#god she’s going to be a great death midwife coming up I just know it

[theridgebeyond]

Forget what I said about fluff scenes, medical emergencies are my new favorite thing to write.

[laurasimonsdaughter]

The Counterfeit Marquise

A literary fairy tale published in 1697, presumably by Charles Perrault and François-Timoléon De Choisy (who spent a considerable amount of his life in drag, just like the protagonists of this story).

Translated by Ranjit Bolt, featured in Warner’s Wonder tales: six stories of enchantment (1996).

Cw: gender disphoria.

The Marquis de Banneville had been married barely six months to a beautiful and highly intelligent young heiress when he was killed in battle at Saint-Denis. His widow was profoundly affected. They had still been very much in love and no domestic quarrels had disturbed their happiness. She did not allow herself an excess of grief. With none of the usual lamentations, she withdrew to one of her country houses to weep at her leisure, without constraint or ostentation. But no sooner had she arrived than it was pointed out to her, on the basis of irrefutable evidence, that she was carrying a child. At first she rejoiced at the prospect of seeing a little replica of the man she had loved so much. She was careful to preserve her husband’s precious remains, and took every possible step to keep his memory alive. Her pregnancy was very easy, but as her time drew near she was tormented by a host of anxieties. She pictured a soldier’s gruesome death in its full horror. She imagined the same fate for the child she was expecting and, unable to reconcile herself to such a distressing idea, prayed a thousand times to heaven to send her a daughter who, by virtue of her sex, would be spared so cruel a fate. She did more: she made up her mind that, if nature did not answer her wishes, she would correct her. She took all the necessary precautions and made the midwife promise to announce to the world the birth of a girl, even if it was a boy.

Thanks to these measures the business was effected smoothly. Money settles everything. The marquise was absolute mistress in her château and word soon spread that she had given birth to a girl, though the child was actually a boy. It was taken to the curé who, in good faith, christened it Marianne. The wet nurse was also won over. She brought little Marianne up and subsequently became her governess. She was taught everything a girl of noble birth should know: dancing; music; the harpsichord. She grasped everything with such precocity her mother had no choice but to have her taught languages, history, even modern philosophy. There was no danger of so many subjects becoming confused in a mind where everything was arranged with such remarkable orderliness. And what was extraordinary, not to say delightful, was that so fine a mind should be found in the body of an angel. At twelve her figure was already formed. True, she had been a little constricted from infancy with an iron corset, to widen her hips and lift her bosom. But this had been a complete success and (though I shall not describe her until her first journey to Paris) she was already a very beautiful girl. She lived in blissful ignorance, quite unaware that she was not a girl. She was known in the province as la belle Marianne. All the minor gentry roundabout came to pay court to her, believing she was a rich heiress. She listened to them all and answered their gallantries with great wit and frankness. My heart, she said to her mother one day, isn’t made for provincials. If I receive them kindly it’s because I want to please people.

Be careful, my child, said the marquise: you’re talking like a coquette.

Ah, maman, she answered, let them come. Let them love me as much as they like. Why should you worry as long as I don’t love them?

The marquise was delighted to hear this, and gave her complete licence with these young men who, in any case, never strayed beyond the bounds of decorum. She knew the truth and so feared no consequences. La belle Marianne would study till noon and spend the rest of the day at her toilette.

After devoting the whole morning to my mind, she would say gaily, It’s only right to give the afternoon to my eyes, my mouth, all this little body of mine.

Indeed, she did not begin dressing till four. Her suitors would usually have gathered by then, and would take pleasure in watching her toilette. Her chambermaids would do her hair, but she would always add some new embellishment herself. Her blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders in great curls. The fire in her eyes and the freshness of her complexion were quite dazzling, and all this beauty was animated and enhanced by the thousand charming remarks that poured continually from the prettiest mouth in the world. All the young men around her adored her, nor did she miss any opportunity to increase that adoration. She would herself, with exquisite grace, put pendants in her ears – either of pearls, rubies or diamonds – all of which suited her to perfection. She wore beauty spots, preferably so tiny that one could barely see them with the naked eye and, if her complexion had not been so delicate and fine, could not have seen them at all. When putting them on she made a great show of consulting now one suitor, now another, as to which would suit her best. Her mother was overjoyed and kept congratulating herself on her ingenuity. He is twelve years old, she would say to herself under her breath. Soon I should have had to think about sending him to the Military Academy, and in two years he would have followed his poor father. Whereupon, transported with affection, she would go and kiss her darling daughter, and would let her indulge in all the coquetries that she would have condemned in anyone else’s child.

This is how matters stood when the Marquise de Banneville was obliged to go to Paris to deal with a lawsuit that one of her neighbours had taken out against her. Naturally she took her daughter with her, and soon realised that a pretty young girl can be useful when it comes to making petitions. The first person she went to see was her old friend the Comtesse d’Alettef,11 to ask for her advice and her protection for her daughter. The comtesse was struck by Marianne’s beauty and so enjoyed kissing her that she did so several times. She took on herself the task of chaperoning her, and looked after her when her mother was busy with her suit, promising to keep her amused. Marianne could not have fallen into better hands. The comtesse was born to enjoy life. She had managed to separate herself from an inconvenient husband. Not that he lacked qualities (he loved pleasure as much as she did) but since they could not agree in their choice of pleasures, they had the good sense not to get in one another’s way and each followed their own inclinations. The comtesse, though not young any more, was beautiful. But the desire for lovers had given way to the desire for money, and gambling was now her chief passion. She took Marianne everywhere, and everywhere she was received with delight.

Meanwhile, the Marquise de Banneville slept easily. She was well aware of the comtesse’s somewhat dubious reputation, and would never have trusted her with a real daughter. But quite apart from the fact that Marianne had been brought up with a strong sense of virtue, the marquise wanted a little amusement and so left her to her own devices, merely telling her that she was entering a scene very different from that of the provinces; that she would encounter passionate, devoted lovers at every turn; that she must not believe them too readily; that if she felt herself giving way she was to come and tell her everything; and that in future she would look on her as a friend rather than a daughter, and give her such advice as she herself might take.

Marianne, whom people were starting to call the little marquise, promised her mother that she would disclose all her feelings to her and, relying on past experience, believed herself a match for the gallantry of the French court. This was a bold undertaking thirty years ago. Magnificent dresses were made for her; all the newest fashions tried on her. The comtesse, who presided over all this, saw to it that her hair was dressed by Mlle de Canillac. She had only some child’s earrings and a few jewels; her mother gave her all hers, which were of poor workmanship, and managed at relatively little expense to have two pairs of diamond pendants made for her ears, and five or six crisping pins for her hair. These were all the ornaments she needed. The comtesse would send her carriage for her immediately after dinner and take her to the theatre, the opera, or the gaming houses. She was universally admired. Wives and daughters never tired of caressing her, and the loveliest of them heard her beauty praised without a hint of jealousy. A certain hidden charm, which they felt but did not understand, attracted them to her and forced them to pay homage where homage was due. Everyone succumbed to her spell and her wit, which was even more irresistible than her beauty, won her more certain and lasting conquests. The first thing that captivated them was the dazzling whiteness of her complexion. The bloom in her cheeks, forever appearing and reappearing, never ceased to amaze them. Her eyes were blue and as lively as one could wish; they flashed from beneath two heavy lids that made their glances more tender and languishing. Her face was oval-shaped and her scarlet lips, which protruded slightly, would break – even when she spoke with the utmost seriousness – into a dozen delightful creases, and into a dozen even more delightful when she laughed. This exterior – so charming in itself – was enhanced by all that a good education can add to an excellent nature. There was a radiance, a modesty in the little marquise’s countenance that inspired respect. She had a sense of occasion: she always wore a cap when she went to church, never a beauty spot – avoiding the ostentation cultivated by most women. At Mass, she would say, One prays to God; at balls one dances; and one must do both with total commitment.

She had been leading a most agreeable life for three months when Carnival came round. All the princes and officers had returned from camp, and everywhere entertainments were being held again. Everyone was giving parties and there was a great ball at the Palais Royal. The comtesse, who was too old to show her face on such occasions, decided to go masked and took the little marquise with her. She was dressed as a shepherdess in an extremely simple but becoming costume. Her hair, which hung down to her waist, was tied up in great curls with pink ribbons – no pearls, no diamonds, only a beautiful cap. She had dressed herself, but even so all eyes were fixed on her. That night her beauty was triumphant.

The handsome Prince Sionad was there, dressed as a woman – a rival to the fair sex who, in the opinion of connoisseurs, took first prize for beauty. On arriving at the ball the comtesse decided to go and sit behind the lovely Sionad. Chère princesse, she said as she drew near and introduced the little marquise, here is a young shepherdess you should find worth looking at. Marianne approached respectfully and wanted to kiss the hem of the prince’s dress (or should I say the princess’s) but he lifted her up, embraced her tenderly and cried delightedly: What a lovely girl! What fine features! What a smile! What delicacy! And if I’m not mistaken, she is as clever as she is beautiful.

The little marquise had responded only with a bashful smile when a young prince came up and claimed her for a dance. At first all eyes were fixed on him, owing to his rank. But when people saw her answering his questions without awkwardness or embarrassment; saw what a feel she had for the music; how gracefully she moved; her little jumps in time; her smiles, subtle without being malicious and the fresh glow that vigorous exercise brought to her face, total silence, as at a concert, descended on the hall. The violinists found to their delight that they could hear themselves play, and everyone seemed intent on watching and wondering at her. The dance ended with applause, little of it for the prince, popular though he was.

The acclaim that the little marquise had received at the Palais Royal ball greatly increased the comtesse’s affection and concern for her. She could no longer do without her and she offered her rooms in her house, so that she could enjoy her company at her leisure. But on no account would her mother agree to this. The little marquise was almost fourteen and, if the secret of her birth was to be kept, it was vital that no one should be on intimate terms with her except her governess, who got her up and saw her into bed. She was still quite ignorant of her situation and, though she had many admirers, felt nothing for them. She cared for nothing and no one but herself and her appearance. People spoke to her of nothing else. She drank down this delicious praise in long draughts and thought herself the most beautiful person in the world; the more so since her mirror swore to her every day that the praise was justified.

One day she was at the theatre, in the first tier, when she noticed a beautiful young man in the next box. He wore a scarlet doublet embroidered with gold and silver, but what fascinated her were his dazzling diamond earrings and three or four beauty spots. She watched him intently and found his countenance so sweet and amiable that she could not contain herself, and said to the comtesse: Madame, look at that young man! Isn’t he handsome! Indeed, said the comtesse, but he is too conscious of his looks, and that is not becoming in a man. He might as well dress as a girl.

The performance went on and they said nothing more, but the little marquise often turned her head, no longer able to concentrate on the play, which was The Feign’d Alcibiades. Some days later she was at the theatre again in the third tier. The same young man, who drew such attention to himself with his extraordinary adornments, was in the second tier. He watched the little marquise at his leisure, as fascinated by her as she had been by him on the previous occasion, but less restrained. He kept turning his back on the actors, unable to take his eyes off her and she, for her part, responded in a manner less than consistent with the dictates of modesty. She felt in this exchange of looks something she had never experienced before: a certain joy at once subtle and profound, which passes from the eyes to the heart and constitutes the only real happiness in life. At last the play ended and, while they waited for the afterpiece, the beautiful young man left his box and went to ask the little marquise’s name. The porters, who saw her often, were happy to oblige him; they even told him where she lived. He now saw that she was of noble birth and decided, if possible, to make her acquaintance, even if he went no further. He resolved (love being ingenious) to enter her box by accident.

Ah, madame, he cried, I beg your pardon: I thought this was my box. The Marquise de Banneville loved intrigue and made the most of this one. Monsieur, she said to him with great frankness, we are indeed fortunate in your mistake: a man as handsome as you is welcome anywhere.

She hoped in this way to detain him so that she could look at him at her leisure; examine him and his adornments; please her daughter (whose feelings she had already detected) and, in a word, have some harmless amusement. He hesitated before deciding to remain in the box without taking a seat at the front. They asked him a hundred questions, to which he replied very wittily. His manner and tone of voice had an undeniable charm. The little marquise asked him why he wore pendants in his ears. He replied that he always had: his ears had been pierced when he was a child. As for the rest, they must excuse these little embellishments, normally only suitable for the fair sex, on the grounds of youth.

Everything suits you, monsieur, said the little marquise with a blush. You can wear beauty spots and bracelets as far as we’re concerned. You wouldn’t be the first. These days young men are always doing themselves up like girls. The conversation never flagged. When the afterpiece was over he conducted the ladies to their coach and had his follow it as far as the marquise’s house where, not daring to enter, he sent a page to present his compliments.

During the days that followed they saw him everywhere: in church; in the park; at the opera and the theatre. He was always unassuming, always respectful. He would bow low to the little marquise, not daring to approach or speak to her. He seemed to have but one object, and wasted no time in attaining it. Finally, after three weeks, the Marquise de Banneville’s brother (who was a state councillor) called and suggested that she receive a visitor – his good friend and neighbour, the Marquis de Bercour. He assured her that he was an excellent man and brought him round immediately after lunch. The marquis was the handsomest man in the world; his hair was black and arranged in thick, natural-looking curls. It was cut in line with the ears so that his diamond earrings could be seen. On this particular day he had attached to each of these a pearl. He also wore two or three beauty spots (no more) to emphasise his fine complexion.

Ah, brother, said the marquise, is this the Marquis de Bercour? Yes, madame, replied the marquis, and he cannot live any longer without seeing the loveliest girl in the world.

As he said this he turned towards the little marquise, who was beside herself with joy. They sat and talked, exchanging news, discussing amusements and new books. The little marquise was a versatile conversationalist, and they were soon at ease with one another. The old councillor was the first to leave, the marquis the last, having remained as long as he felt he could.

After this he never missed an opportunity of paying court to the girl he loved, and always made sure that everything was perfect. When the good weather came and they went out walking to Vincennes or in the Bois, they would find a magnificent collation, which seemed to have been brought there by magic, at a place specially chosen in the shade of some trees. One day there would be violins; the next oboes. The marquis had apparently given no instructions, yet it was obvious that he had arranged everything. Nevertheless, it took several days to guess who had given the little marquise a magnificent present. One morning a carrier brought a chest to her house which he said was from the Comtesse Alettef. She opened it eagerly and was delighted to find in it gloves, scents, pomades, perfumed oils, gold boxes, little toilet cases, more than a dozen snuff boxes in different styles, and countless other treasures. The little marquise wanted to thank the comtesse, who had no idea what she was talking about. She found out in the end, but reproached herself more than once for not having guessed at once.

These little attentions advanced the marquis’s cause considerably. The little marquise greatly appreciated them. Madame, she said to her mother with admirable honesty, I no longer know where I am. Once I wanted to be beautiful in everyone’s eyes; now the only person I want to find me beautiful is the marquis. I used to love balls, plays, receptions, places where there was a lot of noise. Now I’m tired of all that. My only pleasure in life is to be alone and think about the man I love. He’s coming soon, I whisper to myself. Perhaps he’ll tell me he loves me. Yes, madame, he hasn’t said that yet; hasn’t spoken those wonderful words: I love you, though his eyes and his actions have told me so a hundred times. Then, my child, replied the marquise, I’m very sorry for you. You were happy before you saw the marquis. You enjoyed everyone’s company; everyone loved you and you loved only yourself, your own person, your beauty. You were wholly consumed with the desire to please, and please you did. Why change such a delightful life? Take my advice, my dear child: let your sole concern be to profit from the advantages nature has given you. Be beautiful: you have experienced that joy; is there any other to touch it? To draw everyone’s gaze; to win all hearts; to delight people wherever one goes; to hear oneself praised continually, and not by flatterers; to be loved by all and love only oneself: that, my child, is the height of happiness, and you can enjoy it for a long time. You are a queen, don’t make yourself a slave: you must resist at the outset a passion that is carrying you away in spite of yourself. Now you command, but soon you will obey. Men are fickle: the marquis loves you today – tomorrow he will love someone else.

Stop loving me! said the little marquise. Love someone else! And she burst into tears.

Her mother, who loved her dearly, tried to console her and succeeded by telling her that the marquis was coming. There was a lot at stake and this incipient passion caused her considerable alarm. Where will it lead? she asked herself. To what bizarre conclusion. If the marquis declares himself – if he plucks up courage and asks for certain favours – she will refuse him nothing. But then, she reflected, the little marquise has been well trained; she is sensible; at most she will grant such trifling favours as will leave them in ignorance – an ignorance essential to their happiness.

They were talking like this when someone came to tell them that the marquis had sent them a dozen partridges, and that he was at the door, not daring to enter as he had just returned from hunting.

Send him in! cried the little marquise. We want to see him in his hunting clothes. He entered a moment later, all apologies for powder marks, sun burn and a dishevelled wig. No, no, said the little marquise. I assure you, we like you better dressed informally like this than in all your finery. If that is so, madame, he replied, next time you will see me dressed as a stoker.

He remained standing, as though about to leave. They made him sit and the marquise, kind soul, told them to sit together while she went to her study to write. The chambermaids knew what was what and withdrew to the dressing-room, leaving the lovers alone together. They were silent for a while. The little marquise, still flustered after her talk with her mother, scarcely dared raise her eyes, and the marquis, even more embarrassed, looked at her and sighed. There was something tender in this silence. The looks they exchanged, the sighs they could not contain, were for them a form of language – a language lovers often use – and their mutual embarrassment seemed to them a sign of love. The little marquise was the first to awake from this reverie.

You’re dreaming, marquis, she said. What of? Hunting? Ah, beautiful marquise, said the marquis, how lucky hunters are! They are not in love. What do you mean? she rejoined. Is being in love really so terrible? Madame, he replied, it is the greatest happiness in life. But unrequited love is the greatest misfortune. I am in love and it is not requited. I am in love with the most beautiful girl in the world. Venus herself would not dare put herself before her. I love her and she does not love me. She has no feelings. She sees me, she listens to me, and she remains cruelly silent. She even turns her eyes away from mine. How heartless! How can I doubt my fate? As he spoke these last words, the marquis knelt down before the little marquise and kissed her hands – nor did she object. Her eyes were lowered and let fall great tears.

Beautiful marquise, he said, you’re crying. You’re crying and I know the reason for your tears. My love is irksome to you. Ah, marquis, she answered with a heavy sigh, one can cry for joy as well as pain. I’ve never been so happy. She said no more and, stretching out her arms to her beloved marquis, granted him the favours she would have denied all the kings of the earth. Caresses were all the protestations of love they needed. The marquis found in the little marquise’s lips a compliance that her eyes had hidden from him, and this conversation would have lasted longer if the marquise had not emerged from her study. She found them laughing and crying at the same time, and wondered whether such tears had ever needed drying.

The marquis immediately rose to leave, but the marquise said to him pleasantly: Monsieur, won’t you stay and dine on the partridges you brought? He needed little persuading. What he desired more than anything else in the world was to be on familiar terms in this house. He stayed, even though he was dressed in hunting clothes, and had the exquisite pleasure of seeing the girl he loved eat. It is one of life’s chief delights. To watch at close quarters a pink mouth that, as it opens, reveals gums of coral and teeth of alabaster; that opens and closes with the rapidity that accompanies all the actions of youth; to see a beautiful face animated by an often repeated pleasure, and to be experiencing the same pleasure at the same time – this is a privilege love grants to few.

After that happy day the marquis made sure he dined there every night. It was a regular affair and the little marquise’s suitors, who had had no cause to be jealous of one another, took it as settled. She had made her choice and they all admitted that beauty and vanity, however powerful, are no defence against love. The Comte d’****, one of her most ardent admirers, had a keen sense that his passion was being made light of. He was handsome, well built, brave, a soldier: he could not allow the little marquise to give herself to the Marquis de Bercour, whom he considered vastly inferior in every respect to himself. He decided to pick a quarrel with him and so disgrace him, thinking him too effeminate to dare cross swords with him. However, to his great surprise, at the first word he uttered when they met at the Porte des Tuileries, the marquis drew his sword and thrust at him with gusto. After a hard-fought duel they were parted by mutual friends.

This adventure pleased the little marquise. It gave her lover a war-like air, though she trembled for him nevertheless. She saw clearly that her beauty and her preference for him would constantly be exposing him to such encounters, and she said to him one day: Marquis, we must put an end to jealousy once and for all; we must silence gossip. We love one another and always will. We must bind ourselves to one another with ties that only death can break.

Ah, beautiful marquise, he said, what are you thinking of? Does our happiness bore you? Marriage, as a rule, puts an end to pleasure. Let us remain as we are. For my part, I am content with your favours and will never ask you for anything more. But I am not content, said the little marquise. I can see clearly that there is something missing in our happiness, and perhaps we will find it when you belong to me entirely, and I to you. It would not be right, replied the marquis, for you to throw in your lot with a younger son who has spent the bulk of his fortune and whom you still know only by appearances, which are often deceptive.

But that’s just what I love about it, she interrupted. I’m so happy that I have enough money for us both, and to have the chance of showing you that I love you and you alone.

They had reached this point when the Marquise de Banneville interrupted them. She had been closeted with her agents, and thought she would refresh herself with some lively young company, but she found them in a deeply serious mood. The marquis had been greatly put out by the little marquise’s proposal. Ostensibly it was very much to his advantage, but he had secret objections to it, which he considered insurmountable. The little marquise, for her part, was a little annoyed at having taken such a bold step in vain, but she soon recovered, deciding that the marquis had refused out of respect for her – or that he wished to prove the depth of his feelings for her. This thought made her decide to speak to her mother about it, and she did so the following day.

No one was ever more astonished than the Marquise de Banneville when her daughter spoke to her of marriage. She was sixteen and no longer a child. Her eyes had not been opened to her situation, and her mother hoped they never would be. She was careful not to agree to the match, but to reveal the truth would have been a painful solution both for her daughter and the marquis. She resolved to do so only as a last resort. Meanwhile she would prevent, or at least postpone, the marriage. The marquis was in agreement with her on this, but the little marquise – passionate creature that she was – begged, entreated, wept, used every means to persuade her mother. She never doubted her lover, since he did not dare oppose her with the same firmness. Finally she pushed her mother to the point where she said these words to her: My dear child, you leave me no choice: against my better judgement I must reveal to you something that I would have given my life to conceal from you. I loved your poor father and when I lost him so tragically, in dread of your meeting the same fate, I prayed with all my heart for a daughter. I was not so fortunate: I gave birth to a son and I have brought him up as a daughter. His sweetness, his inclinations, his beauty, all assisted my plan. I have a son and the whole world believes I have a daughter. Ah, madame! cried the little marquise, is it possible that I …? Yes, my child, said her mother embracing her, you are a boy. I can see how painful this news must be for you. Habit has given you a different nature. You are used to a life very different from the one you might have led. I wanted you to be happy and would never have revealed the sad truth to you if your obstinacy over the marquis had not forced me to. You see now what you were about to do? How, but for me, you would have exposed yourself to public ridicule?

The little marquise did not answer. Instead she merely wept and in vain her mother said to her: But my child, go on living as you were. Be the beautiful little marquise still – loved, adored by all who see her. Love your beautiful marquis if you like, but do not think of marrying him. Alas! cried the little marquise through her tears, he has asked for nothing more. He flies into a rage when I mention marriage. Ah! Could it be that he knows my secret? If I thought that, dear mother, I would go and hide myself in the furthest corner of the earth. Could he know it? In floods of tears now, she added: Alas, poor little marquise, what will you do? Will you dare show your face again and act the beauty? But what have you said? What have you done? What name can one give the favours you have granted the marquis? Blush! Blush, unhappy girl! Ah, nature you are blind: why did you not warn me of my duty? Alas! I acted in good faith, but now I see the truth and I must behave quite differently in future. I must not think about the man I love – I must do what is right.

She was uttering these words with determination when it was announced that the marquis was at the door of the antechamber. He entered with a happy air and was amazed to see both mother and daughter with lowered eyes and in tears. The mother did not wait for him to speak but rose and went to her room. He took courage and said: What’s the matter, beautiful marquise? If something is distressing you, won’t you share it with your friends? What? You won’t even look at me! Am I the cause of this weeping? Am I to blame without knowing it?

The little marquise dissolved in tears. No! No! she cried. No! That could never be, and if it were so I would not feel as I do. Nature is wise and there is a reason for everything she does.

The marquis had no idea what all this meant. He was asking for an explanation when the marquise, who had recovered a little, left her room and came to her daughter’s aid. Look at her, she said to the marquis. As you see, she is quite beside herself. I am to blame. I tried to stop her but she would have her fortune told, and they said she would never marry the man she loved. That has upset her, Monsieur le Marquis, and you know why.

For my part, madame, he replied, I am not at all upset. Let her remain always as she is. I ask only to see her. I shall be more than happy if she will consider me her best friend.

With this the conversation ended. Emotions had been stirred, and would take time to settle. But they settled so completely that after eight days there was no sign of any upheaval. The marquis’s presence, his charm, his caresses, obliterated from the little marquise’s mind everything her mother had told her. She no longer believed any of it, or rather did not wish to believe. Pleasure triumphed over reflection. She lived as she had done before with her lover and felt her passion increase with such violence that thoughts of a lasting union returned to torment her. Yes, she said to herself, he cannot go back on his word now. He will never desert me. She had resolved to speak of it again, when her mother fell ill. Her illness was so grave that after three days all hope of a cure was abandoned. She made her will and sent for her brother, the councillor, whom she appointed the little marquise’s guardian. He was her uncle and her heir, since all the property came from the mother. She confided to him the truth about her daughter’s birth, begging him to take it seriously and to let her lead a life of innocent pleasure that would harm no one and which, since it precluded her marrying, would guarantee his children a rich inheritance.

The good councillor was delighted at this news and saw his sister die without shedding a tear. The income of thirty thousand francs that she left the little marquise seemed certain to pass to his children, and he had only to encourage his niece’s infatuation for the marquis. He did so with great success, telling her that he would be like a father to her and had no wish to be her guardian except in name.

This sympathetic behaviour consoled the little marquise somewhat – and she was certainly distraught – but the sight of her beloved marquis consoled her even more. She saw that she was absolute mistress of her fate, and her sole aim was to share it with the man she loved. Six months of official mourning passed, after which pleasures of all kinds once again filled her life. She went often to balls, the theatre, the opera, and always in the same company. The marquis never left her side and all her other suitors, seeing that it was a settled affair, had withdrawn. They lived happily and would perhaps have thought of nothing else, if malicious tongues could have left them in peace. Everywhere, people were saying that, while the little marquise was beautiful, since her mother’s death she had lost all sense of decorum: she was seen everywhere with the marquis; he was practically living in her house; he dined there every day and never left before midnight. Her best friends found grounds for censure in this: they sent her anonymous letters and warned her uncle, who spoke to her about it. Finally, things went so far that the little marquise went back to her first idea and decided to marry the marquis. She put this to him forcefully; he resisted likewise, only agreeing on condition that the marriage would be a purely public affair, and that they would live together like brother and sister. This, he said, was how they must always love one another. The little marquise readily agreed. She often remembered what her mother had told her. She spoke of it to her uncle, who began by outlining all the pitfalls of marriage and ended by giving his consent. He saw that, by this means, the income of thirty thousand francs was sure to pass to his family. There was no danger of his niece having children by the Marquis de Bercour whereas, if she did not marry him, her notion that she was a girl might change with time and with her beauty, which was sure to fade. So a wedding day was fixed on, bridal clothes made and the ceremony held at the good uncle’s house. (As guardian he undertook to give the wedding feast.)

The little marquise had never looked as beautiful as she did that day. She wore a dress of black velours completely covered in gems, pink ribbons in her hair and diamond pendants in her ears. The Comtesse d’Alettef, who would always love her, went with her to the church, where the marquis was waiting. He wore a black velours cloak decked with gold braid, his hair was in curls, his face powdered, there were diamond pendants in his ears and beauty spots on his face. In short, he was adorned in such a way that his best friends could not excuse such vanity. The couple were united for ever and everyone showered them with blessings. The banquet was magnificent, the king’s music and the violons were there. At last the hour came and relatives and friends put the couple together in a nuptial bed and embraced them, the men laughing, a few good old aunts weeping.

It was then that the little marquise was astonished to find how cold and insensitive her lover was. He stayed at one end of the bed, sighing and weeping. She approached him tentatively. He did not seem to notice her. Finally, no longer able to endure so painful a state of affairs, she said: What have I done to you, marquis? Don’t you love me any more? Answer me or I shall die, and it will be your fault.

Alas, madame, said the marquis, didn’t I tell you? We were living together happily – you loved me – and now you will hate me. I have deceived you. Come here and see.

So saying he took her hand and placed it on the most beautiful bosom in the world. You see, he said, dissolving in tears, you see I am useless to you: I am a woman like you.

Who could describe here the little marquise’s surprise and delight? At this moment she had no doubt that she was a boy and, throwing herself into the arms of her beloved marquis, she gave him the same surprise, the same delight. They soon made their peace, wondered at their fate – a fate that had brought matters on to such a happy conclusion – and exchanged a thousand vows of undying love.

As for me, said the little marquise, I am too used to being a girl, and I want to remain one all my life. How could I bring myself to wear a man’s hat?

And I, said the marquis, have used a sword more than once without disgracing myself. I’ll tell you about my adventures some day. Let’s continue as we are, then. Beautiful marquise, enjoy all the pleasures of your sex, and I shall enjoy all the freedom of mine.

The day after the wedding they received the usual compliments and, eight days later, left for the provinces, where they still live in one of their châteaux. The uncle should visit them there: he would find, to his surprise, that a beautiful child has resulted from their marriage – one to put paid to his hopes of a rich inheritance.

[nikethestatue]

Depth of Your Eyes

Extreme Fluff.

Domestic fluff. Babies!

Elriel Month - Day 24

“Why do you hate me?” lamented the feared and exalted Shadowsinger of the Night Court.

Feared and admired, worshipped for his immense Illyrian power, for his stealth and strength, he, the great and mysterious spy master, the male who made enemies tremble and flee, and females swoon, failed utterly and completely at this one task—having his chunky newborn son open his eyes for him.

When his son was born, the first thing that shocked everyone—parents and healer and midwife—was his very impressive size. How the delicate, slender, elegant Elain even managed to bear him—without much difficulty too—was a mystery.

But the Cauldron loved Elain and strove to make Elain happy. It gave Elain an almost painless labour, though it was lengthy and uncomfortable nevertheless, and while Azriel was out of his mind with worry and trepidation, not knowing whether the baby’s wings would cause damage or even more serious issues, Elain was serene and happy.

The nightmare that was Nyx’s birth was still fresh in Aziel’s mind—the blood, the gore, Nyx’s tiny lifeless body in Mor’s arms, and Feyre, with a horrific gaping slash across her abdomen, bleeding out, Death hovering just above her. Therefore, Azriel dreaded Elain’s labour. For ten months he was a wreck. He was too happy, too elated, too content, too joyful in his life, and there bound to be repercussions for all that bliss.

The baby was conceived momentarily. “Let’s make a baby,” Azriel proposed a little drunkenly to the giggling and smiling Elain. They were enjoying a glorious sunset on the sea, in a tiny town with whitewashed buildings and blue roofs, in the Summer Court. It was far from Adriata, far from visitors and everyone else and they indulged in endless white sand beaches, fresh seafood and lots of local wine, swimming in the azure waters of the sea and enough lovemaking to leave them both sore and hoarse. “Now?” Elain kissed him. He shrugged, “why not now?”

And it happened—‘now’. When they returned from their holiday, she found out that she was expecting their baby.

Azriel couldn’t lie, but he was feeling rather smug.

“What the fuck kind of seed you got, brother?” muttered Cassian. “You just knocked her up in a day?”

Azriel only shrugged innocently.

As if this was to be expected. Of course he’d impregnate her in a day! But it wasn’t at all what he thought would happen—he thought that as with all Fae, this would be a lengthy process full of false starts, crushed hopes and nerves. But the Cauldron loved Elain and wanted to make her happy.

Now, he was holding his chunky son in his arms. Calm and peaceful, the baby took after his parents in temperament. He was mellow and not fussy, docile and good-natured. His appetite was monstrous though. He ate and ate and ate. At his already great size, Azriel muttered ‘you are going to be Cassian’s size by the time you are three’. And because he ate so much, he was rather plump, to put it kindly, which meant that his hamster-like cheeks obscured his eyes. At three weeks, their baby mostly slept and ate, so periods of play and interaction were minimal—hence, Azriel’s failure to actually see the colour of his son’s eyes.

Elain claimed that the eyes were hazel. Nesta insisted that they were ‘Archeron’ eyes. Cassian’s assessment was ‘I think brown. Like dirt’. Amren went with ‘I don’t know, I didn’t look closely’. Yet they all claimed that they’d seen his eyes.

Azriel was seated on top of the covers in their bed, propped against the cushioned headboard. His wing curled around Elain, who was sleeping next to him, pressed to his side, her arm thrown over his stomach. Their son, sturdy and large, almost the size of Azriel’s forearm now, was sucking noisily, eating like he hasn’t been fed in a week. He was fed less than three hours ago.

The bottle—a new invention from Dawn—wasn’t widely used just yet, but Azriel loved it. At first, Elain was reluctant to utilize it, preferring to breastfeed at all times, but then…well, then she came to accept how convenient this bottle invention was. Especially because Azriel was a nocturnal creature and had no issues with staying up or waking in the middle of the night. And with their gluttonous son demanding food all the time, she was still able to function and rest and sleep, since he didn’t really care which way he was getting his food, as long as he was getting it.

Azriel was looking down at the delicious bundle in his arms, and thought that his baby would end up looking very much like him, if he wasn’t so chubby. Right now, he was all round and soft and filled with folds that others wanted to bite and pinch.

Cassian, in fact, did bite his nephew’s little fat wrist, and Elain caught them, warning that Cassian wouldn’t be allowed to feed him if it happened again. “but it didn’t even hurt!” he defended himself feebly. “Just a little nibble…He is such a fatty!”

“No. Biting.” ordered Elain. “Or you’ll be off bottle duty!”

That was a serious threat that Cassian took to heart, because he absolutely adored feeding the baby with the bottle. He and Nesta were enthralled with him, quietly arguing and fighting about whose turn it was to feed him next. Elain and Azriel frequently overheard ‘you did it last time!” “no, but he likes me more…” “gods above, he does not like you more! He clearly prefers me!” “he was crying with you!” “yes, that’s because you made him cry!”

“We only have two choices,” said Azriel with a sigh, watching Cassian coo and babble to the baby one day, rocking him and singing him all kinds of bawdy Illyrian songs. “We either forbid them entry into the house,” at that, Elain frowned. “Or, we just let them be and simply assume that our son’s first word will be ‘fuck’.”

Adhering to the Illyrian tradition of not naming a child until he was one month old, the baby remained nameless. Well, Elain and Azriel knew what he would be called, but speculation ran rampant.

Elain had officially asked Cassian and Nesta to be the baby’s Guardians, a very important and respected position in the Illyrian society. It would fall on Cassian to start teaching his nephew how to fly—and when Elain formally requested for him to become the Guardian, Cassian shyly teared up.

“Yes, Petal, of course,” he nodded nervously, with aching sincerity, “it would be an honour. Are you sure?” Cassian still worried, “are you sure you don’t want to ask Rhys?”

Elain embraced the General gently and lovingly, and whispered, “I’ve never been more sure of anything, Cass. Only you. I’d only trust him with you and Nesta.”

It was Elain’s right as the mother to select the Guardians for her child, so while Azriel suspected who her choice would be, he waited for the official announcement along with everyone else. Eventually, the Guardian would present their son with his first sword, and begin teaching him to fight.

“Well, I want my baby to have the best,” said Elain, kissing Nesta’s flushed cheek. “Who is better than the Commander General of the Night Court armies and the Valkyrie herself? Will you two do us the honour of accepting him into your Guardianship?”

“Yes!” both of them almost yelled their acceptance.

Now, Nesta and Cassian was preparing something grandiose for the Naming Ceremony.

But first things first.

“Hey lovie, why don’t you look at me?” murmured Azriel, rocking his son gently against his chest. At first, the baby leapt towards his nipple, received nothing from it and gave an angry squeak of disappointment.

“Sorry, my friend, at this point, I think you should already know where the good stuff comes from,” said Azriel, as he offered the bottle. “I know, I know, not the same, but close enough. Believe me, I tried it straight from the delicious source and I agree, it is much better,”

“Stop being gross,” moaned Elain, and slapped his stomach.

He laughed.

“I am not being gross. Just honest. If I can suck on your titties,”

“Oh, gods, yes, I know. You’d rather suck on my titties than a bottle. I’ve heard this before,”

“And I stand by my opinion. So does my son. He has good taste. Now, go back to sleep.”

Elain ran a sleepy hand over the edge of his wing and turned around, pressing her lush ass into his thigh.

He drew his knuckles over her cheek and she reached for his fingers with her lips, kissing them, before tumbling back into her slumber.

Gods, he loved her.

The baby didn’t like all this jostling around him, and grabbed Azriel’s hand with his stubby fat fingers, steadying him and the bottle.

“Sorry,” Azriel murmured and looked down, stroking his baby’s soft brown curl that jutted out proudly on top of his head. “Mama is such a beauty…we can’t forget her either, even with you. I love you both very much.”

The baby nodded sagely, as if agreeing with his father. Yes, indeed, his mother was gorgeous and beautiful and very nice, and required his father’s attention. It was very understandable.

But this male, this father of his—he liked him very much as well. He was very kind and he fed him and changed him, and sang songs with him, and played with him, and…well, he loved him.

Azriel was smiling softly to himself, watching the baby, and then, suddenly, his son opened his eyes and grinned at him. Grinned a huge toothless smile—his very first one. He never smiled for anyone before, but this was it.

This was for his father.

This male, who’s waited for him for a long, long time, hoping against hope that one night, he’d have him in his arms and receive this huge, satisfied smile, which was meant only for him. An undeniable, glorious reward for centuries of suffering and sadness. He grabbed his father’s scarred finger in his fist and blinked at him with the depth of his Archeron eyes.

[the-fanaddict]

an in depth analysis of why every character was written horribly, even without the dumb reset

Steve

I mean this one’s obvious. We had someone with such great character development in Trollhunters, 3Below, and Wizards. Personally think that Steve was fine in Wizards (I like his knight subplot) and I thought they were setting up Steve recreating knights of the roundtable, but guess not lol. 

He didn’t even get to fight. He had a strong start in the movie and his concern for Jim really shows his growth from being his bully, but then he got immediately turned into a punchline.

Eli

All of Eli’s involvement with the plot happened offscreen. It’s great that he created the gun robot, but that’s it. Then he got turned into a midwife for Steve. 

Krel

Also a lot of the involvement happened offscreen. He remade the amulet which was cool, but it should’ve held more weight. The amulet should’ve been introduced way later into the movie. 

And okay as much as I love Stuart why did he need to fix the Amulet KREL WAS RIGHT THERE WHY WAS STUART RELEVANT

I know Stuart is good with electronics and he even made Seklos’ canon back in 3below but this is such an annihilation of Krel’s genius.

Plus the whole “It needs to have Merlin’s magic” thing was bs HELLO DOUXIE WAS RIGHT THERE THE ORIGINAL AMULET WAS ALSO MADE WITH HIS MAGIC

Aja

I’m glad she’s come into the role of queen, but by god she was so cold to Jim for no reason. She knows what it’s like to be powerless. She lost her parents to a coup and couldn’t do anything!!!! SHE AND JIM HAD THE MOST UNDERSTANDING IN 3BELOW. 

Also evacuating the earth goes so much against who she was in 3below. She ADORED the Earth. Loved everything about it, not just the people. 

And by god the kissing Akiridion lore is so dumb and so obviously thrown in there with no thought on how it would’ve affected 3Below. The kissing tree is ruined and her relationship with Steve is ruined.

Claire

bruh what do you mean her magic is spent this was not a problem in Wizards. She barely does any shadow magic and then it is spent. How many times are you gonna nerf her like that

I’ve always said Jlaire is what Hiccstrid should’ve been and in the end they become what I dislike about Hiccstrid. Claire was a prize for Jim and was reduced to Girlfriend who Fights. She didn’t have any meaningful or fun interactions with any other character. Really nobody did

Douxie

@douxie-casperan​ goes in much more in depth here https://douxie-casperan.tumblr.com/post/657457589076000768/rise-of-the-titans-and-the-assassination-hisirdoux but i’ll add my thoughts as well

the narrative just gives him one big trauma conga line without addressing any of it. Douxie was tortured by the order and absolutely no one wants to check he’s alright????? Just immediately start questioning him?? 

Archie was his companion for CENTURIES and all he says is “I hope he’s happy?????” honestly this was just httyd3 for them but without any of the emotion

Nari died and Douxie should’ve fucking snapped by that point. He should’ve gone avatar mode again when Nari got stabbed and help Nari kill Skrael on the spot. And then Nari would die. He should’ve been on his knees sobbing hearing Nari say “no more running” one last time. It would’ve been a great parallel to Wizards. 

And then he also was nerfed with his powers but with no explanation. The body swap spell was great. Power move. Everything else was no. Not to mention his magic was so inconsistent like hello that’s not what tenebris excellium does

He took on the order alone in wizards with a tenebris excellium but then bellroc overpowers him and flicks him away like w h  at. 

Toby

If Toby was going to die and have his friendship with Jim be prioritized at all, then for the love of god stop reducing him to a punchline. I mean the series has this issue as well, but he’s supposed to be important here. There are barely any meaningful moments with Jim outside of his death scene and moments from the series. 

Charlemagne 

Literally used as a plot device. Guy who knows a guy. I mean, that’s kind of what he was used for in Wizards as well, but his character moments with Douxie was why he was important. Honestly no reason for him to be in this movie. 

Archie

Archie CHOSE TO BE A FAMILIAR AND DEFY CHARLIE’S WISHES TO BE WITH DOUXIE AND THEN HE SAYS NO THANKS I’LL JUST BE WITH MY DAD FOREVER????????

Strickler + Nomura

Literally brought into this movie just to be a casualty. I will admit I like the small interaction between Douxie and Nomura but he barely knows her so there’s no reaction to it. Their deaths were so goddamn stupid how would a bomb defeat a magical being and why would you send a changeling to brazil. 

Jim

Jim. Oh buddy Jim. For a character with pretty much the only tangible arc in this movie, they sure botched that up. I was ready for the arc to be about him being weak, but I figured it would be due to turning human, not losing the amulet. We’ve been through the fact that without the amulet he’s still the trollhunter. But now he’s back to being powerless. That’s what his arc should’ve been about being powerless, not the amulet. 

I’m not a fan of making him the center of the movie when he’s had way more screentime than anyone else. and to learn a lesson HE ALREADY LEARNED. I wouldn’t have minded as much if his arc was handled any good. 

I hate to say this about one of my favorite emotional characters, but Jim kept angsting way too much throwing pity party after pity party for himself. Like we get it dude. Outside of that he was so emotionless as a leader. There was no charm to him at all. He honestly could’ve given less of a crap about anyone else besides the og gang.  He honestly reminds me a little of rtte!hiccup and how hiccup treated his friends terribly from time to time rip

Douxie getting tortured?? After he fought tooth and nail for him when Jim was hurt in wizards??? Immediately starts pestering him for answers. Where is his kindness? His selflessness? The trademark Jim sacrifice??? BECAUSE GOING BACK SURELY WASN’T A SACRIFICE

[dreamscapesin1582]

In Return

@kenshinlover​ 

heyooooo! sorry but i could do one suitor per fic, so i chose only one from the five you mentioned with the help of spin the wheel lol. i tried to add everyone else tho!!! 

also sorry it took so long! i had trouble accessing my account :<

tw: mention of death and childbirth

The warlords of the Oda forces had finally arrived.

With a solemn glance towards the door, Kenshin heaved a deep breath before forcing himself to stand and see that the visitors were attended. 

“It seems they are here. Just a moment, my love.”

“You may stay where you are.” An authoritative voice still, but it was the most sympathetic tone one can get from Nobunaga. The will of the war god was buried so deep that Kenshin could only nod and turn back to his post, just beside the funeral arrangement.

Following Nobunaga were Mitsuhide, Masamune, and Ieyasu. They all looked at the most ornate urn enshrined at the arrangement, surrounded by the prettiest of flora. The look in their eyes told him a lot of things, like how they reminisced how she would place the same flowers in the castle during her days as chatelaine. Even the mementos of her that were displayed, they had a memory or two about it. Kenshin watched silently as they paid their respects in their own ways, a voice in his mind whispering: “It’s what she would have wanted.”

 “It is an unfortunate turn of events.” Mitsuhide commented, as he stood at the side with Kenshin. “Although, curiosity demands… Where is the child?”

Kenshin closed his eyes. “In another room, with the caretakers. He… does not seem to be able to take in his mother’s death.”

“Oh?”

“He wails whenever someone brings him here.” He said. “As if he knows.”

With that, a memory came to mind. Fresh with its tears and whispers.

“Ken...shin…”

“What is wrong? Do you feel unwell? Should I call for—”

“Is… our child… alright?”

His instinct was roaring with nothing but growing dread, but when he turned to the small, quiet bundle he cradled in his arms…

“O-Of course. You made sure he was well.” With only a sliver of control, he uttered. “He… He has your eyes.”

“Does he...?” A breathless laugh; for all her joy, that was the only thing she managed. “That’s... great. You… loved my eyes... didn’t you?”

“Yes. I love everything about you.”

Something was screaming inside him, but he sat still. His hand held hers tightly, perhaps to make up for the lack of strength she had just to hold his hand back. He kept the child closer to his chest, just to be able to feel even the faintest of breaths as he doesn’t seem to feel his anymore. But it was quiet. Too quiet.

In that room, everything was still. No one moved. 

Her face did not lose its serene smile despite all the energy she lost. 

“I… love… you… too…”

The child finally had its first cry, after his mother uttered her last words. The midwife and her assistants immediately entered the room, and only then did Kenshin find himself back to reality. Or perhaps even then, he was still floating in the sea of denial, and his body was only being moved by the comings and goings of the castle in response to the death of their lord’s wife.

“Life truly works in mysterious and utterly dastardly ways.” Mitsuhide wore a depreciating smile as he observed the widower. “For all her kindness, I assume she would choose to offer herself for another… and this world allowed it.”

“...Yes. She is warmhearted… like that…”

Her eyes always told him what was in her heart. Kenshin could stare into her eyes and find warmth, even in the coldest of winters. He could still see her soft gaze towards him, filled with the purest of love. And with that love, he could go on.

To receive is to give something back in return.

And for the remainder of his days, he will pour her love towards the one she had given her life to. 

“Well, we won’t overstay our welcome.” Masamune approached, with the other two behind. “Thank you for allowing us to visit. Azuchi and the Oda are truly grateful for her.”

“It will be dishonoring her if I reject you, and that is the last thing I wish to do.” 

“May she find peace… wherever she is.”

After the visitors left, Kenshin pondered on a lot of things while he stared at the altar erected in her memory. “You… You will not forgive me if I abandon our child, no?” 

He just had to have the same eyes. The same face. Whenever he looked at their baby, he always felt like he was losing her all over again. 

But…

“Perhaps… it is so that I will not forget you…?” At that realization, a laugh escaped him. “As if I would ever forget you.”

He closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened them, there was hope for acceptance.

“I swear this to you,” Laying down his beloved sword before her altar, Kenshin went down to one knee, “I will look after him, come hell or high water. He will grow up to be as strong and kind as you.”

“In return… Give me the courage to continue.”

[freckleslikestars]

Nativity (1/2)

Mulder and Scully get trapped in the basement when Scully goes into labour with William. You know, the usual.

Graphic-ish descriptions of birth up ahead. Don't like it, please don't read it.

When I was a kid I was fascinated by pregnancy and birth. I mean, I knew from an early age I didn't want it to happen to me, but the science behind it fascinated me. I stole all of the pregnancy books that were kept on the bookshelves after my brother was born and hid them under my bed and read them to learn more. There was one point when I even wanted to be a midwife until I realised I hated the noise of babies and I don't have the patience to deal with people. That didn't stop me from spending years preparing to go study medicine before I realised I actually didn't care what my parents wanted me to be and that I have no bedside manner what so ever.

Anyway, I am not a doctor, nor a midwife, so please, please, please, do not a) come to me when you're in labour expecting me to deliver your baby for you or b) take anything I've said as gospel medical advice. It's not. I did my best to research, but, y'know.

Also, another warning, graphic-ish descriptions of birth up ahead. If you don't like that, don't read.

4200 words, rated M, read here on AO3

Her step faltered as she followed him from the elevator to the basement office that was technically no longer either of theirs. A hand dropped to her stomach, the other reaching out to grasp a shelf, grounding and stabilising herself as her eyes slipped shut and she breathed through the contraction. It wasn’t as bad as it was going to get, but there had been a tension in her lower back for the past few days and the contractions had slowly been gathering in frequency and strength.

And so, when Mulder had said he wanted to pick up some files to read through, a sick kind of entertainment for the late nights he planned to stay up with the baby, she’d insisted she join him, try and walk the baby out. That, and he could no longer get down to the basement without her credentials.

When the pressure eased slightly she blinked her eyes open into the half-light of the basement corridor and continued down to the door at the end, stepping through and tripping on the box propping the door open. ‘Mulder, what the fuck?’ He was there in an instant, supporting her, checking her over, not caring that the door had slammed shut. She hadn’t fallen, catching herself on the filing cabinet nearest and leaning her weight on it, but there was still a ripple of pain up her back from the sudden jolt of her weight, another faint contraction far too soon for her liking. ‘Please, for the love of God and all that is holy, tell me why there was a box in the middle of the doorway?’

‘I couldn’t find the doorjamb, and you know how sticky that door gets in the summer. I didn’t want you having to push it open.’

‘No, so you set up a death trap instead. Good thinking, Mulder, good thinking,’ she huffed a sigh, gave an impressive eyeroll, even by Scully standards, and shook her head, easing her way into the room and sitting down at her chair to try and alleviate some of the pain. It didn’t work, and she dropped her head back on the back of the chair. ‘Christ, I forgot how hot it gets down here.’

‘FBI’s most unwanted, remember. We don’t get the pleasure of aircon,’ he ambled over to the fan on the desk, plugged it in, and it gave a weak whirring before puttering out. ‘Great. I’ll go see if there’s a spare in the closet down the hall.’

She murmured her assent and kept her eyes closed, hands playing patterns on the stretched material of her t-shirt.

There was a thud, a hollow jarring noise, and a few muttered curses. ‘Uh...Houston, we’ve got a problem.’

A foreboding feeling grew in her gut, though that may have been a contraction starting, as she turned in her seat, twisting uncomfortably, to see Mulder yanking unsuccessfully at the door handle, ‘this isn’t a time for jokes, Mulder. You want to see my panic face, just ask.’

He gave an uncomfortable chuckle, looked over his shoulder, ‘ah...I wish I was. Um...’ he gave a solid tug and the door handle came away in his hand, ‘ah,’ he looked around, seeing if there was anything he could use to pry the door open. Alas, he’d been gone a while, and either Scully or Doggett had cleared the place out of all of his usual useful odds and ends. His money was on Doggett.

‘Call maintenance,’ she nodded to the phone on the desk, not in the mood to reach over and do it herself. No. Not with the contraction she could feel building.

He was halfway to the desk when there was a click and the lights went dead, as did the little light on the phone cradle. The hum of a building wired with electricity stopped, leaving an oppressive silence, only Mulder and Scully’s breaths breaking it.

‘The phone might still work. So long as the line’s good.’

All he had to do was pick it up and hear the absence of static. ‘Suggests the heat’s blown something pretty crucial,’ he said, reaching into his pocket for his cell phone.

‘Nobody can get signal down here at the best of times,’ she muttered.

‘Worth a try.’

‘And?’

He grumbled for a moment before tossing his phone across the desk, ‘nothing. What now?’

‘Now,’ Scully said, easing herself out of her chair and waddling her way over to the bookshelves, ‘you get reading.’

‘What?’

She pulled down book after book, occasionally flipping one open to the index page and scanning down with her finger, either returning it or adding it to the pile she was curating, until she was satisfied and shifted them over from the side table beneath the shelf to the desk where he stood. Each was a medical text, with a few of the pregnancy books they’d accumulated over the past couple of years. With her hand resting on the top of the stack, she took a breath, closed her eyes and rubbed circles over her stomach. ‘Whilst without checking my dilation I cannot be one hundred percent sure, due to the frequency of the past few contractions I have experienced I believe I have progressed into active labour. Which means that you will now read up everything you can on labour and birth in order to help deliver our baby if the power doesn’t come back on in the next few hours,’ she gave him a tight smile, patted his chest, ‘good to know you still keep your panic face close to the surface.

~~~

‘Maybe I could smash the window, climb out and get help,’ Mulder suggested, his nose deep in a text book.

‘You wouldn’t fit through the gap. Besides, the last thing we need is you injured and covered in glass,’ Scully was pacing, had been for the last hour, taking breaks every few minutes to lean against a wall or rest her head and forearms atop the desk. They’d been stuck in the basement for about three hours, and Scully realised that, given it was a Sunday, there had probably been a change of security on shift and nobody would have remembered that they were down there. Which meant that, for all intents and purposes, they were on their own. And she was, surprisingly, calm about the situation. She’d managed to talk Mulder through checking the dilation of her cervix twice now and each time she was inching closer to those crucial ten centimetres.

‘Mmm. I’m just worried we don’t have everything we need. Like water, where are we going to get water. And towels, we’re going to need towels. And something to tie off the umbilical cord and gloves and soap and this is just assuming things all go well and-‘

‘Mulder, breathe,’ she came up to him, cupped his cheek, ‘hey, it’s okay. We’re all going to be okay,’ she guided him to the desk chair that was always his, ‘here, sit down and take a moment. Let’s not panic, okay. We’ll panic when we need to panic, but right now, let’s take it easy.’ She took a moment to breathe herself as she looked around, her fingers scratching lightly at his scalp to soothe both of them. ‘Mulder, look around.’

‘What?’

‘Look around. We have everything we need. Come on, get up,’ she urged him, making her way into the lab at the back of the room. ‘We have a sink, which, admittedly, we only have cold water, but it’s better than none, and anti-bac, and we’ve got gloves in abundance here. And...oh, my God, I’ve just remembered,’ she flung a cupboard open and laughed, ‘Oh, John, you angel. He brings a clean gym bag in every Friday evening so it’s there for him on Monday morning,’ she tugged out the bag and dropped it to the floor, squatting next to it and gasping.

‘Scully, shit, let me-‘

‘No, no, it’s okay. Um...just give me a moment. And, maybe leave a note to ask the cleaners to give this floor a really good clean.’

‘Scully?’

The first hint of panic laced her voice as she brought a hand up to cover her mouth, ‘I think my waters just broke. Give...just give me a minute to...’ she took a few shaking inhales, and he sank to the floor next to her, rubbing a hand down her spine, pressing soothing circles into her lower back when she pushed against his hand. ‘Help me up?’

‘Sure,’ he nodded, taking her hands and helping her, pressing a kiss to her sweaty forehead when she was upright, brushing light fingers across her belly whilst she leaned her head against his collar bone. ‘You okay?’

‘Yeah. I just...can you take over with the preparations here? I, uh...I think I’m going to try and set up a corner where I feel comfortable, okay?’

‘Yeah, yeah, of course. Just say if you need help, okay? Don’t move anything heavy or anything?’

‘I won’t. We’re going to be alright.’

He wasn’t sure if it was a question, or if she was reassuring him, or reassuring herself, but he nodded, pressed a kiss to the top of her head, ducked down to press one to her belly too.

~~~

‘Mulder, put that away,’ Scully growled, not impressed. She’d stripped bare, laying her clothes out on the floor in the corner behind the desk as makeshift blankets, had Mulder cover the narrow windows with piles of books to block out the harsh summer sunlight and provide some sense of modesty and lit her stock of emergency candles she kept in one of the cupboards in case of power cuts. She’d never imagined she’d be birthing her child by the light of them, but then she had never imagined a lot of things about her life that currently held true. Like her partner looking...like that.

‘Why? It affords me a great view. And it’s much more practical than trying to hold a flashlight.’

‘Because there is something very uncomfortable about having you wear a miner’s helmet whilst you’re between my legs!’

‘Adds a whole new meaning to going caving,’ he grinned, not dodging fast enough to miss the kick she aimed at his arm. ‘Hey, that’s the baby-catching arm! Careful!’

‘Nobody with a mouth like that is catching my baby,’ she sneered.

‘I thought you like my mouth.’

‘Only when it’s not talking,’ she murmured, hiding a grin, ‘why do you even have a miner’s helmet down here?’

‘Uh...dunno. I think it was from a case years ago and I forgot to return it. That was before you came down here and turned my life upside down.’

‘Obviously. I would have made sure you returned it.’ He stuck his tongue out at her and she returned the gesture before dropping her chin to her chest, moaning through a wave of pain. ‘Christ, Mulder, can you just check how far along I am? Because I really feel like I need to start pushing soon and I’m sure you will agree that leaving my vagina mostly intact is a pretty big goal today,’ she huffed, biting down on her bottom lip.

‘Okay, giv-‘

‘Without the helmet.’

He nodded, chucked the helmet to the side and brushed his lips against her knee before taking a look. ‘I’m not a centimetres guy, but I’d say you’re looking close.’

‘Some accuracy would be useful here, Mulder. The difference between looking close and actually being at ten centimetres is how soon after this baby is born you get to have sex again so maybe go look at the books and compare and contrast.’

‘The books! I forgot about the books.’

She groaned, ‘that eidetic memory really coming in handy there.’

‘Hey, we’re all trying are hardest here. I’m currently making sure I keep you and our baby alive.’

‘Yes, whilst I have a hole the size of a cantaloupe melon in my cervix,’ she smiled sweetly at him until he conceded.

‘Yeah, okay, you win. And I’d say you’re at about nine. Try not to start pushing yet, I guess?’

‘Jesus Christ,’ she groaned, glaring at him, ‘if you could try to sound a little more confident, that would be great.’

‘I’m sorry. I’m trying, here.’

She sighed, nodded, ‘I know, I know. I’m sorry. Come here,’ she beckoned him over, kissed him sweetly. ‘You’re doing a great job for someone whose never had an up-close look at a cervix before.’

‘Why thank you, Doctor Scully,’ he smiled. ‘Anything I can do to help?’

‘I want to stand, try and let gravity do its job. Can you hold me?’

‘Of course,’ he helped her up, allowed her to turn in his arms until she was comfortably leaning back against him. ‘You’re beautiful, Scully,’ he murmured as she swayed herself through the waves of a contraction, one hand vice-like on the wrist of his hand that soothed circles over her stomach and the other reaching up behind her to hold his head in place where he mumbled sweet nothings against her neck.

‘Sing me something,’ she whispered when some of the pain had subsided, eyes closed as her head rested back against his shoulder.

‘I can’t sing.’

‘Neither can I. Sing me something.’

In the dim light of the flickering candles and the still, quietness of the powerless basement, he was hesitant to break the silence, and so stuck to humming, chest vibrating softly against her back as he moved them gently to Elvis.

‘Mulder?’

‘Hmm?’ he paused his humming, rested his chin on her shoulder.

‘Tell me it’s going to be alright?’

‘Hey, hey, of course it is,’ he turned her in his arms, frowned as he tilted her chin up to look into her eyes, ‘where’s this coming from?’

‘I just...I had a plan. I knew exactly how I wanted this birth to go. I wanted to be in a hospital with doctors that I trust knew what they were doing, and I wanted there to be people there in case something goes wrong, and I wanted you sat behind me throughout the whole thing holding me and supporting me and rubbing my back and reminding me to breathe,’ she cried into his arms, keening as she rocked.

‘Okay, okay, shh, hush now, okay? It’s not ideal, is it? But we’re going to be okay. All three of us are going to leave this basement healthy and happy and all we’re going to worry about is what we’re going to wear home once all of our clothes have become makeshift towels and blankets, okay? And hey, I can still sit behind you, can’t I?’

‘No, no, you need to be keeping an eye on everything. I need you watching and guiding me. I need-‘ words caught in her throat as she sobbed, mourning the safe, rational plan she’d spent hours preparing.

‘Hey, hey,’ he caressed her face, wiped her tears, nuzzled his nose against hers in an attempt to get her to focus on him, ‘no matter where I’m sat, I’m going to be with you the whole way through, okay? I’m going to hold you and support you and be here for you. Okay?’

She sniffed, nodded, bowed down with a strong contraction. Which was when his eye caught on something in the corner.

‘Scully? Scully, I have an idea. I think I’ve got a way you can still lean back against me.’

~~~

‘Remind me again why I’m the one doing this?’ she asked as she tinkered.

‘Because you’re the physicist.’

‘I’m also in labour.’

‘Fair point, but I’d say it’s a testament to your brilliance if you can get this to work.’

‘Hmm. Throw me that roll of duct tape over there,’ she nodded to him and he tossed it over so it landed by her side, easy for her to reach over and grab from where she was sat on the floor, cross-legged before the overhead projector she was tampering with. Scully had sent Mulder on three final checks around the room to make sure everything they could possibly need was gathered in their corner. He’d found multiple options for tying off the cord that had sorted through, considering sterile properties and strength. Mulder’s shoelaces soaked in a mostly full bottle of Scotch one of the local PD had given them as thanks after solving a case a feel years ago ended up being her preferred choice, and she had Mulder set about preparing those as she grunted through a wave of pressure.

‘Isn’t alcohol bad for the baby?’ Mulder asked once they were hung over the desk lamp to dry off.

‘The alcohol should evaporate by then, having disinfected it in the process, hopefully. Besides, you’re not going to tie the cord until its stopped pulsing and the blood’s stopped flowing, so nothing should be-‘ she reached out and grasped at his forearm, tucking her chin in as she instinctively started to push. This had been going on for about half an hour, her instinctive pushing, though with heavy breaths she assured him each time she was certain nothing had really happened so far. When she recovered he wiped her forehead with his t-shirt. ‘Long story short, the alcohol won’t affect the baby. Mulder, before the next one, go lay out sheets of paper on the floor and against the filing cabinet to act as a screen for the projection. There’s no way I can get the angle to focus the projection on the wall.’

~~~

It felt like they’d been at it for hours, and by the time the first glimpse of matted ginger hair was seen in the slightly out of focus projection they had been. Mulder had been coaching her through, promising that it would just be a little longer every few minutes, peppering the top of her head and her cheek and her neck and her shoulder and anywhere else he could reach with kisses, kneading fingers into her tight muscles whenever she wasn’t clinging to him.

‘I can’t do this anymore, Mulder, I can’t,’ she sobbed, dropping her head back against him when the pressure let up. ‘He’s so big, I can’t-‘

‘You can and you will, Scully. You’re so strong and you’re so close, okay? Give me two more pushes and you can touch the head. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to feel the head?’

‘Yeah, I do,’ she cried.

‘Okay then. Just give me two more pushes and you can rest for a moment,’ he rested his hands, palms up, atop her thighs, ready for her to grip them as he felt the muscles in her back tightening. ‘Good girl. Push for me, come on Baby, you can do this. Oh, well done, Scully. Can you see that? Look at all that hair. One more push now and we’ll take a break, okay? Take some breaths for me and wait for the next contraction, then you can go for it,’ he could feel her starting to strain and he pressed a kiss behind her ear, ‘wait for the contraction, Scully. Don’t force your body past it’s limits.’

‘I just want it over,’ she whimpered softly, turning her face into him.

‘I know, Baby, I know, but you’re doing so well, and once you’re done I’ll find a way for us to get you out of here, you and baby, and we’ll get you both to a hospital to get you checked out, and then we can go home and you can sleep, okay, but right now we need to focus on the baby, okay, so one last push with this next contraction and you can stop for a minute.’

She cried out as the baby crowned, squirming to try and get away from the pain.

‘Shh, shh, breathe now, breathe, in and out, there we go,’ he smiled, took her hand, guided it to her parted lips and the head of ginger peach fuzz. ‘You feel that, Scully?’

‘Yeah,’ she nodded, her voice cracking, covering her mouth with her other hand as she cried, ‘oh, my God, we’re having a baby.’

‘Yeah, yeah we are,’ he chuckled, somewhat deliriously.

‘Is this real?’ she asked him, craning her neck around to lock eyes with him. ‘Are you really alive? Is this really happening?’

He nodded, kissed her, pressed their sweat-soaked foreheads together, ‘yes, Baby, it’s all real.’

‘I love you.’

‘I know you do. I love you too,’ taking a glance over his shoulder at the most informative of the textbooks he had sitting open, he gave her another quick peck before starting to slide out from behind her, ‘I need to check everything’s okay, now.’

‘Don’t go,’ she shook her head, clung on to him desperately.

‘I’m not going far, but I need to make sure you’re stretching around the head okay, remember. This was one of your instructions.’

She shook her head again, face set stubbornly, ‘it was a stupid instruction. I need you here.’

‘I’m not going anywhere, Scully, look. I’m still right here,’ he placed his hand on her knee as he knelt down before her, tenderly applying counterpressure where her skin was stretched taut. ‘Do you think you’re ready to start pushing again?’ She nodded and moaned a quiet mumble of consent as he stroked his fingertips across their baby’s soft scalp. ‘Okay, next contraction you’re going to give a nice big push for me.’

The first push did little, but the second revealed a forehead and two little eyelids. She whimpered when the contractions didn’t let up, overlapping as she dropped her hand down to find Mulder’s at her entrance, showing him where it hurt most. She grunted something that sounded convincingly like ‘fucking nose,’ as she bore down, the baby sliding out to their chin.

‘Good girl, Scully. One more and we’ll take another break, okay?’ She nodded, pushed, and with a small gush of amniotic fluid and blood, there was a head; dimpled chin and pursed lips and round little cheeks. ‘Amazing, you’re doing amazing, Scully. You want to see?’

She nodded and he budged out of the way so she could see her baby’s head in the projector. ‘The cord. You need to check the cord.’

‘Oh, yeah, right,’ he gave a frantic nod and obscured her view once more, apologising quietly as she shied away from his finger running around the baby’s neck. ‘No cord, you’re good.

Her head dropped back against the pillows Mulder had arranged behind her when he moved and she sighed, ‘I’m so tired, Mulder.’

‘I know, Baby, I know, but you’re doing so well, okay? Just the shoulders, and the rest will be easy.’ She scoffed at that, shook her head. ‘Okay, so somewhat easier. You think you can try?’

She didn’t respond, only tucked her chin to her chest and pushed, her face set in a determination he couldn’t help but admire; his beautiful, strong Scully. And then there were shoulders and arms and a little tummy and two chubby legs and all three of them were crying as he lifted their baby boy into his partner’s arms and covering them with the towel they’d stolen from Doggett’s gym bag.

He sat holding them both, helping clean their little one and rub warmth and circulation into his blood as he wailed against his mother’s breast, a strong, healthy wail, filling the small room that had always shied away from noise, always been a quiet, empty sanctum, so often full of death and disease, with life; new, strong, bright life.

When Scully said it was time he followed her guidance to tie off the cord in two places and cut it, then helped hold their son to her chest as she attempted to get him to suckle, listening as she wearily explained oxytocin and uterine contractions and stemming blood loss. If he’d not been so enamoured with the tiny life kicking and screaming its way into the world, making sure it was heard and loved, he might have paid more attention to how slurred her words were becoming, how her eyes were struggling to find focus.

And then she was pushing again and for a split second he panicked, wondered how frequently sonogram technicians and doctors miscounted the number of babies, before he remembered the umbilical cord and the placenta, and shifted to help her deliver that as well.

It was then, as he was inspecting the placenta, just like she instructed, for any tears or missing chunks, that he realised the books hadn’t mentioned this much blood. They’d assured him there would be blood, for sure, but he was certain it wasn’t supposed to be this much. And looking up at Scully, she certainly looked to pale, to washed out, her eyes slipping closed as her grip on their child faltered slightly.

‘Scully? Hey, Scully? Hey, you need to stay awake, Scully. Can’t sleep yet.’

She blinked up at him when he cupped her cheek, gave a bittersweet smile, ‘promise me you’ll love our son for me, Mulder, won’t you?’

‘Scully?’

She swallowed, let her eyes slip shut for a moment, ‘you’re gonna be such a good dad,’ tears leaked from her half open eyes as she dropped her gaze back down to their son, ‘he’s so beautiful. I’m so glad I got to see him.’

‘Scully? Scully, no-‘

Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter Two

[theastromancer]

Cancer Rising

The Symbols: 

This person has come into the world wearing the mask of the Nurturer, the Healer, the Mother, or the Sensitive. Other images for Cancer include the Invisible One, Old Mother Hubbard, the Hobbit, the Rememberer or the Homebody. Less than optimal manifestations of this Ascendant might include the Smother-mother, the Clingy One, the Hypersensitive One, or the Crybaby.

The Style:

As with all water signs, this Ascendant is complex, so we’ll spend some extra time here.

Cancer doesn’t mean biologically female, but this is the sign of the archetypal feminine, the archetypal Great Goddess, the lunar counterpart to the Leonine Sun God. Think of Cancer as the epitome of “yin” energy, that which is nurturing, receptive, and fertile--and dark, mysterious, inward and unpredictable.

In prehistoric societies now lost in time, before we knew that sex led to babies, we might well have associated the creative function with women, who mysteriously brought forth children from their own flesh and blood. When not bearing children, and before the age of artificial lights, it’s likely that women’s cycles tended to attune themselves to the approximately twenty-eight day cycle of the Moon.

Until relatively recently in modern astrology, it’s been all too easy to dismiss the Moon and the yin territory that it rules, just as it’s been all too easy to dismiss the feminine. We would do well to remember that some of the earliest astronomical and astrological records were of the Moon’s cycle. The Sun rules the day and is predictably invisible at night. The Moon, who rules the night and the dark, is sometimes visible during the day and sometimes invisible at night. Yin energy is cyclical, too, sometimes dark and sometimes full, just as the Moon waxes and wanes and changes speed. The Moon rules over fertility and birth--and over the dark, the night, the real and imaginary creatures who walk there, and the ultimate night of death. As a midwife once told me, “Death is always present at birth.” Perhaps that’s one reason, apart from the Moon’s phases, why many lunar goddesses have more than one face: maiden, mother, crone.

The Moon rules the high and love tides of our oceans and of our emotional lives, whose karmic imprints we all carry. It rules the body’s automatic systems: digestion, endocrine, etc., all the bodily functions that aren’t under the conscious control of the mind. The Moon rules the fluids of which our bodies are mostly composed. It rules caves and the chthonic energy associated with them. It rules our ancestors and, I suspect, whatever known or unknown influences they have in our lives.

Just as people with Leo rising wear the Sun God’s energy and all it implies of archetypal kingship or even the godhead metaphorically imprinted on their faces, people with Cancer carry the full fluctuating weight of the Moon Goddess upon theirs. Someone with a Cancer Ascendant has reached an evolutionary stage where he or she should present a gentle, caring, tender and reflective face to the world. Remember that one of Cancer’s traditional symbols is the Crab, a delicate creature with a hard exoskeleton that helps it survive. A person with this Ascendant needs some “shells,” some protective mechanisms, some deflector shields. The development of enough discernment to know when to raise the shields and when to lower them is crucial. Otherwise, people with Cancer rising can go through life either inappropriately defended and defensive, or so open and vulnerable that they become codependent or are repeatedly hurt and manipulated. Years ago, I heard the astrology Richard Idemon call dysfunctional Cancer “the breast looking for the baby or the baby looking for the breast.” To that image I would add “the barnacle:” someone who’s shut down behind what could become a PermaShell, usually after bouncing back and forth between those breast-or-baby extremes and not yet integrating them.

People with Cancer rising should face life with imagination, receptivity, the full development of their feeling function and of a rich inner life, and as open a heart as possible consistent with their emotional survival. The fuel of whatever strengthens the feeling function and feeds the imagination and makes it fertile. The terrain is anywhere one must navigate by feeling, intuition and patience rather than by logic.

If the rest of the chart is self-contained and analytical, the Cancer Ascendant is intended to soften this person and help him or her be more aware of the feeling side of life. If the rest of the chart is creative or psychologically oriented, the Cancer Ascendant is intended to help give this person access to deep inner sources of self-awareness. In any case, this rising sign’s demeanor should convey the message: “Here is a sensitive, imaginative, empathic and supportive person, who may be quiet or unavailable at the moment, but these still waters run deep.”

If no one provided adequate nurturing in the Cancer Ascendant’s childhood, this person can become “the baby looking for the breast” and keep searching for someone to play mother, so that he or she can at last be the baby. On the other hand, these people may instead become “the breast looking for the baby” and mother everyone else, all the while ignoring their own needs, perhaps because it’s too painful to feel how those needs aren’t being met, or perhaps because they’re unconsciously hoping to get some mothering back eventually. Another reaction to inadequate early nurturing may be to give up on every finding any at all, and to withdraw--the “barnacle”--behind the Cancer shell. Such people may be very focused on themselves and on meeting their own needs, while those of others are given short shrift. If the childhood was chaotic, traumatic or dangerous, people with this rising sign can become extremely shy, cautious or self-protective. All of these types would do well to learn about healthy self-nurturing, aided by their own powerful feelings and potentially rich and fertile inner lives. Then it’s easier to relate to the outside world from a position of emotional strength and wholeness, rather than need or lack. 

--Jodie Forrest, The Ascendant

[middle-class-trash]

Rise of the Titans liveblog!!!

that intro made me unexpectedly emotional

So if Blinky is narrating, he can't die, right? Right????

BRO THE SUBWAY SCENE!!!! We're getting right fuckin into it!!!

Steve, my son!!!

I wish Toby wasn't a constant punchline 🙃 it just makes me not take his character seriously

CLAIRE!!!!!!

Something about Douxie decking Skrael at the first opportunity is just so sexy of him

Jim is incredibly brave but it's really reckless to go hand-to-hand with a demigod without proper armor

My heart goes BUMBUMBUMBUM when Douxie looks out the traincar window

Sexy traincar tracks spell WHO

THE WRECKAGE AWWWW

Oh my gosh the people stuck in the magic circle because they wouldnt get out of the way

NO NO NO DOUXIE NO

So they were arrested that early?? Jeez

Nari's such a cutie

"None of us will be talking to you" *cut to Toby spilling every bean*

TOBY'S FACE AT THE END HAHHAHAHA

Something about Nari's voice coming out of Douxie's body is so deeply odd

Oh hey, Krel to the rescue

AREA 49 HAKSHDKSKD

"And your mom."

Oh my gosh he's still broken from Wizards 😂

The Guardians are just dead set on pissing off local authorities huh

JIM!!!

STRICKLER?????

BARBARAAAAA

Stricklake supremacy 😌 they both look so good

Claire listening in 😭😭😭 she's so cute

AWWWWW ENGAGED ENGAGED ENGAGED

......does that give them death flags? Fuck. Fuuuuck fuck fuck fuck. It totally does.

AWWW DOUXIE!NARI HUGGING ARCHIE

Aja!!!!

Your majesty!!

Oh yikes, here's that running gag everyone was talking about.. pregnant Steve

Oh hey, Eli's hot now. We been knew 😂

"Mazel tov!" HAHA

Poor Jim needing a bunch of support to walk 🥺 he's such a trooper

I will simply pass away if Blinky dies

I hope Douxie is okay, we haven't seen him in Nari's body and that makes me ✨nervous✨

OH JKJK

Nari is so goddamn pretty

"Only your presence, not your commitment" is such a rapey saying

"Abra-cadabra, buttsnacks" I love that he still says that 🥺🥺 he loves his friends so much

"Do your worst" *cue both Douxie and Nari absolutely screaming in pain*

Krohnisfere? Alrighty then, that's the first mission

"I wouldn't be so sure of that" AWWW

They fixed the amulet???? DUUUUDE

"For the good of all..." 😭😭😭😭

"Or I could lock onto Nari and portal us there" *dead fucking silence*

I hate how Toby's used as a constant punchline.. a penny? Really?

TRAINTRACK MAGIC CIRCLE GO BRRRR

Poor Nari 🥺 Douxie's in so much distress

Oh no, the new amulet isn't working?? Fuckk

That absolutely gorgeous screencap of pissed Aja

Part of me is glad Nari was forced to do this and wasn't actually a traitor

Ice titan awakening sequence? Ice titan awakening sequence.

Oh Nari. Oh sweetie

Oh my gosh she's fucking tied to her titan

Boiling water!!! Or underwater explosion, that works too. Much more dramatic but that's Bellroc's style

Oh wow Steve actually has a bump?? What the fuck???

Oooh, TrollDragons?

Charlie!!!

"We still don't have a trollhunter" Aja, honey, not helpful

"Does he even trust himself? AJA, HONEY, NOT HELPFUL

Barbara being proud of her son 😭😭

OOH fusing excalibur with the armor?

Aja is so full of confidence, it's a good look for her

Steve being preggo is..really fucking weird. When they said

AWWW BLINKY AND AARRRGHHH

Your honor, I love them

OOH IS IT SOFT JLAIRE TIME

Ohhhh it's soft Jlaire time

He's always looking out for his mom 🥺

"I will always be here (head), and here (heart)" just fuck me up fam

Charlie!!!

Zong-Shi?

"Only death will come to those who go looking for it" oh dear

"The troll with many eyes" how does Charlie know Blinky? 😂

AYYY this where the banner that I found first is from!!! it was so cool seeing my screenshot circulate when we were starved for content 😂😂 everyone was posting various rott icons and banners that they got hoping they'd find a new one

Oh dear.. government

Blinky dear they can't understand you

"Holy frijole" Claire I simply adore you

WOW THAT'S PRETTYYYYY

Troll slaves???

So is Zong-Shi this ugly ass pear-lookin ass

Aja chilling with Jim even though she has doubts is an interesting strategic choice

Douxie, AARRRGHHH, and Nomura? Talk about rarepare

NOMURA CATCHING HIM 😭😭 SEXYYYY

DOUXIE RESCUING NOMURA 😭😭😭😭 SEXXYYYYY

If I havent said it yet, the animation is breathtaking

OH SHIT JIM

aaaaand here come those frozen wings

Nari cant be in control of herself, there's no way. She's still tied to the titan for Pete's sake

NOMURA????

Please dont let this be a sacrifice

PLEASE NO

BOTH CHANGELINGS????

STRICKLANDER??????

No on-screen death, so it's not real. No on-screen death, do it"# notbsmejelreal

NO ON-SCREEN DEATH BUT IT'S NOT REAL

THEYRE TALKING AHOUT HIM PAST-TENSE NOOOO

THEY RBOGUHT UP HIS DADDDDDD

"There's no revelation I can give you" is a great way of saying he's not relevant, genuinely

Oh wow this guy's freaky

Ohhhh so the green thing from the trailers and promo photos is the Krohnisfere

Archie to the rescue!!!

"That's my boy!" AWWE

"Claire nooo, no no no no YESSS, I'm free!!!" Blinky, never change 😂

Oh wow, they're already in contact with Bellroc's titan??

Different note, but the titan's designs are just different enough to make them interestun

VARVATOS??? Okay jk somehow it's gun robot lmfao

WAIT NEVER MIND HAHAHAH HI BUD

....if the bridge falls, can't Charlie just fly them across

LMAO he just saw his death?? That is what he wanted to see 🤷🏻‍♀️

It's too early to celebrate, there's no way Bellroc is down after just a few pinches

Yeahhh

Oh dear... is Varvatos in danger?

Claire being the warrior of the group is incredible and sexy and hhnnngggg

Toby is a Hufflepuff. I will not be answering questions

OH WOW THAT'S HOW HE BURNED HIS HAND??? THE HONRGAZEL?????

ARCHIE SAID GOODBYE??? NO NO NO NO NO

Douxie's gonna be a flat mess!!!

God, plus Nomura and Stricklander

NOOOO DOUXIE YOU BIG SWEETIE

Oh my gosh this is the scene with Douxie trying to connect with Nari, it has to be

"I need to try again" AWWW HONEY

That shot of Mexico was incredibly stereotypical

DOUXIE SWEETHEART 🥺🥺

He's trying to hold her hand???? AWWWW

Oh my gosh he's being choked 😳

NARI BABY!!!!

The huggos 🥺🥺

Jim being frustrated is totally realistic

Wait wait wait waittt do they have the entire titan at their disposal?

"There's absolutely nothing all the way out here" cue a titan. Any of them.

And there it is.

CLAIRE SUPREMACY!!!!!!!

White haired Claire? White haired Claire???

Oh dear it's like.. a little over halfway and there's so much left that could happen

COACH. COOOOACH

OH THANK GOD!!! Steve doesn't need another paternal figure dying on him

Time for Skrael to fuck shit up 😬

I find it interesting how Bellroc and Skrael's titans are both bipedal but Nari's is on four legs, much more animalistic

NARI, NOOOOO PLEASE NO

At least Skrael's done????

We kinds knew Bellroc was the final boss but NOT LIKE THIS

DOUXIE SCREAMING FOR HER

NOOOOOOO

No more running. GODDAMNIT

The three can no longer unite but Bellroc can still fcuk shit up

A HIDDEN PAGE??? FUCK THE WORLD IS TO BE REFORGED WITH FIRE

THE HEARTSTONE??????

Oh shit, the explanation for why Arcadia's the center of everything!!

The only heartstone?? Really???? That's scary as shit, trolls could go instinct without a reliable hearthstone!!

EXCALIBUR TIMEEE

JIMMMMMM

Come on honey, you can do it!!

Aja, honey, I love you so much but now's not the time

THE HEARTSTONE???? FUCK DUDE

.......Steve

Eli the midwife?? ...gross

Jim, my love, my baby boy!!!

The nine of them!!!

AWW BLINKY BEING THE BEST DAD

THEY WORK TOGETHER 😭😭😭😭

FUCK YEAH!!!!!!

"Quiet desperation" is a great word for it

Are we coming on to the big final battle?

Ohnoohnoohno they all said the thing 😭😭😭 someone's gonna die. At least one more is gonna die.

HE'S DRIVINGGGG. LOVE THAT FOR HIM

STICKY SPELL TIME!!!!!!

"Some sort of stickum!" Bro 😂😂

I love how he calls them all Trollhunters 😭 throwback to the OG show where the three of them were all called that

Aja Terron supremacy

Oh it's weird.. it's very weird. Why did Steve have to be pregnant again

Oh dear, there's half an hour left.. this has to be the final battle

JIM

Varvatos shielding Claire and Krel 🥺

Fuck, man, people are getting thrown left and right

DOUXIE MY LOVE

Oh here we fucking go, rematch

NEW AMULET???

Jim's about to get royally fucked up

LIKE THAT

FUCK

WHY IS SHE TAKING HIM??? GOD NO

Anti-magic beacon??

Helloooo that's smart asf

This gives Mount Doom vibes

"Embrace your loved ones for the final time" FUCK MAN STOP IT

"I already was" DAMN RIGHT BUD

NEW AMULETTTT

GO GET JIM GO GET 'IM

DAYLIGHT ARMOR!!!!!!

He was ready to just sacrifice himself like THAT

DAYLIGHT ARMORRRRR WITH EXCALIBUR??????? FUUUUCK

Jim being great at combat is just the best fucking thing

Oh fuck. OH FUCK.

STABBED??????

PLEASE NO, GOD NO

FUUUUCK

"I'm powerless" "You get used to it" WE DONT HAVE TIME TO UNPACK ALL OF THAT

JIM HONEY PLEASE DONT DIE

Is that....is that it?? Oh dear god, is that it????

JIM WHERE ARE YOU

I'm calling it now it's too early to be celebrating

Oh god the weird babies

WHERE IS TOBY

WHERE

NO

MY JAW FUCKING DROPPED

NO WAY, NO FUCKING WAY

HE'S GETTING A DYING MONOLOGUE??????

ALWAYS HAVE BEEN, ALWAYS WILL BE

"Itll be the two of us at the end" WHY DOES THAG SEEM LIKE JIM WILL GO OUT TIO

THERE'S NO WAY TOBY JUST DIED

THHERE'S NO WAY

That was sad as fuck but in a narrative way I hope it's permanent

Oh dear, Jim's going back????

Oh shit

WWHAT IS HE DOING

NOOOOO

"I have cherished every moment with you" STOP IT HE'S HIS FATHER

"I FYOU WERE MY OWN SON" STOPPPPPP

WHAT'S HAPONEINGGGGG

CLAIRE

NOOOO

THIS IS WHERE IM SOBBING

THIS IS WHERE IM LOSUNG IT

"Dont give up on me" FUCK STOPPPP

"I WILL ALWAYS BE HERE AND HERE" FUCK IT STOPPPPP

"I would date you for a hundred lifetimes" IS REALLY BEING TESTED HUH

THERE ARE 10 MINUTES ELFT WHAT THEBFUCK

AND WE'RE BACK TO TROLLHUNTERS?.????

HUHHHH

Fuck, man. FUCK, MAN.

Oh, Toby. Ohhhh Toby

CLAIRE 🥺

ROMEO AND JULIET!!!!

Oh my fucking god

"IF YOUD COME OVER TO DINNER" AYYYYY

His smile at Steve 🥺

HE'S HAVING TOBY TAKE THE CANAL???? But wouldnt the amulet still call for Jim?????

"Nothing interesting ever happens in Arcadia" VERY FUCKING FUNNY

Destiny is a gift. Some go their entire lives living in an existence of quiet desperation, never learning the truth- that what feels as though a burden pushing down upon our shoulders is actually the sense of purpose that lifts us to greater heights. Never forget that fear is but the precursor to valor. That to strive and triumph in the face of fear is what it means to be a hero. Don't think. Become.

.......it actually called his name. I can't believe it actually called his name.

The fuck is that ending??? Let Jim REST

[shypotato-translations]

QTVW Chapter 16

Showbiz* Sexy Queen (III)

----

Aunt Wen saw Mei Mu Lan's instantly happy and smiling look and silently looked down and poked the cake in her hand.

She said in a slow tone,

“Mu Lan, do you really like that movie star called Ling Yi Yao that much? Auntie Wen used to think that you were still young and is just a momentary obsession, but now that you have graduated from university and are going into society, you should know that she and you are not from the same world.

Aunt Wen has privately investigated, this Ling Yi Yao is actually the daughter of the boss of the giant Ling family in the entertainment industry, and is also the only proper heir of the Ling family, the background of the Ling family is not clean, such a woman is too far away from you.”

When Mei Mu Lan heard this, the smile on her face dimmed and she whispered,

“I know all this, but I don't want to regret later that I didn't pursue it hard enough and just give up, at least let me give it a try, no matter if it's a good result or a bad one, at least I have no regrets.

Auntie Wen, thank you, you have been looking after me all these years, I promise you that if there is really no hope, I will let go completely.”

Mei Mu Lan said, curled her lips into a smile and murmured,

“Let me at least give it a try, I want to visit her and give showbiz a try.”

Aunt Wen slowed down the pace of poking the cake in her hand, she placed it on the coffee table, then drew out a tissue and looked down to wipe her white fingers, a few dark glints flashed in her eyes.

After she had done this slowly and methodically, she said to Mei Mu Lan in a gentle tone,

“Now that you've made your decision, Auntie Wen will definitely give you a hand. I'll call director Wang Ye later and check the time to meet him, so you can have a good talk when you meet. You can find out about the film called 《The Burial Man》online first so you can give the director a good impression.”

Mei Mu Lan smiled brightly in spring as she nodded vigorously and said,

“I'll go check out the plot and characters of the film, thank you Auntie Wen.”

She stood up and gave Aunt Wen a hug before immediately striding off towards the bedroom.

Aunt Wen stiffened in place and said helplessly,

“Why can't they behave better, both of them?”

With that, she pulled out a cigarette and slowly stammered the smoke ring, dialing the director's number.

After turning on her computer, Mei Mu Lan remembered that she had to do something, she logged on to Weibo and Twitter, and a username called "Zero One Fan" appeared.

"Zero One Fan" is an alias for Ling Yi Yao's fans, and the origin of this alias is also related to the original owner.

The original owner created the first posting forum and micro-blog for Ling Yi Yao's fans. Before Ling Yi Yao's movie was a hit and before Ling Yi Yao became a movie queen, Mei Mu Lan had already become her backbone fan, making the posting forum and micro-blog a success, attracting a large number of people who initially fell in love with Ling Yi Yao, and by the time Ling Yi Yao became famous, the posting forum and micro-blog had been officially certified and became the only authentic fan communication platform.

The original owner was the founder and senior administrator of Zero One Fans.

The original owner's daily task, apart from singing and practicing a Peking Opera passage, was to log on to the two platforms every day and post the latest information she had gathered about Ling Yi Yao on the website, or to put out a large piece of factual evidence to those who came to scold her, so that they would leave without any success.

The original owner was a calm and sensible fan most of the time. When confronted with a black fan, she will be generous enough to listen to the suggestions; but when in secret, she will put on a small vest to track down the black fan and call the black fan names that she doesn't even know.

Her username "Zero One Fan" has also become the most famous of Ling Yi Yao's fans.

Mei Mu Lan looked at the record of the original owner's speech with a black line on her face, the big username "Zero One Fan" spoke more ably. Like:

Confronting black fans – “The new era advocates people's freedom of speech, you have the right to choose to speak, we also have the right to choose to block you, I hope you will be a calm fan and become a strong backer of Ling Yi Yao.”

Confronting a scandal – “About Ling Yi Yao having dinner with other male celebrities, I think this matter is very common in daily life, don't you guys have dinner with the opposite sex? I hope everyone understands and doesn't catch wind of it.”

Confronting plastic surgery – “For those who say Ling Yi Yao is a face-lifter, you can look at photos of Ling Yi Yao when she started out and photos of her life as a child, and then go to a plastic surgery clinic to see if Ling Yi Yao's face has shown any signs of change.”

The countless small vests, similar to "Ling Yi Yao I love you", "Kneel down to Ling Yi Yao", "Lord Ling Yi Yao I want to have babies with you", etc., with more direct usernames, will have an impact on the The above questions, so back to:

Confronting black fans – “Your head is half water, half rice, and together, it's called paste; your IQ is not online, please come back after networking; it feels like talking to you is pulling down my evolutionary time history.”

Confronting a scandal – “凸(艹皿艹) , Who is this man? He's a white boy who wants to take advantage of his position. Don't stop me, I'll take a bottle of acid and destroy his face.”

Confronting plastic surgery – “When you were born, you accidentally landed face first, go blame the midwife, don't come out to get back at society!”

The original owner took the split personality and elevated it to the level of life.

The corners of Mei Mu Lan's mouth twitched as she copied and pasted all of the statements that had been made on those ponies into the relevant part of the message, and after doing so, two hours had passed.

She couldn't wait to turn off Twitter and posting and instead opened the novel 《The Burial Man》and read it word for word.

《The Burial Man》, a novel set in 1916, a time of warlords in the country.

At that time, there were intense conflicts between warlords in various regions and frequent wars in the country, and at a time when everyone was actively fighting, an aged and well-known scholar deciphered a historical tablet that had been handed down for more than 4,000 years. And a shocking message was told to the present generation by this stone tablet.

That is, 4,000 to 5,000 years ago, in the time of the gods and goddesses of the West, an elixir called "immortality" was introduced, in fact, historical mythology also tells this point, that is, the well-known story of Chang'e, who stole the elixir to run to the moon in order to preserve her beauty.

On this stone tablet, however, this event is used as a lead-in to the fact that there are still burial mourners around the Kunlun Mountains in China who have been guarding this elixir of immortality for generations, waiting for the right person to come and obtain it.

The story has a slightly mythical setting, but the word "tomb raiding" is already closely associated with various myths and ghosts, and just as the scholar is about to make the news public he is murdered, in an "impossible" type of homicide for no apparent reason in front of a public audience, with his body intact and his blood tested for poisoning. But when the forensic pathologist performed an autopsy, his brain and heart were missing.

The incident caused an uproar, but it did not get out and was kept secret by the local warlord.

They sent relevant tomb raiders to Kunlun Mountain to raid the tomb, their actions were carried out in secret but there is no impervious wall in the world, the news was soon known by many other forces and sent people to investigate this matter one after another.

And so the story unfolds.

Ling Yiyao plays the female lead, the only undertaker in the film, and the other undertaker is her brother, the two of them are considered immortal and have been guarding the place for almost a thousand years.

The decrypted monolith brought in other forces which they fought against in a fight for life and death to guard the place.

Countless people died here, but this did not stop people's quest for immortality, and the blood-stained Kunlun Mountain Road finally opened this mysterious tomb.

Those who have entered the tomb are true experts, including tomb raiders from families with a heritage of more than 3,000 years, international mercenaries with the best skills, warlords and female agents who have entered undercover….

The traps inside the tombs killed countless people, but there were also many who remained at the end, and only a dozen people arrived at the end of the tombs after the great wave.

After a fight to the death, the male lead is killed by an undercover lineage girl from a family of tomb raiders, the blood stains the throne on the tomb and opens up the fantastical inner space of the mountain, fantasy and mythology come into play one after another, ghost soldiers and demons started killing them, and after all these battles, the only ones left are the nine-year-old child from the family of tomb raiders, and the undertaker female lead.

The child, chosen by the tomb mourners as the "best choice in history", swallowed the elixir of immortality and remained in the tomb forever, becoming the latest generation of tomb mourners.

And it is only here that the mystery of the matter is unveiled, and it turns out that the so-called stone tablet and the decryption are all traps set by the female lead.

Thousands of years ago, she was also a tomb raider who, together with her brother, swallowed the elixir of immortality, but at the cost of guarding this place for eternity and never leaving it more than a metre away.

And now, after more than a thousand years, she feels tired and weary, so, as she did a thousand years ago, she recruits a large number of people to raid the tomb and choose a new successor from among them to guard this place in her place for eternity.

The story ends with the female lead, dressed in an ancient outfit, singing a song from a thousand years ago, leaping from the throne of the tomb into the endless abyss inside the mountain.

After reading this story, Mei Mu Lan felt a shock in her heart that this was indeed a well-written novel and worthy of being followed and interpreted by so many people.

The production team has invested unlimited funds to produce an absolutely profitable production that will be passed on to the next generation; Wang Ye, a national and international director; Ling Yiyao, a movie queen, and Gu Junxi, a movie star in the lead roles; an international design team to create the costumes; and even the supporting characters are chosen from stars with millions of fans.

A lavish star cast, top-notch processing and production, a mysterious story background, and a large number of fans of the books could indeed make this film the top production of the year.

Mei Mu Lan closed the novel's webpage, opened the section on roles, and then found two supporting actresses who had "accidental" problems, so she guess it wasn't really an accident.

She looked at the two characters vacated above, one was the undercover agent of the tomb raiding family who killed the male lead, pure and bright looking, simple and innocent. It didn't fit her image at all, so she passed on the role.

The other character, an undercover female agent, is explicitly the mistress of a powerful warlord, a sultry-looking Shanghai beach dancer, but is actually a high-ranking intellectual undercover agent from a family of emerging powers.

She looked at the role and recalled the characteristics of the character and felt that it did resemble her. She could not help but curl her lips and smile, thinking: good, this is the role, she will be chosen.

Aunt Wen told her at dinner about the casting call to the Yokohama outside the suburbs in three days' time. Mei Mu Lan nodded when she heard that and started to arrange the plan.

Three days later, wearing an exquisite cheongsam, Mei Mu Lan slowly stepped down from the top-class sports car.

Her figure is sublime, her features are charming, her hair is curly as was popular at the time, and her make-up has a twenties and thirties flair.

She approached the Yokohama store on her thin, bare-backed heels, swaying like a weak willow.

Just like a real 1930s singer-songwriter, she walked slowly from the cabaret of Shanghai Beach to the eyes and hearts of those present.

At the moment of her appearance, everyone on the set stopped moving, the sound faded away, and everything was fixed on this woman who had stepped out of history.

A bearded man in his early thirties approached, a roll of scripts squeezed tightly in his hands, and then said in surprise and amazement,

“You're Miss Mei Mu Lan, right? I knew you were the one I was looking for when I saw your picture! It's you, no need to look any further,”

With a broad stroke of his pen, he wrote down Mei Mu Lan's name in the character field undercover agent.

Then he blushed and said,

“My name is Wang Ye and I'm the director.”

The corners of Mei Mu Lan's mouth are smiling, her lips are slightly hooked, and her charming phoenix eyes are slightly narrowed, slender and upturned, charming and seductive.

She exhaled softly,

“Hello, Director Wang Ye.”

The voice is so soft and mushy.

After greeting Mei Mu Lan, her eyes involuntarily fell on a woman in an ancient dress with a long green dress.

The woman didn't turn her head to look over like the others did.

She sat quietly in her recliner, her white, slender fingers tracing the pages of the script slowly, with gentle, yet harsh movements. At this moment she had her head slightly hung down, revealing a perfect and delicate side face.

Mei Mu Lan could not restrain the emotions that were violently evoked in her heart, she walked up quickly and reached the woman. Seeing her slowly look up, the perfect face that she had seen countless times before, officially entered her eyes.

Mei Mu Lan's breathing stopped as she desperately tried to control herself, but her body reacted with instinct.

Her cheeks burned red like the dusk sky, her beauty was startling, and her voice trembled slightly as she said,

“Hello Ling Yi Yao, I am Mei Mu Lan.”

She paused, then suddenly said aloud,

“I ...... I want to do prop play with you!”

Mei Mu Lan: "......"

Ling Yi Yao: "......"

Director Wang Ye, who followed her: "......"

The crew silently watching: "......"

[thecleverdame]

Gods of Twilight - 19

Alpha!Werewolf!Sam x Human!Reader

Master List (posting schedule is there as well)

Summary: You marry Sam, The King of Lebanon, as part of an alliance between two lands. You soon discover that nothing is as it appears and that your husband is hiding a secret that may end your relationship before it can begin.

Warnings: smut, dub-con, canon-level violence, domestic discipline, spanking.  This chapter does contain some non-con elements.

Beta:  @ilikaicalie​

*This story is complete. All 27 chapters are available on Patreon. To get access to this and many other stories, subscribe for a pledge of 2.50 per month. CLICK HERE

-

“Sam!” Dean bursts into the room, gasping in horror at the sight of your blood-covered naked body on the bed. Sam is laying beside you with tears in his eyes, and there’s a new born baby still on your chest. “Is she gone?”

“Yes,” Sam clears his throat, wiping his eyes with the heel of his palm. Giving your lifeless body one last look he places a kiss at your hairline and collects the squirming infant in his arms. “I can’t look at her like this. Have them clean her body. I’d prefer to say my goodbyes when she looks more like herself.”

“Sam,” Dean starts, looking from the tiny hand of his niece to his brother’s heartbroken face. “It didn’t have to be like this.”

“Don’t start, please. I can’t take another round right now.”

“Why are you so stubborn?” Dean’s at the end of his rope. “She wouldn’t have wanted this! To die before she knew her child! To leave you.”

“She was a gentle person,” Sam hisses, fresh tears springing to life along with his rising anger. “Even if she was able to survive the change she would have loathed being like us. I would never force this curse on her.”

“I don’t understand you.” Dean shakes his head, both arms folded across his chest. “Take the child and go. I’ll make sure she’s well taken care of.”

Dean stands alone in the room with your corpse. All the color has drained out of you but if you weren’t covered in gore it would be easy to think you’re only sleeping. He steps closer, coming around the side of the bed and taking a seat.

While he never trusted you, he knows of Sam’s unwavering love. This will break his brother, and he wishes he could have done something to prevent it. All he can do now is avenge your death and the other lives taken in recent hours.

The full moon is two nights away and his body has responded accordingly. All his senses are heightened. There’s a quiet thump and he hones in on the sound. He waits, counts to fifteen and then another gentle thump.

It’s your heart. The last beats as the final vestiges of life drain away.

“You’re still here?” he asks, inching back to the bed.

There’s a thought flickering to life, a treacherous idea that his brother may kill him for. Sam has never known what’s best for him and Dean has been doing their dirty work since they were children.

Thump.

He knows his brother, he’ll want a mother for his child and he’ll fill the void as best he can. Perhaps Ruby or some other doe-eyed girl who won’t ask questions. But he’ll always be broken. Losing you will change everything. Sam doesn’t handle loss well, he goes dark. Sam gets hard. That’s how he’s always been.

Thump.

“Forgive me,” Dean whispers.

He knees his way onto the bed, lifting up a limp arm and allowing the beast inside him to take over. With glowing eyes and knife-sharp fangs, he sinks his teeth into your arm and waits to see if he’s bitten you in time.

But as time goes by it’s clear he didn’t act fast enough. He should have swallowed his hesitation and done what your husband should have the moment he realized you were dying.

Shaking his head in earnest, Dean takes one last look and leaves the room.

-

Sam sits in a corner of the reading room, staring at the fire. Martha is huddled with a wet nurse who’s nursing his child at her breast. He can’t look at the baby for too long, she’s a beautiful little girl but his heart has been ripped in two. The love he feels for his daughter only serves to exacerbate the gut-wrenching loss of his wife.

You’re gone and Sam only has himself to blame. He told you long ago that bringing you here was the most selfish thing he’d ever done, but that’s no longer true. Allowing you to give him a child, to offer yourself up in the name of love was a far worse transgression. He wanted you beyond reason and now he’ll pay the price.

He didn’t deserve you and he certainly doesn’t deserve the perfect baby in the corner who will never know her mother.

“Would you like to hold her?” Martha asks inching closer with the babe in her arms.

“No,” Sam doesn’t look up, staring at the flames licking upward.

“I don’t mean to overstep my bounds, my king, but it would be good for you to have her close.”

Sam wants to throw Martha out, toss her into the hall and be done with any memory of what came before this terrible day. But his daughter’s small hand reaches upward and he can’t refuse her.

“Give her to me then.” He takes his daughter, settling back into the chair and Martha moves off to the side. The infant is tiny but alert, looking up at him with big, wide eyes. “She is a child with no name.”

“She doesn’t need one, not yet.” Martha scoffs.

“What sort of father am I that I can’t name my child?”

“A grieving one.”

Sam shifts, bringing the baby closer to inspect her face. You were so sure the baby was a boy and he was convinced there could be no better feeling in the world than having a son. But he was wrong yet again, because this small girl is enough to fill his heart ten times over.

There’s a timid knock at the door and Sam looks up as Golda slides inside. She wipes tears from her eyes, unable to look at him. She already thought him a monster, a wild brute of a man who assaulted his wife, but now he’s killed her mistress and friend as the grand finale.

“My lord,” her voice shakes. Wringing her hand together, more tears slide down her face. “Th-they’ve cleaned and prepared her. She’s been laid at rest in the Great Hall.”

Your body will be on display until the funeral. Many will come from far and wide to pay their respects, but he’ll be the first.

“Thank you.”

It’s well into the early hours of the next morning when Sam works up the wherewithal to say his goodbyes. He checks on his sleeping daughter and a snoring Martha in the rocking chair next to her before slipping out in the hall.

His personal guard is at the ready, following him to the Great Hall and waiting in silence as he closes the doors behind him.

Your body lies at the far end, on display in front of the tall, ornate fireplace.

“At least you won’t be cold anymore,” he mutters.

Taking a breath and closing his eyes he gives himself one last moment before looking directly at you. You’re beautiful as ever but unnaturally still. Arms carefully crossed over your belly and your hair has been washed and combed.

Sam thinks he may die here and now, the pain in his chest is too great and he falls to his knees, crying out in agony. He’s already lost more than his share of family, he’s not sure how he’ll bear this weight.

He’s still sobbing when quiet footsteps approach behind him.

“Leave me!” Sam shouts, wiping his cheek with his sleeve.

“No,” Dean’s voice replies. “I’ll stay with you. So you don’t have to do this alone.”

Sam nods, standing up and turning to his brother who embraces him with tight arms. It’s been years since Dean held him like this, perhaps since they were both children.

“I loved her,” Sam whispers.

“I know,” Dean pats his back. “And she loved you.”

Sam doesn't have the words to express the way his heart aches, so instead he holds your cold, stiff hands and kisses your knuckles, uttering barely whispered apologies and professions of love. With a kiss to the forehead, he touches you for the last time before stepping back next to his brother.

“Have you discovered who attacked her?”

“Not yet,” Dean hooks a thumb in the waistband of his trousers.

While they haven’t talked, Sam knows Dean’s been working diligently while he’s been drowning in grief.

“If she had not lost so much blood from the knife wound, she might have survived the birth.” Sam states calmly, rubbing his hands together as if trying to work himself up into action. “She was murdered, Dean.”

“Yes, she was. I’ll find out who and then you can decide how to deal with the culprits.”

“Gutted and hung in the town square should do just fine,” Sam spits, his blood rising. He’s not quick to violence but he’ll happily inflict pain and suffering on whoever is responsible. “Where do we start?”

“You should spend time with your child, take a day or two. Let me do the groundwork.”

“No,” Sam clasps a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “This is what I need now, a purpose, something to fill my head with thoughts of anything other than her face...it’s all I think about. The way she looked at me-”

“We can’t have you sitting around torturing yourself, now can we?” Dean slaps his brother in the ribs assuredly. “Ruby said they have a suspected poacher detained in the stables just outside the farm that sits near the southern border. I am going there now.”

“I’ll accompany you,” Sam confirms, grateful for a task to focus on. He’ll slaughter every last person who was involved with the attack if it’s the last thing he does.

Sam follows Dean through the winding halls of the castle, down and down, until they find the stables. He mounts his steed and grips the reigns, wishing nothing more than to put distance between himself and the death that lurks inside.

“My king!” A servant boy runs toward him at full speed. “My king, you must come right away!”

“What are you talking about?” Sam looks to Dean, his heart speeding up to a gallop.

“I don’t know, sir. The midwife has called you back. It’s urgent.”

He prays to God to protect his child. He’s suffered all he can and losing his daughter would be a lethal blow.

He pulls off his gloves as they sprint back through the wide halls, Dean and a fleet of guards trailing behind them. They’re headed toward his temporary bedchambers, when a cry can be heard from somewhere deep inside the castle.

“Not here, sir.” The boys leads them past the door where he left his sleeping daughter.

While it might not be loud enough for human ears, every wolf perks up at the sound of one of their own in distress. The blood-curdling screams get louder and louder, feral, ear-piercing cries that echo off the stone and reverberate along the halls.

Following the sound, the entire party enters the Great Hall to be met with a sight that Sam is unprepared for.

You’re laid out on a stone slab but your once dead body is now in motion, arching upwards at an angle that looks as if your spine may snap. Your neck is also snapped back and your fingers are curled up like the legs of a dead insect as you writhe and scream. Without warning your body falls limp and then almost immediately you begin to seize, entire body clutching and shuttering as white foam oozes from your lips. Open eyes reveal nothing but white as your eyeballs roll back into your skull and you grunt wildly, body jerking violently in terrible quakes.  

Sam is frozen in place, his mind not yet able to comprehend what’s happening.

“I don’t know what to do for her!” Martha screams, trying desperately to hold your shoulders in place. This declaration jolts Sam back to reality. “What is this? She’s risen from the dead! We should call a priest!”

A thousand thoughts click into place.

“I’m sorry brother-” Dean starts.

“What have you done?” Sam bellows, charging Dean, one hand on his collar, the other around his throat.

“What you couldn’t,” Dean sputters.

Sam’s eyes narrow and for a moment Dean thinks he may snap his neck. He instead growls and releases him.  

“Find Ellen,” the King points to a wide-eyed Philip.

Sam scoops you off the stone slab and moves toward the doors as you convulse his arms.

“What is happening?” Martha scampers beside him, skirts in hand.

“She’s been bitten. She’s turning.”

“Into what you are?” she hisses, looking back at the men following close behind.

“If she survives the change, yes.” He kicks open the doors to your bedchambers. “Find rope or whatever you can. We need to restrain her before she hurts herself. Her strength will build as the fever grows. She’ll be stronger than any of us at this stage, we need to make sure she’s immobile.”

-

There is no coherent thought. Only sensations.

The muscles in your neck are pulling your head side to side, shaking like the tremors of an elderly person, only quicker and more violent as your skull ratchets to and fro. You can’t open your eyes and it feels as if your body is tied down.

The heat of the fever inside your veins is all-consuming, a constant burn as if lava is coursing through your limbs. This must be what madness feels like, complete, consuming, agony-induced insanity devoid of thought and speech. Your body jerks and a single idea forms in your addled mind.

Fire.

Fire.

Fire.

A conscious you would be sure you were doused with accelerant and set aflame.

Your throat is the most painful of all, raw and open, head tipped back and the only sound is that of your beastial screams as pain consumes every last inch of your body and soul.

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) Apollo

Pairing: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)

Word Count: 1784

Warnings: Non-graphic childbirth, corny

Broken Bone

...

Her labor pains began in the late afternoon as she was taking a stroll with Hvitserk. The sun began to set as they walked by the beach. The sun’s rays did little to warm the city as the waves of the sea pushed the winds upon them.

Hvitserk thought a small amount of sun would do her good, though Ivar complained that she was too far along to be strolling about. Artemis agreed to the outing, happily looping her arm with her brother in law, much too tired of being cooped up in her chambers. It was the first time she decided she would rather be in the cold than by the hearth.

She had the pace of a snail now, but Hvitserk didn't mind. He smiled knowing a mindless stroll brought her glee.

They made simple small talk, mostly Hvitserk explaining his new lover. Artemis knew of the girl and has met her a few times in formal settings. Her name was Thora, a pretty thing with pretty features, light hair, and a moderate height. She was happy for him, but before she could say anything more, she doubled over in pain, panting at the sensation of the blooming ache attacking her abdomen. Looking down, a wetness pooled upon the sand.

Panicked, Hvitserk latches on to her smaller frame as she almost collapses from the pain. He barked out orders to the nearby guards that patrolled the town.

"Summon the midwife! And alert the King his child is to be born!"

Artemis was laid upon the bed, now stripped of it’s furs, sweat clinging to her skin. She gripped the sheets tightly, groaning and whimpering at the labor pains that attacked her body. She was terrified despite the midwife's babbling words of reassurance.

Women came in to swarm her chambers, the midwife, Alva, Brenna the healer, and Aria along with Geirdis scurrying about to prepare the room for the birth. Artemis watches her, chest rapidly rising and falling before another great pain takes over. This was the moment she had been fearing for what felt like ages. There was no avoiding it now.

Aria takes a seat beside her, wiping her glistening face with a damp cloth. 

"I have seen the birth of babies many times before, and I assure you, this will go smoothly." The red head mutters to her, though that did nothing to ease her mind. Artemis was in a panic, more so than Hvitserk had been on the beach. Her legs trembled before her and it was obvious in her silence that she needed comfort. Geirdis goes to sit on her other side, grabbing her clammy hand..

Barking could be heard from the hall, along with Asa's whining to enter the chamber, making Artemis grow uneasy. The midwife and healer continue moving about the room, preparing herbs and other necessities, though Artemis hardly paid them mind. The only thing she could focus on was the pain that paralyzed her every few minutes.

"Where is Ivar?!"Artemis roars, her grip on Geirdis's hand now fierce, causing the girl to wince. Before anyone could answer her, Ivar comes stumbling in, eyes wild as he barked out something about providing her with every comfort needed.

All the women greeted their king formally, but he ignored them, limping over to his wife panting on their bed. She had equally wild eyes, and Ivar could see the fear swimming within her dark chestnut eyes. He motions for Geirdis to remove herself, and he takes her place sitting beside his wife, already reaching forward to grasp her shaking hand.

"I am here, baby bird." He mutters as he places kisses on her hand, rubbing his calloused thumb over her clammy skin. Artemis was unlike anything he'd ever seen, and rightfully so. He feared for her life as much as she did, though he did a better job of masking it.

"I'm afraid, Ivar." She whispers out a shaky breath before squeezing his hand tightly at another burst of pain, "Your child will rip right through me." 

"Do not be afraid. Frigg is with you in these moments." Once Artemis began to get hysterical, Ivar roared to the midwife and healer that they were to guard her life, or else they must forfeit their own. He'd see to it. Usually she scolded him when he roused people into fear with threats, but at that moment, she didn't care. She would let him threaten the world if it meant the pain would stop.

She was quickly given an herbal tea to calm her nerves, and it was enough for her to calmly listen to Ivar who wished to distract her from her labor pains until their child was truly ready to enter Midgard.

"Tell me about your brother." He says to her suddenly, his sad eyes watching her moan in discomfort after another crippling pain wreaked through her. She turns to look at him, confusion written all over her face.

"What?" She pants out.

"Your brother, you've never told me about him." His plan seemed to work if only a bit, and he watched her think as she always did, searching her mind for distant memories, “What was his name?’

"...Apollo." She says the name quietly, her breathing finally settling with the help of the tea.

"Apollo?"

"God of the sun, twin brother to Artemis." Ivar smiles at the knowledge. How fitting.

"He was named for the sun and you for the moon." Artemis nods. 

"What did he look like?" Ivar continues in his distactions, wincing at her tightening grip as she fights against the pain. His wife was undeniably strong.

"H-he had dark curly hair, but not so dark as mine is. A bit like yours really," She breathes in slowly, releasing the breath along with her tight grip. "But our eyes were the same." Ivar hums, happy he was successful in straying her mind.

"What was he like?"

"He was...like a ray of sun. Always happy, always bright. Even in death's grip, he smiled." She was exhausted, that much was clear when she tossed her head back and closed her eyes. 

"Was he a good blacksmith?" Artemis suddenly shoots up from her position, lurching forward as she groans through a particularly nasty contraction. She grips both Ivar's and Aria's hands fiercely, tears starting to leak from her eyes. 

The midwife immediately pushes her thin sleeping shift up to her knees, checking for any changes."The child is not yet ready to come out." 

Artemis wanted to scream, but she opted for light sobbing instead, her body already exhausted but nowhere near the exhaustion that was to come. Ivar reacted quickly, cradling her head against his chest as he began to hum that lullaby he was so fond of. He stops when her cries turn into sniffles before continuing.

"Was he a good blacksmith, my love?" He tries again, smoothing her damp hair back. She sniffles, rubbing her cheek over his soft tunic before finding the strength to speak.

"He was incredible." She pants against him, "He was my father's prodigy." 

"What happened to him?" 

"He caught ill. They said it was from plague, but I never understood how. My father and I did not catch." Ivar listens, continuing to run his hand down the length of her messily braided hair.

"Was he young?"

"He was my age now when he passed. I was only 10 summers."

"And that's when you began the family trade." Artemis nods, eyes still closed, taking great comfort in his gentle touches. Alva and Breena watched their King and Queen in shock. Never had they seen their King display such affection before. This, of course, was normal for Gierdis and Aria, who watched their relationship blossom.

"Whatever skills Apollo learned, I learned as well." She shakes her head, smiling weakly, "If he only knew his sister took up a man's trade. He'd laugh." Ivar chuckles at this. He was always impressed with his wife's skill. She excelled at it far better than he ever did.

"I think he'd be proud." He answers with a smile.

...

After a long and strenuous labor, their daughter was born in the early morning, just as the sun began to rise. In 9 days time, the infant would be officially named and recognized by her father as his heir. 

She was a tiny thing, and thankfully healthy, with the smallest tuff of brown spiraling hair that was her father’s and chestnut eyes belonging to her mother. She was calm now, cleaned up by both Alva and Brenna, and placed lovingly in her exhausted mother's arms. Aria and Geirdis coo at the child, getting one last glance at the baby girl before the women left the King and Queen on their own with their daughter.

Ivar had stars in his eyes. He stares at his wife and child with such fascination and love, still unable to believe that he was able to have a child. And what a beauty she was.

Artemis held the swaddled child close to her bosom as she was taught by the midwife, using her finger to lightly trace over her daughter's small features.

"Is she healthy?" Ivar's voice wavers, "Are her legs-" 

"She's fine," She interrupts him, feeling the little kicks through the blanket, "And she's beautiful," A tired smile stretches over her face, "How you fought to come into this world little one." She kisses her daughter gently on the cheek before glancing at her husband. He seemed frozen in place.

"Come," Artemis says to him, "Hold your daughter." Placing the whimpering baby into his arms, she watches Ivar interact with his daughter. He hesitated, afraid of holding her for fear of crushing her little body. She was such a small thing in his large arms.

Ivar couldn't find the words to express all the emotions bursting within him. With glossy eyes he watches the tiny thing take even breaths, her little eyes fluttering with sleep. Snuggling against her father's chest, she sleeps comfortably in his arms.

"She has so much of you." His voice cracks and he swallows thickly, moving to gently place a kiss on his sleeping child's brow.

"And so much of her father." Artemis replies sleepily, happily burrowing into the warmth of the furs that were placed back on the bed. 

"I know what I wish her name to be," Ivar says suddenly, his gaze so intense despite the glossiness of his eyes, "With your approval, of course."

"Already?" She yawns, "What about the naming ceremony?" 

"Sól." She furrows her brows.

"Hmm?"

"Her name. It should be Sól."

"Sun?"

"Yes. She has risen with the sun,” Ivar says, “It will honor our goddess and your fallen brother. She will be the light of our lives, our sun." He finishes confidently, smiling down at his little girl. As he looks at her miniature features, a large wave of emotion hits him again. In that moment he vows to protect her from the cruelty of their world.

Artemis remains quiet, watching Ivar stare lovingly at their baby. She smiles, her heart beating for the fierce love of her husband and daughter.

"Sól," She repeats the name, "It is perfect."

...

@heavenly1927 @didiintheblog @leilabeaux @jzr201 @inforapound @a-mess-of-fandoms @rastakami23 @ostra814 @zumzum96

[sabineelectricheart]

A Stroll in a Dark Forest

Summary: Childbirth is like a stroll in a dark forest. You never know what comes on the other side.

Rating: T - Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

Explicit depiction of non-violent adult and child character death. Reader discretion is advised.

Words: 2650

Notes: I don’t have mommy issues, I swear! Anyways, enjoy.

It was February 16th, 1927, and Dante could not believe it had been a year already.

Life had a way of speeding things up and slowing them down in such a thrilling and tricky way. This past year had gone by so fast, compared to how slow days had gone by in the Winter of 1925 until Summer of 1926.

Each day they spent together was a blessing.

The weeks flew by them. Lili was getting more and more excited each passing day. They learned she was pregnant in mid-December, and Dante was happy and Lili was thrilled. Children, continuing the bloodline, has always been a looming reality for the mob boss, and he never felt particularly strong about it.

When he was younger, dread wrapped its bony hands around his neck, when he considered that he would have to marry and, ahem, impregnate someone, someday, and it would not be the woman he loved. He consoled himself with the thought that Nicola could very well take over that particular duty for him, and so it would not matter in the end.

As their circumstances changed, as he finally was blessed with what he wanted the most, children still were not the most important thing in his mind. He would be happy if he found himself as a father, do not misunderstand, but he would be perfectly satisfied barren, too.

Nevertheless, Dante was happy that his wife was happy, and that is what mattered the most.

With pregnancy, his usually vivacious and energic wife grew tired easily, and would often take naps during the day and fall asleep as soon as she retired at night.

In the dark, Dante liked to rest his hand on her stomach, feeling the stirrings of life and the future.

Despite feeling achy and tired, Liliana was unbelievably happy. She anxiously counted off the days and months.

"Only four more months until we meet the baby!" The blonde woman would say, a smile bright on her face and a hand covering the bump on her stomach lovingly, and he would feel a protective instinct rise on his heart.

Increasingly limited in her daily activities, Lili spent her time embroidering, knitting, or doing some other dainty kind of work preparing for the child. She was infectious to all, her face alight. She shed happiness and good fortune around her, thanking God for her blessings.

Dante watched in astonishment as his beloved wife turned more into mother with each passing day. She spread love like perfume, and he loved her right back all the more. He could not have predicted how his feelings for her would have deepened, but deepen they had.

As spring came, Lili's spirits increased with the temperature. Flowers grew, and she would spend hours in the garden looking at them. She was eating well, and her midwife said that Lili was perfectly healthy, and this pregnancy was developing quite well. The baby was expected to be healthy.

She did everything in whatever manner she was supposed to. She slept well, ate all the right foods, declined alcohol, did nothing strenuous. All the while she waited for her child to come.

"Dante," she whispered once in March, late at night. She took his hand and held it to her stomach.

He felt something push up against his hand. Lili sighed. Was she in pain?

"Lili? Are you alright?" He asked, anxiety raising in his voice.

"I'm fine, I’m fine!” She said, her eyes overflowing with tears. “Dante, you just felt the baby. He just moved!"

It hit him then. This baby was alive, and coming soon. In a matter of months, it would not be just the two of them anymore.

Against his worst expectations, he already felt a profound connection to the little being living inside Lili. This child seemed to underline their connection to each other. They were no longer just in love, or simply a husband and wife, but they were to raise a child together.

Or two, or three... Dante could not say what the future held for them, but it looked good.

In June, the midwife moved into one of the guest bedrooms and they prepared a room for Lili to give birth in. On June 30th, and right on time, Lili sat up, gasping in pain and clutching her swollen stomach.

"Dante." She whispered, too quietly to wake him up. "Dante!"

His blue eyes fluttered open as a particularly painful shock ran through her, causing her to gasp.

Everything had been prepared. The midwife was woken, and Lili was transferred into the room next door. After she was settled into the bed, Dante sat down right next to her, but the midwife shook her head.

"I'm sorry, signore, but rules are rules." The midwife said, sternly, hushing him out of the room.

Dante decided he did not like this woman. How could he trust her with his wife when she was in labour? It was obviously best was that they stayed together, and she was not doing what was best.

"Let him stay!" Lili cried. "Please."

"You need to relax, Signora." The midwife said. “It will not do if you are excited or anxious.”

“No!” Lili shook her head emphatically, in tears because of the pain and because of her agitation. “I can't do this without him! I need him! I need him here!"

"Signora…" Dante said, gathering himself to argue with the healer. "May I stay just for a while? The baby surely is not coming for another few hours, is he?"

She sighed. It was not wise to argue against the mafia.

"Very well, but as soon as I have to really work, you need to leave. We cannot have you getting in the way." She replied, in tone of resignation. "I'm going to go get some cloth and cold water for signora's head. It will bring her some relief."

Lili breathed a sigh of relief as she and Dante were left alone.

"I'm so excited." Lili said, resting her hands on her stomach eagerly. The pain had subsided a little for now, and she was able to fully realize that the baby was finally coming. "Do you think it'll be a boy or a girl?"

"I have no idea." He responded, feeling faint.

Throughout the pregnancy, Lili had referred to the baby as both 'he' and 'she,' trying to see which one felt better. She had not come to any solid conclusions, though.

He sighed, thoughtful. "I just cannot believe how everything is going to change after tonight."

"Ah!" Lili cried, reaching for his hand and gripping it so tightly he thought his fingers would break.

He did not know what to do. His pulse picked up speed, and he looked around for someone to help. Tears poured out of her green, wide eyes, and he felt desperation.

She breathed deeply, trying to steady herself in spite of her whimpering in great pain. A few sobs broke through her tense disposition, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

She surely should not be in this much pain. Was something wrong? Was the baby coming to fast? It was supposed to hurt, but Lili looked as though she was dying. He could not take it.

The midwife came back then.

"Should she be in this much pain?" Dante asked anxiously. "This does not seem normal!"

"Signore, I have seen more pregnancies than you can imagine, and this is absolutely normal.” The woman responds with little patience. “It is called a contraction, and yes, they hurt. Her body is trying to push the baby out, and it takes a lot of energy."

He glared, but said nothing in retort. Lili seemed to be recovering a bit, in any case. Her grip on his hand was less painful, and her breathing was not as frantic and erratic.

Nevertheless, these contractions did not seem to be working, or so Dante thought. Two hours later, Lili was still scrunched in pain, whimpering and gasping, but the midwife still insisted they were making progress.

"Signore, it has come the time for you to leave." She insisted brusquely.

Dante found it hard to take orders from someone with their head between his wife's legs, but complied anyway, kissing Lili goodbye.

"I love you." He said, but she was too concentrated to reply.

Outside the room, he paced for hours. He thought he was going crazy, waiting like this. All he wanted was for Lili's pain to be over, so she could finally hold their baby in her arms like she wanted to.

He could only imagine the look of bliss that would be on her face as she held their child, he could almost see it. The triumphant smile, the pride, her arms at once protective and caring holding the tiny being.

Noises constantly came from inside the room. Lili was gasping, and he heard the midwife muttering things, sounding soothing and encouraging. He wished he could help, knowing Lili was in pain and suffering just made him agitated. He did not like any bit knowing she was uncomfortable and knowing he could do nothing to help.

At three in the morning, he was sitting on the ground, his eyes sliding in and out of focus as he stared at the pattern of the wallpaper. He was exhausted. He did become aware, however, that there was silence from inside the room. Then a scream, much worse than any of the cries he had heard before.

"Lili!" He cried in desperation.

Without any thinking, Dante threw open the door and ran inside. He hurried to the bed, but the midwife held out a hand, stopping him from coming any closer to his wife.

"No. This is an emergency!" She barked, but that sloppy statement certainly did nothing to ease his mind.

"This is my wife you are talking about! What's going on?" He cried. His voice was coming out strained from his closed throat.

"I have to get the baby out." The midwife said, business-like, focused on her goal.

Dante's heart seemed to stop beating. The woman released her grip on him, and he fell to his knees next to Lili on the bed, reaching for her hand.

"Lili?" He called for her, without response.

Her eyes were closed. Was she in pain? What was happening with his wife?

"Lili, I'm here." The man whispers once again, trying to coax a reaction out of her to no avail.

Her hand was limp. He turned to look at the midwife in desperation.

"What's going on?" He turned back to Lili, shaking her shoulder. "Lili? Lili! Wake up! Wake up!"

Yet, the blonde woman did not move as he shook her. He shouted over and over for her to wake up, but she did not reply. Eventually, his cries turned to sobs, and he dropped his head onto her stomach, crying into her body.

"Signore…" The midwife whispered. He looked up, and saw what she was holding. Not who, but what. His child, their child, platinum hair and blue eyes, was resting in her arms, covered in blood. Underneath the blood, however, was a grey and pallid complexion that even Dante knew meant the worst.

"I'm so, so…"

"No. Don't say anything to me." Dante cut her off coldly. "You have done enough. Just... leave. Leave me alone!"

Tears were pouring down her face, it was seldom that both the mother and the child died, and she had never seen a scene this pitiful. She wrapped the child in a blanket and handed it to Signore Falzone.

Dante took the child with shaking arms, his tears making the room blurry. He realized then that he did not have to be quiet or strong, and he clutched the child to his heart while he sobbed for the loss of his family.

He looked down, and saw Lili's face. Her beautiful eyes were forever closed, and her forehead was smooth and peaceful. He smoothed her hair back, moved her legs down. He straightened her nightgown, and tucked her hands around herself the way she liked to sleep.

They had had less than two years together. He had spoken to her for the first time just over two years ago, after waiting and hoping and looking on the outside in for so much time, and here she lay next to him, dead.

Curse his impetuousness, curse his desires, curse his seed, curse his blood. If he had done what was best from the start, his beloved wife would still be alive and well.

He knew childbirth could be dangerous, but he had not let himself think of the worst...

He hated himself. He had done this to her. If he had known this would have happened, he never would have touched her. He would have been perfectly happy just waking next to her every morning, the world of the flesh left unexplored.

The man knew that opening that door led to sin and danger, that he would be the damnation of hers, he knew what the Church expected of him. Yes, it had brought pleasure as well, but had it been worth it? No. Here, his beloved wife lay dead next to him. His heart felt like cold stone in his chest.

As he looked at their child in his arms, he realized he did not know what it was. He was reluctant to pull back the blankets, for even though he knew it was dead, the little body in his arms was so small. He did not want it to get cold.

Finally, Dante managed to look. In his arms, he held a little boy. His son lay in his arms, dead. That was not where he belonged.

What Dante did next to him seemed the most natural thing to do. He opened Lili's arms again, and, as gently as he could, he settled the little boy into his wife's arms. For she was a mother now. She never got to meet her child, but she had been a mother from the moment she realized they were to have a child together.

In Heaven, the two could be together. Lili could live there with her lost family and their son, and he would be left alone.

He did not know how he could face the coming hour, let alone the rest of his life. Here he was, twenty-five and a widower. His one and only love lay unmoving next to him. She had been so full of life, dreams, love and sweetness that he could not imagine her ever leaving the earth. She was spring, she was flowers, she was light.

How could those things exist without her now?

He had no answer. He was alone now, as he had been for the first twenty-two years of his life. She had come forth like a stray sunbeam, enchanting his life with music and Heaven for two short years, then dancing off back to God.

You always knew she was an angel, Dante thought. Now she's back home.

He hoped Lili was with their son. He hoped they were together, and he hoped to see her again soon.

Soon, unfortunately for the mob boss, was not now, and for the moment, he lay next to his family, wrapping an arm around them both and burying his face into Lili's still-warm shoulder, inhaling the scent of her hair, which still lingered.

The lack of a blush on her cheeks was the only indication of her present state.

When he closed his eyes, he could almost hear her breathing as he had every night for the past year.

He lay next to Lili and their son who she held in her arms. They were not protective or proud the way he had imagined. He would never see her look of triumph.

For one last moment, he could be with his family.

*_*_*_*_*

Piofiore Masterlist

[lisinfleur]

Broken Dreams

The Request:

Author’s Notes | One of the heaviest angst I ever wrote. Universe | Vikings Pairing | Ivar x Reader Info | Viking Age AU, requested by anon for 5CW7 Words | 1383 ⁑ Warnings: Mentions of miscarriage and death. HEAVY ANGST. Caution is recommended: The following content may be triggering.

Just a moment. And then, like fragile glass, everything was broken.

They were feasting at the hall; fighters were entertaining the men with a fun fight and his wife felt tired and wanted to retire.

A stumble on the fight caused one man to launch the other towards the crowd right when she was passing to her room.

A terrible accident that caused the crowd to push her and hit her against the wooden table.

She started to bleed on spot... Nothing could be done to save his child.

In a second, the reason for all their happiness was now the source of the biggest despair he ever felt in his heart. The sensation of emptiness had taken completely the joy of his house and swallowed all the hope and dreams from his soul.

Y/N was a crying mess in her bed. She would do nothing but wake up and cry the whole day before exhaustion - and the whole bunch of teas she was drinking like water - could take her back into the world of her dreams where her belly was still full of his child and nothing had gone wrong.

Ivar tried his best to stay beside her, but sometimes he had to admit he left his room without purpose, just to be away from her tears and take some air.

Of course, he wasn't blaming her. There was no one to be blamed: his eyes saw everything happening and he knew it. Not her careful steps among the crowd, nor the fighters who begged his forgiveness, nor the woman in tears that came to knee on his feet claiming to be guilty of touching his queen and pushing her down. He spared them all, even when his anger was boiling into his chest. It wasn't towards then but towards the gods...

"She was happy... I was happy... Is that the reason why everything was taken from us? Am I fucking cursed?"

"You speak as if you knew better than the fingers who write your fate, Boneless," the Seer's voice answered his anguished question as the man's back was turned towards him.

The Wise One was gathering herbs outside of his tent while the angry king was sat at the mound of earth, looking straight at his eyeless face.

"There is no curse over you, young king"

"Then why?" the king insisted. "Why do the gods hate me so much? First, they took my legs! Now, they took my child! Why do they hate me so bad?"

The Ancient one turned itself towards Ivar, ignoring the angry frown he couldn't see in the boy's face.

"Does Freyr love his boar?"

The question made any sense for Ivar and he got up with his crutch, walking inside the tent after the Seer who continued speaking.

"I don't know what you're talking about, old man. What does Freyr's boar have to do with my questions?"

"I ensure you Freyr does like his boar, son of Ragnar. Yet, the wolves still eat the boars and none prevent this from happening. Such as Frigga blessed the mistletoe that killed her beautiful Baldur... Misfortunes happen, young king. It doesn't say you're hated or loved by the gods. It doesn't say anything. Children die, Ivar, the Boneless." the Seer said, looking at him. "Children die when they're expected to live, they live when they're expected to die. Death comes to all of us, whether born or not, as long as we're alive."

The Seer started placing the herbs he gathered on the right pots over his shelf as Ivar seemed to be dwelling on what he just heard.

"So... The gods do not hate me? Then why my child? With so many around, why mine?" he asked, a little less angry than before.

"Why Baldur, among all the gods? Why not Thor... nor Tyr... not Freya, nor Sif? Your fate is yours and yours only, young king. Now go and weep. Life is not only made of victories nor the river of tears is endless. Even for the great Ragnar, beloved and missed, the tears ceased one day. Let Hel have what she has. Now go."

The Ancient extended his hand for Ivar to lick his palm and leave.

Confused, but feeling his anger diminishing in his chest, Ivar took his crutch and started walking with his slow pace towards his home. His eyes looking around, seeing the waves of the sea at the beach not so far; the children of the town running around, playing between the tents of the merchants of his city, remembering him of the many hopes he fed when his wife's belly started to swell with life.

His heart clenched into his chest with those giggles echoing into his ears and, step by step, Ivar remembered his plans, his hopes, his dreams towards that pregnancy that never came to its proper end.

The boys sparing with wooden sticks remembering his hopes to teach his child how to properly hold a sword; the young girls giggling, remembering his thoughts about how it would be to have a little princess walking around his Hall. The children seemed to be everywhere on his way home and somehow, he felt what the gods wanted from him.

Slowly, the anger in his heart had become something else: a strong pressure, crushing his chest from inside out as if that whole anger was something acid, hurting him inside. And slowly it became a knot that closed his throat, suffocating him until it started pouring through his eyes, dripping from his chin. His fingers held the crutch tighter and his steps crossed his Hall's door, walking slowly towards his room, seeing around everything they had prepared for a baby that wouldn't come.

The bedroom he had ordered to be settled for his child attracted him like a strong magnet and he just couldn't avoid coming into that small room; his fingers sliding through the beautiful crib he had ordered the carpenters to carve for his unborn and not-coming child.

From tracing the runes, his fingers went to press the wood between them and so, the small drops in his face became thick lines wet of his tears. And the drops fell from his chin wetting his hand and the wood under it, slipping through the carved runes, filling them with salty water before rolling down to the floor.

"Ivar?" Y/N's voice sounded at the door, but he didn't answer. Her voice sounded like one last strike, breaking the resistance of his internal walls and destroying the dam in his heart, releasing the pain like a wave that thickened his cry and opened his heart.

"My love... My sweet love..." she came closer and her warm embrace became cozy refuge to his shattered heart when the two of them slid to the ground, sitting in the middle of the small room, empty of the happiness it was built for.

His trembling fingers gripped on her clothes and his arms embraced her tight as she wrapped his shivering body into her gentle arms, hiding his face against her neck, holding his cry when hers was already slowly drying.

"Hush, my love... I'm here for you, my heart," she mumbled, gently lulling his body against her chest, allowing Ivar to cry his heart out and live the suffering he had held into himself behind the wall of an angry face since the moment that midwife declared his dream ended. "I'm here with you."

For a long time, he lied into her arms, crying their lost dreams and promises never fulfilled. His hand in her empty belly caressing what wasn't there anymore caused Y/N to cry with him and they finally shared the pain she had been carrying all by herself. Together, they mourned their beautiful unborn child and when the sun was gone, with it, were gone their tears.

"Whenever we're ready... I want this dream..." She mumbled, cupping his face.

And Ivar touched his forehead with hers, nuzzling his nose to hers before softly kissing her lips.

"Whenever we're ready, my love."

His beautiful Baldur was gone. And everything had wept for him. But it wasn't a curse... It was fate and it was gone. And whenever was ended the time for weep, maybe new smiles could be forged once again.

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[thecoleopterawithana]

When you were young and your heart was an open book

Don’t Let Me Down | Paul’s Upbringing

John, because of his upbringing and his unstable family life, had to be hard, witty, always ready for the cover-up, ready for the riposte, ready with the sharp little witticism. Whereas with my rather comfortable upbringing, a lot of family, lot of people, very northern, ‘Cup of tea, love?’, my surface grew to be easy-going. Put people at their ease. Chat to people, be nice, it’s nice to be nice.

— Paul McCartney, in Barry Miles’ Many Years From Now (1997).

Paul grew up in the warm embrace of a loving family. There was hardship, certainly: they were definitely working-class, and the war had been unkind to the cotton exchange business, so it fell on mother Mary to be the main bread-winner of the family, as a domiciliary housewife. Her nursing job also made it so they were always on the move, from one new outskirt council estate to the next, “always on the edge of the world” that was the rebuilding of a war-torn Liverpool. But despite this surrounding instability, the core of the family itself was a safe harbour of reliably loving parents.

I got my compassion for people from my mother. She was a midwife. I think that would probably be the most important quality. Again, respect and caring for others.

— Paul McCartney, interview w/ Jonathan Wingate for Record Collector: Paul McCartney gets back to work (July 2007).  

[My mum] was very kind, very loving. There was a lot of sitting on laps and cuddling. She was very cuddly. I think I was very close to her. My brother thinks he was a little closer, being littler. I would just be trying to be a bit more butch, being the older one. She liked to joke and had a good sense of humour and she was very warm. There was more warmth than I now realise there was in most families. [...] They aspired to a better life. That idea that we had to get out of here, we had to do better than this. This was okay for everyone else in the street but we could do better than this. She was always moving to what she saw as a better place to bring her kids up.

— Paul McCartney, in Barry Miles’ Many Years From Now (1997).

Not only had this notion of rising out of their current situation been instilled in Paul and his brother Michael from an early age by his mother – by encouraging them to speak “the Queen’s English” and insist on their education, for example – his father, Jim McCartney, also did his best to pass down his values of “Toleration and Moderation”, a good education and a special emphasis on an honest and responsible work ethic.

I think I got my respect and tolerance for people from my dad, which is a pretty cool quality to inherit. He was very big on tolerance, my dad. It was a word he used to use all the time. I think I grew up with that attitude. You know, you’d say, ‘Bloody hell, I hate that guy.’ and then you’d stop and go, ‘Alright, wait a minute, maybe he’s got a point,’ and you’d try and consider it from his or her point of view. I think that was a great lesson.

— Paul McCartney, interview w/ Jonathan Wingate for Record Collector: Paul McCartney gets back to work (July 2007).

He had us out aged about nine. I was virtually a door-to-door salesman by the time I was twelve. [...] I was certainly not shy with people, I think because of all these activities my dad encouraged us into. I think it's probably very good for your confidence with people. It was all right. That was my upbringing.

[...]

My parents aspired for us, very much indeed. That is one of the great things you can find in ordinary people. My mum wanted me to be a doctor. 'My son the doctor' - and her being a nurse, too. No problem there. And my dad, who left school at fourteen, would have loved me to be a great scientist, a great university graduate. I always feel grateful for that. I mean, God, I certainly fulfilled their aspirations, talk about overachieving! That was all bred into me, that.

We had George Newnes Encyclopedias. I can still remember the smell of them. If you didn't know what a word meant or how it was spelled, my dad would say 'Look it up.' I think that's a great attitude to take with kids. It steers you in the right direction. It was part of a game where he was improving us without having had an awful lot of experience of improvement himself. But I always liked that, and I knew I would outstrip him. By going to grammar school I knew I'd fairly soon have Latin phrases or know about Shakespeare which he wouldn't know about.

— Paul McCartney, in Barry Miles’ Many Years From Now (1997).

Just from these passages alone, we can spot the origins of Paul’s tolerant and caring nature, social skills, self-reliance, and tireless drive for self-improvement (with its nuances of social climbing and fierce competitiveness).

All in all, it was a good solid childhood: exploring the woods outside of his house – “Mother Nature’s Son” through and through – playing and running from Speke teds with his friend George Harrison, going to school and working the occasional odd job, helping his family and making them proud.

And then, Paul McCartney’s secure existence was shattered.

My head was in a whirl, only then I realized, I lost my little girl

On the 31st of October 1956, Mary McCartney abruptly dies from complications following her mastectomy. She’d been admitted at a far too advanced state of breast cancer after she’d kept working – while in pain – for several weeks, choosing not to divulge this symptom or the fact that she had a lump in her breast to her colleagues.

The whole family is caught unawares, but the boys especially are mostly kept in the dark.

I remember one horrible day me and my brother going to the hospital. They must have known she was dying. It turned out to be our last visit and it was terrible because there was blood on the sheets somewhere and seeing that, and your mother, it was like "Holy cow!' And of course she was very brave, and would cry after we'd gone, though I think she cried on that visit. But we didn't really know what was happening. We were shielded from it all by our aunties and by our dad and everything.

— Paul McCartney, in Barry Miles’ Many Years From Now (1997).

The boys are sent away to stay with relatives, noticing that something was wrong but unaware of what was going on, unable to actually say goodbye.

Two days later, it’s too late.

Paul is 14.

As Jim comes to break the news, and his brother Michael breaks down in tears, Paul has an unexpected response.

Mum was a working nurse. There wasn’t a lot of money around – and she was half the family pay packet. My reaction was: ‘How are we going to get by without her money?’ When I think back on it, I think, ‘Oh God, what? Did I really say that?’ It was a terrible logical thought which was preceded by the normal feelings of grief. It was very tough to take.

— Paul McCartney, in Ray Coleman’s McCartney: Yesterday & Today (1996).

It would not be the last time that Paul McCartney’s initial shock response to grief is considered “flippant” or “callous” by the people around him; a fact that has haunted him throughout his life.

I’m very funny when people die. I don’t handle it at all well, because I’m so brought down that I try to bring myself up. So I don’t show grief very well. It actually leads some people to think I don’t care, and I do. I’m not good at it like some people. [...] But I’ve always been kind of inward about those things. So I just deal with it myself.

— Paul McCartney, in Ray Coleman’s McCartney: Yesterday & Today (1996).

By virtue of nature or nurture, Paul exhibits from early on an extreme difficulty or unwillingness to deal with his less pleasant emotions.

His response to the alarm that is pain is to deny that it is ringing altogether.

And this manifested not only in inadequate optimism for some situations, it most often took the shape of what appeared to be too hard and cold pragmatism. Some people, unfortunately, saw his defence-mechanism of turning completely rational in the face of crisis and mistook it for him not caring; when, in fact, he cared so much that his only solution was to try and shut it off.  

He carried with him a great burden of guilt and regret; not concerning his reaction to his mother’s death but also due to other misdemeanours and minor hurts he’d caused her when she was alive.

There's one moment that I've regretted all my life which is a strange little awkwardness for me. There was one time when she said 'ask' and she pronounced it posh. And I made fun of her and it slightly embarrassed her. Years later I've never forgiven myself. It's a terrible little thing. I wish I could go back and say, ‘I was only kidding, Mum.' I’m sure she knew. I'm sure she didn't take it too seriously.

— Paul McCartney, in Barry Miles’ Many Years From Now (1997).

In retrospect, he even theorized that the lyrics to his acclaimed ‘Yesterday’ were related to his mother’s sudden departure.

With ‘Yesterday’, singing it now, I think without realising it I was singing about my mum who died five or six years previously, or whatever the timing was. Because I think now, “Why she had to go, I don’t know, she wouldn’t say, I said something wrong…”

— Paul McCartney, interview w/ Pat Gilbert for MOJO: Don’t look back in anger (November 2013).

So in the aftermath of life completely pulling the rug from under his feet, Paul was not only struggling to deal with his own emotions, trying to bury them far from sight as best as he could, he was being consumed by terrible guilt for doing exactly that.

More than that, he was under the care of his uncle and aunt for several more days, trying to rally his brother so that they wouldn’t appear ‘softies’ in their cousins' eyes, while friends and family tried to hold together a shattered Jim McCartney, “whose first thought was to join his wife”.

Seeing his father break down like that had a huge impact on Paul.

My mother's death broke my dad up. That was the worst thing for me, hearing my dad cry. I'd never heard him cry before. It was a terrible blow to the family. You grow up real quick, because you never expect to hear your parents crying. You expect to see women crying, or kids in the playground, or even yourself crying – and you can explain all that. But when it's your dad, then you know something's really wrong and it shakes your faith in everything. But I was determined not to let it affect me. I carried on. I learnt to put a shell around me at that age.

— Paul McCartney, in The Anthology (1995).

This is very important.

Not only had the only reality he’d ever known been destroyed by his mother’s sudden death, his own father – who was supposed to be this strong, unshakable pillar in his life – couldn’t be relied on to hold it together.

Paul had been let down. He was on his own.

Fear steems from a feeling of powerlessness. You feel painfully vulnerable to whatever life might throw at you, at constant risk of being hurt again, and the only solution is to be on the lookout. Be prepared.

Paul was caught unawares because the people he’d counted on to always be there suddenly weren’t. And with his compassionate and reasonable nature, he probably didn't even blame them at all. But the facts were that Paul had been left hanging, not once but twice, when he needed them the most. So he kind of lost his faith in everything.

Life is chaotic and unpredictable; and people, through no fault of their own, are just as inconstant.

And so, in order not to risk being let down again, Paul took matters into his own hands. He tried to escape the pain and dread of being powerless by seizing control of whatever he could. And that was mostly himself.

And so begins Paul McCartney’s saga of isolating independence and other control-issues.

As Paul said above, he’s “always been kind of inward” about grief and other “negative” emotions. He’d rather be alone at this stage because he doesn’t want to expose his vulnerabilities. Not to others and much less to himself. So he needs a distraction. Something to devote himself to that’ll take his mind off the pain.

The saving grace, as usual, was music.

— Paul McCartney, The Q Interview (2007).

His brother Michael, probably the closest observer we could have of this period, recounts how Paul was like in the aftermath.

Paul was far more affected by Mum’s death than any of us imagined. His very character seemed to change and for a while he behaved like a hermit. He wasn’t very nice to live with at this period, I remember. He became completely wrapped up in himself and didn’t seem to care about anything or anybody outside himself.

He seemed interested only in his guitar, and his music. He would play that guitar in his bedroom, in the lavatory, even when he was taking a bath. It was never out of his hands except when he was at school or when he had to do his homework. Even in school, he and George Harrison used to seize the opportunity every break to sit and strum.

When we left our auntie’s house and returned home, it was agreed that Dad, Paul and I would take it in turns to do the housework.

“We’re a family on our own now,” Dad said. “We’ll all have to help.”

But time after time when I came home from school, I would find that Paul hadn’t done his bit. I would go looking for him and sometimes I would find him, up in his bedroom, perhaps, sitting in the dark, just strumming away on his guitar. Nothing, it seemed, mattered to him any more. He seldom went out anywhere – even with girls. He didn’t bother much with any of his friends except his schoolmate George Harrison and John Lennon, who was at the art school next door. Work and work alone – his school books and his guitar – appeared to be the only thing that could help him to forget.

— Mike McCartney, Woman: Portrait of Paul (21 August 1965).

So Paul takes to complete dedication to work and music to help him ignore his pain. And he’d rather go through this process of burying it on his own. We see him isolate himself from his family and friends, according to Mike socializing mostly with George, also in the context of playing music. John is also mentioned; this could be a smudging of the timeline in Mike’s recollections, as Paul would only meet John the following year. That or Paul’s mourning lasted until the autumn of 1957, when John was enrolled in art college.

We also have a clue about how guarded Paul was with his “negative” emotions – how resilient he always wanted to be – that no one imagined he would be so affected by his mother’s death as he was.

This will also be a repeating theme through Paul’s life: his wish to always be strong, positive and reliable will make others and himself overestimate his imperviousness to trauma. People will then feel free to burden him with their own pain or unload their frustrations on him, without feeling that there would be consequences; because Paul is so tough as to be unaffected by all that. This proved, time and again, not to be true.

His true strength arises, in my opinion, not in the fact that he is unshakable but in his determination to quietly pick himself up again and again.

Losing my mum when I was fourteen was a major tragic event in my life. But, when I think about myself, I am, overall, pretty optimistic, pretty enthusiastic, pretty much into getting on. One of the reasons being, she would want that. I know for certain she would want that. I know Linda would want that. I know John would want that, and George would want that. My dad would want that. They were very, very positive people. And the idea that their deaths would plunge me into some sort of morose depression would bother them. I know that for a fact. So that helps me to not go there.

— Paul McCartney, interviewed by John Colapinto for the New Yorker: When I’m sixty-four (4 June 2007).

But as a 14-year-old Northern lad, his tactic of picking himself up didn’t involve dressing the wounds, which would continue to bleed silently in the recesses of his mind.

I certainly didn’t grieve enough for my mother. There was no such thing as a psychiatrist when I lost her. You kidding? I was a 14-year-old Liverpool boy. I wouldn’t have had access to one and I do now.

— Paul McCartney, interviewed by Nigel Farndale for The Telegraph: Love me do (17 May 2002).

But soon, Paul would find an even greater outlet for his love of music, almost magical in its specialness:

Someone to perform with.

[intothewickedwood]

Once Upon A Time Rewatch: 3x15 Quiet Minds

So my mum’s security camera picked me up walking through a solid door last night, so I don’t know how to feel about that. Phasing isn’t the power I really wanted but I’ll take it. Can I get some super speed with that?

I’ve decided to watch Deaf West Spring Awakening tonight so I’m hella excited! But I’ll try to concentrate.

Ooh and excited for the Curious Archer Girl in the Tower fandom rewatch this weekend! So much excite!

I love Zelena’s SB outfits! Nanny chic  

I wonder why she can’t summon Rumple? Is it cause Bae’s mind is preventing her?

So much snow.

It would be too awkward for Neal to call Belle “mum.” xD

So does the fact that Emma’s necklace survived the curse mean that Swanfire is true love?

Lumiere is kinda creepy. Or maybe I’m still just freaked out about phasing through doors.

Aww Henry going fishing with Leroy.

Hook, your jealousy is showing

Zelena got there fast because she teleported, Snow!

Wicked Snow! Wicked Snow!  

Midwife!Zelena is so goddamn sweet! I love her! I mean, you know I love Zelena always but there’s a special place in my heart for midwife!Zelena.

I always almost call her nanny!zelena

Her voice is so soothing. I want her to be my therapist!

What’s in that orange juice?!

Zelena with her hands on Snow’s tummy: “I am not letting you have this baby without me.” Wicked smile of wickedness.

Yes, I have just watched this Wicked Snow scene 4 times.

Robin shooting that arrow at Regina is shady as hell!! Dude knows he’s suppose to check who’s there before shooting. The way he does it just makes me believe that ‘Robin’s always been a villain theory’ or at least it makes me believe that he might be seeking revenge for Marian at least at first. Who knows, maybe he was always trying to mess with her heart and then he actually fell in love with her. There’s just no way he didn’t shoot that arrow at her on purpose!

No, I’m sorry. I just watched it again and he has a while to look at her before shooting. And he hears her talking. Shady as all hell!

So now you remember that Bae was once a boy that you looked after! Time to stop this nonsense fighting over Emma. *Whispers* Because Emma loves Baelfire.

Oh yeah. I never thought about how Bae’s desperation to get back to Henry parallels Rumple’s determination to get back to Bae!

It’s snowing! Weeeee!

Emma why you being like this?? Your family loves you. Please don’t leave them and take Henry. Regina would no way allow that.

Gold is not having a good time right now.

That monkey could be yo cousin David!!

Come to think of it, I wonder if David, Snow and Regina have any cousins as well as aunts and uncles around Storybrooke.

Does Robin know at this point that Regina killed Marian? He seems to have ‘heard’ a lot about the Evil Queen. You know what? He freakin does and he wants REVENGE. I saw you with that arrow, boy.

Baelfire! Don’t do it!

I know Zelena takes credit for ‘killing’ Baelfire but I’ve never understood that. She just left out some important information, which yes, lead to his death but it was still his decision and he knew there would be a great price for resurrecting someone.

Ow! That hand must hurt!

Baelfire: “Was it serious?” Emma: “He proposed.” Baelfire: “Wow!” Emma: “And then he turned into a flying monkey.” Baelfire: “Sounds intense.” That is intense!

The way they laugh together! The way they interact is just one of the reasons I love Swanfire! They have such great chemistry and they just get each other.

Baelfire: “I care about you Emma and always will. I just want you to be happy. Even if it isn’t with me.” Emma: “We we’re happy once.” Baelfire: “We never found Tallahassee.” Ugh! The feels!!

Belle: “If Neal used that key, he should be dead right now.” Neal: *immediately screams and collapses*

Bae’s face Turing into Rumple’s is one of the creepiest god forsaken things I’ve seen in my goddamn life! Ew!!

At least he resurrected fully clothed! Voldemort could take a page outta that! Imagine if Rumple just stood there naked lolololol and the whole Charming gang were there!

How did Rumple know that absorbing Bae was something he could do? Had he tried it before?

He chose his son over the dagger!!

Rumple disobeyed an order. I know he had a lot going on but he was told to kill Belle. I wonder if that’s the only time he ever disobeyed an order like that. Or did he? Their decision to go to the realm where Belle grew old did hasten her demise. Was he influenced by this seemingly long forgotten instruction? Or am I just going off the deep end. Probably the latter xD.

AAAAAAAAAH!! Rumple’s face on Bae! Why does it look like that?!!

Nooooooooo! Bae please stay awake!!

I can’t!!!!!!!!

Rumple: “I love you son.” Baelfire: “I love you Pap-“

And now I am tears!!

Snow’s like, “What the hell? My homeskillet biscuit Zel just went to the bathroom. You better not be messin’ with my girl!”

Snow’s so upset the Wicked Witch is her buddy!!

Zelena: “They may know, who I am, now, but it no longer matters. Not, when I have you, Rumplestiltskin. Not, when I have your beautiful brain. So be it then little Dark One and get back in your cage.” I love the way she speaks! My wicked child!

Where does he go to the toilet.

Aww, Roland playing with his dad. Maybe he’s the little mastermind behind Robin’s revenge plot!

Aww. Snow hugging Belle. I love the little moments with those two.

Emma telling Henry about Neal! My soul just shattered! Maybe that’s how I can walk through doors?!

[swearronchanel]

9.06

I’m a day late but I have thoughts

- Fred is truly a gem lol but another garden seems redundant

- Trixie actually working!

- Why did they bring back Val’s really bitchy cousin lol, I’m sure she has others on the block😂

- Also Mcnulty seems eager to come back, nice boy

- Sister Hilda tryna stay positive when she knows the truth, bless her

- Also the heat 2000 feels just as far away when you say it now at days too😂

- Save Nonnatus House 1k65/2k20

- I was always wondering when the Turners would tell Angela she’s adopted. I think it should be soon, she deserves to know & I hope we see it

- Little girls always wanna be the same😭 that’s true, but I hope that they acknowledge the fact that it’s a different situation and Angela won’t ever have the struggle May is about to have

- “Maybe they’ll move and carry on like before” Trixie in tears makes me wanna cry😭 she’s literally already been through this. I wish we saw more moments where she reflects as the only OG midwife left (yea Shelagh is technically too but you already know all the issues)

- Also Trixie looks damn great

- What will midwives the do!? We shall see

- Oh so Val has a dad? Did he pass? Give us more info lol

- I also feel like it’s been spring/summer this whole series lol

- Ok but the suddenly alive lost parent trope is pretty soap-y/melodramatic but go on,

- Shelagh stress smoking is a big ass mood but also stop you have weak lungs sis

- Reggie always have great ideas

- Chugging castor oil uh I rather die 🤢

- She’s going to shit her brains out now

- LMAO YUP

- Sister Hilda and Trixie could be an interesting dynamic, let’s see it

- Fred do not worry you’ll figure it out

- What’s wrong with Sister Frances?

- Where is Ms Higgins from that she just said laboratory like that LMAO?? Or do all brits say it like that? i dont remember

- Can’t wait to see Phyllis back with her cubs

- Fred and Reggie hugging for so long🥺

- Sister MJ is going to make a garden, I love her

- Trixie’s new pyjama’s are so cute

- It’s a boy 🥺

- “I am not alone sister” LMAO omg reminds me of the time my grandma went shopping by herself right after she came out of the hospital and we called her and asked who she was with and she straight up said “con díos” aka god and I died

- Never underestimate Sister Mj tho

- Tim is so grown and yet he’s still just the babysitter is so wack give him a little story

- “I like that we’re complicated” awww

- The photos of May🥺awww

- Give Esther a chance man, I feel so bad. She only asked to meet her before she goes back

- Gtfo how can the agency not provide a translator so that she can understand official documents in her first language? That’s bullshit

- LMAO FRED IS WASTED

- “Only in the line of duty ma’am” 😂

- Oh no poor Sister Frances, cramps are the WORST 😭

- I legit would not be able to move for hours and have thrown up before from period pain. Thank god for birth control

- What’s wrong with baby warren?! Omg noo a heart problem

- Trixie’s fit is great

- The fucking chicken pox caused this omg nooo

- THE BEATLES AT SHEA!! iconic! Remember when Don took Sally on Mad Men

- Omg baby is blind? and only going to live a few weeks? Noo😭 this is heart breaking

- Poor Val and poor Maureen ugh this is so awful

- My niece turned 1 today and baby warren is making me extra emo😢

- Sister MJ with the teddy bear 🥺 she doesn’t even care she got caught for taking the blankets LMAO

- Damn May doesn’t remember her or her language. This is so heartbreaking

- ALSO why were there not subtitles so we could know what she said? 🤔 very questionable... just like how they emphasized earlier her going by a “christian” name now... 

- Esther shouldn’t have gotten loud but they didn’t even give her a chance? That’s not really fair

- I know Patrick is being protective but he’s so defensive that he probably did scare May

- PHYLLIS FAKING CAR TROUBLES TO GET CRYRIL AND LUCILLE TOGETHER I LOVE IT

- Damn that didn’t go well LMAO

- I’m really feeling conflicted here. I know the Turners have the best intentions and want to keep May safe but I feel like they haven’t given Esther enough of a chance before passing judgment. Like how do we not know she’s a completely changed/clean from drugs women?

- like she is working for a family with enough money for international travel so they probably pay well? IDK what to think rn. Maybe I’m giving Esther the benefit of the doubt but no one else really is

- “They made my child afraid of me” that’s so sad to hear

- “Forgetting her language, forgetting that she’s Chinese” !!! THIS, no one is talking about May’s loss of culture & what’s worse is that no one else seems to care. It really upsets me, the show always wants to pride itself on respecting other cultures and being inclusive but I don’t always feel that

- Also what she said about what they’ve done to her people. She ain’t wrong. F**k colonialism and all its evils !!

- Poor Esther 😭 this is so sad. It’s a lose lose situation for her and she just wants her daughter to know her and know that she loves her

- Also I know sister J is sister J but her talking to Esther is a bit biased don’t you think

- NO NO NO Warren passed 😭😭😢

- Damn Patrick has to carry a stack of death certificates 😢

- ANOTHER look from Ms Franklin

- all the girls look great though

- My heart really breaks for Esther man. This is so sad. She’s the victim of circumstances and it sucks to feel like the world is against you

- It’s so awkward bc the Turners are always set up in moments to kiss and then they don’t and just stand or sit there

- Such beautiful flowers

- They developed the film of Baby Warren😭

- Cyril’s FIT ! A fashion KING who loves Lucille. I love it. I love them.

- The nosy nurses of course

- Alright this is an awesome little festival good job Fred and Reggie !!

- Love the dress Trixie. The hat no so much but it’s the 60s so

- A BABY GARDEN OMG HOW PRECIOUS

- SISTER MONICA JOAN WON OK!

- “Flowers take many forms. Each one has its story. Each one unfolds...” 🌼🌸💐🌷🌺🌻🌷

- “Not every garden blooms as we except it... tears take the place of rain when the sunshine fails us...” 😭💖

- This was a beautiful ending to a sad episode wow