remained aware of the soft catching of her breath, and even with his back to her, he he felt completely in tune with her, much more intimately than if they had only been having sex. Finally, his fingers touched upon warm metal, and even though the entire encounter lasted less than fifteen seconds, he was out of breath as he withdrew the pocketknife and turned to meet her eyes. His dick was rock hard, and the look she returned him said she was equally affected. 

She was staring up at him, speechless, so he took the lead, flipping open the knife and directing her in a soft voice, “Turn around. I’ll cut your ties.”

Felicity nodded silently, turning so that they were back to back and trusting that he wouldn’t cut her as he twisted around to line her zip-ties up with the blade. “Okay,” he told her when the knife was in position, “try an up and down sawing motion,” and they easily and wordlessly fell into a rhythm that quickly parted the plastic around her wrists. 

“Oh thank god,” she exhaled as her hands came free. She instantly started rubbing her wrists, then silently turned to take the knife. 

Oliver felt her warm hand close around his wrists, steadying him as she positioned the blade against his ties. He took a steadying breath as she freed him. “I probably shouldn’t do this,” she commented, “since my plan is to maintain the illusion that we’re still tied up and that would be easier to do if you actually were still tied up, but I have to admit that I’ll feel safer if your hands are free.” With a final tug, the plastic came apart, but she didn’t release his hands immediately. Inexplicably, her words inflated him with a disproportionate sense of pride and purpose. He liked that she felt safe with him, that even without knowing his alternate identity, and despite her pre-existing opinion of Oliver Queen, she somehow trusted him. He was struck with an acute desire to be worthy of that trust, and a deep yearning to prove to her that it was not misplaced. 

After a long moment, Felicity dropped his hands, taking large step backward in a move designed to decrease the tension. Truthfully, she was a little impressed by Oliver Queen. He was a lot more gentle, sensitive, and thoughtful than she would have thought.  She had expected him to be obnoxious, entitled, and immature, the type of person who, finding himself in this situation, would either panic or make a joke of the whole thing. Either way, she’d have expected him to be throwing his money around trying to save himself, not quietly and calmly following her lead. And no way would she have predicted he was capable of being so respectful of her body. Probably more respectful of her body than she was being of his. Not that she had forced him to feel her up…but she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t enjoyed it. Fleetingly, she wondered if it counted as sexual harassment to get turned on when a man was merely trying to locate a knife in your bra so you could escape a kidnapping situation. 

For his part, Oliver’s admiration for Felicity was growing exponentially. She was much more resourceful and level headed than he would have expected anyone to be in her situation. From the moment she opened her mouth, she’d already proven herself smarter and more sensible than most people in his experience - she had a cautious,  strategic manner that he was unused to in other people. 

“So now what?” he asked, caught up in the intelligence in her eyes, the mystery of her presence. Even though he was the one with a plan and she was technically just an inconvenience, he momentarily set that aside because he just wanted to know. He wanted to know what she was planning to do. He wanted to know her. “You mentioned you have a plan, one that requires your hands be free,” he prodded, hoping she would fill in some pieces of the puzzle.

“That’s for me to know,” she countered playfully, holding his gaze as she reached into her bra, pulling something else out, “and you to find out.”

His eyes widened and dropped to her chest before snapping back up, unsure if she meant anything by it. Again, it was the last thing he expected. And again, it set his heart racing. 

“Or, I mean, not to find out. There will be no finding out, from you. Just stay there and look pretty.” Her eyes grew rounder. “Not that you’re pretty, it’s just an expression. Just sit there.” She backed away until she ran into the desk, and then she dropped to the ground and started feeling around underneath it.

He watched her with amused eyes, interested in her actions and utterly captivated by her. “I’m not pretty?” he pressed, curious to know how she would react.

Her head popped up from the other side of the desk, sending him an exasperated look. “No! I mean, yes! Very pretty like, really very attractive, objectively speaking I mean, I’m not coming on to you. It’s science; you’re scientifically pretty.” Her head disappeared again beneath the desk.

Oliver stood up, drawn to her, until he was leaning over the desk looking down at her ass protruding from under the desk. “Scientifically pretty?”

Felicity visibly startled, then took a deep breath, then carefully, and with as much dignity as possible, crawled backwards and rose out from under the desk, smoothing down her hair. She arched her brow at him. “Don’t tell me you’re one of these anti-science climate change denier people.”

Oliver guffawed, unable to come up with a fitting response. She was unlike anyone he’d ever come across. Instead of answering, he watched as she sat herself at the desk and instantly penetrated the password protection, diving with singular focus directly into the files on Alonzo’s computer. “What are you doing?” he asked after a moment, fascinated by her actions. He knew time was precious, that he should be taking the opportunity to riffle through drawers, search filing cabinets, etc., but rather than pursue his mission, he couldn’t help but pull at the loose thread that was Felicity Smoak. 

She lifted distracted eyes to him, giving the distinct impression that he had yanked her out of a very deep concentration, despite the fact that it had only been twenty seconds since she’d sat down. He expected her to crack another joke, but instead she blinked and said seriously, “It’s better you don’t know,” before returning her attention to the computer. 

Surprised, Oliver slipped off the desk he’d been casually leaning against, the hair raising on the back of his neck; her words were like a warning, almost ominous. Who was she? Why was she here? What was she involved in? Habits shaped over the past five years forced him to question her motives: honest people rarely found themselves involved with guys like Dominic Alonzo; he had to consider that Felicity might not be as innocent as she seemed; he had to wonder if she might even be on the list. But as soon as the thought surfaced, he dismissed it. His five years away had also taught him to trust his instincts, and every single part of him was shouting at him to trust her. 

“Okay,” she announced a few seconds later, “I need you to come here and keep an eye on this feed.” 

Oliver stepped up beside her to where she was pointing at CCTV footage in a corner of the computer monitor. “What is that?”

“Security feed, showing the corridor just outside. This way we can know ahead of time if anyone’s coming.” Her eyes returned to the screen, where she was still methodically searching through the computer’s files.

“Felicity,” Oliver said firmly, coming to a decision even as his eyes obediently remained glued on the feed. 

“Hmm?”

Oliver took a deep breath, his racing mind rapidly drawing conclusions that he couldn’t quite believe were true. But every objection he came up with was easily disproved; rather, every detail about her only seemed to confirm the picture that was forming in his mind. 

Huli jing.

“Felicity,” he repeated, and this time the name felt familiar on his tongue, like he had been saying it his whole life, like he had been born to say it. “You need to tell me why you’re here.” 

He knew. There was no denying it; when she spoke, it was with the voice he’d been hearing in his head for seven months. When she smiled, it was with the unique humor that had amused him like nothing else had been able to do since returning from the island. And when she looked at him, it was with eyes that perceived all the things he didn’t say. It was her. But he needed to hear her say it.

“Oliver, look,” she began, unexpectedly turning to meet his eyes. He was nearly flattened by the look of sincere regret and conviction in her eyes. “I’m sorry about before, what I said.”

His eyebrows draw together in confusion. 

“When I said you hadn’t changed. I was wrong. The person the tabloids make you out to be - that’s not who you are. And I’m sorry I misjudged you.”

Oliver’s lips parted in surprise. “That’s not -”

“No, it is necessary,” she pressed, misunderstanding what he was going to say. “I made assumptions, and they were completely unfair.” Over his protests, she continued, “I don’t know what you did out there to piss off the casino bosses, but I’m really sorry you’re caught up in this. Please,” she emphasized, “just believe me when I tell you that the less you know, the safer you’ll be.” She reached out a hand but started to pull it back before it made contact with his chest, and he caught it between his own before she could fully withdraw.

“Felicity.” He fixed her with a steady, knowing look, and he heard her breath catch, and felt her pulse pick up under his fingers. “I need to ask you something.”

Felicity’s eyes widened at his sudden, inexplicable intensity and focus. She had no idea Oliver Queen was capable of such depth and sincerity. His large hands were cradling her, his thumb soothing over her wrist, and she had long ago surrendered to that penetrating look in his eyes. “What?” she breathed, not knowing what Oliver Queen could tell her that required so much intensity and passion, but suddenly very much wanting to find out.

His words were the last thing she expected to hear. “Are you here because of the Hood?”

Her stomach dropped. “What?”

Before he could respond, he caught sight of someone on the security feed walking up the hallway. “Someone’s coming!”

She turned to the feed, then instantly went to the computer and, with a blur of hands on the keyboard, logged off and put the monitor to sleep. There was no time for anything else, so without thinking any further, Oliver reached around her body, pressing her wrists together behind her in an approximation of being handcuffed, secured his own hands behind his back, then pressed his mouth to hers in an urgent kiss.  

Felicity gasped in surprise, and he instinctively used the opportunity to deepen the kiss, coaxing her lips open, his tongue seeking hers. After a stunned moment, she responded with ardor, the passion exploding like a match to dry tinder. 

Kissing her was like putting the last piece of the puzzle in place. 

For seven months, he had been drawn to the woman with intriguingly contradictory parts: a dizzyingly sharp partner who amused and irritated and charmed and inspired him. 

For seven months, the more space he allowed her in his mission, the wider the empty hole that only she could fill had become in his life. He hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge it, but meeting her face to face meant he could no longer deny how he felt about her.  He had been drawn to her since he saw her, his body seeking any excuse to touch hers. Everything about her provoked and challenged and called to him; her passion, her intelligence, her humor, her bravery, and the glimpses of vulnerability. 

She was the woman he’d been waiting for, and if the way she was responding to him was any indication, she’d been waiting for him too. 

He bore down on her, covering her with his body, and it was everything he could do to keep his hands behind his back. The need to touch her is like electricity in his veins, and he forgot everything but the urgent need to be close to her.  

“What’s going on?” The voice broke into the moment like a bucket of cold water. 

Oliver’s lips released Felicity’s reluctantly, and she met his eyes as she pulled back. Her pupils were nearly black, her lips parted and swollen, and the sight sent a jolt through his body to his already throbbing dick. 

“Oliver Queen, you really can’t control yourself, can you?” asked Dominic Alonzo, striding into the room. “I’d almost be impressed if you weren’t such a pain in my ass.”

Oliver glanced once more at Felicity, and the last thought he had before turning his attention to Alonzo was that she looked utterly shell-shocked.

…to be continued…

[mrae71]

School’s Out

One thing people didn’t know about my father was that he was an awesome story teller.  According to his tales, he lived quite a life.  I’m not sure how much he told was fact or fiction; I call it fiction presented as fact.  I am currently compiling his stories into a book, and here’s one of them:

School’s Out

                Rudy stared eagerly at the clock, watching the seconds, then minutes tick by as the school year came to a close.  The classroom was like a furnace, not only holding in heat, but seeming to also take it in through the open windows.  He waited eagerly as his teacher, Mrs. Winlock, passed out the year-end reports one by one.

              After handing them all out, she sat down at her desk and said those final, long awaited words to her class of fifth, sixth and seventh graders, “thank you class, see you next year!”  With that the children let out a collective whoop as they quickly gathered their things and left the drudgery of books and assignments behind them.  Except Rudy. He sat quietly perplexed; he hadn’t received a home report.

              “Reuben,” Mrs. Winlock said softly, “stay behind please, I’d like to speak with you.”

              Rudy remained in his seat and nodded.  He liked Mrs. Winlock, she was kind and patient. She came from one of the town’s most prominent and wealthy families, living in a huge Victorian home on acres of land.  She even had servants.  He had heard adults saying that her family used to own slaves, but he never dared ask about it.  First, he was eavesdropping on what was supposed to be a conversation between his aunt and his grandmother, a conversation that he was sternly ordered to see himself away from.  And secondly, even at 11, he knew it would be rude to bring up such a delicate matter.

              Mrs. Winlock waited for the room to empty and then approached the child, envelope in hand.  She sat on the desk beside him and began gently, “first, Reuben,” she always addressed him by his proper name, “I wanted to know, would you like to work for me again this summer?”

              Rudy smiled widely, nodding his head.  He had worked for her all last summer, and enjoyed it ever much, tending the gardens, cutting grass, piling wood, mending fences, tending animals, and generally doing anything that needed doing.  He only worked through the week, leaving his weekends free to fish or play ball and she always invited him inside for a tasty lunch.  “Yes, ma’am, I’d like that.”

              The teacher smiled warmly, “good,” she patted his arm, “I can do $5 a week, plus, just like last year, you’re free to take home some of the produce, fruit, etc. that we won’t require, does that suit you?”

              He nodded eagerly, $5 was a full 50 cents over and above his weekly wage the year before, and the work wasn’t all that hard.

              Mrs. Winlock shoved the few greyish-brown strands of hair that hung from her neat bun behind her ear and took a deep breath before handing Rudy his home report.  She wished more than anything that she could rip it up, call it a huge mistake and welcome the boy as a sixth-grade student the coming fall.  But that wasn’t going to happen.  He simply hadn’t achieved the necessary outcomes to warrant promotion.

              It wasn’t for lack of trying.  Not on her part, and not on his.  Sure, Rudy was like most boys, more interested in what was going on outside than what was happening at the front of the classroom, but he was always quiet, attentive enough and eager to please.  The truth was, Mrs. Winlock, even with over 30 years as a teacher, had no idea what the disconnect was.  Rudy wasn’t stupid, not by a long shot.  He wasn’t one of the many children she’d seen in her career that were just simply slower than most to comprehend.  In fact, she found the young lad very quick to pick things up, especially if he were shown it.

              She remembered the time her husband, a fairly feeble man for 54 after having had a fairly severe stroke which left him with limited mobility on his right side, went outside and showed Rudy just how to prune the tomato plants, cutting the shooters to allow the blossoming vines more room to grow.  He only needed one quick lesson, which was more than the teacher could say for herself. In fact, her husband, Ned, forbade her from ever touching the tomato plants after more than once having hacked them half to death.

              She couldn’t put her finger on it, if she could have, she’d have fixed it, but somehow, whatever she was doing in the classroom wasn’t getting through to the bright-eyed child.  It was as if whatever his mind responded to had nothing to do with classroom teaching and while he was able to slide by with marginally acceptable results until now, as the work became more complex, she saw him fall further and further behind.

              She had thought about doing the charitable thing and pushing him through, reasoning that perhaps the confidence boost would propel the boy to work harder but decided against it.  She knew of other teachers who had done so and if she were honest, she had done it a time or two herself, but the circumstances were different. She normally reserved such mercy for those students who had a track record of turning in good performances and then suddenly, usually due to some issue at home, sometimes something as simple as plain old hunger, had fallen behind.  The fact was Rudy was falling further and further behind with every grade and to advance him to the next grade would serve no one, not the class, not herself and not Rudy.  “Please take this home directly,” she said firmly, handing him the envelope, “do not open it, I want your mother to read it first, do you understand?”

              Rudy nodded.  He knew what it said anyway.  The entire year had been a long series of F’s and “please try agains”.  It didn’t take any sort of eminent scholar to see the writing on the schoolhouse wall.  “Yes, ma’am, Mrs. Winlock, I will.”

              The teacher chocked back her tears and turned her head momentarily to compose herself.  She didn’t want Rudy to see her upset.  She didn’t want to upset him.  She cared a great deal for the lad.  In fact, she could readily admit to herself, and to her husband, that he was the favourite of all her students, ever. She imagined had she been able to bear a child, he’d have been much like Rudy, strikingly handsome, tall and wiry, strong as a small ox.  He was hard working and wanted only to please those around him.  He had a surprisingly soft heart that most people didn’t take the time to see.  He seemed to take very well to and to protect the younger children just coming into school and she had caught him more than once cradling or singing to a calf or a lamb in her barn.

She’d spent five years watching him grow and blossom, fight and struggle and she knew about his homelife.  Woodstock wasn’t a big town and talk got around.  She knew the black eyes and bruises he often sported came from the hand of his father after downing more than his share of whiskey.

              She didn’t know Reuben Senior as a younger man but had heard the stories.  He was once just like his son, sweet, tender hearted but with a steel exterior.  He had somehow managed to lie his way into military service in 1916, stating his age as 18 rather than 16 in order to do his part for the country and as the story goes, he came back from the First World War alive, but forever changed.  But that wasn’t the straw that broke the camel’s back she knew.  He came back more aggressive for sure and made a name for himself as quite a good boxer.  But years later, when young Rudy was just a baby, he and Thea lost a child, baby Grace. Mrs. Winlock was given to understand that the 10-month-old was a perfectly healthy infant until suddenly falling ill and passing away some five or six days later.  It seemed Reuben senior never recovered from the loss and his aggression quickly turned to red hot anger and the occasional drink with the guys turned into binge drinking to the point of blackout.

              Rudy, she knew got the brunt of his father’s aggression and she worried for the child, wondering what this home report would bring.  Sober, he seemed a decent enough sort, she’d spoken to him several times and he was quick witted, but quiet, almost charming.  However, fueled by drink, he often sought his oldest son out and took out his frustrations on him.  It was as though the child, who was in fact, visually, the very picture of his father thirty years prior, represented all the unfulfilled hopes, plans, and dreams he had that never worked out.  What better way to address what you see as your shortcomings than to beat up on your younger self?  Well, except for the fact, he was beating on his son.  She shook her head, trying to make the awful thought disappear, “Reuben, please, promise me, you’ll take this directly to your mother, she begged, sounding a little more desperate than she had intended.

              Rudy agreed and was dismissed.  He walked outside into the late-June heat and found the school yard empty.  He walked toward home, just far enough to get out of sight.  He darted behind a group of trees and opened the envelope. He scanned it furiously, not wanting to be caught.  He skipped over the individual subject reports to get to the bottom line, “I regret to inform that Reuben has not met the necessary requirements to be promoted and will be required to repeat fifth grade.”  His heart sank and he sat down behind the tree and cried, his head in his knees.  He knew it was coming, but he hoped, naively, as children do, that maybe, just maybe, it would all be okay, but there it was in print.  He mourned the defeat, dried his tears and after a few moments, stood up and walked home, knowing exactly what he would do.

              When he arrived home, he saw his mother surrounded by many of his siblings, all basking in her praise.  Of course, Althea was front and centre, basking in her triumph. Having jut turned 13 the month before, she was quickly taking on the bearing of a young woman.  She was slender, curvy and had a pretty face which boys were starting to notice.  However, she had very little time for local boys or their nonsense.  She had plans, plans to become a teacher and later a wife and mother.  She was to spend her summer minding Dr. and Mrs. Baldwin’s eight children and taking in sewing in her free time. She was to be paid $3 a week, but she kept some for herself.  He didn’t understand all the ins and outs of it, but his mother explained that young women needed pocket money for important things, things only women understood.  He imagined it had something to do with dresses or maybe lipstick. She, of course, received glowing marks, and finished top of the seventh-grade class.

              Enid stood right behind her sister, jumping up and down, eagerly awaiting her turn at praise. She was a tiny wisp of a girl, but her personality loomed larger than life.  She did reasonably well this year. Her home reports going forward always read the same, “Enid is capable of exceptional work when she puts her mind to it,” and this year was no exception.  She was a bright girl, there was no doubt, but she had a streak in her, a fierce independence that often bordered on defiance and troubled their mother. The girl was intent on doing things her way.  She wasn’t unruly or disobedient, but had something not often seen in little girls of the time, a sense that she wasn’t supposed to conform to the world, but that in fact it was the other way about, the world should conform to her.  Their grandmother politely called her a “spirited child.”

              Then there was Bobby, he managed to get through second grade unscathed although his teacher opined that “further effort will be required to be successful in coming years.”

              And finally, David, the impish first-grader, complete with a toothless grin.  Sharp as a tack, but inattentive and mischievous.  He was the first to peer out the window at anyone or anything that happened by.  He was also the first first-grader to put a dead frog on Mrs. Mullins’ chair back in October.  He denied it vehemently, but his guilty giggles gave him away.  His older brother Bobby saved him from his father’s beating, claiming responsibility for the prank, something he often did.  In any event, despite his lack of attention and his tendency toward pranks, he got through with better than average grades.

              Rudy lowered his head and when the crowd dispersed, having received an adequate amount of praise, approached his mother, cleared his throat and handed her his home report, “Mrs. Winlock says for you to read this,” his face reddened with shame.  The idea of disappointing his mother killed him.  He knew she worked so hard, especially now, with so many children. There was him, Althea, Enid, Bobby, David, Jimmy, Johnny, and now, baby Francine, just six months old.  She was a pretty baby and from what he could see, fairly well behaved.  She didn’t fuss a lot.  That made eight kids, and he had heard whispers that another may be on the way, but that hadn’t been confirmed.  He kind of hoped not, the house was a tight squeeze as it was, the boys, Bobby, David, Jimmy, and himself, shared one room while the babies, Johnny and Francine shared another.  Althea, who had previously enjoyed the enviable position of having her own room had recently been forced to suffer the indignity of sharing with Enid.  Rudy was sure she hated that, but in true Althea fashion, she accepted the assignment as her duty to the family and said nothing about it.

              Thea turned to her children, still milling about in the living room as Rudy stood beside her, “you all get on outside,” she ordered, “I want to have a talk with Rudy.”

              “But Mama,” Enid whined, “it’s hot.”

              Thea stared hard at the children, her plump brown face set in that way that let them know she meant business, “then go swimming, but scoot, I’ll not tell you a second time.”

              The kids scrambled out the door as their mother told them and Thea turned to her eldest son, “let’s see this, then.”  She knew what was inside.  She gingerly opened the envelope and read it as tear began to stream down her son’s face again.

              Rudy buried his face in her ample bosom, sobbing, “I’m sorry Mama, I’m sorry!”

              She cradled the child gently then took his face in her hands, wiping his tears, “it’s okay, Rudy, I knew it was coming, you’ll just try harder next year.”  She didn’t know why, but she had known for some time that her eldest son struggled with schoolwork.

              Rudy snuffed the snot back from his nose and stood straight, “I’m not going back, ma’am,” he declared, “I’m going to work.”

              Thea looked at the child in disbelief, “you’re 11, what do you think you’ll work at?”

              “I’ll be 12 come January,” he explained, “I’ll do just like Daddy, I’ll join the army, fight in the war, just like him!”

              Fear welled up in his mother.  Thea knew well what war did to her husband and she also knew her son was just impulsive enough to try such a thing, although she also knew he had no chance, even at 12, looking young for his age, of being accepted into any army, it was time for a strong message.  She softly slapped his face with the back of her hand, “you will do no such thing!” she exclaimed, “and I’ll hear no more talk of any army, do you understand?”

              Rudy began to cry again, the slap didn’t hurt physically, she barely touched him.  But his pride hurt desperately.  He nodded in submission, “yes, Mama, I understand.”  Then he added, “but I could continue for a while at Mrs. Winlock’s till after apple season, that’ll take me into October, then I can go work in the woods.” He had it all figured out in his mind and in his young mind, it seemed to be the only reasonable choice.

              Thea softened, “Go on outside and play,” she told him, “I know you’re disappointed, we’ll talk about this nearer the school year, okay?”  She had no intention of allowing him to quit school.

              Rudy agreed, quietly set in his intention never to return to the classroom.

              The summer went quickly and soon it was time to get ready to return to school.  Thea and Reuben took their eldest son aside to see how he was feeling about repeating fifth grade.

              Rudy stood straight and tall, as tall as an 11-year-old could and informed his parents of his intentions, “I’m not going.”

              Thea, now confirmed to be expecting, yet again, shook her head, “Reuben, don’t start,” she warned.

              The child continued, steel-faced in his opposition, “no, Mama, I’m not going back,” he explained, “Mrs. Winlock says I can stay on ‘till at least October, then I got some work with old man Hawthorne lined up, and I also got a bit over at the general store, only a few hours here and there, but it’ll do us.”

              Thea’s heart sank, “Rudy, you’re a boy, you need your schooling.”  She was devastated, it was hard enough in 1941 to be a black man, but to be a black man with next to no education, the thought terrified her.  She always wanted better for her kids.  She wanted them to achieve, to have the opportunities she and their father never had, to be seen as they were, equal members of the human race.

              Reuben Senior spoke up, “woman,” he said, “we both know the boy ain’t much for the books,” he took a big gulp from his mug, “if he don’t wanna go, maybe we shouldn’t make him.”  Another gulp and he turned to his son and poked him hard in the chest, “but if you ain’t in no kinda school,” he warned, “you’re payin’ room and board!”

              The boy agreed, “of course Daddy,” he said breathlessly, “Mama can have all the money, just like always.”  He always turned over his entire weekly earnings to his mother for household expenses, often refusing her pleas that he take something, even a quarter for himself.  He added, expanding in his long-term plan, “anyway, it’s only ‘till I can get into the army and go into the war like you did, Daddy.”

              His father panicked in his whiskey fueled haze as memories of World War 1 trenches came flooding back faster than he could process them.  The gun fire, the filth, the rain and mud, the slop they passed off as food, and to top it off, the way black solders like him were treated like simple cannon fodder, pushed out to the front lines, never recognized for anything more than boots on the ground, it was all more than he could bear.  He didn’t want his son going through that.  Rage filled him, rage at every white superior that called him boy. Rage at every German that shot in his direction.  Rage at the impetuous, unwitting brat in front of him who had no real idea about the harsh realities of the world.  Before he knew it, his hand was up and he smacked the boy, hard, across the face, knocking him across the room and onto his ass, screaming, “shut up, boy, shut up!”

              Thea jumped between them, begging her husband to stop.

              Enraged and seeing nothing but the life his son would have if he chose the military, he shoved his wife out of the way, sending her into the stove.

              Young Rudy rose to his feet staring his father in the face for the first time in his life, cocked back his fist and punched his father in the jaw with all his might.  It was enough to send the man, now in his early forties and suffering more and more from his war wounds, not to mention the whiskey, stumbling.  “Never hit Mama again,” Rudy screamed, “never, or I will knock you out!”

              Thea took a seat, trying not to cry in front of her son.  Reuben Senior composed himself and looked at his son with a hard, critical eye.  He both loved and hated the child now.  He loved his resolve and strength.  He hated his resolve and strength.  He mostly hated that the boy had shown him up.

              Rudy knew nothing would ever be the same. He knew he couldn’t strike his father and expect to live in his home.  He looked at him and said in an apologetic tone, “Daddy, if I can collect my things, I think it’s best I go to Grannie’s.”

              Thea protested, but her husband overruled her, agreeing with his son.  The house was crowded as it was, and it gave him a quick opportunity to save at least a little dignity.  He agreed with the boy and said sharply, “you got 10 minutes and then I’ll kick you out by the ass!”

[hadestownmodern]

Wedding

 (literally nobody asked for a wedding fic but someone did ask for soft young parents and...technically...this fits that a little bit?)

It’s a night in the middle of winter; a fresh coating of snow coats the rolling meadow behind Demeter’s tiny farmhouse. She’d offered her house up for their wedding with a wholehearted excitement, borrowed mismatched sets of chairs and tables and set them all out on the lawn. From the moment the day had begun she’d been busy-tending to the animals and putting them away for the night, starting small bonfires and heat lamps to keep the night warm. Fairy lights were strung between the large trees, lanterns hung around the line of the bordering forest. Even the garden, sparse from the winter weather, had been decked in a soft glow of lights among its posts. Bunches of deep purple flowers and earthy sage were scattered along the tables, clipped to the lights. Eurydice had been over during the week, begging to help to no avail; everything was meant to be a surprise.

              “Don’t lift a finger,” Demeter chastised lovingly. “You just take care of that baby of yours. Let us do something for you.”

Hades moved around with a happy display of his culinary skill, having already prepared a decent amount of food throughout the week. It was enough to feed the whole city, they’d joked, and he’d beamed with pride. He set appetizers on whatever sorts of trays he could find, poured drinks into glass jars, set them in a beautiful array around the galley kitchen that made it seem beautifully overflowing. From time to time he’d bustle over to Eurydice and Persephone, shoving spoonfuls of food toward them with urgency, eagerly awaiting the inevitable grins and thumbs-up that would follow. Junie had long since draped herself across a majority of the couch, her own lace-flowered dress a compliment to her head of big angelic curls and the crown of sage-colored leaves around them. Junie’s eyes have been glued to Eurydice since she’d seen her, her hand aching to hold hers, to follow her as she walked.

“You look like a princess,” she’d gasped, reaching up to touch the baby in her arms. Melody wore a matching rendition of the softly flowing lace, a purple headband bow covering the dark hair upon her own head. Eurydice had yet to put her down for more than five minutes-had held her wide-eyed baby proudly as she’d gotten her cropped hair brushed and settled into their natural waves, gone for an earthily toned makeup look, soft and simple. Junie played games with her, hopped up and down and twirled in her dress, entertaining the smiling infant with adoration and purpose.

The guests arrived nearly all at once; friends from work, some of the people Orpheus played music with…the crowd was small, but intimate. Each face knew another, each with their own story to tell of the day Orpheus had told them about this girl in the coffee shop, or her name is Eurydice-I love her more than anything, or we’re having a baby. We’re going to get married. The endless songs of love that came from Orpheus knowing her echoed throughout the crowd, was shown in the way they bustled amongst each other, spoke words of blessing and happiness for the young couple. They poured over the tablecards, each printed with heartfelt photos of the short time they’d spent together-seemingly sprawling, judging on the way the two clung to each other in a photobooth, posed behind the bar, wrapped themselves in each other at Christmas with an ultrasound picture between them. The sunset-evening was glowing with these small sentiments of love, which only grew as a nervous Orpheus stood under the handmade archway beside the garden.

He waited with his eyes trained to the back door of his amma’s house, hands fiddling with the hem of his suit coat. Hermes and Hades stoodd on either side of Orpheus, watching as he fussed around with impatience. Hermes lifted one arm, patting his shoulder with a chuckle. Orpheus looked out at the gathering of their close friends, sat in those same mismatched chairs, arranged from their tables in a haphazardly beautiful sort of crowd with an aisle in between. A pair of musicians played their instruments, a guitar and a fiddle respectively, and the door flung open.

Junie ran out first, in a sort of twirling dance that showed off the carefree flow of lace coming from beneath her warm woolen petticoat. She threw purple petals from Demeter’s greenhouse, petals she helped pick and pluck that morning to keep her occupied. Her feet left tiny tracks in the dusting of snow they’d received; just enough to bless the earth with a perfect white powder, seemingly decorative rather than by the nature of the winter. Orpheus kept his eyes trained on the door, listened as the crowd fell helplessly to the joy she spread. Nothing else mattered except the girl behind the door, which opened only after he heard Hades scoop Junie up in his arms, felt her pat his arm relentlessly.

Everything stopped when the door opened again; a flood of warm light hit the now darkened night, wrapped itself around Eurydice as she stepped out into the snow. Persephone and Demeter stood on either side of her, hands on her back. Flanked in support, Eurydice began her trek down the aisle, and Orpheus wiped feverishly at the tears that spilled openly down his cheeks.

She was ethereal beauty, clothed in a sheer white dress with bell sleeves and a deeply dipped neckline. There are small bits of embroidery, hand-stitched in gold thread to resemble a universe of constellations telling stories of a young Demeter, Persephone about to be born, practicing her hand at a hobby that kept her busy. The dipping neck is hidden by the baby in her arms-their girl, in tiny long-sleeved lace and a completely encompassing petticoat, tucked as close to Eurydice’s chest as possible. He attempted this stand-still moment as he watched all of the important women in his life walk toward him, but then Eurydice was grinning, pausing to gasp, open mouthed and cry with him. His feet move before he can think about the etiquette of it all, meet her in the middle of the aisle. Orpheus reaches his hands to her arms, rubbing her shoulders and kissing Melody’s head.

“Hi,” He breathed, an ear-to-ear grin encompassing all of his features, spreading his own unfiltered joy through the crowd. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” She giggled, shaking her head as he wiped the tears from her eyes. From the archway Hermes cleared his throat, rolled his eyes and called Orpheus’s name.

“Come on, you two. Come up here and get married.”

There was a chorus of laughter, Hermes shaking his head as they stood in front of the crowd, Orpheus with an arm on hers and a hand on Melody’s back. He was shaking, nerves and excitement bubbling within him like carbonation just waiting for its opportunity to meet the open air-for permission to overflow. Eurydice wasn’t much different, then, simultaneously thankful for the presence of their daughter snug against her chest and aching to reach out and fold herself over Orpheus. Her tender poet, soft and adoring, looked between them both with stars in his eyes, content in the moment until Hermes poked at his arm.

“Your vows?” He reminded, and Orpheus took in a deep breath. Feeling the presence of their friends-the bite of the winter air against the warmth of the bonfires and lamps and Eurydice’s soft, glowing smile, he began.

“I know that everyone thought I was crazy when I bought you a ring two weeks after meeting you. I know that they thought it was crazy that four weeks after we met we were engaged, we were going to have a baby. They don’t know what I know. They didn’t get to see the way you looked the night we met, talking about your classes and your degree and your passions. They don’t get to know what it felt like to be loved by someone with every reason to run after I said ‘I love you’ way too soon. They don’t know what it’s like to watch the woman you love tell you she’s pregnant a month in and just feel…joy. Excitement…I was taught from a very young age that love is something rare, and special. That you know when it’s right. I was taught to believe that souls are supposed to meet each other here, that we’re lucky enough to share a physical space for as long as we get. I knew from the moment I met you that you were it. And I didn’t want to waste any more time. You’re it-and I love you endlessly, forever.”

“I’m going to say it before anyone else does-we clearly haven’t wasted any time here.” Eurydice kisses their daughter’s head, their friends and family laughing, Persephone’s distinct agreement above them all. “But I’m glad, because I love you. I love you for speaking too soon-for loving me in a way I’ve never been loved before. I love you for teaching me what love really is, for being the most giving, kind presence of light anybody has had in their life. I love you for your heart; you gave us Melody. You poured yourself into work, you wrote songs and changed diapers and held me even when I was being stubborn. I am so happy that our daughter gets to grow up with a father like you-someone who loves so openly and unconditionally, who speaks with honesty and kindness…when I met you, I met my family. I felt like I was home. And now, I can truly say that. Orpheus, I love you-endlessly, forever.”

Eurydice passes Melody over to Persephone with haste, flies eagerly and wholly into her poet’s waiting arms. She can feel the squeeze of his hug, his hasty lips on hers. She brings both her hands to the back of his neck and presses herself as close to him as possible, the cheering of their friends and family merely a muted background to their own happiness. A tiny squeaking makes its way past them-past the bubble they’d created-and Eurydice pulls away laughing as she takes a fussing mama’s girl away from Persephone. She holds Melody between them, Orpheus kissing her head and holding them both. He’s still holding them as they walk back down the aisle-as their friends begin to move the chairs back around, begin playing celebratory songs, gathering around them to smother them in well wishes.

The crowd is wrapped in doubling of warmth as Orpheus bends over to kiss his wife again, smiling as they laugh through a new round of their own blissful tears.

[myinconnelly1]

ArchAngel: Ch 1 Pt  5 When Life is a Literal Wreck

Masterlist

Previous

Word count: 2312

Warnings: Canon Violence, canon gore, Season 1 spoilers. ABO Dynamics

“All right so what's this trail you found?”  Dean asked as he looked at all the papers and notes John had scattered everywhere.

“It starts in Arizona, then New Jersey, California. Houses burned down to the ground. It's going after families, just like it went after us.”  John said standing from the desk in the motel.

“Families with infants?”  Sam asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah. The night of the kid's six-month birthday.”  John said.  He looked at Natalie, then over at Dean and Sam quickly.

“I was six months old that night?”  Sam asked holding back tears at the thought that everything that had happened to his family was his fault.

“Jim Murphy's dead,”  John said, anger mixing with anguish written on his face.

“Pastor Jim? How?”  Sam asked astonished.

“His throat was slashed. He bled out. Caleb said they found traces of sulfur at Jim's place.”  John said, face falling to the ground.

“A demon.  The Demon?” Dean asked as he realized that the sulfur deposit would be caused by the extreme hormonal change of an alpha or omega.

“I don't know. Could be he just got careless, he slipped up. Maybe the demon knows we're getting close.”  John responded frustration seeping from his voice.  “Now we act like every second counts. There's two hospitals and a health center in this county. We split up, cover more ground. I want records. I want a list of every infant that's going to be six months old in the next week.”

“Dad that could be dozens of kids. How do we know which one's the right one?”  Sam asked.

“We check em all that's how,”  John said.

“I can get us into county records without to much trouble,”  Natalie said holding up her newspaper identification card.

The group split up and got as many records as they could.

“Call you? Are you kidding me? Dad, I called you from Lawrence, all right? Sam called you when I was dying. I mean, getting you on the phone? I got a better chance of winning the lottery.”  Dean shouted at his dad.  The boys had just finished telling John about Sam’s visions, and Natalie thought John was taking it pretty well.  Considering his track record.  She continued to write little notes in her journal as the fought, trying to keep track of what was happening.  Maybe it would be something that would be important later.

“You're right.”  All three of them looked at John gaping.  “Although I'm not too crazy about this new tone of yours, you're right. I'm sorry.”  Dean looked from his dad to Natalie.  The feeling that she had something to do with his new voice was overbearing to him.  Sam’s phone rang them pulling Dean from his thoughts.

“Hello?  Who is this?”  Sam said then waited with a look of confusion on his face.  Recognition dawned on his face, followed by fear.  “Meg.”  They all turned to stare at Sam.  “Last time I saw you you fell out of a window.  Just your feelings? That was a seven-story drop.”  Natalie shivered at the memory of the woman.  Sam seems to hesitate then hands the phone to John.

“This is John.  Caleb?”  John asks after a moment.  Sam and Dean respond to the name instantly, going to high alert.  Natalie looks at the older man.  She had meet Caleb, it wasn’t a pleasant evening for either of them.

“It's gonna take me about a days drive to get there,”  John said after Meg demanded him to meet her.  With Caleb dead, they all knew she was done playing around.

“I'm going to Lincoln,”  John said, looking at his boys after he hung up the phone.  Natalie stored her little notebook in her jacket pocket.  “It doesn't look like we have a choice. If I don't go, a lot of people die, our friends die.”

“You're going to hand Meg a fake gun and hope she doesn't notice?”  Dean asked bewildered.

“I just...I just need to buy a few hours, that's all.”  John said.  That tired expression fell over his face again suddenly.

“You mean for Dean and me. You want us to stay here, and kill this demon by ourselves?”  Sam asked.  Dean had walked over to where Natalie was standing, and pulled her jacket off, nuzzling her to soothe himself.

“No Sam. I want to stop losing people we love. I want you to go to school, I want Dean to have a home.”  He looked over at his older son and the Omega.  Natalie’s gaze fell to the ground almost guiltily as Dean lifted his head to look at his dad.  He had never voiced his desire to settle down.  “I want...I want Mary alive.”  John turned his back to his children hiding his emotions.  “It's just,”  He started to say something but seemed to change his mind.  “I just want this to be over.”

“Let’s split up, Dean you go get the gun,”  John said as they started dividing their tasks out.

“I’m going to stay here, maybe I can get in touch with some people to help your friends,”  Natalie said, as she moved to the motel bathroom.

“All right listen to me. They made the bullets special for this colt. There's only four of them left. Without them this gun is useless. You make every shot count.”  John said handing them the gun.  Dean and Sam nodded taking the gun.

“We’ll see you soon,”  Sam said.

“I’ll see you later,”  John agrees before getting into his truck.  An odd smell hits Dean as John opens the door, but the boys wave their father goodbye and watch him leave.

“I know that you're in here, you can come out,”  John says out loud when he gets out of sight from the brothers.

“I’m really losing my touch,”  Natalie says uncurling from the blanket in the backseat.  “How did you know I was here?”  She asked moving to the front.

“You mean besides your new overpower scent that is all over my truck?”  He chuckled darkly at her.  “You left the bathroom window open back at the motel.”

“I had to, Dean he’s not-”  She stopped not able to finished her explanation.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,”  John said before they put the miles between themselves and his sons.

“We could always tell em the truth,”  Sam says.  Dean just looks at Sam for a long moment, one eyebrow raised.

“Nah!”  They laugh.

“Do you think Nat is having any luck warning the other hunters?”  Sam asked his brother trying not to think about the enormity of their situation.

“I’m sure she’s doing everything she can,”  Dean says still looking out the window at the house.  Something about Natalie had been bothering him since their dad had been back but he wasn’t sure what it was.

“Dean...ah...I wanna thank you.”  Sam chuckles.

“For what?”  His brother turns to look at him finally.

“For everything. You've always had my back you know? Even when I couldn't count on anyone I could always count on you. And ah...I don't know I just wanted to let you know, Just in case,”  Sam finished.

“No, I don’t want to hear that speech.  No one except for that Demon is dying.”  Dean says finally.  “I’ve got a smoking hot Omega back at the motel, and she can’t get enough of me.  I plan on pissing you off with her for a long time.”  Dean jest.

Dean paced while holding the phone to his ear, listening to it ring out. They had managed to save the family and the little baby, but the demon had gotten away and Sam had wasted a round.

“Come on Dad, answer your phone damn it.”  Dean was seething as Sam went over to look at a paper sticking out of Natalie’s jacket.  “Somethings wrong.  Dad’s not answering and Natalie isn’t here.”

“Dean,”  Sam said looking at the paper.  Dean called his dad again.

“You boys really screwed up this time.”  Both brothers could hear Meg’s voice over the cell phone.

“Come on, Dean, you really think these demons are going to leave a trail?”  Sam said hours later in the impala.

“You’re right. We need help.”  Dean said sighing with resolve and driving through the night before pulling into Singer Auto Salvage.

“Bobby, thanks. Thanks for everything. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t sure we should come.”  Dean said to the crotchety old hunter.

“Nonsense. Your Daddy needs help.”  Bobby brushes the concern away.

“Well, yeah, but last time we saw you, I mean, you did threaten to blast him full of buckshot. Cocked the shotgun and everything.”  Dean recalls when they last left Bobby’s in a hurry.

“Yeah, well, what can I say? John just has that effect on people.”  Bobby laughs.

“Yeah, I guess he does.”  The comment made him think of Natalie and his body ached.  He pushed the feelings away as Sam started talking to the older man about a book.

“And these, uh, these protective circles. They really work?”  Sam asks pointing at a picture in the book.

“Hell, yeah. You get a demon in - they’re trapped. Powerless. It’s like a roach motel.”  Bobby agrees.  “Cuts off their signal from where ever they are hacking into.”

“What do you mean?”  Sam asks.

“Well these Demons, they are Alphas and omegas that are amped up on a big something, but the trap acts as interference and they lose their potency.

“Man knows his stuff.”  Dean sighed as Sam chuckled.

“No more crap,”  Meg said as she breaks in the front door to Bobby’s house.

“Gotcha,”  Dean tormented as the blonde demon realizes she’s been trapped.

“Are you gonna read me a story?”  Meg taunted as Sam opens the journal and starts to read in Latin.

“Your kidding right?”  Meg rolls her eyes.

“Oh yea, this is a good one.  Something about trigger and key phrases.”  Dean pretended to sound stupid.  “He finishes that and bye-bye Demon, normal girl again.”

“You boys should head out of here before the authorities get here.”  Bobby urged.

“You didn’t ask Meg about Natalie,”  Sam states later in the car.

“If she said anything about her, it would probably be a lie.”

The brothers and their dad were at a cabin hiding and resting, but somehow the demon still found them.

“Dean? What the hell’s going on?”  Sam gasped as he came into the room.

“Your brother’s lost his mind.”   John pressed

“He’s not Dad.” 

“What?”  Sam says looking between his father and his brother.

“I think he’s possessed. I think he’s been possessed since we rescued him.”  Dean said still holding the gun up at his father.

“Dean, how do you know?”  Sam asked his brother.

“He’s .... he’s different.”  Dean's grip on the colt was shaky as he started to fight back tears.

“If you’re both so sure, shoot me then,”  John says hanging his head, but the brothers aren’t able to pull the trigger.  “I thought so.”

“I’m gonna kill you!”  Sam roared as Dean is flung against the wall.

“Oh, that’d be a neat trick. In fact,”  John puts the gun on the table between them.  “Here. Make the gun float to you there, psychic boy.”  John’s words remind Sam of what Natalie had written on his little note page.  She had called him psychic too.

“I bet you’re real proud of your kids, too, huh? Oh wait, I forgot. I wasted ‘em.”  Dean snarls at the demon.

“You’ll feel my pain soon enough,”  The demon mutters before starting a psychic onslaught on Dean.  Blood began to flow from several sudden wounds as Dean screamed in pain, willing his father to not kill him.

John broke free of the demons grasp and Sam grabbed the Colt shooting him in the leg.  Sam was surprised by the effect, unlike the vampire, it didn’t drop him to the ground completely unconscious, John knew the demon was still there, but like a computer virus, it scurried out of John and disappeared, seeming to leave John to pick up the pieces.  

“Why didn’t you end it?!”  John shouted at his younger son.

“I didn’t want you to not be you anymore,”  Sam said mindful of the fact that Dean had passed out again.  “Where’s Natalie?”  She wasn’t at the apartment when we found you.”

“The Demon used me to tag her, ArchAngel picked her up back in Lincoln.  I don’t know why he tagged her instead of using her.”  John muttered as the two of them moved to get Dean into the Impala and get to a hospital.

“Look, just hold on, alright. The hospital’s only ten minutes away.”  Sam said as he placed Dean in the backseat, resting him against the window.

"I’m surprised at you, Sammy. Why didn’t you kill it? I thought we saw eye-to-eye on this? Killing this demon comes first – before me, before everything.”  John said disappointment and frustration evident on his face.

“No, sir. Not before everything.  I know you have been holding something back.  Ever since the vampire hunt, you’ve been acting weird.  Letting us hunt with you, open up with the heart to hearts.  What’s really going on?”  Sam accused.

“Natalie is Dean’s Omega.”  John sighed.  “She told me something important the night we split up to hunt the vampires.”

“What?”  Sam asked, looking shocked at his dad.

“It’s not my place to tell you.  But once we kill this demon, we need to find her.”

“Look, we’ve still got the Colt. We still have the one bullet left. We just have to start over, alright? I mean, we already found the demon-”

A demon driving a semi-truck plowed into the passenger side of the Impala, ramming it off the road and rendering the Winchesters unconscious.

@waywardbaby​ @destielhoneybee​ @snffbeebee​ @deangirl7695​ @spnbaby-67​ @maddiepants​ @tabrown2021​ @ladywinchester1967​ @woodworthti666​ @miraclesoflove​ @tumbler-tidbits​ @emilyshurley​ @akshi8278​ @mannls​ @wendibird​ @bobasheebaby​ @flamencodiva​ @theoneandonlymelol​ @chelsea072498​ @donnaintx​ @justsomedreaming​ @supernaturalenchanted​ @kalesrebellion​ @prettydeaneyes​​ @emoryhemsworth​ @yourdommelb​

[ft-dads-au]

Chance Encounter - Chapter 4

Home for the Holidays 2019 Prompt: Gatherings A collaboration by @mdelpin​ and @oryu404​ AO3 | FF.Net | Prev: Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Next: Ch 5

6:00 pm - 6:20 pm Snack/Social Time

When Rogue and Gildarts entered the daycare center, several club attendees were already present, standing together and chatting around a table whose entire surface was covered in snacks and drinks. Rogue didn't pay much attention to them. Although he could go for a coffee, the twins were starting to squirm in their stroller seats. The change of surroundings had sparked their interest, which wasn't all that surprising since this room had been designed with young children in mind, and since they had been shackled for so long already, Rogue thought they deserved to be let out to play first.

He parked the stroller in a corner where it wouldn't be in anyone's way, putting the brakes on and grabbing the diaper bag before unbuckling Haku. He wasn't spreading any unpleasant smells yet, still carrying that wonderful scent of fresh clothes and baby lotion, so he was approved to join the other kids in the play area.

Two teenagers, a boy, and a girl were looking after the playing children, and Rogue guessed they were the ones providing the babysitting service that was mentioned. The boy seemed somewhat familiar. At first, Rogue couldn't remember where he'd met him, but as he studied his face a little bit more, it finally clicked. This had to be Macao's son, whose picture he had been shown yesterday. The girl, however, he was sure he had never seen before.

"Good evening!" she greeted him with a sweet smile, "I'm Wendy, and what's this little angel's name?" She crouched down next to Haku as Rogue put him on the floor.

"This is Haku, he's only six months old, so you need to be careful," Rogue recited, handing the diaper bag over and already feeling nervous at the idea of having someone else watch their sons.

"Don't you worry, Sir. Both Romeo and I have earned our babysitter's certificate. We even trained in infant CPR, Haku is going to be just fine!" Wendy, who seemed so very young to Rogue's eyes, smiled at him reassuringly, but all he heard was CPR.

“CPR, why would he need CPR?!”

“Oh dear, that was supposed to make you feel better,” Wendy’s eyes watered at Rogue’s distress.

“No, no. I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Rogue fought between his desire to grab Haku in his arms and wanting to boost the girl’s self-esteem, “Uhm, I’ll be right back with his brother.”

Rogue tried not to think of Sting’s reaction to that little fiasco, he’d never live it down. He grabbed Kuro out of the stroller, thankful there was enough activity to hold the infant’s attention. Kuro rewarded him with a gummy smile and a smack on the head from his red dragon.

He could hear an amused chuckle behind him, followed by Kuro becoming increasingly wiggly in his arms. Rogue turned to see Sting walking towards him, his work bag slung diagonally across his chest and a bright smile at the ready.

"Hey, babe!" Sting pulled him into a quick hug, being careful not to squish Kuro between them.

Once they separated, Sting grabbed the ever more frantic Kuro in his arms, "Hey monster! Did you miss me? Where's your partner in crime?"

Kuro began to grunt, eagerly responding to the sound of his father's voice, and although Sting smiled at his efforts, his attention was immediately captured by the sight of food, "Is that food for everyone? I'm starving!"

Before Rogue had a chance to respond, Sting had already made his way over to the table, with Kuro still held in his arms. He began piling food onto a plate and grabbing a couple of juice boxes. To Rogue's utter dismay, Gildarts walked straight over to him.

“Heey, you must be Mr. Half-Pint!" Gildarts exclaimed, slapping his hand enthusiastically on Sting's shoulder as he recognized Kuro.

“Who?” Sting mumbled through the food that had already made it into his mouth.

“Rogue’s husband?”

“Oh, yeah!” Sting agreed cheerfully, once he’d swallowed, “Sting Eucliffe, nice to meet you. And you are?”

“Gildarts Clive, at your service. I’m one of the men running this club. That’s an Edolas accent, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, how���d you know?”

“I travel quite a bit in my line of work,” Gildarts replied, “I’ve been to Edolas a few times, beautiful country. Anyway, it was nice chatting with you, I need to introduce myself to a few others, seems we have a lot of new members tonight. Enjoy the snacks.”

Gildarts moved on to his next victim, and Rogue took the opportunity to grab Kuro from Sting. He took him over to Wendy, who had already set up a blanket and toys from the diaper bag for Haku to play with. For his part, Haku looked quite content.

"This is the angel's twin, Kuro." Rogue sat him down next to his brother, his mind more at ease now that he'd seen how comfortable the children were around the two teens and the other way around. "Oh, a word of advice: make sure no one takes that dragon away from him. Trust me, he'll take tantrum to a whole new level."

"That's good to know, we'll keep a close eye on it," Wendy reassured him.

Rogue smiled at her, hoping to give off some friendlier vibes than he had earlier. Now that the kids were settled, it was time to get that coffee, but he hadn't made it to the snack table yet when one of the boys had started crying loudly already. He whirled back around, feeling both relieved and foolish when it just turned out to be Haku, who had noticed Sting and was calling for his attention. But Sting didn't respond to him at all, and if that wasn't strange enough already, both his posture and expression were alarmingly ambivalent. He was standing still in the middle of the room, snack plate in one hand and an open juice box just inches away from his face as if something had made him stop dead in his tracks. And when Rogue followed his line of vision he spotted Gildarts, talking to a silver-haired man, and…

Rogue could only be glad that he'd never grabbed that cup of coffee because if he had, he would inevitably have spilled it all over himself. He blinked several times, not trusting what his eyes were showing him. If it weren't for the fact that Sting was acting oddly, he would have gladly accepted that he was suffering from a rather intense visual hallucination caused by seeing Gildarts again after so long.

As fate would have it, that wasn’t the only unexpected reunion shaking him up today. After not having spoken to each other since their last disastrous phone conversation six years earlier, Rogue was now standing just a few feet away from his older brother. He was getting ready to stomp over, not caring about causing a scene as his escalating emotions took over, when Macao announced:

"Alright, everyone, find a seat. It's time to start the meeting, and there are a lot of new faces tonight."

It distracted him for a second. The chatter died down, and everyone present in the room began finding their way to one of the chairs that had been set up in a large circle, but Rogue felt a treacherous tremble rising in his entire body. A voice in his head compelled him to ignore all social niceties and march right up to his bastard of a brother and give him a piece of his mind.

He was more than willing to heed it, but just as he was about to raise hell and disrupt the entire meeting, not to mention throw every last bit of professionalism out the window, Gildarts moved out of the way. And Rogue couldn't help but notice a timid looking boy standing in between his brother and the silver-haired man. Reality slammed into him like a truck as it quickly dawned on him that he had almost caused a scene in front of his children. Not to mention those of complete strangers and that little boy he had no trouble identifying as his own nephew, even though he hadn't been aware of his existence until a few seconds ago.

Rogue peered into big midnight blue eyes, so familiar they brought him back to the past, to a very similar pair of eyes belonging to the one person he used to look up to like no other. His flared up anger and frustration simmered down, transforming into melancholia and more of what he’d already faced today.

Guilt and shame weighed him down once again, making him oblivious to the fact that he was the only one who wasn’t getting seated until Sting grabbed his arm and steered him to one of the empty chairs. Rogue had no choice but to sit down, feeling Sting’s hand grab his own and squeeze it, his concerned eyes burning into Rogue’s skin as he sat next to him.

“Are you okay?”

Rogue had no answer to that.

6:20 pm - 6:30 pm Introductions

"Welcome to the Magnolia Dad's Club, my name is Macao Conbolt, and the man standing next to me is Gildarts Clive. We are the current runners of this club, so if you have any questions, please don't hesitate to come talk to us. Before we get started, I'd just like to let you know this club is for you and your family. Children are always welcome at meetings, but you can also come on your own."

Macao grabbed a piece of paper from a stack and held it up, ”Here are some flyers that contain more information on us and what we do so please feel free to help yourselves to one. Now, why don’t we get introductions started, who wants to go first?”

Rogue tried to listen to what was being said, the logical part of his brain reminding him he still needed more information for his article, but his mind refused to let things go.

When had Gray come home? Why hadn't he gotten in touch with him? He snuck a look to where his brother sat next to the silver-haired man and wondered who he was to his brother. Was this a friend, a new boyfriend? What had happened with his husband, and how old was his kid? Gray was staring at Gildarts with an expression Rogue couldn't identify until he realized Gray probably hadn't seen the man's prosthetics before.

One by one, different men stood up and introduced themselves, and Rogue heard not a word, waiting for the moment it would be his brother's turn, his mind still coming up with question after question until he felt Sting get up, pulling him up with him.

"Hi, I'm Sting Eucliffe, I'm a first-year pediatrics resident at the hospital, and this is my husband Rogue," Sting gestured toward him, and he waved weakly. "We are fathers to twin boys, Haku and Kuro, I'm sure you'll hear from them soon enough," Sting paused as several men chuckled at his joke. "I sort of got shanghaied here, but I have to admit I like what I've seen so far, and I look forward to being a part of it."

The twins began to cry at hearing Sting's voice, and he walked over to them, calling, "There they are," behind him to many laughs. He returned with both boys, handing Haku over for Rogue to take.

Rogue focused on making his son comfortable, and once he quieted, he looked up to see Gray watching them with a neutral expression. He looked away when he realized Rogue had noticed, speaking quietly to his companion and pulling the little boy onto his lap.

“Hey, my name is Gray Fer- uhm Fullbuster,” his brother began speaking, discomfort oozing from every word.

Finally! The moment Rogue had been waiting for had arrived, it was Gray's turn to speak, and just as he began to introduce himself, Rogue felt movement next to him.

“Everything okay, Half-Pint?” Rogue was startled to find Gildarts kneeling next to him and whispering in his ear, distracting him.

"Yeah, everything's great," Rogue hissed, trying to hear what Gray was saying.

“What else did I miss the last couple of years?” Gildarts frowned, his eyebrows furrowing in concern as he took in how tense Rogue was, “I can’t help but notice there’s something off here.”

Rogue thought of what he could possibly say that Gildarts would accept and would let him get back to Gray's introduction, but to his dismay, his brother had already sat down.

“I already said everything was fine,” Rogue snapped, angry he’d missed his chance to find out any information on his brother.

“Fine, sorry I asked,” Gildarts got up and handed Rogue a clipboard with a membership form, “Fill this out when you get a chance.”

Gildarts walked away, but for the rest of the introduction portion of the meeting, his gaze never strayed from either him or Gray, and Rogue was frustrated to see that the silver-haired man never introduced himself.

6:30 pm - 6:40 pm Recap of the last meeting

"Okay, we went over quite a bit, but that's alright," Macao glanced at his wristwatch before launching into a recap of the events of the last meeting.

Rogue whispered to Sting, “Did you get to hear anything?”

“Yeah, it looks like he’s going by Fullbuster again, and the little boy’s name is Aki. He’s about a year and a half.”

“That’s it?” Rogue couldn’t believe he’d gotten himself so worked up for so little information, but still, he now knew his nephew’s name. Aki.

"Sorry, babe, he didn't say anything else," Sting draped his arm over Rogue's shoulder, squeezing it briefly before pulling away.

“Warren has been gracious enough to volunteer to work on our website which he assures us will be done any day now,” Gildarts grinned at Warren who only groaned at the word volunteered, “and he’s also writing an app that we’ll be able to use for all scheduling and sign-ups.”

“Wait! When did I agree to that?” Warren complained.

“Sometime after your fourth beer, I think,” Macao reported to Warren’s horror.

“You guys were serious about that?!” Warren’s face paled as he realized how much work he’d signed up for, “My wife is gonna kill me!”

That sentiment earned a laugh from several of the men in attendance. Rogue heard a man joke to Sting, "Well, at least that's something you don't have to worry about," to which Sting chuckled nervously.

“Here,” Sting shook him gently before grabbing the clipboard from him and handing Kuro over, “The boys seem to be doing better, why don’t you take them back with the others, this is a great opportunity for them to get some socialization in.”

Rogue would usually get irritated when Sting got into pediatrician mode, but this time he was grateful. Attempting to sit still while he was in such turmoil was only driving him crazy. He cuddled both boys as he walked, drawing comfort from their warmth and sweet expressions.

He set them back on their play blanket, opting to stay with them for a few minutes. Wendy had been busy helping a group of little girls with art supplies, but Romeo came and sat with them.

“What’s it like?”

“Hmm?” Rogue peered at him uncomprehendingly.

“Having a baby, what’s it like?” Romeo asked again.

“Oh, it changes your entire life. You can kiss getting a good night’s sleep goodbye, and you have to kind of get used to the idea that you don’t come first anymore, but it’s okay because soon you won’t remember what your life was like before they were there.” Rogue replied with a smile.

Romeo didn't respond, but he knelt down to play with the twins, and with a wrinkle of his nose, he said, "I think this little guy needs a change."

“Oh, I can do that,” Rogue went to get the diaper bag only to find Romeo had already beaten him to it.

“Don’t worry about it, I can probably use the practice,” Romeo waved him away as he grabbed Haku and moved him over to one of the changing areas.

Rogue watched, ready to step in if needed, but Romeo seemed to have it all under control. Wendy returned, waving at him cheerfully as she began to play with Kuro, and Rogue found he had no excuses left to not return to the meeting.

He walked back towards Sting slowly, his mind tackling the problem at hand. Now that the initial shock was somewhat over, did he even want to speak to his brother? Gray had shut him out years ago, even though all he’d been trying to do was be a good brother. He'd abandoned him knowing full well Rogue didn't really have many other people in his life, and now here he was back in Magnolia, still shutting him out. How long had he already been in town?

Rogue was conflicted, the fact that he felt so hurt was a testament to how much he still cared, but he couldn't deny that there was also a lot of anger he’d yet to deal with. He'd almost decided to say fuck it to the whole situation when he noticed Gray's son, his nephew, walking towards the play area, moving slowly as he held on to the backs of the empty chairs he passed.

Rogue stayed where he was, noticing the little boy-Aki, his mind supplied helpfully- had stopped at the last chair and was watching him intently. Aki looked back towards Gray, but the draw of children’s laughter and colorful toys seemed to be more powerful. His eyes darted to the space behind Rogue, where the twins were playing with Wendy.

Rogue could see Gray attempting to stand up from his chair, and it irritated him. Seriously, what did his brother think he was going to do, grab Aki and run? To his amusement, the silver-haired man put his hand on Gray's thigh, forcing him to sit back down, whispering words into his brother's ear that Rogue couldn't hear. Gray looked unhappy by the rebuff, but he remained seated, his gaze following Aki's movements while keeping an eye on Rogue.

Rogue moved out of the way of the entrance, keeping his movements slow and deliberate. Aki surprised him by running past without giving him another look, and Rogue couldn't help but to turn and look to see what had drawn his nephew's attention.

“Hey, Aki!” Wendy greeted cheerfully as the little boy had stopped short of the blanket.

He kneeled and peered at one twin then the other with a puzzled expression. “Same?”

Wendy giggled, “They do look the same, don’t they?”

Aki nodded at her and smiled uncertainly.

"They're twins," Wendy smiled as she pointed at the boys, "This is Haku, and the one with the red dragon is Kuro. Would you like to play with us?"

“Yesh.”

“Come on then, just make sure not to take Kuro’s dragon, he doesn’t like it.” Wendy made room for Aki in the large blanket, grabbing a basket filled with small toys and placing it next to him.

Aki found a plastic phone and grabbed it, pushing the buttons and bouncing excitedly when they made sounds. Haku's eyes widened, and he began to bounce and laugh along.

And it was at that moment that Rogue got his answer. He did want to patch things up with his brother. It didn't matter what their argument had been about, or how much work it would be to fix it. He wanted this for his sons. Sting was an only child, and he only had one brother, their family was small enough as it was. They deserved all of it.

He observed his sons playing with their cousin for a few more minutes before going back to Sting with a smile on his face and a heart full of determination. He would reach out to Gray as soon as he saw an opening.

[hazza-bear-care]

Babie Crue (2/?)

Pairings: The Dirt!Motley Crue X OC!Reader. Eventual MGK!Tommy Lee X OC, Possible Douglas Booth!Nikki Sixx X OC, Dad!Motley Crue

Warnings: Cussing, drug use, drinking

Description: Cam eventually finds solace with Tommy’s family, who pity her after she reveals why she’s homeless with a newborn baby. Two months of peace later, Cam has a steady job as a waitress and Motley Crue is officially formed. Tommy starts to invite Cam out to their shows at Whisky A Go Go, and she eventually decides that a break is much needed. Of course, she shows up the night Doc enters the picture and Elektra starts pressuring for the band to go on tour. 

~~~~~~~

Tommy, Mick, and Nikki found Cam about half an hour after she left the apartment. With some heavy convincing, Cam finally agreed the best choice was to live with Tommy at his parent’s house. When the Lee’s heard Cam’s story, recounted quickly and embellished with a lot of ‘fucks’ by none other than Tommy himself, they thankfully welcomed her into their home with open arms. Tommy scrounged up whatever he could money wise to help buy the basics for Grace, and was all too ready to give up his room and bunk on the couch. The band and Tommy’s parents helped find Cam a job within her first week of living in her new space. 

In the time it took to get Cam set up comfortably, the band had found their front man, Vince Neil, and started performing at a club on the Sunset Strip called Whisky A Go Go. It was definitely a rocky start based on what was heard from Tommy when he called Cam at work after the shows, but she knew that if anyone deserved to be famous, it was Tommy. 

“Cam, you should totally come to a show! Athena and my parents could watch Gracie and you can see your knight in shining armor in action!” Tommy yelled through the phone, helping Cam hear him over the loud thumping of the music in the background. Cam chuckled and ducked under a tray that a co worker was carrying. 

“Tommy, you know I’d love to, but I feel like the second I leave Gracie, she’s going to get taken away from me. I can’t lose the only piece of me I have left because I was out partying with my best friend and his band.” A sigh escaped Cam’s lips as she ran her fingers through her dark brown hair. Cam was grateful of her boss for allowing long phone calls, but they were only to happen over her twenty minute break. 

“Hey, Cam. Don’t think like that. You and I both know my family and I will fight tooth and fucking nail to protect you and that adorable fucking baby. I understand your fear, but I really want you to be around before we go fucking through the roof!” Tommy’s excitement made Cam smile sadly. She noticed a stern look coming from her manager, which led her to glance at her watch. 

“Tommy, I have to go. My break is almost up. I’ll consider coming to one of your shows, alright?” 

“Yeah, babe! Have a good night, alright? I’ll see you later, sweets!” Cam muttered a quick goodbye and hung up the phone, stumbling through the crowded kitchen and heading out to the dining room. 

“Hello. My name is Cameo, and I’ll be your server this evening. Could I get you guys started with something to drink?” She muttered her spiel, quickly scribbling down the family’s drink orders. Checking on her other patrons, Cam threw crumpled bills into the cash register, returning change and receipts to departing groups, bidding them a farewell as they headed towards the door. 

By the time she was able to leave, Cam had accumulated a decent amount of tips. She was good at her job, despite customers swearing at her for wrong orders that she accidentally swapped with another table. As she made her way home in the dark, discreetly brandishing a knife Nikki had gifted her, Cam thought about Tommy’s offer. 

‘Maybe a show would be nice. I mean it’s just one show, and we’ve been safe for two months. I deserve a break.’ Cam’s thoughts were swimming so fervently around her head that she almost didn’t hear the shuffling behind her. 

Hailing a taxi, Cam gave the driver Tommy’s address, only glancing at the person who followed her once a barrier was placed between them. Looking vaguely familiar, the car sped off before Cam could distinguish who had followed her. Throwing a twenty at the driver, grumbling at the instant decrease of food and diaper funds, Cam quickly ran inside her safe haven, involuntarily slamming the door behind her.  

“Cameo? Is that you, dear?” Tommy’s mother, Voula, called from her place in the living room. 

“Yeah, Voula, it’s me. Was Gracie any trouble?” Cam asked as she made her way to the older woman, getting comfortable on the couch after hanging up her coat and bag. 

“She’s an angel, Cam. You should be proud to be her mother.” A warm smile spread across Voula’s face. 

“Believe me, I am. I have a favor to ask you though: do you think you could watch Gracie longer than usual this weekend? I really want to watch Tommy’s band play, especially because he seems so excited about it.”

“Of course, dear. You deserve a break.” Thanking her, Cam hugged the woman who took her in and bid her a goodnight as they both turned in to sleep. Stripping her uniform, Cam silently changed into her sleepwear and looked at her daughter sleeping peacefully in the bassinet Athena had dug up from the depths of the garage. 

Humming to herself, Cam flicked on a flashlight, opening up a book that she had loved since high school: The Secret Garden. Unfortunately, Cam’s mind wandered back to the man who was following her. Eventually she snapped out of it when she realized her eyes were drooping intensely. Cam made herself comfortable in the bed, breathing in the scent that was caked into the sheets covering Tommy’s bed. Cam soon found herself asleep, dreaming of nothing but a high school aged Tommy and Gracie. 

~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Cam awoke to Grace’s soft cries. Hopping out of bed, she scooped her baby out of the bassinet. A knock on the door caused the mother to jump slightly, chuckling silently as she rocked Grace gently. 

“Come on in,” Cam called to the door, hearing it open with a slight creak. 

“Hey, sweets. I heard Gracie and figured I’d help you a little today.” Tommy entered and handed Cam a bottle filled with the exact amount of formula Grace had started eating as she rounded six months. 

“Tommy, you didn’t have to do that! Thank you though,” Cam muttered. The trio sat together on the bed as Cam began feeding Grace. The baby girl babbled as she suckled against the bottle happily, grasping the sides with her knuckles.

“How did you manage to get the greatest thing out of the shittiest relationship?” Tommy whispered, brushing his long fingers over her tiny feet, causing the baby to giggle at his touch. 

“I honestly have no idea, Tommy. Hey guess what?” Cam responded, turning her attention to the man next to her. Tommy hummed, signalling for Cam to continue. “I’m coming to your show tonight!”

“Really?! Jesus, Cam that’s great! What made you change your mind?” Tommy asked, his brown eyes shining brightly with excitement. 

“I was on my way home from work and I figured I deserved a break. It’s okay that I’m coming, right?” Cam suddenly found herself questioning if this was really a good idea. 

“Of course it is, Cam. Why else would I have invited you to every show?” They sat in silence after that, the only sounds filling the air being Grace’s grunts of happiness as she chowed down. Tommy stared at the two girls, utterly in love with the beautiful figures sitting beside him. He had dreamed countless times in school of the very moment he was witnessing, of course baby not included, but she was an amazing bonus. As Grace finished her bottle, Tommy gestured for Cam to hand over the infant, silently telling the mother to get ready for the day. 

“I have to go to work. I convinced my manager to give me tonight off if I switched my closing shift with Anna’s lunch, but I promise I’ll be there. It starts at seven, right?” The frantic mother gathered her uniform, turning to Tommy and melting at the sight of the drummer cradling her baby so delicately. 

“Huh? Oh yeah, seven. What are you gonna wear?” Cam froze in her tracks, completely forgetting about the scene aspect revolving around rock bands. 

“Oh shit, Tommy! What am I gonna wear?!” Tommy chuckled as he stood from the bed, gently placing Grace in her bassinet and walking to his closet. Thrusting open the door, he shuffled through his clothes, tossing a black Pink Floyd shirt behind him. He gestured for Cam to follow him to Athena’s room, tossing a pair of distressed blue jeans into her arms. 

“Wear that. You can keep the shirt by the way, it’s too small for me.”

“Thank you, Tommy. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a shower to take and a shift to get to.” Cam nudged Tommy out of her way and crossed the hall, entering the bathroom and locking the door behind her. 

~~~~~~~~

When Cam’s shift ended at 3, she was anxious to get home. As she sprinted through town, barreling through the house, she casually mentioned to Athena that her jeans were being borrowed, a simple ‘no problem’ thrown back in response. Tommy was feeding Grace her lunch, chuckling at Cam who floated back and forth from the bedroom to the bathroom, mumbling to herself about everything she forgot. 

Around the tenth time she stormed in the room still in her uniform and bare faced, Tommy stood and placed a hand on Cam’s shoulder. 

“Hey, calm down, sweets. Take a breath and gather everything you need right now, then lock yourself in that fucking bathroom and don’t come out until you’re unrecognizable and absolutely fucking sexy.” Cam’s face flushed at Tommy’s comment. She looked down at the floor and nodded, gathering everything she needed to finalize her look. Ducking past Tommy, Cam made her way to the bathroom, following Tommy’s order diligently. She quickly exchanged her uniform for the outfit he picked out. Cam teased her hair until her arms were sore, then opted to do her makeup. She lined her hazel eyes with thick black liner and smacked a blood red lipstick on her full lips. Tommy’s words were true: when she was finished, Cam was fucking sexy. 

Entering Tommy’s bedroom for the final time before leaving, Cam topped her outfit with a leather choker and combat boots. Kissing her daughter goodnight, Cam walked into the living room, everyone freezing where they stood. 

“Wow, Cam. You look amazing! Your ass looks perfect in my jeans,” Athena commented, earning a light smack on the shoulder from Voula. 

“Cameo, you really do look lovely. Tommy had to leave, but there is a cab waiting for you outside,” Tommy’s dad explained, a soft smile on his lips. 

“Thank you. Okay well, Gracie is asleep and she should be down for the night. If not, a bottle should fix it. I borrowed a record from Tommy; Elton John. If she doesn’t seem to relax after the bottle, play ‘Your Song’ and she’ll be off to sleep in no time-” 

“Cam, we’ve got this. We’ve done this a million times, and Gracie is not that difficult of a baby. Now, go have fun.” Cam’s purse was pushed into her arms as she was shoved out of the house by Voula. Cam waved as she entered the cab, giving the driver the address of the club, preparing for the amazing night ahead of her. 

~~~~~~~

The show was amazing. Tommy snuck Cam backstage after the set ended and finally introduced her to Vince. The blonde was instantly enamored by Cam, but the glare that both Tommy and Nikki gave him were enough to make him reconsider his intentions. 

The after party was in full swing and everyone was having fun. A beer was in Cam’s hand, but bad memories were laced with drinking, so she painfully nursed the alcohol over the course of two hours. As the party escalated, Motley Crue was high and drunk out of their minds. Someone just as fucked up wandered around, asking everyone and everything if he could bump a line of coke. He even asked Cam more than once and attempted to rudely feel her up when he was denied. Nikki pushed him off of her and told him to get out, a fight beginning to boil. As the stoner threw a right hook at Nikki’s face, a tiny man jumped in from his corner and took the attacker out with a single hit. 

“Looks like you boys are gonna need a manager.” The band laughed as the stoner was thrown out of Nikki’s apartment. 

“Hey, you okay? You look a little frazzled,” Mick asked across the table, noting Cam’s shaking hands. 

“Um, yeah. I’m great. There’s just a lot happening at the moment.” Tommy overheard and wrapped an arm around Cam’s shoulders, gently placing a kiss to her temple. 

“Do you wanna leave? I can call you a cab,” Tommy offered. Cam quickly shook her head, leaning into Tommy’s embrace a little more. At some point, Tommy tossed his leather jacket over her and she was still wearing it as their record deal and possible tour were discussed. Cam glanced around the table and smiled, happy that she was finally safe and surrounded by people who loved her. 

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

Tag list:

@kellysimagines

A/N: What did you guys think of this part? Feel free to give me some pointers or things you want in the story and I’ll try my best to improve as the series goes on. BTW I am taking requests, so if anything strikes your fancy, go ahead and shoot me a message! Love you guys!

[maevefiction]

Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 52

Tom and I were able to spend just over two weeks together alone with Henry, and we’d quickly become a well-oiled machine. It was seamless, really…which made me wonder how I was going to function when he left on March 1st for Kong promo. I cried, and so did Tom as he was leaving, a puzzled Henry in my arms looking back and forth between us during our final hug goodbye. He’d be returning to London on the 13th, and I made sure to cross every single day off on the calendar before I ate breakfast because nothing makes you lose track of time more than when you’re caring for an infant while thoroughly sleep deprived and missing your partner so badly it actually aches.

All in all I thought I was handling things well, though there were days when breakfast was the only real meal I ate and showering was such a rare and special treat that if I actually took one two days in a row I almost felt guilty. There was one day I managed to shower and eat three meals within a 24-hour period and man, I felt like I’d conquered the Kingdom of Domesticity, lemme tell ya. Alongside the chaos and the exhaustion, though, there were countless moments of joy and discovery as Henry and I got to know each other as separate entities. I’d already begun naming objects during playtime and while flipping through picture books, and, honestly, I blathered on with such constancy that I figured the first discernible sound he’d make would be ‘shh’. Every night we’d sit together in the nursery room rocker and I’d read to him, mostly rudimentary level children’s stories. Skippyjon Jones always seemed to get him amped up the most, his little arms waving as I voiced each character accordingly, sometimes to the point where I’d be laughing too hard to continue. And, of course, I sang. I sang when he was fussy, which wasn’t often, I sang when I changed his diapers, I sang during bath time, I sang when he nursed, and I sang as I rocked him to sleep. Actual songs, songs I made up on the fly, lullabies, humming classical tunes…he appeared to enjoy it, and the day before Tom was due home he flashed me a great big gummy smile from his bouncy seat when I added dancing to my rendition of Melanie’s ‘Brand New Key’. Despite all official guidance suggesting babies were only capable of smiling reflexively until they were nearly at the the two-month-old mark or later, Henry’s was genuine. I know this because I spent a good portion of that particular day testing my theory, and every time I sang that damn song and danced like a fool, there it was. I thought about Skyping Tom in order to share my super-scientific findings, but decided it was only one more day until he’d be able to see it in person…also, I was dying to see what would happen if he sang it and danced as well.

Tom’s flight was scheduled to land at six PM, which meant he’d probably be rolling in around seven-thirty at the earliest. Henry typically nursed every two or three hours, sleeping in between at nighttime and napping here and there during the day. That evening I’d tucked him in at six-thirty and turned on the baby monitor, fully intending to squeeze in a snack and a shower before Tom got home, but then I made the grievous error of sitting down in the rocker for a brief spell just to make sure that Henry was really and truly out before I left the room, because I’d learned the hard way that sometimes he’d pop awake. Nothing like having shampoo in your hair when your kiddo starts crying in the adjoining room, you know?

I must have dozed off immediately, because the next thing I knew I was dreaming that Tom was saying my name, and the dream was so vivid that I could actually feel his hand on my shoulder, shaking me gently. Dream me tipped her head to the left to nuzzle dream Tom’s hand, and when the fingers of the hand grasped the back of my neck and the thumb stroked the magic spot behind my ear I inhaled sharply, catching his scent as I did so. My eyes flew open, and there he was, sitting on the ottoman in front of me. I reached up to grab his wrist, finding it warm to the touch which reassured me that I hadn’t lost my damn mind. A long, deep, delighted sigh from me broke the silence.

“You’re real. You’re back. I missed you. So, so much. I thought I was dreaming, you know, but there you fucking are and…”

He cut me off with a kiss, his tongue parting my lips and thrusting into my mouth in order to tousle with mine. We hadn’t been intimate since before Henry was born, given that I was technically on the disabled list until after my six-week checkup. It hadn’t been an issue for me, really, because I’d still been bleeding rather heavily right up until the day after Tom left. The bleeding had ceased completely by the 5th, but prior to this scenario I hadn’t even felt a tingle of desire since giving birth. Nothing. Nada. Deadsville. With a combination his scent and a smooch it was resurrected, back from the beyond, good to go, and ready to rock times infinity. I reciprocated, first sucking on his tongue, then his lip, then continued to devour him until we had to break to breathe. He stared into my eyes, dazed and panting, his left hand slipping under the bottom of my robe and up my thigh, coming to rest between my legs, a throaty ‘oh’ escaping him as his fingers brushed my panties and he realized I wasn’t wearing a pad. When I propelled my hips forward against his hand he groaned, then began to rub my mound, circling slowly. As the cotton grew damp, his eyes rolled back into his head briefly, then focused on me again…they were impossibly full of want, and I bit my lip. He shook his head, dutifully trying to clear it and pull himself back from the brink.

“Maude. I’m so sorry. I know perfectly well that you can’t…I have no idea what I was thinking.”

I exhaled through pursed lips, my chest heaving. “I’m fine. Wait, that’s not what I meant to say. What I meant to say is that I am on fucking fire…”

He whined, a low and thoroughly devastating sound. “May I…I…taste you? Make you come? Please? I can smell you and it’s…I…I can’t…I need to…”

I lifted my hips off the seat to signal that fuck yeah, yes you can, get these things off me but it turned out that wasn’t necessary because he ripped my underwear clean off as if the fabric was a piece of ancient, crumbling parchment. He slid off the ottoman and down onto his knees, lifting my legs in the process.

“Feet. Shoulders. Now. Please.”

It was then that I remembered that hello, a baby recently popped out of there and your husband hasn’t seen this part of you at close range since then and what if it’s different and/or totally unappealing? I hesitated, and he nipped the inside of my right thigh before placing my feet where he wanted them on his own, then dove right in, licking a stripe from my asshole up to my clit, then back down and up again and again, finally taking the nub between his teeth to shake it gently before closing his mouth around it and sucking rhythmically. I had to slap my hand over my own mouth to keep from screaming as I humped his face until I came. He kept going, reducing his suction just enough to leave me on the edge, and I felt the tip of his finger at my entrance. Still not ceasing his ministrations, he peered up at me and I nodded. In it went, inching its way up to my G-spot. He stroked back and forth, round and round, until I began to swivel my hips in the opposite direction. After adding a second digit he began to slide them in and out ever-so-slowly, gradually increasing the speed until the sliding became thrusting, and as I felt another orgasm was imminent I covered the hand already over my mouth with my other one, just in case.

My muffled screams were accompanied by his moans, almost entirely suppressed by my flesh. He stopped sucking completely, instead navigating every fold and crevice with his tongue and waiting for me to apply pressure to his forehead before he pulled his fingers out and his head away. He shifted and lowered my legs back to a resting position in order to rise up so he was vertical, though still on his knees. The sight of his face slick and glossy, eyes narrowed as he inhaled and exhaled rapidly through his nose was so intensely arousing that I leaned forward, grabbed him by his white T-shirt and pulled him in for another kiss…a sloppy, noisy wet one that assured me that if nothing else, my flavor hadn’t changed whatsoever. The rocker began pitching forward and back with more force that it had while he was eating me out, and the cause, I established, was Tom humping the seat cushion. I reached between us and began to unbutton and unzip his jeans, but he stopped me in my tracks, fingers wrapping around my wrists and shifting them to the side as he cut short our kiss, shaking his head back and forth as he moved away.

I growled, then frowned, ready to question his behavior until he stood and held out his hand to help me up. Without a word, he led me through the adjoining doorway and to our bed, stripping naked in a flash and gesturing for me to do the same. Again, I hesitated. He’d seen my boobs plenty of times before he’d left to do promo, but other than a glance after a shower or something similar he hadn’t seen me in all my post-partum glory as yet. I had, though, and while I’d thought all along that I looked pretty damn good, somehow standing in front of this gorgeous being resulted in my confidence bubble deflating like a balloon that’s not successfully knotted. Squeak pffffttt, there it goes. He stepped forward and undid the belt tie at my waist, then slipped his arms around me inside the fabric and pulled me against his warmth, hard cock pressing into my belly, and as he ground it against me his unspoken message came through loud and clear…that was because of me, and for me. And one should never pass when offered cock, should one? Hell no. I shrugged off the robe and let it fall to the floor, and he stepped back to look me over as he licked his lips, took both my hands in his own, squeezed, then released them to gesture for me to lie down on the mattress. I obliged, glancing at the monitor station on the night table along the way to make sure Henry was still sleeping. And, you know…still there in his crib and breathing, because that’s apparently a side effect of becoming a parent, frequent intervals of sheer terror followed by obsessive observance.

Tom placed first one knee, then the other on the foot of the bed as his hands nudged my legs apart, pressing outward on the inner portion of my knees until there was enough room for him to crawl in between them. He knelt there, staring at me, until I sat up, reaching forward to take him in hand. He gasped at my touch, his arms lifting, hands coming to rest on my shoulders.

“Ohhhh…Mauuuddee…” He continued to moan as I stroked him, and though my intent had been to finish the job I couldn’t stop thinking about how it felt when he was inside me, and how long it had been since we’d been able to fuck face-to-face, and how much I missed witnessing the way his head fell back and his neck tensed so gloriously when he came. First my rhythm faltered, then I released his cock and lowered myself back onto the bed, leaving him with the options of joining me or letting go of my shoulders and staying where he was. He leaned forward with me, still holding on until his knuckles scraped the mattress, wherein he loosened his grip and positioned his hands on the bed to either side of my head.

He remained on all fours, both of us staring at each other, until I wrapped my legs around his waist and attempted to pull him downward. The gesture was met with resistance, and after a short pause to consider how to proceed, I spoke. Three words, our gazes locked, the sound breathy, the tone pleading.

“I want you.”

A tiny smile from him, then the corners of his mouth tipping downward in a frown of concern. “And I want you. So badly. I’m desperate for it, the feel of you all around me. Are you certain…is this…is it alright?”

I reached up and around him to clasp my hands behind his shoulders. “Only one way to find out for sure. You willing to give it a try?”

He groaned, biting his lip, his body already beginning to gravitate downward toward mine. “You’ll tell me straight away if I’m hurting you?”

“Uh-huh.”

Balancing himself on one hand, he used the other to line himself up and nudge the head of his cock against my opening. His eyes never left mine as he worked himself inside at a snail’s pace, ever-so gently, and the shade of red his face had turned served to me as an indicator that the anticipation might actually be killing him so I canted my hips upward in order to speed up the process. He gasped, his own hips reflexively driving him forward in reaction to my action, and with one more thrust from me he was finally fully sheathed.

“Oh. Maude. Oh. OH.” He blinked and shook his head, the hand that had been guiding him into me returning to the mattress just above my shoulder, his lower belly now resting against mine. “You’re okay? Any pain? Discomfort? Just say the word…”

“I have two words. Fuck, and me. Fuck me. Please. Now. Tom. My god.”

He grinned. “Am I?”

“Are you what?”

“You said ‘Tom, my god’.”

I raked my nails down his back. “Yes, Tom. You’re my god. Now, I pray, wield thy rod and deliver us to the promised land.”

Snorting, he began to circle his hips. “Oh, that was awful.”

Smirking, I lowered my arms back to my sides, then reached up to tweak his nipples. “Oh, I know. But still…the rod. Wield it. I need it.”

He moved in and out, still circling, my own hips moving in time with his thrusts. As our tempo increased everything else around us grew hazy, the lines of objects blurring until all I could see clearly was his face, his shoulders, his chest…and there was indeed no pain, no discomfort, the only possible difference from before being that I was slightly more aware, more sensitive, but that was easily attributable to it having been so damn long since we’d been in this position and as far as I was concerned missionary had never, ever been so fucking heavenly. I’d wondered if I’d still be able to squeeze, and was relived when I gave it a go and Tom screeched like a banshee, then began pounding into me, harder and harder until I came with him doing the same seconds afterward. As his hips continued to twitch I locked my legs around his waist by way of my ankles and rode his still-hard cock until I came again, then again, chanting his name the entire time. He collapsed on top of me, face nuzzling my neck, nibbling here and there as I rubbed his back. He shifted so he could see me, his smile beatific.

“Hi.”

I smiled in return. “Hi.”

His left eyebrow rose. “Everything all right?”

“Everything is spectacular, thank you.” My once again confidence faded, as did my smile, when I wondered what his experience had been, post birth. “How did it…you know…was it…for you…was it…different, or anything?”

“Yes. It was different.” He leaned in to touch his forehead to mine. “Because I’ve come to love you even more than ever before. Which I would have thought impossible, yet, it’s…happened. What I witnessed in that room, Maude…using this body, your body, you performed a miracle right before my eyes…you endured and persevered and brought forth life, the embodiment of our physical and ethereal union…and the fact that you find me worthy of giving, receiving and sharing pleasure with you in this way, experiencing the divinity of your flesh…I just…I…”

In lieu of weeping, I opted for sarcasm. “So, the sex was okay, then?” He chuckled, and I giggled, and when the chuckle transitioned into full on laughter the force of it shifted him to the side a smidge, at which point I noticed wetness between us where it decidedly did not belong. “Shit, sorry babe…it would appear the divine flesh has sprung a leak. It’s baptism by breastmilk for you, my dude. Wow, the religious references just keep on coming today. Pretty sure I just heard Anne clucking her tongue at me all the way from California.”

Tom grunted, grinding against me. “All I heard was ‘coming’ and ‘tongue’.”

As his lips met mine we were interrupted by the sound of Henry whimpering, which caused my boobs to leak even more. Tom’s torso lifted off of me, and I placed my palms on his chest. “Alas, play time is over for now, good sir. Tiny human requires a snack.”

He pulled out and knee-walked backward to the foot of the bed, then stood. “Would you like me to bring him in here for you?”

I shook my head as I got up, then bent to grab my robe off the floor. “Nope. There’s no way I’m missing the expression on his face when he sees you.”

After I slipped my arms into the robe, Tom handed me the T-shirt he’d been wearing so I could clean up. “Here you are, my love. I’m going to grab a pair of shorts…can you wait for me?”  

Nodding, I did a brisk mop-job, dropped the T-shirt back onto the floor, then tied the belt loosely in place. We held hands as we walked to the nursery, but I fell back and let go once we we entered in order to allow Tom to lead the way. Henry’s whimpering had evolved into what I liked to call the Universal Baby Siren Wail, and as Tom first approached then leaned into the crib, I hustled to find a vantage point from where I’d have the best view of both of them. Tom reached down to move the Pooh quilt aside, then rested his hand on Henry’s torso.

“Hey now, baby boy. It’s all right. We’re here.” He slipped his other hand underneath Henry to support his head, then shifted the hand that had been on his torso under his bum, lifting and holding him out directly in front of him, then turning him sideways to cradle him against his upper chest. “Shh, shh, we’re here.”

Henry quieted immediately, eyes un-squinching, then opening widely as he fully realized that someone other than the food-giver was holding him. Tom’s megawatt smile broke out across his face, and when Henry smiled in return I damn near died right then and there. Tom’s mouth dropped open, his head turning toward me so fast that whiplash was an actual concern.

“Maude, he smiled. Did you see? He smiled at me. I mean, I think he smiled at me. Perhaps it’s just gas or…”

“Oh, it’s not gas. He smiles. And he totally just smiled at you, the little bugger.” I moved closer to my dudes and slipped my arm around Tom’s waist. “It started yesterday, but he only does it for me when I put on a show for him.” It had crossed my mind to keep that bit of info to myself because I didn’t want him to feel as if he’d missed out on something, but I knew there would without a doubt be firsts either he or I would miss along the way,  because children develop at such a rapid pace all you have to do is be looking in the wrong direction for a second and that’s that. It initially appeared that Tom seemed thoroughly unaffected by my statement, however, and returned his focus to Henry.

“Henry, that was quite a spectacular smile. It’s made Daddy feel very, very special. Thank you. I missed you so much while I was gone, and I want to keep you all to myself but I know you’re hungry, so here’s Mamma, all right?” He passed him to me, and I headed over to the rocker, pausing before I sat down when I felt Tom’s hand on my shoulder. I turned to look at him, and he smiled bashfully as he spoke.

“Would you mind if I sat with you? Or if there’s not enough space would you consider sitting on my lap while you nurse him? I…I’d like to be close to both of you.”

I smiled back. “Sitting on your lap sounds like perfection. Park that pretty ass, Tom.”

He complied, and I lowered myself carefully into place, resting semi-sideways. He wrapped his right arm around me to serve as support, his hand grasping my hip, fingers splayed. We remained silent until I’d burped Henry for the second time and Tom began to rock us all forward and back slowly. He spoke, voice hushed so Henry’s attempting to doze off wouldn’t be disturbed.

“I knew it was possible…likely, even…that certain milestones in his development might occur in my absence. And I’m aware that such moments are fleeting, even if I happen to be nearby. But having it actually happen the first time out of the gate…well…we’ve yet to discuss it, though I’ve been thinking about it quite a bit, and I don’t know how much consideration you’ve given to it, if any, because lord knows you’ve been busy here on the frontlines all alone, but...where do you see us, going forward, in regard to our occupational statuses?”

While I hadn’t committed to anything, my plan while pregnant had been to take twelve weeks off, then return to work at Prosper at least three days a week and continue to be the Great and Powerful OZ behind the curtain for Manageall. But those weeks, man, they were whipping by at warp speed. The few instances so far wherein I’d needed to handle urgent business issues despite being on leave had been atypically stressful, and that had given me pause, though I was onto the next task at hand so rapidly there was no thorough evaluation as to whether or not I wanted to proceed as planned or rework it all lock, stock and barrel. I shook my head.

“I thought I had the answer for that…there was a plan, you know? But honestly, Tom…now…I’m kind of questioning, like, everything. Which I did not expect.” Glancing down at the beautiful, now soundly sleeping, being in my arms, I shifted my legs forward, then stood. “Welp, someone’s out cold. Let’s tuck him in and adjourn to the bedroom once again so we can speak at normal people volume. Before you comment, let me rephrase – normal Maude volume.”

He chuckled, and both of us whispered our good-nights to Henry, then returned to our marital bed, this time remaining mostly vertical instead of horizontal. We sat, side by side, each waiting for the other to start until I elbowed Tom in the ribs.

“You’re the one who mentioned it, so it only seems fair that you should go first.” He inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly, and I reached out and grabbed his knee. “Thomas. I understand. It’s all good. You’re my partner, I love you, and I’ll support whatever choice you decide to make.”

He placed his hand atop mine. “God, how I love you. Thank you for that. All right. Out with it. Here’s what I’m thinking…for the remainder of this year, I’ve got Early Man to finish up, a very short shoot for the next two Avengers films, then Ragnarok promo. All the Early Man stuff will take place in a studio within driving distance, so while I’ll be working, I won’t have to be out of town. Avengers won’t take more than a few days, but Ragnarok promo…that’s another story, and though it’s unavoidable, it’s not until late fall so there’s a nice span of time during which I’ll be able to remain in London. Early next year I’ll have Early Man promo, then Avengers promo, and since the format of the Vampire Chronicles has been switched from a cinematic release to a streaming series filming has been pushed back until 2019 at the earliest. So, my schedule for the foreseeable future is relatively clear. And…other than possibly entertaining a London-only stage production…I’d like to keep it that way. I want to spend every moment I can here, at home, with you and Henry, until he’s old enough to travel easily. Though honestly, I’m not even sure about that anymore. There are several aspects other than my personal preference to be considered, however. How will this affect us financially? How will this impact my career? And finally, how does this fit with your line of thinking, if at all?”

“Let’s address my line of thinking, then the rest, because it’s all relative. I like working. I can’t see myself not doing some sort of work. And I think you’re the same with your work, with acting. It’s a significant component of who you are, at your core. For me, while I’m really, really good at PR, if I do say so myself…” He snorted, and I shrugged. “Like Peggy Carter says, I know my value. Anyway. I’m skilled at it,  but it’s not my passion. It’s never been. Coding and design…those are my passions. PR is just…work. Bear in mind that if Manageall had never happened I would not be considering this, but…I don’t see myself returning to Prosper other than as an outside consultant. The staff has become well-versed in how to handle social media and instructing clients, which renders me non-essential in that realm. Where I can be of benefit is on the front lines…however, that position is very taxing from an emotional standpoint…and, let’s face it, the entire industry is kind of soul-sucking. I could handle it, before…no problemo, dude. But now that we have a kiddo, I feel compelled to reserve as much of myself for him as I possibly can. And, bottom line from a purely financial standpoint, my earning potential when working at coding and designing is far greater than in the PR world. It’s work that offers nearly complete flexibility in regard to time and location. I want to begin to pursue…slowly… developing and improving Manageall. I want to see how far it can go, and, eventually, I want to explore other projects. Mainly apps. Apps. I want to create and design apps. Wow, that’s quite the revelation right there, and fuck, I really feel like a ginormous turd for essentially bailing on Luke for the most part, but I have to be honest with myself and honest with you and the truth is…the thing that’s most important to me right now and probably will be forever or at least until he’s an adult with a life and stuff but then, grandbabies…fuck me, that’s nuts…anyway…the most important thing is Tom and Maude and Henry being…together. Long story short, we’re in excellent financial shape and could live a perfectly lovely life if neither of us ever worked again, you know that, I know that, and I’m incredibly grateful for that, and time is the enemy, and after all we’ve been through, why the fuck not step back a bit so we can enjoy our son, and each other? Oh, your career. Forgot that part. Will there be an impact? Yes. Will you be able to jump back in at full speed whenever you want? Technically, yes, though it may take a little time if you’re way off the public radar. Is there any guarantee that you’ll ever enjoy the level of notoriety you have right now? No. Will that impact your earning potential? Entirely possible. How does that make you feel? How does everything else contained the verbal version of explosive diarrhea that you just listened to me spew make you feel, other than wicked sorry you asked for my opinion?”

He snorted. “I asked, and I received…not at all sorry. Exhausted, perhaps, but not sorry.” Sobering, he stared down at the floor for a moment, then looked up and turned his head toward me. “I came across an article a few years back…a list of the biggest regrets expressed by patients in hospice. At the top were working too much, and not spending more time with family. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, now…we all have two lives. The second one starts when we realize that we only have one. Throughout that one, our priorities change as we live, love, and grow, but the constant is time. The sand is flowing ever-downward through the hourglass and there’s no stopping it. Time is, as you just said, is the enemy. At the end of my time on this plane of existence I don’t want to find myself staring in the rearview at the life behind me with words of regret upon my lips. I want to be replaying all the moments of beauty and joy I experienced with the people I loved, finding peace in knowing that even if I were able, I wouldn’t change a blessed thing. The path to that is clear…Tom and Maude and Henry being together, as often as humanly possible.”

He paused, and just as I was about to wrap my arms around him, he smirked, then grinned mischievously. I cocked my head to the side, left eyebrow raised. “You’re totally thinking about that first day on the beach when you said you wanted to know me and I said biblically and you said…”

“…as often as humanly possible. Yes, Maude, yes I am. That was quite a day, was it not?”

I nodded. “That it was. Mind-blowingly strange and spectacular. And though there’ve been so many ‘best day evers’ since…without that one, none of them would have happened. Thus, I’m inclined to delegate it as the most important best day ever.”

He reached for me, the sides of his hands resting on my collarbones as his fingers stroked my neck and his thumbs brushed my jawline and cheeks. “I concur, my light in the mist.” He kissed me, feather-light at first, then firmer, finally sucking my lower lip into his mouth and doing the thing…with the result exactly as expected.

My thighs were still clenching as I spoke. “Thomas William Hiddleston…first of all, how dare you. Second of all…HOW DARE YOU?!”

He laughed loudly, releasing me to raise his hands up as if he were praising the god of his choice, then rotating his wrists and turning his palms skyward. “Still makes me feel like a fucking rock star.”

I reached out to pinch his nipples. “As a reward, the rock star will be given the honor of changing the next diaper. If he can handle it.”

Nodding, he wrapped his arms around me and began pushing me backward onto the bed. “He can. But he’s going to handle you first, if you can, you know…handle him handling you. Again.”

“She can handle him handling her again a few times, probably.” With that, Henry began crying again, and we both rose quickly to our feet. I poked his bicep. “I regret to inform you that there’s been a sudden but not entirely unexpected modification to the handling schedule. You’re needed at the north stage immediately, Rock Star. The woman will have to wait her turn.”

He linked his arm with mine as we walked though the bedroom door and into the nursery. “Well, I hope she won’t mind too much.”

I shook my head. “She won’t. You’re worth it.”

He kissed my cheek as we reached Henry’s crib. “So are you, my Maude. So are you.”

After Tom fulfilled his doody duties, which I figured would be the case because Henry typically didn’t wake up when he was only wet, I stood back and observed, attempting to absorb and retain even the most minute details of his interaction with our son. Kissing his little feet one at a time before placing them back into his footie sleeper, carefully closing the snaps, bending down to hold him against his chest as he lifted him from the changing table, breathing him in as he re-positioned him so his head rested upon his left shoulder. And then, he began to sing. So softly I couldn’t quite make out the words, but I knew the tune. And so I stepped forward to stand before him, and the words became clear.

I feel my heart beating I feel my heart beneath my skin Oh, I can feel my heart beating 'Cause you make me feel Like I'm alive again Alive again Oh, you make me feel Like I'm alive again

Turn your magic on, to me she'd say Everything you want's a dream away Under this pressure, under this weight We are diamonds taking shape We are diamonds taking shape

I joined in after that verse, somehow managing to not dissolve in a puddle of tears after hearing my husband remixing our wedding song into a lullaby for our son.

If we've only got this life This adventure oh then I If we've only got this life You'll get me through, oh If we've only got this life And this adventure, oh then I Wanna share it with you With you, with you

As we finished, I found myself transfixed by the sight of Tom’s body rocking gently from side to side, and his fingers drawing small circles on the back of Henry’s sleeper. It was soft, 100% cotton, white with purple horizontal stripes and a powerful sense of deja vu overwhelmed me, though it escalated beyond ‘I’ve been here before’ quickly and transformed into glimpse of the future, similar to the dream I’d had immediately prior to waking up on the day of our public wedding ceremony…Tom and I, three children, brief instances throughout time, the moments occurring in various places, with one thing in common…all of us, together. A vision of myself, looking downward at hands that were starting to wrinkle, holding the sleeper Henry was wearing in the here and now, then passing it to someone, into the hands of a younger man, his face blurry, but his hair very clearly black, and I could hear voices around me speaking, Tom’s being the only one I recognized. Though I wasn’t able to make out the words, I could feel the joy emanating from everyone around me, and from within me. A vignette that, whether it turned out to be real or imaginary, imparted upon me a sense of finality. Not an ending, just a bookmark in the story of my life’s adventure for this year, this day, and this hour, when I could see the purpose of the past and the promise of the future and recognize that I was precisely exactly where I was always meant to be. Tom quietly asking if I was all right snapped me back to the present, and I looked up to see those blue eyes gazing back at me, eyes in which I’d seen darkness and light and everything in between, eyes that were indeed a mirror, a reflection of the soul housed within that had called to mine so strongly, so loudly, across time and space, until, finally, the hand of the universe had been forced to relent and bring us together. I grinned, nodding in the affirmative, my answer a single whispered word.

“Absofuckingloutely.”

[franniexfabs]

First Meet || Frannie&Gabe

who? @xjoiexgabriel and @franniexfabs what? Gabe and Frannie meeting up for the first time since she’s returned and Frannie getting to see Myles.  where? Gymboree  when? Saturday afternoon

Frannie

Frannie shakily turned off her car as she pulled into the parking lot of the gymboree. Getting out of the car, she grabbed her purse and headed inside. She could feel eyes on her, probably because she had just walked into a baby gym without a baby. That had to look rather suspicious. Or maybe no one was looking at her at all and she was just being paranoid... Her brain was working in overdrive and she couldn’t stop shaking because of how nervous she was. Finding a seat not too far away from the entrance so she could see when Gabe would come in with Myles. Her fingers dug into the palm of her hand and her leg kept moving up and down as she closed her eyes for a second and took a breath. She tried to remind herself of how hard she had worked to get to this point, to actually feel like she could be worth being in Myles’s life. Everything would work out... right?

Gabe

Gabe had made the short drive to the baby gym. It was a good place to let Myles get his energy out. A good public place to see Frannie once more. Walking in, he held that child's hand as they slowly made their way to frannie. Gabe smiled as he picked up his son and held him. " Thanks for meeting me here. Let's get him checked in, and then we'll talk. "

Frannie

Hearing the door open, her head turned to see Gabe and Myles coming inside. She felt herself stand up from her spot, but had to restrain herself from moving in any other way. What she wanted to do was run over and scoop up her son up into her arms, like she saw Gabe do, but she knew she couldn’t. She smiled at the boy before nodding and following Gabe.

Gabe

Gabe walked with her to check Myles in and set him down in the infant area, watching him start to walk around. Gabe found them a seat inside the area and sat with her. " Listen, we can't keep fighting. We can't do that to him and so I need you to be honest with me about what happened "

Frannie

Her grip tightened on her purse strap as she watched Myles for a moment before following Gabe's lead and sitting down. Her heart was racing as she drew in a breath, completely unsure as to where she should even start, but also wanting to be clear that she never lied to him either. "You're right. You are. It wouldn't be right for him. But I never lied to you. I need you to know that. I literally didn't have any money to stay. I cut myself off from my parents after I told them I was pregnant because they ridiculed me for it and made me feel like I was a horrible person for "letting this happen to me." Between the hospital bills and loans, I was completely in over my head in debts despite living with my aunt and uncle."

Gabe

Gabe sighed some. "You know, if you had asked, I would have helped you with everything. I mean, I know it was a one night stand but I think you'd know I am a better person then to just leave you hanging in all this. Okay, so you needed money. How do you have it now? "

Frannie

"I didn't... I didn't think about it. I could only think about doing it myself, especially after moving out of my parents' place. Like I needed to prove them wrong on my own or something. I know that sounds stupid now." Her eyes glanced down, picking at the nail polish that was already chipping. "I, uh... some of the money came from my aunt as a early Christmas and birthday gift. Some I had in the bank. But the rest I got..." She paused, "I started working at a strip club in Columbus."

Gabe

Gabe was patient as she explained herself. Once she was done, he put his hand on hers. "You don't have to be ashamed of that, I get why you did it or do it, but you have to get this... You just said you were doing to for you. Not for you and Myles, that has me worried." He kept explaining as he looked to their son that was now rocking himself on a toy horse. "He is mine and Vince first priority. Are you ready to put your needs aside and your wants? "

Frannie

Frannie glanced at his hand on hers before furrowing her brow. "Wait, no I didn't. Everything I did, I did for Myles. So Myles could have a decent childhood, I left my parents because I knew they would never accept him, or her.. I obviously didn't know who he was going to be when I first got pregnant." She shook her head, trying to get back on track. "I knew I couldn't go back to school because I needed to use every penny I had to provide for Myles. He was my number one priority for over 17 months, when you combine being pregnant with him and the first 8 months of his life. He was literally the only thing I thought about. I didn't even think about myself for a minute..." She closed her eyes. "But I wasn't connecting with him... my aunt made it look so easy to feed him and get him to sleep and just generally play with him... It- I had postpartum depression."

Gabe

Gabe sighed some, he'd leave the comment about her aunt helping raise him for now. "I'm sorry you went through that and as I've said, I wish I could have been there to help. But we're here now and as I said, Myles has spent 3 months with Vince and I, he's got a routine and he's very bonded to my boyfriend as well s Vince is bonded to him. He feels you're going to come in and push him out of the picture, which I hope you know I'm not going to be okay with."

Frannie

Frannie stayed silent while Gabe talked and even after, looking out at Myles and watching him from where they sat. She didn't know how to respond, really. She would never want to push someone out of his life, but was it bad of her to be confused at how close Gabe's boyfriend was to her- their son? She really knew nothing about Vince; she hadn't met him and she didn't know how serious their relationship was. She knew she was in the wrong in the way she had just brought Myles into Gabe's life and then couldn't stay... but that didn't mean she wasn't allowed an opinion about who was in Myles's life... But that certainly was how it was feeling. If anything, she was the one that felt like she wasn't in the picture... and would rarely be in the picture at any point. This wasn't the first time that Gabe had brought up how 'the three of them had a routine.' How was she supposed to be involved when it was feeling more and more like there wasn't going to be any give? "Glad that's an opinion that's being formed about me..." She said quietly. "Like I said, I'm not a malicious person. I don't want to take anyone out of Myles's life unless they are mistreating him or you for that matter. But, and I'm going to say this now, I hope that the low opinions that you and Vince have about me haven't been conveyed to Myles. He deserves to make his own opinions about the people in his life when he gets older. If he ends up hating me, I want it to be because he doesn't like me and not because he's picked up that Vince and you don't like me. But at any rate, you've been pretty clear that I can't see Myles in any other capacity than this..."

Gabe

Gabe raised  brow and sighed. "First off, the opinion I have of you is just a lot of confusion, I didnt know what happened until you told me but we don't discuss things when Myles is around. We talked when he's down for the night and its just us in my room. Myles has his own room. For now, yeah, this is how I'm comfortable letting you see him because until you're stick around, I don't like the idea of getting him so attached then something happening. I'm not saying you're going to but you and I both know we have to be careful whom is in his life. Vince isn't just my boyfriend, Frannie, hes my forever. We've only recently gotten serious but he's very much the person I'm going to marry. I would like you and him to talk, so he can see that you're not malicious towards him and that youre not looking to push him out of Myle's life. Just like if you got serious with someone, I'd want to know them so they knew that we're all equal in Myles' life because we all love him."

Frannie

Frannie chewed on the inside of her cheek while she listened to Gabe. "I'm not leaving again..." She said, knowing that Gabe wouldn't believe her anyways. Part of her wanted to comment on his relationship, but she knew she didn't have any leg to stand on so she just kept quiet. But she would be kidding herself if she didn't feel like she would be in constant battle with the two of them over Myles, whether civil or not. Sitting there with Gabe, she felt more sure of that than anything, not seeing much hope in ever getting to have a decent relationship with Gabe, Vince, or Myles. "I don't think that's something that we will ever need to worry about."

Gabe

'And I believe you but I need to see it." Gabe responded. "Just give it time, I really want this to work for all of us. For you to have just as much time with him as I do. For it all to work out but you have to be willing to work with me, to make it work. It can't be this tug of war. Right now I can't meet you in the middle but I can find ways to start bring you back into his life and I think you and I need to get to know each other better."

Frannie

Her eyes welled up with tears and she looked away from Gabe. "I am sorry, Gabe... for everything..."

Gabe

Gabe pulled her into a hug, letting her get it out. Just then Myles made his way over and collapsed against Gabe's legs. He picked him up and smiled a bit. "Myles, can you say hi, wave hi" the little boy waving and smiling to her.

Frannie

The tears fell down her cheeks as she closed her eyes. Frannie was grateful for the embrace, even if she began to feel weak for breaking down in front of him. Her eyes opened as Myles came over.  She quickly wiped away the tears before smiling at him and waving back. "Hi Myles..."

Gabe

"hey its okay he sees you cry, I dont want him to think he need to hide his own emotions." Gabe grinned a bit. "So you're told me about you. Would you like to know more about me?"

Frannie

"You're right... but I'm sure those aren't the last of the tears right now." Frannie nodded, glancing back at Gabe. "Yeah, yeah I would."

Gabe

Setting Myles down, he watched him go off again, babbling the whole way. Gabe turned back to her. "Well I was born and raised in Seattle. My mother was Shannon Beiste and my father, Cooter Menkin. Cooter fooled everyone for years, they thought my family was perfect but it wasn't. Cooter was abusive to my mom, then me and my younger brother, Jack. If the words didn't hurt then he moved to fists. We use to hide the marks but because of him, I took all the sports I could to make myself stronger and because of him its why I want to do everything i can for Myles to have a good life....when i was 7, my mom finally left him, kicked him out and he didn't fight because well, she got the cops involved..." Gabe glancing a way so she could soak it all in. "Then when i was 12, my mom became my dad."

Frannie

Her eyes stayed on Myles while Gabe began to talk again. Frannie turned towards him again, nodding softly at his words. Drawing a breath in, her brow furrowed. "Gabe... I'm so sorry that that all happened... I... I can't even imagine." Now placing her hand on his, she squeezed it gently. "That's a lot to go through at a young age... and I'm sorry that I've made this whole ... situation more difficult than it ever should have been..."

Gabe

Gabe nodded then shrugged. "You're not the only one with a fucked up past. Don't get me wrong when my mom went from Shannon to Sheldon, i was happy for him. He found whom he really was and that was all the better but still....I just, I want you to understand that I'm not some asshole frat boy or jock. I'm not like other people and that when you showed up with Myles, I really couldnt not have been happier. If for no reason then I do want kids and hes just so amazing."

Frannie

"Gabe..." Frannie paused. "I never thought that of you... I wouldn't have slept with you if I did. I mean, I know I make questionable choices, but... I just freaked out because of- I don't know. I knew you weren't some horrible person but I was afraid of what would happen if you knew. Like... maybe you'd think less of me or want me to get rid of it or... I don't know. It was stupid. If I could go back in time, I wouldn't have decided not to tell you when I got pregnant."

Gabe

Gabe nodded some, just looking at his son. "Well I know now and we're going to work on this. But I just want to make sure you understand that Vince, he has as much rights as we do, okay? Now we only got 20 minutes left if you want to go play with him before we leave."

Frannie

"Yes, I understand... I'll- I'll reach out to him after I leave here. I promise. I want this to work." Frannie's eyes widened as she looked over at Gabe. "Wait, really? I can go and do that? Are- Are you sure?"

Gabe

"Thank you and he might be upset, so just remember its fear as well" Gabe nodded. "Just keep away from calling yourself mommy right now, I'm not taking that from you, just want him to get use to you first."

Frannie

"I'll- I'll just explain everything that I did to you and see what happens then." Her face lit up as she nodded. It hurt that she couldn't tell the boy that she was his mom, but she understood. "Thanks, Gabe..." Her eyes welled up again. "Seriously, thank you." She walked over towards Myles and squatted down next to him, asking him what he was doing.

Gabe

Gabe smiled back. "You're welcome, now go." Sitting back, he watched as they played together. He knew Myles would have some idea as to whom she was but at the same time, time changes things. The time seemed to tick by and soon, he was coming over to them. "its time to." Gabe picking Myles up and holding him on his hips.

Frannie

Frannie's heart had felt so full as she played with Myles. His hands grabbed hers a few times to help him over some of the equipment and for a brief second, she forgot how she had messed everything up. She let out a soft sigh when Gabe scooped their son up. "Bye Myles. Thank you for letting me play with you. You're a lot of fun!"

Gabe

Gabe made Myles wave and gave her a quick hug. "Thank you for talking to me. We'll work on this together." With that, Gabe told her bye once more. "I'll text you when I get a chance." Leaving Frannie, he felt a bit better about it all but he knew it would be an up hill climb.

[breesays]

Hashtag not all babies

Tomorrow I’ll take Desmond’s 3 month old picture. I’ve been trying to think of a theme. Month one was him in a leaves swaddle on a lily pad blanket so NEW LEAF and all. Month two was a superhero theme in his Batman onesie. I think for 3 we’re going for minimalist, classic. White onesie, blue jeans.

I take a million photos of him (every day) but I find it difficult to adhere to a template. You know, the cute ones every Ma posts on IG. Likes and dislikes. Personality traits, etc. Yes, I know he is developing into a precious, unique bean, but LIKES TO: roll over, suck hand, forcibly listen to Rockabye Baby tracks doesn’t seem worth noting. It’s not that I’m unimpressed with infant development, it’s just that there isn’t a lot of variation at this stage. No 12-week-old is juggling (actually, I’m not that impressed with juggling, either) or giving critical feedback on storytime. It’s not even baby STEPS. It’s more like “baby finally ate well today and took a solid nap without waking up every 20 minutes.“ It’s essential, just not riveting. 

Last week I did meet a 10-month-old who knows how to do yoga BREATH OF FIRE and yes, I was impressed.

What I know about him as of right now - If he sneezes or coughs in succession he makes this hilarious noise of discontent. Annoyance, really. In fact, he in generally inconvenienced by most bodily functions. Which we have in common.

He babbles the most during tummy time. Sometimes I think he is talking to his bug toys, but sometimes it’s very low and under his breath, like the ladies in nail salons who carry on conversations barely audible to the human ear. I’m not meant to be privy to these narratives. 

He has the best expressions. He looks great in stripes. And he is very entertained by disco fruit videos on YouTube.

But I don’t know who his best friend is, what his favorite color is, or if he enjoys Bob Marley or simply tolerates us singing those songs to him. To be fair, maybe he hasn’t made up his mind about any of those things yet.

We are still very much in a discovery period. And that’s OK.

But sometimes I do feel like an asshole. Because I’m not endlessly enamored by the whole situation. I KNOW HOW FORTUNATE I AM. He is the sweetest bean. An alert, adorable amalgamation of me and Tim. I’m even taking the full 6-month leave because who will attend to my baby’s developmental needs when there’s like a HERD? I don’t want to try and give him proverbial wings before he can even hold his own neck up.

Also? I feel terrible about MYSELF. Like, my BODY. I am supposed to go to Legoland with my nieces this week and I had a fucking full on meltdown today. My clothes don’t fit me. I’ve acquired and been gifted several maxi dresses since we came home, which is an achievement because NOT PAJAMAS but I’m not ready to FUNCTION in SOCIETY. I am AT LEAST 25lbs heavier than I have ever been in my whole life. I’m trying to be forgiving because I GREW A HUMAN. Mommy blogs will say: It took you nine months to put it on, give yourself nine months to get it off. 

But it actually takes effort to give yourself a break.

[hadestownmodern]

Christmas (2) Modern au

Hi! So this is a shorter one, but Christmas and Thanksgiving are the two most important moments to me and I wanted to make sure I did them both the most justice I possibly could. Everything I’ve written so far is on @hollywoodx4 under the modern au tag, and will be re-posted on here-I just want to make sure I’m not clogging the tags! 

-Danielle

------------ The night is quiet, and still; there is no noise from the bar below-Hermes is firm about closing up on holidays, letting his staff spend an ample chunk of time with their families so that he too may spend time with his. Without the noise of the bar, the street below is near silent. The usual bustling is replaced by the occasional vehicle moving down the street, people walking home from their festivities chatting in low, blissful voices. The joy of the holiday season has transmitted itself to the entire city, it seems. Orpheus basks in this.

              He keeps music on low-a vintage holiday record that bubbles and pops along dutifully with its age, keeping the sound even more authentic. It’s a singer with a low bass of a voice, warm and comforting in tone. At times, Eurydice notices that Orpheus will close his eyes to the sound, hum along in harmony when his tenor can’t hit the lower notes. This little bubble of happiness is how they’ve stayed since they’ve gotten home-music, and each other’s company.

              She can feel a sort of tension in the air; not the kind she’d gown up with, hot and red and angry. No, this is something new. She finds herself unable to sit still-crossing one leg over the other, leaning herself into him-until she gives in and lets her body hover in this state of unease. She’s sure he can feel it to by the way his hands rub along the material of the blanket that covers them, the way he clears his throat and opens his mouth only to shut it again. She wonders briefly if Persephone and Demeter had given her away, that this awkwardness between them has to do with his fright or rejection. But she knows better than that-they’d given her their word, told her that it needed to be on her time but that her time had to be soon.

              Eurydice lets herself take one more appreciative feel of the way that things are; the soft music, the way it feels to have his arms keeping her close to his chest, his humming reverberating against her. There is an immense pressure building within her heart. She knows that she has to tell him. She takes in another long breath and sits up-his arms let her go and he follows suit, turning his body to look at her. She keeps her eyes on the ground for a moment, suddenly feeling the shame of her childhood-as if she’d done something wrong.

              “I have something to ask you.” It’s Orpheus that says this, a request drawn into the air by a soft, gentle voice. Eurydice shakes her head, and it takes her a moment to find her own words as her dark eyes meet his.

              “No, I,” she starts, reaching for his hand. “I need to tell you something first.”

              To Orpheus, these words spark panic. He feels his heart rate increase, his mind swirling with every possibility of what could be on her mind. She’d been upset all day, not her usual self. She’d been quiet, unsure-even when she’d come to the party she’d spent a lot of her time away from him, or playing with Junie with the same sad expression behind the façade she’d drawn. He attempts to prepare himself for the worst-for heartbreak-when she manages a shaking breath and makes direct contact between their eyes.

              “I’m pregnant.”

              Not the words he’d been expecting. It takes a moment to process it all, Orpheus still holding her hand and Eurydice maintaining her faltering eye contact. She’s crying now-a flood that begins as a few tears, then trickles over. The immense pressure on her chest has been lifted, and although he hasn’t said anything, she feels weightless. The truth is in the air, she doesn’t need to hold on to it anymore. Her chest is light, open. Finally, Eurydice can breathe. So she cries-sobs, actually, a release of everything she’s so carefully been holding in. Looking at Orpheus, she can see the way the wheels turn in his head. Eurydice waits because it doesn’t seem as if it’s a total loss yet. Then, he laughs; he actually laughs, lets his head fall to their joined hands and kisses them. She’s at a loss for words. It’s not a mocking laugh-no. It’s light and buoyant, and Eurydice is still in shock as he smiles, kisses her cheek and her nose and her forehead. He’s happy.

              “Do you know when?”

              “I haven’t been to the doctor yet-I was waiting until after I told you.”

              “We can do this,” He’s so sure, so incredibly optimistic, that Eurydice truly believes him. Orpheus reaches his hand and wipes the remaining evidence of her tears, then rests it on her unchanged stomach, soft and searching as if he can see everything in their future stretched out before him. He’s quiet for a while, grinning, looking between her eyes and his hand. Eurydice watches him, still suspended in disbelief that he is so undeniably happy about this.

              One month ago, she’d shaken his mashed-potato laden hand and watched him fumble around the kitchen, kissed him because wine had made her warm and went home with him because she hadn’t had enough yet. A week later, she’d moved in with this near stranger because she had never known anybody as well as she’d known kind, protective Orpheus. She’d stayed because it felt right, more so than anything else in her life had ever felt. And now he’s happy, talking about his graduation and what they can do with the space in the apartment, how they’ll work around having an infant to take care of while she still has another year of school left. He’s the light-warm and steady, reeling in her anxieties and turning them toward the pictures he paints with his words for her. And then he stops-dead in the tracks of a sentence-and shifts his weight on the couch.

              “Hermes told me to wait, but I knew there was a reason I’ve been carrying this around all day.”

              Orpheus wears this nervous, sheepish sort of smile; Eurydice watches as he fumbles awkwardly around before holding his hand out in front of him-a small box in his palm. Her eyebrows raise immediately, eyes widening as she watches him shakily reveal a tiny ring. It’s a thin band, just enough to hold a tiny thimble of a diamond in its center. It’s dwarfed in its big box. She loves it. She stares at it, brings her finger to the box and traces its outline. She’s not sure what to think, a new shock added to her system, but she finds herself with a slight shake in her head.

              “I can’t let you do this just because I’m pregnant, Orpheus.” He laughs again, holds the box steady in one hand while bringing the other to her cheek.

              “And if you knew that I bought this two weeks after Thanksgiving? When Hermes looked at me like I had twelve heads and told me that I had to wait at least a year to ask you to marry me? I just kind of wondered, why would I wait when I already know that there’s nobody else I’d rather do life with? And now, this-the baby-I just…I’m so happy. And I’m ready. I promise, I’ll sing to this baby every night. I’ll do everything I can to make this the best life for all of us. We don’t even have to get married now, or this year, I just,”

              “Yes.”

              “What?” His voice comes without breath, higher pitched and in slight disbelief. It’s Eurydice’s turn to laugh and she does so freely, a giggle left without any inhibition as she pulls the tiny ring from its box and gives it to him, holding out her left hand.

              “Yes, I’ll marry you.” He slides the ring on her finger and she looks up at him-his shining eyes, the unshrinkable grin that lights the entire living room, sets her heart in motion. Eurydice shrugs at the new round of tears that spring to her eyes, a match to his own bliss, and shakes her head.

              “This is crazy,” she examines the ring on her finger, the way it seems to fit as if it’s been there all along. It feels as if Orpheus has been in her life forever; as if the cards had lain themselves in this bizarre string of fates for this exact moment. The fear, the nerves, the uncertainty…as Orpheus closes the distance between them on the couch, lets her move her body on top of his, everything falls into its place. They were meant to be here-young and in love, an entire future lain out for them after only a month. In this place where everything on paper would seem so uncertain, so reckless, Eurydice feels security. With a life of Orpheus’s music, with the promise of a new life so soon and a tiny ring on her finger, Eurydice feels something foreign, yet so incredibly wonderful. Here, with his hands on her waist and the Christmas lights a soft golden glow, Eurydice is home.

[mercurygray]

I am sure you are SHOCKED but I would love a Henry/Emma story, or really anything Mercy Street. And hmm, perhaps with a holiday tradition like Christmas caroling or baking desserts.

@montanabohemian said:you should write some emmry! because i’m so predictable.

Anonymous said: A prompt for you if interested: Mary and Jed and a snowstorm

This was something I started before Christmas and never finished. And today’s as good as any to write about snow!

Stille Nacht - a Mercy Street Fanfic

It was unusual for a train to be this late.

But then, it was highly unusual for such a snowfall so early in the season, and when there is a foot of snow on every mile of track from the Berkshires to Boston, certain allowances have to be made, including four hour train delays. It could have been far worse; Henry Hopkins sat in his drafty train car and thanked heaven that it was only four hours and not four days, else he should have missed Christmas entirely. As it was, he would be only late to Christmas Eve, which was permissible, he thought.

It would be a welcome change, to be in Boston for the holidays. He had made the mistake of writing to Jed about his plans for the winter break between classes - a fireside and a good book and not much else - and the reply that had come back had almost been a marching order: Come to Boston or else. “Mary will not hear of your spending Christmas like a monk in a cloister, and begs me to remind you that you have not yet met Elias, who desires a new shoulder to spit up on, being exhausted of mine and his mother’s. We will not be a large party, so you may be called upon to perform grace, but apart from that,” Jed had written, in his blithe, unconcerned manner, “your primary duties will be the occupation of a hearthside chair, the consumption of Christmas pudding and port, one or two games of chess, and perhaps the entertainment of a very small child, if it can be fit in amidst your other onerous tasks.”

It was a cozy picture - and far preferable to two weeks spent alone in his drafty teacher’s lodgings with only the cat for company. Henry knew he would not be the only ‘stray’ at the Foster family Christmas table - Jed had already written of a visiting professor from Germany, and there were sure to be more.

He collected his case from the rack above as the train slowly screeched into the station, pistons and brakes hissing in the fog-filled twilight of the shed. The platform was a dizzying spectacle of humanity, porters and teamsters bustling to and fro around families trying to collect cases, wives waving their hellos and goodbyes, and a few black-coated businessman, trying to make a dash for the door. Henry made a beeline for the waiting room, the final figure of Dr. Jed Foster finally appearing near the doors, a jewel-blue scarf peeking out from his overcoat.

“Were you going to keep me waiting all night?” Jed asked, smiling irrepressibly.

“I thought about it,” Henry replied, his own smile just as free and easy. The two men shook hands and then embraced, laughing.

“Well, shall we go? I’m sure dinner’s a lost cause, but we may yet make it home for the midnight service at church, if you’re up for it.” Henry nodded, picking up his case again and following Jed towards the station’s exit and a nearby line of waiting black cabs, horses pawing at the pavement while their drivers sniffled in the cold.

Installing themselves in the nearest vehicle and letting the driver tap his horses away to Beacon Hill, Henry settled himself into what he hoped would be the last leg of his journey and took a good look at Jed. Married life and peacetime, it seemed, had changed him - there was a touch more gray around his hair, and in his beard, which was shorter than Henry remembered it at Mansion House. Was the war really two years ago now? It seemed so much less remote than that. The scarf was obviously new, and not in a color he thought Jed himself would have picked. And there was a certain…easiness in him now, a lightening of the shoulders and the spine that spoke of a willing partner to the day’s cares. “Fatherhood suits you,” he ventured.

His friend looked surprised to be found so. “Does it? I’ve been reliably informed it won’t last - in a few months the boy will forget how to sleep ten hours at a stretch and then, my friend, I think I shall be very sorry I ever clapped eyes on his mother.”

“But you like it, so far?”

Jed considered a minute, his thoughtful gaze turning, once more, to a grin. “He is…the tiniest thing, Henry. I know exactly what went into him, how he works and moves, and yet - every time I look at him I marvel.”

And Henry only smiled.

It was not a long way to Jed and Mary’s house - a flourishing practice and plenty of teaching work had left the Fosters amply supplied where their choice of lodging was concerned, and Beacon Hill was handy for the Common and the General Hospital, as well as the houses of the Boston Brahmins who formed the bulk of Jed’s private practice. There was a wreath upon the door of the Foster demesne, and in the window, one of the newfangled Christmas trees pressed its arms into the glass, the mirrored glass of its ornaments glimmering faintly in the light from the streetlamp.

“They may have already gone,” Jed offered, turning his key in the lock and letting the two of them inside. “What ho, the house!”

“We’re in the parlor, dear.” Henry smiled at the familiar voice, hanging up his hat, at least, and trying his best to leave most of the snow on his shoes at the door as Jed slid the pocket doors back and let Henry into the parlor.

It might have been a scene from a Christmas card - Jed in the role of Joseph, admitting one tired and slightly amazed shepherd into the stable to marvel at the newborn King, cooing in his mother’s arms as a visiting shepherdess looked on - another stray caught in for Christmas, no doubt. The room was dim, the only light a few oil tablelamps, at Mary’s elbow and on the desk, catching the spangled garland on the tree and sending flashes of light around the room. Mary looked up, smiling at Jed’s entrance, and the attendant friend did, too, and Henry’s heart skipped a beat, recognizing the face as someone who has seen a long-loved ghost.

“Miss Green!”

For so it was - the same bright eyes and slim smile, the same dark hair and trim waist that had invaded upon his thoughts so at Mansion House, all those years ago. And yet she seemed unchanged in loveliness.  

“Chaplain,” she offered, just as forthright as ever, holding out one white hand. “Or should I say Professor now?”

“Either will do,” Henry managed, taking her hand and shaking it, weaker than he wished to. It still beggared belief - her, here?

“I think my presence is a shock,” she said, smiling politely. “Perhaps Doctor Foster neglected to mention?” She looked at Jed, who looked suspiciously pleased with himself and gave a kind of apologetic shrug.

“Miss Green is studying at the Hospital,” Mary said, rising from her chair with the infant in her arms. “A somewhat unofficial course in nursing, but I expect they’ll standardize it soon, when they see the benefit that can be had from such a study. They’ve kindly agreed to let her off the ward today so she can spend the time with us. And this,” she said, turning so his head might face towards Henry, “Is Elias, who has been waiting so patiently to see you.”

“Hello there,” Henry said, glad of the distraction. “My apologies for keeping you up so late.” He offered a finger, gently stroking the infant’s cheek, and Elias stared at him in goggle-eyed wonderment, too tired or amazed to do anything else but blink and then, eyes fluttering closed, give one titanic yawn and turn his face away back to his mother’s breast.

“I think we may put him to bed before we go for the service,” Mary said judiciously, more to Jed than anyone else. “Sarah’s about, if he should wake up. But he’ll sleep, I think; he’s had a long afternoon flirting with Emma.”

The use of the word ‘flirting’ sent a frisson through the room, though whether or not it was intentional none could tell. Mary ascended the stairs to put the child to bed while the other three waited below in the hall, putting on hats and gloves to venture out into the night to church.

“Was it a long trip? From Williamstown?” Emma asked, the soul of politeness.

“Longer than it should have been,” he admitted, shrugging back into his winter clothes suddenly very self-conscious about the developing rip in one of his gloves. “May I?” He’d been  watching, transfixed, as she wrapped a muffler around her neck, at the same time reaching for her coat. She looked a little startled by the offer, but acquiesced, letting him hold the garment as she slipped her arms inside and tied her bonnet on.

Mary came back downstairs with quiet feet, letting her husband help her into her coat and shawl while Emma held her prayerbook. “He’s sleeping,” she said, to no one in particular. “He’ll be good for Sarah.”

The snow muffled the sounds of the city as they walked to church, streetlamps throwing a golden haze into the softness of the night. It was the kind of evening Henry had always pictured when the time for singing hymns like ‘Silent Night’ approached, though every good theologian could tell you Christ hadn’t been born in wintertime, nor was it likely there was a halo of snow around the manger where he’d lain. A patch of ice surprised Emma, and she gave a yelp, catching at his arm to keep from falling. “I think you’d better keep that,” he said, and her hands stayed where they were, wrapped around his coatsleeve, drawing the two of them closer together than he had  been to a woman for quite some time. Did he presume too much? Two years was long enough.

But she did not move her hands, nor was her closeness a burden to him, and in the evening chill, he felt himself grow warm again.

Ten steps behind and taking the road carefully, Mary watched the pair with bird-bright eyes and glanced pointedly at her husband. “You look like a cat who’s just gotten into the cream, dear,” she observed with a smile. “I suppose you think yourself quite clever, surprising Henry like that.”

“What, me?” Jed Foster put a face of pure innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

His wife rolled her eyes. “Inviting Henry for Christmas and conveniently forgetting to tell him that Emma would be here.”

“I am entirely innocent of whatever you’re suggesting,” Doctor Foster repeated with a lofty air, though no amount of artifice could hide the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. Mary nodded sagely, knowing full well what her husband was up to.

“Be gentle, Jed. That’s all I ask. They’re grown people who ought to know their own minds before someone else makes them up for them.”

They said nothing more on the subject for the rest of their walk, filing quietly into church and carefully taking their candles, four more lonely shepherds come to sing, and watch, and wait for news of the Christ-child. But Mary couldn’t deny that it made her own heart a little warmer to watch her two houseguests bend their heads over the hymnal, and smile in surprise at their shared harmony,  basking in the glow of the candles, the whole world around them warm with promise.

[themyskira]

The Life of Captain Marvel - issue #3

Previously: Carol has spent the last nine months listening to early-2000s emo music while watching herself cry in the mirror, basically.

She let her brother get in a car accident, then made his brain injury all about her.

She found out something private about her parents’ relationship problems, and made that all about her as well.

She discovered an alien device among her father’s possessions, but she couldn't find a way to wring family drama out of that one, so she ignored it.

Now the alien device has enabled a Kree cyborg assassin to track her and her mother down, and it almost (but not quite) forces the two of them to have an actual conversation.

This is the issue where things really kick into high bullshit.

(No talk of family violence in this one, thankfully, but love interest Louis goes into some creepy, coercive Nice Guy territory.)

Dishwasher continues to be the shittiest stealth assassination unit ever.  Having already conspicuously crash-landed, murdered two people and caused a gigantic explosion on a major highway, it has stolen a boat (so probs another murder in there as well) and is drawing further attention to itself by speeding so erratically around Harspwell Sound that it almost capsizes a smaller vessel.

But who could possibly see past this cunning disguise?

Carol, meanwhile, is apparently psychic. She thinks to herself,

I can’t get away from the feeling that something is wrong. I woke up in a panic this morning, reeling. For a split second, I couldn’t remember… What had happened? What terrible thing? Why was I spinning?

Because you’re trying to wake up from this nightmare of a comic?

She decides to let off some steam by running, which is apparently something that has always helped her clear her head.

This leads into a flashback of a SUPERNATURALLY FAST YOUNG CAROL OUTRUNNING A GODDAMNED TRUCK.

fuckin WHAT.

We will later find out that Carol, being half-Kree, was always naturally faster and stronger than the average human (though it wasn’t until the Psyche-Magnitron ‘jumpstarted’ her Kree powers that she got the full superpowered package).

That’s what we’re told. Except Margaret Stohl and flashback artist Marguerite Sauvage go so hilariously over-the-top in their portrayal of Carol as a child, so what we end up seeing is a newborn infant with such an iron grip that she causes her father GENUINE PAIN, and a fourteen-year-old girl who can OUTRUN MOTOR VEHICLES.

And yet, supposedly neither she nor anybody else around her twirled that there was anything out-of-the-ordinary about her??

In the present, Carol is snapped out of her reverie to discover that she is jogging mid-air.

Louis: Whatcha up to? Get it? Up to? Carol: Um… Calm down. Get it? Down?

So, we’ve all seen some version of this trope, right? The stressed-out super-person goes to the gym to take out some of their tension on a punching bag, only to unintentionally lash out with their full power and send the bag flying clean across the room, something like that.

What weirds me out about this iteration is that— jogging does not logically bleed into flying. They’re different forms of movement, presumably requiring the exertion of different muscles and associated with different physical sensations. It’s not so much ‘super-person unthinkingly hits the punching bag so hard they pulverise it’ as it is ‘super-person unthinkingly turns their punch into a cartwheel mid-swing’.

Carol and Louis talk. He suggests that “Maybe it’s time ta drop the Mystery of the Old Lettahs, Nancy Drew”.

WHAT MYSTERY. THERE IS NO MYSTERY.

I mean, no, it turns out there is a mystery because the letters were really written to Carol’s mother, who is a secret alien, but CAROL has no reason to know any of this as yet. As far as she’s concerned, the extent of the mystery was ‘ohshit dad had an affair? does mom know?? how will I tell her?? should I tell her??’ And then her mum was like, ‘yep I knew, ‘scool’. MYSTERY SOLVED. THE END.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, this family has a bucketload of issues to work through, but those letters don’t particularly factor into any of them.

Carol wonders what else she didn’t notice about her family.

“Were we normal, Louis? Did I even seem normal? Or… yanno… was there something funky about me too?”

You mean aside from the fact that you could run faster than a speeding pickup truck?

But of course this is Louis’s cue to confess that he’s had a crush on her since he first laid eyes on her… which he does by faintly negging her, because Louis is a turd.

“All those brains and you never figured that one out? You were the only thing I noticed, most days. … You’d hafta be stupid dense to miss that.”

Louis takes Carol’s hand and moves in for the kiss, just as Carol begins to hear a small but insistent beeping that sounds like a distress beacon. Louis handles it SUPER WELL.

Bear in mind, this scene is presented as humorous and cute.

[Louis goes in for the kiss] Carol: Wait— do you hear that? Louis: Shh. I’ve been picturing this since I was 14…

So straight away, Louis is viewing and treating Carol like an object — not an equal partner in this scene but a vehicle for his sexual fantasies. Carol is not enthusiastically consenting. She’s asking him to wait. She’s visibly distracted and concerned. His response is ‘shut up, you’re spoiling my boner’.

Carol: [leaning back from the kiss] …is that a car alarm? Some kinda distress beacon? Am I just freaking out because my childhood friend is, like, millimetres from planting one on me?? Louis: …but with less talking…

We are just going to zoom on past this atrocious dialogue because we do not have the time.

The important thing is, Carol is visibly uncomfortable and Louis does not care. Carol is making it clear that (a) she’s distracted and not in the moment, (b) she’s concerned someone might be in trouble and she may need to get her superhero on and (c) she’s panicking a little at the prospect of kissing Louis. This is the point where any decent person would back off and ask if she’s okay, if she wants this, if she wants to slow down, if she needs to go do the superhero thing.

Louis, who let me remind you is supposed to be a likeable love interest, again tells her to shut up with an aside that she’s less talkative in his sex fantasies.

Carol: [pulling right back in concern as the beeping grows more urgent] Hold that thought. Definitely not a car alarm. Louis: [visibly irritated now] …way less talking.

AND LOUIS TELLS HER TO SHUT UP AGAIN.

Carol: [flying into action] Something’s happening…! Louis: [kicking a stone sullenly] I know, I’m the guy tryna make it happen…! [sighs loudly]

Louis is a classic fucking Nice Guy.

He thinks that because of their recently-rekindled childhood friendship, because he’s listened to her troubles and offered a shoulder to cry on, because he’s finally managed to engineer this romantic moment alone — he’s therefore entitled to Carol’s love. So when Carol keeps pulling away from his increasingly pushy advances, she’s the one being unfair — he’s trying so hard to “make it happen” and she’s not giving him anything in return!

The fact that he’s whining about Carol not reciprocating literally as she leaps into superhero mode and flies to investigate a potential threat makes this particularly laughable, but there are no circumstances in which this behaviour is okay.

In every panel, Carol is sending clear signals that she wants to stop or slow down, and Louis responds by trying to pressure her into doing what he wants — first by shushing her, then by belittling her for talking too much, and finally by sulking and blaming her.

AGAIN. THIS IS THE MAIN ROMANTIC INTEREST IN THIS BOOK. CAROL IS SUPPOSED TO LIKE HIM. WE ARE SUPPOSED TO LIKE HIM.

WHAT THE F U C K

Carol traces the sound to the family home and realises that it’s coming from the garage. When she gets there, Marie — apparently the only other person who can hear the beeping, is in a frantic state. She’s found the source — the obviously extraterrestrial device Carol found, inadvertently activated and promptly forgot about back in issue 1 — and she’s super worked up about it.

“It shouldn’t be here! […] It wasn’t his. I don’t even know why he kept it… this piece of junk…”

Okay so first of all, you do know why he kept it, that is a lie. Next issue we’ll find out that the device is a beacon through which the Kree military could track and communicate with operatives like Mari-Ell/Marie. When Marie decided to desert the Kree military and commit to raising a family with Joe on Earth, she gave him the beacon as a gesture and they switched it off together.

Obviously he was going to keep it. He wouldn’t have been capable of destroying it and it’s clearly not something you can throw in the bin. Marie could have destroyed it and ensured that it could never be inadvertently switched on — say, by her dumbass daughter — and used to track them both down, but I guess incompetence runs in the family.

Carol asks who the obvious alien technology belonged to if it didn’t belong to Joe, and Marie screeches that “IT BELONGED TO HER!”

Of course, she needs to say that — she has to keep up the pretence that this is all about an imaginary mistress and not about her and Carol being aliens — because Stohl doesn’t want to give away the game yet. But the question is, why would she at this point?

Marie is a deserter and a fugitive from the Kree military. She knows that, were the Kree ever to track her down, she would be summarily executed for treason. She has just discovered that her beacon — the one surefire way the Kree have of locating her — has been activated and is now beeping insistently. Knowing how the military operates, she should know that the Vacuum Kleaner is on its way to kill her and her family, and that it almost certainly has a bead on her location.

(Seems pretty incompetent on the Kree’s part to have an alarm installed in the beacon to let the deserter know an assassin is coming, but as we’ve seen The Mopman Prophecies is a pretty terrible assassin.)

Priority one should be deactivating and/or destroying the beacon.  Priority two should be getting her family secure and preparing Carol in particular for what’s about to go down. Because as deeply selfish as Marie has been to keep lying to her daughter for all these years, surely Marie is more invested in saving her children’s lives than she is in preserving this fiction she’s created.

Well… maybe not. Jury’s still out.

Because rather than doing any of those things, Marie seemingly doesn’t know what to do except freak out and continue to lie when questioned about the beacon.

Carol isn’t much better. She couldn’t see the beacon for the OBVIOUS ALIEN DEVICE that it is before, and even now as it’s beeping at a volume/frequency that is near-deafening to her and her mother and yet completely inaudible to everybody else in town, she still thinks it’s nothing more than a busted old TV remote.

No, the extent of Carol’s deductive reasoning is, ‘THING MAKE MOM SAD. THING BAD. THING GO AWAY NOW.’

Carol: [snatching the beacon] Here— Let’s just get rid of it! [hurls it into the bay several kilometres away]

So this is the point where Marie comes clean, right? She knows it’s only a matter of time before the Kree Khambermaid shows up at their door. She knows that even as they stand here, her children’s lives are in danger. She has to say something, if only to get them somewhere safe.

NOPE. SHE JUST FUCKS RIGHT OFF TO SULK AND TAKE HER FRUSTRATION OUT ON THE DISHES.

JJ asks what upset Marie, and Carol is a shitty liar.

“…nothing. Some broken remote I found in a box of old… um… just some stuff in your closet.”

Again, ZERO curiosity about this ultra-suspicious beeping that only she and her mother could hear.

JJ reveals that he knew about the letters, which kind of stands to reason — the box was in his wardrobe, and it was stored in a very visible, easily accessible spot. (Carol, of course, is taken completely by surprise.)

He adds that, after reading them, he recalled kind of a weird childhood memory.

It was during the summer; the three kids were spending the day on the boat with their uncle while their mother was out of town. They stopped briefly at shore to pick up some more bait, only to see their father canoodling with a mysterious blonde.

Steven: Hey— is that Pops?! What’s he doin’ all the way up there…? JJ: And who’s he doin’ it to?! Steven: Uh… I’ll tell ya when you’re my age. Beans, don’t look! Carol: Huh? [Joe and Marie start to levitate off the ground]

Things that are stupid about this:

Marie is a deserter from the Kree military. If the Kree Empire were alerted to her presence on Earth, they would send somebody to kill her and take her daughter away. Donning fancy alien clothes and flaunting her superpowers in full view of the harbour is idiotically reckless and endangers her entire family.

AN ALIEN HAS JUST LIFTED UP THEIR FATHER AND LEVITATED WITH HIM AND ALL THE KIDS CAN FOCUS ON IS THE FACT THAT THEY’RE KISSING AT THE SAME TIME.

AND LIKE. NOBODY EVER DISCUSSED THIS. JUST LIKE NOBODY EVER DISCUSSED THE FACT THAT THEIR SISTER COULD OUTRUN A FREIGHT TRAIN WITHOUT BREAKING A SWEAT. WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS FAMILY.

oh and can we talk about the fact that Carol saw this. Carol, who dreams of visiting the stars. CAROL, whose childhood bedroom is wallpapered with NASA and Star Wars posters. C A R O L, who has craved flight since before she could walk.

CAROL SUSAN JANE DANVERS SAW A MYSTERIOUS ALIEN WOMAN FLYING WITH HER DAD AND THEN IMMEDIATELY FORGOT ABOUT IT ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME.

Also, though it’s less important, the dialogue has gone askew here. Steven’s “I’ll tell ya when you’re my age” is clearly meant to brush off a question about the canoodling. But it was Steven who asked about the canoodling — the question from JJ that he’s responding to is ‘who’s the lady?’, which of course neither of the brothers knows.

So the exchange should either read,

JJ: Hey— is that Pops?! What’s he doin’ all the way up there…? And what’s she doin’ to him?! Steven: Uh… I’ll tell ya when you’re my age.

Or,

Steven: Hey— is that Pops?! Who’s the lady? JJ: And what’s she doin’ to him?! Steven: Uh… I’ll tell ya when you’re my age.

But also, it shouldn’t be either of those things, because what they really ought to be talking about is OMFG THOSE PEOPLE ARE FLYING.

“And I was right there? I— I really must have buried that memory.”

Really? We’re gonna do suppressed memories, now? That’s where you wanna go with this?

I mean, it’s possible it could have slipped her mind somewhere in between the two complete memory wipes she’s suffered over the course of her superhero career, but short of that, there is no earthly reason why Carol would not recall seeing an actual alien hovering in front of her face.

Carol goes to talk to Marie about the histrionics in the garage and they take a walk down to the pier together.

Carol: So… what was that device in Pops’ stuff? I tried to open it but couldn’t make heads or tails of the thing. Marie: Carol, it’s not just… that thing you found. It’s time I told you the truth… though I promised your father I never would.

Really, Carol? That’s the question you want to ask? Not ‘why was Dad canoodling with aliens?’ Not ‘why did Dad have an extraterrestrial device among his possessions?’ Not ‘how come you and I are the only ones who heard that thing?’

So, a few things happen at this point.

Having decided that with lives on the line, she can no longer avoid telling Carol the truth, Marie… continues to avoid telling the truth, procrastinating by talking vaguely around her relationship with Joe and her decision to keep the family together. Can’t take it too quickly, or she might actually reveal something of value before the Janitor arrives to kill them all.

But Room Service is taking its time, and Marie is running out of steam. If something doesn’t happen soon, she and her daughter might be forced to have a necessary and productive conversation!

It’s all on Carol now. Only she can save us from a devastating outbreak of basic competence!

Marie: Carol? Carol: [wheeze] I can’t— [wheeze] Marie: What is it? Are you okay? Carol: [swoons] Marie: Carol! Carol: [HYPERVENTILATES HER WAY FACE FIRST INTO A GODDAMN LAKE]

Okay, but who in the hell read this script and saw this artwork and didn’t think that everybody involved with this comic was about to make massive fools of themselves?

Wait, never mind, I just googled it, and the editor on this book is the same person who edited America. That... absolutely checks out.

There’s a page of Carol sinking dramatically through the water, unable to get her body to move, before Marie dives to her rescue. They both collapse on the dock, exhausted, just in time for the beeping to begin again.

In town, all hell is breaking loose. Turns out Carol’s ‘out of sight, out of mind’ approach to the Kree beacon? Not a great plan. After being flung into the bay, the device wound up being scooped up in a fishing net and brought right back into town, which is where Tide Pod’s drone has located it. The drones are now exploding everything in sight.

Louis tries to slow it down by hurling some sick burns: “Hey you! Sir Splodesalot! … Hey! Baby Death Star Head!”

Carol arrives on the scene and asks if anybody is hurt, and Louis immediately starts whining that she didn’t show up sooner.

Carol: Louis! Everyone okay?! Louis: What’s the use of this place being the “summer home to a super hero” if you’re not gonna come when we’re being [attacked?]

He’s skating very close to having an actual point, because this entire situation is Marie and Carol’s fault. However, this is also the dude who, mere hours ago, lost his shit when Carol prioritised saving lives over a make-out session. You don’t get to demand she ignore a distress call one minute and then complain that she didn’t respond fast enough the next.

Also, you’re the ones who slapped Captain Marvel’s brand on your town and your donuts, not her. You fuckers are lucky the Avengers haven’t come after you for trademark infringement.

A cloud of drones descends on Main Street. They immediately go for Carol, so she takes to the sky with the plan of luring them away and exploding them high above the town.

But first, a quick detour to needlessly endanger her family and tackle her mother to the ground.

After destroying the drones, Carol returns in time for Clorox to arrive and—

what the hell man, why did you decide to nude up for this?!

And finally, the reveal we’ve all been dreading.

Marie/Mari-Ell: …she’s here for me. Carol: Ma?!?!

(Small detail, but dudes, let your letterer do their job. They’re not just your friggin typist. You want to emphasise Carol’s shocked exclamation, the letterer can do that by playing with fonts, sizing, colour and speech bubbles. You don’t need to vomit out interrobangs like a seven-year-old who’s just discovered punctuation.)

anyway yes this book is a nightmare.