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thoughtfullyyoungduck · 4 years

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This is awkward

Summary: could u maybe do a reddie x daughter where she gets her period, but wants to hide it from richie and eddie bc they’re guys, so she steals richie’s phone and calls bev for help. but like as she goes over to bevs house (maybe they live close) richie and eddie think she’s missing or lost and they freak out? i just feel like that’s such a reddie situation lmao

warnings: period talks

In retrospect, she really should have seen it coming. All the signs they taught you about in health class presented themselves full force, from having abdominal pain and a bloating stomach after eating a cracker, to using the bathroom more than she usually has to.

Never the less, it remained a shock when she wakes up at five in the morning to searing throbbing in her lower abdomen that leaves her helplessly whriting. The clock strikes six am at the exact moment she groans, curling her body into a fetal position and covering her stomach with her arms.

She lays still for a while, tossing and turning in an effort to find a pose that won’t hurt, but nothing helps, and so she decides to go to the medicine cabinet and fish out medication to reduce the ache. In order to do that, she removes the heavy silk comforter off her body, and shivers as her temperature reduces from the added coldness that sticks in the room. It’s nearing summer time, so the sun is gleaming up every last detail of the room even at six o’clock, rendering the lightbulb hanging from the ceiling useless.

She gets up, and as soon as turns around to readjust the comforter out of the corner of her eye she spots a red blood stain, soaked into the covers of her one person bed. Ellie’s first instinct is, embracingly enough, to cry, the sight of blood leaving her squeamish and ready to do whatever it takes to get rid of it.

Her pain tolerance is high, but the second a blotch of blood presents itself anywhere near or on her, it needs to be removed point black.

It clicks in her mind what this situation means and what the logical explanation is, but she’s still in a daze that allows her to calmly rip the covers of the bed an paddle downstairs to the washing area, carefully avoiding to touch the blood itself, free of any panic or discomfort, beside the continues stabbing sneers. Only after disposing of the covers in the washing machine and shutting it with a small click, she sobers up and worries.

Ellie grabs a towel of a mountain of dry-cleaned clothes that Richie was ordered to organize room by room but forgot after a last minute stand up show the night before and wraps it around her middle. The towel specifically is her favorite, colored blue with the animations of winx club printed upon it, as a child her favorite cartoon show, with her name embroider on the top thanks to her uncle Mike. A trait she copied from Richie was that she lost stuff so much that Eddie got sick of it and started writing her name on article of clothes and shoes so that if someone found it they returned it to the right person, and because at the time Mike was practicing embroidery, he sowed her name in the towel as a gift.

The edges of the towel are worn out and frayed, but the texture is soft to the touch and smells like sunscreen, in a way tied to a few of Ellie’s preferred treasured memories. It’s the only at hand though, and time is of the essence, and she wants to wants desperately to avoid any more blood spillage.

Scanning the floor while hurrying to a bathroom Ellie cautions that she stays upright and doesn’t hit her toe against the doorframe like she idioticly does time and time again. She reaches the bathroom she unlocks the door from its hinches and opens it soundlessly, her parents lost in dreamland a door over. She feels weirdly docile about the whole thing, not at all trembling or making rash decision like she foresaw whenever she thought of this moment. The bathroom door shuts behind her, and she silently awaits for any sound to emerge from Eddie and Richie’s bedroom, but none materialize, thankfully.

At that point, there’s not much she can do. The house is empty of anything remotely resembling pads, with Richie and Eddie not needing them and Ellie hadn’t required them so far either.

Having two fathers is a blessing that Ellie is magnificently proud of, and most of the time she forgets that core families usually exist of one father and a mother. Richie and Eddie fill up any void that a mom could possibly leave behind, and so she is often oblivious that her home situations isn’t ‘normal’. There is nothing that a mother adds that Richie and Eddie don’t provide her, but maybe this is the one exception.

Ellie learned about menstrual cycles and how to deal with them via sex ed in school, but at home not a word was ushered about this. Unintentional no doubt, since Richie took it upon himself to bring up as much cringe-worthy conversations to shy her away from trying anything stupid. She never brought the topic up, and it must have slipped from Richie and Eddie’s mind too.

She debates waking up Richie and Eddie to drive her to the store, but it’s too early for that, the sops opens at nine, and there honestly sounds nothing worse but rousing her fathers for something like a period.

Richie will joke, and Eddie will research the whole thing down to the smallest details to aid her with all the knowledge found on the internet, but what she would really benefit from is a girl simply explaining the whole thing to her.

The solution literally falls in her lap, as Ellie accidentally knocks over the parfum Beverly left behind last time she visited. Aunt Bev and uncle Ben live two streets away, in a giant modern home they fosters pets in, at the edge of a forest.

They reside there any time they aren’t on their boat travelling around the world, but with Beverly six months into her pregnancy, they swore to not go on any outings up to the birth of their very first child.

Both Ben and Bev work every weekday, but if Bev is home, she’ll be happy to help, Ellie is certain. She should call first, to let Bev know she was on her way and to ensure Bev won’t contact the police on her, a figure appearing out of the blue early morning might not present well. The only problem with that is that Ellie’s phone was dropped in the water of a bath, cracking the phone’s screen from the hard landing and drenching it in water, causing all the phone’s functions to give out.

Calling aunt Bev is only an option if Ellie locates a phone, and her best bet on that is her pops.

Richie obsesses over his phone, and while he says that’s not the case, Eddie humorously hid it once and it send Richie in such a frenzy he explored the whole house top to bottom and discarded any and all cabinets to locate it.

Eddie chides the overexercise usage and resorts to conking Richie over the head if he dares to divided his attention to it for over ten minutes, but it’s all in a loving way, Eddie wouldn’t ever dream of hurting Richie.

A compromise was formed, Richie promising to leave his phone unattended on the bedside table at the end of the bed, and Eddie dialing down his complaints. The phone can’t ramify it’s toxic radiation from that far, but it’s close enough that the alarm clock rouses them up if necessary.

Invading Richie and Eddie’s bedroom is a dangerous game to play at, Eddie’s hearing out of this world with precision and picking up on the smallest, barely there clamor, but assisted with a tad of luck, Ellie might be able to evade waking them. After all, she’d rather get caught sneaking in, than having to provide a valid reason she ought to shop.

------

The clock strikes eight a.m. when Richie stirs awake, the light streaming through the window in such a way it glistens directly in Richie eyes, and in order to avoid it he swivels around on his stomach. His arm covers Eddie side, snoring loudly right net to his ear. Huffing out a laugh, Richie retracts his arm to cover his eyes from the sun that maliciously demands him to wake.

Eddie sniffles, his hand lifting in search for Richie and sighing happily when his fingertips bump against Richie’s shoulder, tugging his arm back in position.

‘Too early’, he grumbles, smacking his lips to rid himself of his dry mouth and burying his head further into his pillow. Richie laughs, kissing his husbands bare shoulder and readjusting Richie’s shirt he’s wearing after.

Weekends are a synonymous with rest and sleep, but Richie starts the day bright and fresh anyway, cooking a giant breakfast with Ellie to lure Eddie out of bed under the guise of food.

It strikes Richie as odd that Ellie’s not up and about it yet, he strains to hear any movement in the house but he comes up empty.

‘Aren’t you gonna make me breakfast, babe?’ Eddie asks his lips curled in a teasing smile, accustomed to their morning routine.

‘Sure thing Eds’, Richie says gooey, slobbering a kiss on the first part of Eddie he can reach, his temple, knowing that Eddie revolts the thought of kissing without brushing teeth first.

‘Wait I was kidding come back,’ Eddie whines, outstretching his arms to stop Richie from getting up but failing.

‘You’ll be so much happier when the food’s ready, trust me. I’m going to wake our munckin up too.’

He steps away from the bed, pulling his shirt, bunched up thanks to the wild gestures he performs in his sleep, down in the meanwhile and yawns so wide his jaw protests.

His limbs feel lose and relaxed of waking up not so soon ago, and they seem to be begging Richie to crawl back under the cover and cuddle with Eddie some more, but tour life stretched itself through all the aspects of Richie’s life these past months, and he really long for some time to spend with his daughter.

As he stumbles blindly, his hand scours the miniature table, but the only thing he can find are his glasses, neatly tucked away in what must have been Eddie’s doing after Richie zonked out.

At first he thinks he missed it, but then his glasses help him see clearly, and he notices that the phone is no longer there.

‘Hey, Eds?’

The only answer he receives is a grunt, muffled by the blankets Eddie hides under.

‘Did you hide my phone again?’ Richie asks, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Eddie shakes his head without looking up, napping on.

‘Huh’, Richie responds, deciding to let Eddie wake at his own terms. He probably ditched the phone somewhere and is drawing blank on where it could be, but it’ll be found again soon. With a deflated shrugs, Richie leaves the room to wake up his daughter, excited like a kid on Christmas to rope her into mischief.

Eddie huffs, forcing the blanket of off him and screwing his eyes open, scratching at a spot on his back that insistently itched all night.

Soon, Ellie will run in with coffee, with a meticulous steady head so none of it spills, and announce that breakfast is prepared. Some of it will be burned, other things will be so delicious Eddie will look forward to it every day of the week till he eats it again. Regardless of how good the food is, the most important thing is that it’s family time, and that no interruption or distractions occur but the laughter and unprovoqued leering both Richie, Ellie and Eddie gathered throughout the week.

Eddie smiles contently, resting his eyes a tad longer and imagining the inviting warm smell flowing up from downstairs. What he gets instead is frantic running up the stairs, loud thuds that rattle the foundation and follow each other quickly, subsequently followed by the bedroom door ricocheting of it’s hinges.

The urgency behind it spooks Eddie, who scrambles out of bed before Richie manages to utter a word.

‘Ellie’s not here.’

----

‘Thank you for helping me aunt Bev’, Ellie reinforces Bev, who brought out mint tea and joined her on the sofa to watch tv.

The movie provided background noise to the conversation they previously held, Ellie a little intimidated otherwise.

‘Any time honey you know this.’

Bev smiles brightly enough that her pearl white teeth show, her hair in a braid swiped over her shoulder, she radiates happiness to a degree Ellie has never seen.

‘I love dad and pops, I do, but you know how they get’, Ellie grimaced, his hands twisting nervously in the hem of the shirt she wormed herself in on the way here. A laugh bubbles out of Bev, already nodding her head.

‘They mean well but yes. I’m glad you confided in me.’ On instinct, Ellie dropped her hand down to pet the soft fur of Ben and Bev’s dog, a lifelong companion to them but also to her. She swiped nothing but air, Ben took the dog on a walk in the park, leaving the two girls to discuss thing among themselves. It was sad she didn’t get a chance to say hi to them, but she figures she’ll visit again later.

‘I really should get going,’ Ellie starts, her hand enclosing the plastic bag filled with supplies Bev landed her gracefully. ‘Pops and I love arranging breakfast, so I should really get home before they wake up to me not hanging around the house.’

Bev blinked innocently, surprise grazing her features. ‘Well, it is nine am, will they not be awake yet?’

‘It’s not that late yet is it?’ Bev’s phone rings loudly, startling Ellie out of her stupor. Even from her angle on the phone, she deciphers her pops names before Bev announce that it’s Richie.

‘Oops’, Ellie mutters, grimacing as the severity of the situation begins to down on her. She’s in big trouble now. Accepting the call, Bev puts in on speaker, a hand apologetically stroking Ellie’s arm conveying that yes, Bev’s sorry, but Ellie might get killed today.

‘Beverly’, Eddie distraught voice shakes through the microphone. A sinking stone weighs Ellie down, flushed with guilt, she hadn’t thought she’d be here so long, she only counted a five minute drop by.

‘Do you know where Ellie is? She’s not in her room or in the backyard either.’ In the background something smashes to the floor, in addition to cursing that sounds more like roaring, and Richie running out.

‘I really think she snatched my cellphone. Maybe she called someone to pick her up?’

Bev attempts to capture their attention goes unheard, the bickering between Eddie and Richie hardly begun.

‘I fucking told you Richie, dump the goddamn phone so much.’

‘How the fuck is that my fault? It has nothing do with that’, Richie argues frustrate, it’s obvious from the way he snapped back at Eddie he is equally as overwrought as Eddie.

‘You’re right, it’s mine. I’ve pushed her away by being to hands on. I should have given her more freedom to do what she wanted and I-‘

‘Eddie no. I honestly don’t think there’s anyone less strict as you. You remember when she was ten and she asked for two ice creams in a row and you just gave them to her because we were on a vacation?’

‘Stop dad. Pop’s right, I’m not running away for fuck sake’, Ellie yells out eventually, frustrated by the conversations taking place.

‘Ellie?’ A chair is pushed back and screeches across the floor, intending on the floor Eddie hammered on about being careful on.

‘Stay where you are, we’re on our way.’ Richie grounds out, seizing hold of his jacket and racing to the car. The connection then severs and dead silence is left in its wake.

‘Good luck with that.’

----

Though Bev, Ben, Eddie and Richie live nearby, Ellie is shocked by the fast response as the car halts not fully parked, Eddie and Richie jumping out in pajama’s.

Bev opened the door, so they waltz right on it without regarding Bev, seizing Ellie in a close knit hug both Richie and Eddie participate in.

‘Don’t you ever, ever scare us like that again. You hear me?’ Richie threatens, his words crackling with relief that his daughter is fine.

‘I’m sorry, I won’t. I honestly thought I would be back before you knew it.’

‘Why are you here in the first place?’ The family remains close, Eddie’s hand holding Ellie’s forearm loosely.

A blush shoots up her cheeks, coloring them bright red at the question.

‘Yeah about that, Is it not enough for me to promise to never do this again?‘

#reddie #reddie x daughter #this is so bad #I'm sorry #my writing #unfortunately #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrack #eddie as a parent #richie as a dad #reddie as parents

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coeurdastronaute · 5 years

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Essays in Existentialism: Atlantis 4

Previously on Atlantis

The morning came, steady and through flickering lights against the window, unstill and blinding like a disco ball and lava lamp worked together to form a hybrid. Even behind her eyelids, the patient could see the light dancing through the waters and window before trying to make her join the land of the living yet again.

The oil she was given to rub on her bruises smelled like sweet mint, and it stiffened slightly in the night on her rib, while the kelp compress left nothing more than a pale cut on her forehead and bruising around her eyes. With a small grunt, Clarke gave up to the whims of the underwater world, and opened her eyes as she pressed a hand against the soreness that slept still, sound and happy, in her muscles and bones.

Slowly, still fuzzy around the edges from the concussion, the world came into focus again, and Clarke found herself staring at the ceiling of the ornate room that had become her own during her stay. Rich blues and whites mingled in the most pristine and perfect marble she’d ever seen, while the rich tapestry that covered one wall burst forth in colors and a story, artfully done and purposeful.

Two days ago, she’d been on a research vessel in the middle of the ocean working with her mentor to discover a way to stunt evolutionary tendencies in viruses. Two days ago, she was a girl who didn’t fully believe in the myth of Atlantis, or that Aquaman was a king who ruled more people who could breathe under water.

But she woke up again in a bed that smelled like oranges and sunlight, wrapped in a blanket that was soft and stiff, like clothes dried on a clothesline. She’d eaten a dinner that consisted of her third grade favorite lunchbox lunch, with a reigning monarch in said potentially imaginary underwater country. And nothing made sense.

With no small showing of effort, Clarke propped herself up and sat on the edge of the bed, testing her body all over again, learning how it worked today, and being slightly amazed by how well it felt. The lingering soreness felt like she’d worked out too hard for a whole week straight, but was by no means as terrible as she’d felt less than ten hours ago. She sat there for a few moments and caught her breath, afraid to test her body, but knowing that she must. Clarke pushed herself from the bed and stood, balancing like a baby deer on its new legs.

Everything seemed to work well enough, and she was afraid of the potential pain, but true to the words she couldn't understand, the body began to heal and she found herself wincing for nothing at all.

“I guess I just put more on,” Clarke wondered aloud as she looked at the table across the room that held the ointments and bottles. “But what… how did she combine them?”

Making it across the room, she picked up an intricate bottle and tugged at the stopped, sniffing the inside as a black liquid sloshed about, seen through the pure blue of the bottle. The door cracked and began to open, and the new sound made Clarke drop the bottle so it shattered on the ground, covering the pristine floor with a rather stale smelling liquid.

“I’m sorry-- I didn’t-- I wasn’t sure anyone would come in, and I wanted to--”

“Ti káneis na-eme?” the same old woman asked, hurrying as much as her old bones and bent back would allow. “Tha dilitiriásete ton eaftó sas.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean--”

“Kínisi!”

The nurse pushed Clarke slightly as she began cleaning up the dropped liquid, careful to avoid touching it as best she could. Somewhere between shooting her a look and muttering something Clarke was certain was a curse, the nurse humphed and began cleaning up the shattered glass, her displeasure clearly apparent.

A knock tapped softly for a moment as Clarke proceeded to apologize again and get pushed away from trying to help. And if she couldn’t get more mortified of her current predicament, the embodiment of earthly perfection entered the room with a worried furrow.

“I just came to see if you would like breakfast,” Lexa offered, staring at the mess and offering her forearm to Clarke to help move her away from the clean up. “But it looks like you might be busy. Eínai óla kalá?”

“Peismatáris kai adéxia. Léte óti eínai meletitís?”

The princess chuckled and tried to swallow it when Clarke gave her a pointed look.

“That’s a very concentrated combination of venoms and plants, used as a slight numbing agent in the healing process,” she explained, translating very loosely. “More than a few drops would paralyze or potentially kill you.”

“How was I supposed to know?”

“You weren’t. She just finds it very difficult to believe you are someone who studies medicine.”

In an instant, Clarke snapped her eyes away from Lexa’s pretty green ones, and turned them on the old woman who put the discarded vial in her basket before setting up for another treatment.

“She should teach me instead of letting me nearly kill myself.”

“Althea is our best healer. She helped deliver me, and my mother, and my mother’s mother and father. Her knowledge would take you years to even start to understand.”

“Are you calling me dumb, too?”

“No, no,” Lexa hurried as Clarke crossed her arms. “Just that she knows enough to fill an entire library. She wrote the books on our modern methods. Books is plural.”

“I’m pretty sure she’s called me dumb a few times,” Clarke sighed as those elderly hands tugged on her shirt once again.

“She has,” the princess smiled and nodded. “I was--”

In an instant, her shirt was tugged up again, and Clarke realized that she was now showing off her stomach and ribs and much too much underboob to the future ruler of a futuristic underwater country that no one was ever allowed to visit. But she was stuck, and the princess was staring. Clarke knew that because she tried to maintain eye contact to pretend nothing bad was happening to her.

“Um, I was…,” Lexa furrowed again before quickly turning around when she met Clarke’s eyes. “I’m sorry. She’s much more intent on getting you better than we might have previously realized.”

“Whatever she’s doing is working. I feel better than I could have imagined.”

“Léei óti aisthánetai kalýtera,” Lexa explained.

Clarke watched as the old woman moved with her eyes nearly shut, the wrinkles covering every part of her face, wearing deep the long lines of living into her very fabric. All she did was hum slightly and press another compress to Clarke’s ribs.

“How do I… I want to thank her, for everything.”

The nurse tugged on Clarke’s jaw, pulling at her shoulders so that she could get a good reach on the wound on her head, repeating her process, though slightly more gently than the ribs.

“Efcharistó,” Lexa explained, peaking over her shoulder, thankful to find the stranger more clothed than before.

“Ef--ef--,” Clarke tasted the word, attempting her best to get over the hump of saying it. “Efcharistó?”

For a second, the woman paused and nodded slightly. Clarke smiled and looked down at her side before holding her hand against the fresh press while Lexa spoke with the healer, bowing deeply to her before earning a kiss on her forehead and a tap of a hand against her cheek.

Freshly ready to heal, Clarke felt full in the room with Lexa, and wasn’t sure what else there was to say or do. It took Lexa a moment to find the protocol.

“I came to see if you would like to eat, and… I can’t show you much, but you’ll be here for a few days while we prepare the Spindrift, and I could show you some things.”

“You don’t have to supervise. I’m sure you have other… princess things to do?”

“My mother is busy with her embassy, and my father is busy saving the planet. I currently have nothing planned,” Lexa explained, clasping her hands and letting them hang in front of her.

The crest on her shoulder was proud and ancient. The soft fall of her braids against the deep green and cream color of her frock was picture perfect, and all before breakfast was even served. The princess held an entire world together, and she was going to be the link between words, born of both.

And she was gracious enough to save Clarke’s life in her spare time.

“And I had a few questions about Land… if that’s okay?”

“Breakfast first,” Clarke decided, her smile warming as Lexa returned it at the offer.

“I can do that.”

XXXXXXXXX

“So this is just one of your gardens?” Clarke asked as she walked out onto the balcony that was so large she forgot it was suspended partly above the city.

Stacked, the buildings seemed dripping in greenery and elaborately inlaid, as if every story was intricately planned and prepared. There were bits that reminded Clarke of old textbooks or picture books from when she was a child and went through Egyptian and Greek Gods phases of learning. Giant statues, with limited features but strong poses, warriors and thinkers alike, stood guard throughout the city from the view. Towering figures held up buildings, while greenery and trees filled every inch, weaving together a lattice roof over the shops and buildings below. Sleek lines dictated the skyline.

Standing on the private balcony garden, Clarke surveyed much of the city she’d missed from her window view of the palaces back patios and gates. Now, she saw the dome that sat around the city, saw the architecture, felt the breathing, pulsating thrum of the entire place.

“It is. We have a few royal gardens. Some of the most prized and ancient plants are here, and are often open to the public.”

“But not today?”

“Only during the high holidays.”

It was lush and alive, the entire city was a steady noise and hum, but the gardens were quietly removed from it, shadowed in giant trees and overgrown shrubs she couldn’t quite place. Every way Clarke looked, she found something mesmerizing, something that brought up more questions, something she knew she’d never see again.

“How do you… How did you get all of this here?”

“Atlantis has always existed, even before the shift,” Lexa explained, her hands careful linked behind her back.

She walked perfectly straight, her gait natural and fixed, her body fluid. Clarke caught herself watching the princess as much as she watched the entire world around her that no other person who walked on land had ever seen. Chestnut hair in intricate braids, her strong brow, the green of her eyes, the soft slope of her chin and smile-- it was distracting, even in a palace.

“And you can breathe… underwater?”

The princess ducked her head and chuckled.

“Yes, all Atlanteans can breathe both. Evolution was as kind to us as the gods were.”

“I have so many questions, I can’t decide where to start.”

The pair wandered along the path as Clarke wracked her brain and overheated with the information. Lexa saw to it that they were left alone and undisturbed, the palace gates shut tightly and all entrances to the garden monitored by the guards she trusted the most. For just a few moments, she allowed herself to enjoy the company of the girl she saved, who had a peculiar way of looking at things, who blushed sometimes, right on the edge of cheeks.

“Maybe don’t ask any questions,” Lexa offered after a moment of quiet as they came to the edge. She took a seat on a planter wall under a flowering tree with big blue and purple petals. “Just live this moment.”

“Is that what you do here?”

“I do tend to enjoy my time in my home, yes.”

Clarke took a seat beside the princess, careful to hold her ribs as she readjusted.

“I want to know everything. It’s a curse, I’m afraid.”

“I suppose I’d be the same way on land,” Lexa acquiesced. “I wouldn’t know where to even begin, but something about sitting here, feeling, touching, tasting, hearing-- it’ll help you understand Atlantis more than any question.”

“I would actually imagine that the few questions I have about the field surrounding the city, or the evolutionary tactic of breathing underwater might be illuminating.”

Again, Lexa caught herself smiling, but she swallowed it and looked up at the light filtering through the branches and petals. She closed her eye and took a deep breath, willing the visitor to do the same.

Neither spoke, but rather took the time to enjoy each other’s company and the quiet moment that neither world would ever know about. Clarke listened, catching a far away laugh of a child playing something. She heard a hum and a rushing of water, she heard the long, drawn out caws of some kind of bird that existed within the microcosm. After a few minutes, she reached up and plucked a petal from the tree, careful not to disturb the rest of the large flower on the branch. It took up her entire hand, and she rubbed her fingers along it, feeling the thick, velvet touch it had, smelling the sweet, musky hint it hid.

Lexa watched as the stranger felt her world, and she wasn’t sure what she expected from Clarke, but she hadn’t expected her words to be taken quite to heart. For an instant, she almost believed she could see when Clarke began to understand and feel it, the ease and peace that came in the gardens.

“When I was young, maybe only five or six, my father took me on land,” Lexa explained. “He introduced me to his father. We went to a building, shaped like a long tube that had a light on top. He said it was where he grew up, and he showed me all of his things, and my grandfather showed me his world. I remember the taste of the salt in the air and the smell of the fishermen coming home. I remember the feeling of the net in my hand as I played with it. I remember my father sitting on top of this light with me, and he pointed to the entire world. I could see for miles and miles. He told me it was my job to protect my people from those on land, and it was my job to protect the land from all else. That was how we united the two. But I didn’t listen, not fully. I had an ice cream cone.”

Clarke watched as Lexa spoke, as she confessed and said more words than she imagined the princess ever normally said. It was not the story of a princess though, but rather that of a stranger, offering something innate, something of themselves.

“Are you not allowed on land?”

“No,” she shook her head curtly.

“You should come. See what you’re destine to defend.”

“I’m destined to complete much more training here,” Lexa sighed. “Once the world turned its back on my father, once they condemned Atlantis, he was forced to choose. He chose us.”

“But he still helps?”

“He’s not a heartless man.”

“It just seems incredibly selfless.”

“Being a good ruler is about seeing what others don’t, doing what others won’t, and being what others can’t,” Lexa recited.

“You’re a good person.”

“I try very hard.”

Clarke smiled at the honestly and looked at her own hands as her fingers knot themselves together. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her shoulder felt warm as Lexa somehow moved close enough so that they were now touching.

“If you ever change your mind, you could come on land. I’d show you around.”

“You would?”

“Fair is fair. I’m not sure we have anything this beautiful though,” Clarke confessed.

There was a grin. She saw it as Lexa’s eyes went dreamy. Clarke found herself leaning closer, her body moving on its own. Lexa searched Clarke’s face and shook her head.

“I don’t know. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

For a second, Clarke was swept up in green eyes and the lips that disappeared for an instant behind the peak of a tongue. It was entirely unfair that someone like Lexa, who saved her life, who cared, who gawked and awkwardly wasn’t sure how to move when her shirt slipped up a little, was also so entirely too delicious looking.

Instead of doing it, instead of leaning forward, Clarke looked toward the city below the palace, and she smiled slightly as a blush snuck up her neck.

“Are all Atlanteans so charming?”

“No, not too many.”

“Good to know.”

“Should I take you back so you can rest?”

“Don’t trust me to make it back alone?” Clarke teased.

“I do, but the rest of the guards might have a bit of doubt.”

Lexa stood up and held out her hand for the stranger to take. With no hesitation at all, Clarke took it and let herself be lead back into the palace.

XXXXXXXXX

Word reached the control room quickly that the King was on his way back, the crisis from outside officially dealt with, his aid offered and accepted for another victory. No news covered if there had been losses on the side of the Justice League, and the Queen wasn’t sure what mood he would return in, but was grateful he was at all.

Quietly, she surveyed the reports on her screen and grew more and more excited to see him, finally allowing herself the moment to reflect on the past few days and how hectic they’d been coupled with the constant nagging about his return.

But her husband was stubborn, and would always come home.

“I’m going to my chambers for the evening,” Meera announced as she stood, the rest of her entourage doing the same. “Monitor the fleets to the south and the shifting and quake potential off the coast of South America.”

“Yes ma’am,” the commander nodded.

“If my husband makes it home, please let the morning rotation know to push the meetings until the afternoon.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll take an update about the Spindrift as soon as possible.”

“I”ll get in touch now, your highness.”

“Goodnight, friends,” the queen paused at the door. “Today was a success.”

With her notes tucked under her arm, the queen made her way out into the hallway, her guard trailing slightly behind her, as she was known to prefer. It took a lot to run a nation, and it took a lot to unify two who didn’t want it. But she knew it was for the best, and she believed in it so much, she obsessed.

Slowly, the queen made her way down the hall, eager for things to return to normal.

As if on time, she heard an unfamiliar sound of what she thought to be her daughter laughing, though it died away quickly. Her pace slowed considerably as she approached the corner of the hall and she waved her guard to slow, taking their time before reaching sight of the two girls.

Looking decidedly much healthier, the girl from the land stood, her arm wrapped around Lexa’s for support though she walked much better, and looked to have more color in her cheeks than the last time Meera saw her. She was pretty, beautiful even. Shorter than her daughter, though not by much. Her hair was much lighter than she originally thought, and her eyes a bit lighter as well. She watched Lexa when she spoke, hanging on every word, her smile constant, while the princess spoke passionately before catching her earnestness and pulling back slightly.

The queen was barely moving as they paused at Clarke’s door. Lexa moved and dropped something in her hand, quick to try to pick it up, a blush on her cheeks as she opened Clarke’s door for her. The queen smiled to herself at her daughter’s antics, at how she struggled to say goodbye, at the fact that as soon as Clarke’s door closed, the princess leaned against the wall and sighed, collapsing under her own head.

It was only then that the queen picked up her pace, as if she hadn’t seen anything at all.

“Are you ready to take our guest back to land?”

“Yes, of course,” Lexa answered as she stood up straighter, losing the human in her movements. She was rigid with responsibilities.

“Your father is returning.”

“Good news,” she smiled, perking up slightly.

The mother and daughter gave each other a look, a knowing look, a certain look that they deciphered and danced around.

“We should walk and discuss a few things,” Meera decided.

As much as Lexa wanted to protest, to go back to her room, to sleep and forget, she knew that the suggestion wasn’t optional, and with a heavy head, she nodded.

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mamabearcat · 5 years

Text

First Impressions

Yesterday, I reblogged this long post that gave heaps of examples of people being nice humans to each other, despite their outward appearance. And the last paragraph, where a girl with a cold goes to convenience store and has a chat to a friendly giant of a man, just struck a chord. And then this inukag oneshot happened. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Kagome cracked open one eye, clutching the blanket tighter around her as she shivered. She really shouldn’t be surprised. All day yesterday she’d been feeling like crap. She’d put it down to the stress of moving into a new place, but nope. She had a cold. And probably not just a sniffle considering she was both shivering and sweating. She swallowed, then wished she hadn’t – it felt like she had a golf ball lodged in her throat. A golf ball covered in broken glass, serrated knives and acid.

“Sangoooo?” she moaned pitifully, not wanting to move from her balled-up position under the covers. No answer. Then she remembered. Sango had gone out last night, after failing to coax Kagome to come out and meet her friends for their regular Friday night drinks at the pub. Kagome had taken a rain check, feeling exhausted after moving all her stuff into Sango’s apartment and had just wanted an early night.

Come to think of it, she hadn’t heard Sango come in last night. Surely, she should be back home by now? She pushed one arm out of her blanket cocoon, patting the bedside table to find her phone with shaky fingers, then pulled it back inside, squinting at the brightness of the small screen with scratchy dry eyes.

She had three missed texts from Sango.

Kagomeee! If you change your mind hon, we’re at the pub a couple of blocks down – Three Blind Mice. Come out and drink with us! Me and ma boys! We gotta celebrate you moving in! Don’t be a party pooper!

Are you coming?! C’mon, we’re going dancing! You love to dance!

Gon crash at Mirokuuus. Bit tipssdfy. lOve ouup Kagsssss xxxxxxxxxdsklfsx

Kagome snorted. On the upside, it looked like she wouldn’t be the only one feeling like crap this morning. On the downside, it meant she had to fend for herself. She lay there feeling pathetic. Tried whimpering a little to see if it made her feel better. It didn’t. She wished that a glass of water would miraculously appear on her bedside table, complete with flu medication and a box of tissues. It didn’t. She tried engaging her usually happy go lucky personality. C’mon Kagome! Buck up, it’s just a virus. You’re not actually dying. Lots of people have it worse off than you… probably.

Finally, she dragged her sorry self out of bed, shivering as her feet met the cold wooden floor. Note to self. Buy slippers. She had no idea where any medicine she owned might be in her half-unpacked boxes of possessions, so she dragged herself into the bathroom and opened the mirrored cabinet to see if Sango had any. Lots of eyeshadow. Eye make up remover. Some nail polish that looked like it had gone a bit clumpy. Some bedraggled looking fake eyelashes that had seen better days. But no medication. Not even a cough drop. Note to self. Buy the entire contents of a pharmacy.

She shut the door of the cabinet and recoiled at her own reflection. Gah, she looked disgusting. Her face looked deathly pale framed by her blue-black hair, which seemed to look greasy and lank, even though she’d washed it yesterday. Nose and ears bright red. Blue eyes now watery. Even her lips looked chapped.

“Uuuungh”, she moaned, and wished she hadn’t as the demon that had taken up residence in her throat commenced merrily stabbing her with a pitchfork without restraint. She leaned her head forward on the cabinet with a dull thud. There was nothing for it. She was going to have to go outside and engage in conversation with actual people to buy something to make her feel human. Dammit.

Trudging through the snow wearing her only pair of tracksuit pants, her only pair of boots, nearly every shirt she owned and Sango’s puffy jacket that she’d pilfered from the hall closet, Kagome was bitterly regretting her decision to move to New York from California in late autumn. Who does that? Her joy at finally being able to move in with her best friend Sango after securing the job of her dreams in New York was definitely being overshadowed by her physical misery at the moment. Her shivers were reaching the proportion of actual earthquake tremors, and the cold air was making her throat feel even worse. She hunched her shoulders against the cold wind, both hands shoved in the pockets in an attempt at keeping them warm. Note to self. Buy a woolly hat. And gloves. And a scarf. A trickle of dampness invaded her suede boots, which were very cute, but obviously not waterproof. And new boots.

A small eddy of frozen air whistled around her, the cold breeze managing to poke it’s frozen fingers down the back of her neck. She whimpered, and then made a determined face. C’mon Kagome. Think of the pioneers. They didn’t have puffy jackets, and they survived. Mostly. She’d been walking for twenty minutes and she still hadn’t found somewhere that sold over the counter cold medicine. Now she’d settle for just Tylenol, anything to dull the pain in her throat and the increasing thump in her head.

She spotted a convenience store on the corner and decided this was it. Whatever they had would be good enough until Sango got home. She shuffled in the door, scrubbing the snow off her boots on the mat and swiftly closing the door behind her. She could have wept in relief. It was warm in here.

Her ears were burning with the cold, and she wished she’d had the sense to buy more cold weather clothes before she moved. She was pretty sure her boots were going to be ruined, her socks were soggy and freezing. It was only mid-November, she didn’t think it would be snowing already, but apparently according to the weatherman, she’d moved in the middle of some freak early cold front. Figures.

Rubbing her ears gently to try and defrost them, she walked over to the shelves that had looked like they had medication stocked on them, glancing at the guy standing behind the counter. She stopped. Wow.

He was tall, really tall. And muscular. The red flannel shirt he was wearing did nothing to disguise the width of his shoulders. But what really made him stand out was the long silver hair, pulled back at the nape of his neck. And… omg, were they puppy ears?! Kagome nearly squeaked. She’d only met a few demons in San Diego where she’d previously lived, mostly ones that had an affinity with water, seeing there were so many jobs available that centred around the fishing industry. She’d never seen anyone like him before. One pointed white ear twitched, obviously listening. Gah, so cute!

Kagome realised she had been blatantly staring when he turned his piercing amber eyes her way, his expression a little stern, and she quickly whipped her gaze to the shelves in front of her, cheeks burning with more than the cold. Focus Kagome! Don’t bother the nice demon. So what if he’s the most spectacularly beautiful person you’ve ever seen. She picked up some Tylenol, then grabbed a basket and trailed around the little store. There wasn’t a huge amount to choose from, but she added a couple of bottles of Gatorade. That would have to do.

She approached the counter with some trepidation. At 5’2”, she knew she wasn’t the tallest person around, but next to this guy she felt miniscule. A tiny pathetic, wet kitten sized ball of sickness. He was leaning back against the wall with his eyes closed and arms crossed, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but this convenience store, and she couldn’t really blame him. She’d done her time working in customer service and it sucked. She quietly put her items down on the counter.

“Um, excuse me?” Ouch. She almost whimpered at the ripping feeling in her throat as she spoke.

He turned towards her, uncrossing his arms, his amber eyes almost seeming to possess their own glow.

“Hey, you okay? You really don’t sound so good.” His voice was like melted honey, a rich baritone, and the gaze of those golden eyes was focused directly on her. A double whammy that had Kagome feeling a little weak in the knees. Usually she would have brushed off a stranger with a bland ‘I’m fine’, but something about that voice and the concern in those amber eyes made her tell the truth.

“Not so good. I woke up with a sore throat; I think I’m coming down with the flu.”

He looked her over and Kagome felt like a deer caught in the headlights, mesmerised. Like she’d accidentally come in contact with some ancient demigod doing his best to blend into modern society by wearing a flannel shirt and jeans and failing miserably because he was just too goddamned beautiful. She tried to get her shivering under control, so she didn’t look quite as pathetic as she felt, but that seemed to make it even worse.

“Have you eaten anything today?”

Kagome shook her head, unwilling at this point to speak and risk more punishment from her throat. His throat rumbled; it was an obvious reproach, a resonating grumbling growl that woke up tiny butterflies in Kagome’s insides.

“You need to eat if you’re sick. Would ya like a chicken sandwich? They’re warm, and they’re pretty delicious.”

Kagome’s stomach spoke for her as if on cue, and he grinned at her, a sharp fang poking over his lip, the golden eyes squinting in amusement. Her cheeks heated even more, and the butterflies turned somersaults in her stomach and woke up their friends.

“I guess that’s a yes then.”

Kagome nodded again, gripping the edge of the counter for support. She wasn’t sure if it was the flu or the aura of the man in front of her, but she was feeling a little light-headed. She watched as he carefully wrapped up the hot chicken sandwich and scanned her other items, placing them all gently in a bag, handing it to her after she’d paid.

“You be careful out there, okay? The slush on the corners can be really slippery after it’s stopped snowing. Have you got far to walk?”

Kagome shrugged. “Not too far”, she tried to say, but all that came out was a creaky whisper. Great, now her voice was disappearing altogether. She swallowed with an effort. “Thankyou.”

She opened the door and stepped back out into the cold, and the wind seemed to cut into her like a knife. She smothered a small whimper and began trudging away from the store, hunching her shoulders in an effort to keep the small amount of warmth leftover from being inside still had safe, when a sudden hand on her shoulder made her freeze.

She turned, only to see the dog-eared demon from the store. With a bright red woollen beanie in his hands. Which he suddenly plonked down on her head.

“Ya know, only an idiot would be going out in out in weather like this without a hat, especially if they’re sick”, he said conversationally, tugging down the edges to make sure her ears were covered.

Kagome stared at him open mouthed.

“Either you’re an idiot, or you’re delirious. Which is it?” He placed a hand on her forehead, checking her temperature. “Dammit, girl, you’re burnin’ up! I was just jokin’ with the delirious crack, but maybe you really are!” He stared at her seriously for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. He poked his head into the store, hollered that he was leaving for the day, grabbing a jacket and a scarf that was near the front door, then walked back to her side.

“C’mon, I’m walkin’ you home”, he said, shrugging on the jacket. “You said you didn’t have far to walk, right? Can’t be good for business to lose a local customer.”

Kagome looked at him uncertainly. He certainly didn’t look like a serial killer, but she got the impression that most serial killers didn’t go about announcing their intentions either. And he’d seen that she didn’t have much money – she’d dumped the fistful of change on the counter when she’d bought stuff, with only a dollar or two to spare. What if he were some kind of pervert?

While she was trying to make a decision, he commenced winding the scarf around her neck gently, tucking the ends in her jacket. He must have noticed the hesitation in her gaze, because he took a step backwards out of her personal space.

“Hey, I promise I’m not tryin’ to take advantage of ya. I’m not that kinda guy. And even if I was, which I promise I ain’t, you really look terrible at the moment.”

Kagome glared at him. That may be true, but he didn’t have to be an asshole and actually tell her. She was tempted to rip of the scarf and hat and stomp home, but her ears had only just begun to thaw out. And to tell the truth, she was feeling so ill that she was actually beginning to wonder if she would actually make it home, stomping or otherwise.

The dog demon clicked his fingers, and Kagome noticed the long pointed nails at the ends of his fingers. “I know. What if I call a friend of mine? To vouch for me. She’s the type a girl to tell it to you straight.” He dug into his jeans pocket and pulled out a phone and dialled a number.

“Hey Sango”. Kagome’s eyes rounded in surprise as she watched him speak on the phone. He sniggered. “You sound terrible… Yeah sorry to wake you. Actually no I’m not… That’s what you get for listenin’ to Miroku – I thought you were smart. Anyway, I want you to speak to a girl I’m gonna walk home, let her know I’m trustworthy… Shut. Up. Not like that! Okay, thanks… wait, what? Oh, I dunno, guess I’d better ask huh?”

He turned to Kagome. “Sorry, just realised that I never asked your name.” He bent his head down so he’d be able to hear her soft voice over the wind whistling around them in the narrow street.

“It’s Kagome”, she whispered, almost giggling as the demon’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Wait, you’re Kagome?! Sango’s new flatmate?” Kagome nodded, shivering violently as another breeze whistled around the corner, and he the golden eyes narrowed in concern. “Shit, we’d better get you outta the wind and home before you get any sicker.” He turned his attention back to Sango on the phone. “Hey Sango, it’s Kagome. She’s actually sick, she’s lost her voice – I was gonna walk her home because she looks terrible. Can you talk to her, let her know I’m okay?”

He handed the phone to Kagome. “Here, listen to Sango for a sec.”

“Kagome?” said Sango, “is that you?” Kagome made an incoherent creaking sound. “Oh, hon I’m so sorry you’re not well and I wasn’t there this morning. Listen, let Inuyasha walk you home. He’s one of my best friends – you would have met him last night if you’d come out with us. He may look grumpy, but he’s just got resting bitch face – he’s actually a sweetheart when you get to know him. I’m gonna have a shower here and I’ll be home in an hour or two, okay? Love you!”

Kagome handed back the phone. “What the hell Sango? Resting bitch face?” he grumbled into the phone. “Yeah right, sure, when hell freezes over. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her. See ya later.”

The walk home ended up being a bit of a blur to Kagome. She was sure she was actually leaning on Inuyasha at one point, and he may have piggy backed her up the stairs. They finally made it back to the apartment, and after he’d taken the key from her shaking fingers and opened the door, he insisted she take some Tylenol straight away and have a shower to try and warm up.

The warm water burned at first against her frozen skin, but finally she managed to thaw out. The medication must have started working because the thumping in her head had decreased from kettle drum sized down to a small set of bongos, and her shivering had almost stopped.

When she tottered back out to the lounge room, dressed in her pj’s and thick socks with her quilt wrapped around her, dragging on the floor behind her like a royal train, she found Inuyasha waiting with two bowls of instant ramen.

“Hey Kagome.” He examined her carefully, then smiled, holding out a bowl to her. “You’re actually lookin’ a little better, but you still need to eat somethin’. I put your chicken sandwich in the fridge for later, but I thought this might be a little easier on your throat. If you can’t eat the noodles, at least drink the broth.”

Kagome plonked herself down on the sofa across from Inuyasha and reached out for the bowl and chopsticks, breathing in the steam and wrapping her hands around the warm of the bowl. She smiled at him gratefully. “Thanks Inuyasha”, she whispered. “How did you know that I love instant ramen. Did Sango tell you?”

Inuyasha shook his head and returned her smile with a toothy grin, picking up his chopsticks and watching as she greedily slurped the noodles from her quilt cocoon. “Nuh, she didn’t. But it looks like you and I are gonna get along just fine.”

#inukag #inukag fanfic #inukag oneshot #inuyasha x kagome #inuyasha fanfic #Bearpluscat fanfics

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trashwarden · 5 years

Text

Can't Forget You

Most recent fic commission from ticklishivories (twitter)! Do commission Kathy if you have a chance (:

Dorian Pavus x Vaxus Trevelyan | Modern AU | (2387 words) | AO3

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Vaxus stares out the window with a dent in his brow and confusion souring his smile. The back of his head throbs where sutures were left in his scalp and he wants to scratch the itch underneath the bandage strapped to his temple and shoulder, but otherwise, he’s fine. Just frustrated.

“I’m sorry I had to do that,” Dorian says again, “but they wouldn’t have let me pick you up otherwise.”

“It’s alright,” Vax says quietly. He doesn’t know why he’s so upset that Dorian had to lie. It makes sense; roommate that happens to be best friend isn’t a sufficient title to be let in on a traumatic accident. There’s a lot of things that add up– no one else could pick him up, his sister is out of town, so unless he wanted to spend another night in the hospital Dorian had no choice but to lie. And yet something about it leaves Vax with an off taste.

“You’re being unusually silent.” Dorian looks over his shoulder before he makes a right turn. Vax’s gaze lingers a little too long on the muscles in his forearm. “The surgeon said your memories would most likely return. There’s no need to be worried.”

Vax knows that something is off about this; he feels that he should be comforting Dorian, not the other way around.

A ring goes off, shrill and buzzing. Vax jumps a bit– Dorian reaches into the center console and pulls out a phone.

“Hello, Val.”

Val.

“Oh!” Vax reaches for the phone, and Dorian leans away. “Let me talk to her.”

“Keep calm, Vaxus! You still have a concussion.” He sighs, rolling his eyes. “Yes, that was him. Clearly a collision with a speeding delivery truck wasn’t enough to knock his zest out.”

Vaxus sits back and folds his arms across his chest.

“He’s pouting now. No, there was no trouble. They accepted the lie rather easily, actually.” Dorian goes quiet, then clears his throat. “Well, that’s your opinion, and you’re entitled to it. Anyways, I think he’ll be fine to use technology after he rests. I’ll make sure he calls you first thing in the morning.” He smiles. “It’s my pleasure. Please, don’t thank me. Your brother…he’s worth it.”

Vaxus peers over at him, the ache in his chest drawing him away from the ache in his head for a moment. It’s deep and familiar, as if it’s grown roots in his body.

He remembers things fleetingly; he remembers driving away, and being upset. What about? Maybe something to do with the man sitting next to him, whose strong profile makes him stomach flip, whose small, sad smile makes his heart twist painfully. It’s not true, they’re not boyfriends. Not only that, it was a clever lie and made things easier for everyone.

But why does it hurt so badly?

Dorian leads the way to their apartment, even going so far as to open the door for him. Vaxus shoves his hands into the pockets, watching Dorian turn on the lights and set his hospital bag and medicines down on the kitchen table. Something about the action of Dorian removing his coat makes Vaxus’ eyes linger longer than they should his shoulders, so he pulls his gaze away to walk towards the end of the hall where he assumes his room is.

“Vaxus? You’re heading into my room!”

Vaxus feels like he’s hanging off the edge of a merry-go-round.

“I’m gonna puke,” he says, sure that Dorian can’t hear him from across the apartment, but in the time that he blinks Dorian is there, miraculously materialized, his warm hand on his back as he guides him to the bathroom.

“You just need some rest,” Dorian says softly, soothing Vaxus’ anxious chills. “Right as rain by the morrow.”

“God, your words.”

“Hm?” Insecurity creeps into Dorian’s voice. “What about them? I know I can sound a bit pretentious sometimes but I truly don’t intend it, you know how it is at my job working around such arrogant–”

“No, no. I like them.”

“My coworkers?”

“No, your words.” Vaxus waves his hand in the air flippantly. “Your elegance is charming. And your shyness about it is cute.”

“O-Oh. Well…”

But Dorian has no quip for that, even though Vaxus waits for it, standing slumped in the dark hallway with his hand on his back while trying to breathe deeply and evenly. He has a feeling that what he said was daring, overstepping some sort of unspoken boundary, but he doesn’t care anymore. Whatever stupid justification he made for himself to not flirt with Dorian was completely wrecked with the rest of him in the car accident.

And why the hell wouldn’t he flirt with this man? This sexy, easily embarrassed man who he’s lucky enough to have as a roommate and best friend?

Dorian carefully removes his hand. He stands straight and backs away, pointing towards the restroom. “The washroom is here, incase you’d forgotten that.”

Vaxus stares at him, dead-eyed.

“Right. Holler if you need anything. I’ll be…cooking. Something.”

“Cooking what?”

“Like it matters! People who’ve been in car accidents shouldn’t be sassing so much!”

He stomps off, and Vaxus can’t help but laugh, even if his head pounds.

Vaxus sleeps until late in the afternoon the next day. When he wakes, a glass of water with a slice of lemon is waiting for him on his nightstand. He gulps it down greedily, wipes at his mouth, and pushes himself out of the bed.

He needs a shower, urgently.

The hot water soothes his head. He touches his bandages and realizes they’ve been replaced; he peels them off, wondering if he asks sweetly if Dorian would replace them while he’s awake.

The thought of Dorian’s hands on his head makes the little blood he has left shoot straight down. He groans, not having the energy to take care of it this time.

…This time?

A fragment slides into place– of many other showers, and many other times he’s told himself he can’t, shouldn’t, touch himself after thinking of Dorian.

And all the times he did anyway, unable to look at Dorian afterwards.

This is wrong. Dorian is gay, his best friend, and Vaxus is–

Very obviously into him.

But he’s basically lied to Dorian about himself. How many times has he had to tell some story about a girl he’s met at a made up bar, just to cover up all the hours he’s spent thinking about taking Dorian out for a drink?

This is stupid. If he gets into another accident, he won’t have the chance to tell his best friend what he really thinks.

“Dammit,” he curses under his breath, and wonders how long he can stand under the spray before he turns into a giant prune. Vaxus shakes his head until everything inside it is thoroughly rattled, then soaps and rinses himself off.

Dorian is sitting on the couch reading when Vaxus emerges. When he looks up from his book, Vaxus has the pleasure of seeing a blush rise like a thermometer from his neck to his ears and all the way to the top of his head.

Probably because the only thing maintaining his modesty is the towel clinging to his waist, but who knows?

“Hey,” Vaxus says, unable to stop his smirk from growing. Dorian nods, visibly having to pull his eyes away from his wet abs and down to his book. Vax approaches him. “What are you reading?”

“Just…a romance.” Dorian clears his throat. “Quite silly, but fun.”

It’s strange that he doesn’t elaborate more; Dorian’s always loved gushing about new reading material. Vaxus decides to change the topic. “Um,” he continues, his heart beat quickening. “We need to talk about something.”

“Hm?” Dorian doesn’t look away from his book. But his voice is higher pitched than usual, as if it were gliding atop a thinly frozen lake. “And what would that be?”

Vaxus lets out a long breath. He braces himself. “Uh, I don’t remember much. Surrounding the accident.”

Dorian goes still.

“But I remember that I’ve been avoiding you.”

He approaches the couch, sitting down slowly enough that Dorian has no choice but to look at him. Vaxus touches his knee, and Dorian’s eyes lock on it.

“I haven’t been honest about something.”

“No,” Dorian whispers. “No,” louder. “I don’t think you’re in the correct state of mind.”

“I think the accident finally shook something straight inside my head.” Vaxus laughs at the accidental pun, but he can tell Dorian doesn’t find it funny at all. He’s leaning away, sinking back against the couch. Vaxus’ hand slides an inch up his thigh– barely any movement, but enormously significant. His heart thunders in his chest. “Dorian…”

“Wait, hold on a moment–”

“I was so disappointed when I found out we weren’t an item,” he continues, “and I had no idea why, but I do now.”

“Vax…”

“I really feel like this was meant to happen. Even though it was a lie, those few moments where I believed we were together…felt right.”

Dorian is staring at him, wide-eyed, backing away. Vax’s heart sinks. It hits him what he’s doing; pushing his best friend down with his barely clothed body, literally trapping him against the couch. He retracts his hand, standing up as his cheeks flood with heat.

“S…Sorry.” His hand won’t stop tingling, so he pushes it through his wet hair. “I’ll put some clothes on.”

“Vaxus,” Dorian sighs. More than tired, he sounds…sad. Vaxus’ heart cracks as he looks at him. “Maybe you should rest some more. What you went through was traumatic. You wouldn’t…” He shakes his head slowly, as if resigned. “You wouldn’t be saying these things if you knew everything.”

There are gaps in Vaxus’ memories. He doesn’t know what lead to the accident, or anything before Dorian picked him up from the hospital, but he does know that whatever stupid reason he was keeping his secret from Dorian never mattered to begin with.

A tension lingers in the air throughout the day and into the evening. It’s familiar in a way that makes Vaxus feel cold all over, like a premonition. He changes his own bandages in the bathroom, hissing as he reveals the blackened stitches and bruises along his shoulders and arms. His eyes are red.

He remembers something– Dorian’s red eyes, withholding tears, as he told Vaxus that he couldn’t live with him anymore.

“Oh,” Vax says aloud. He clutches his chest as a wave of nausea rolls through him.

His head pounds. Memories flood into him and he gasps as if drowning.

The yelling. The tears. The begging– who’s begging?

Stay. Don’t go.

Dorian wanted to leave. He said he couldn’t take it anymore, but never said why. Vaxus had needled him to the point of shouting, until–

He left the apartment–

He’d been so hurt, so distracted–

And then the accident.

“Dammit,” he curses, holding his head as he leans over the sink.

“Vax?” Dorian’s voice comes through the other side of the bathroom door. “Everything all right in there?”

Vaxus takes a deep breath.

“Yes,” he says. “I’m fine.”

“The phrase ‘I’m fine’ has never been uttered in total honesty in history, Vaxus.”

Actually, fine is an understatement; he hasn’t felt better than he’s felt in days. Maybe even weeks. “My stitches hurt, is all.”

Dorian tsks, then opens the door, surprising Vaxus. He’s in his night clothes, smelling of mint, and Vaxus’ heart skips a beat.

“Let me see.”

Dorian takes up the bandages from the counter and grabs Vaxus’ arm, directing him to sit on the toilet as he takes his head in his hands and inspects the stitches. Vaxus feels himself flushing and keeps his eyes down, painfully aware that he’s shirtless.

Dorian’s hands are warm and gentle. He delicately dabs a soaked cotton ball onto the wounds, his fingers sifting through his waves of hair and pushing the strands away. His eyes are focused, lips pursed in concentration, and Vaxus has a desperate need to kiss him.

He’s in too deep. Can’t turn back.

Can’t lie to himself about this anymore.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth.

Dorian doesn’t stop touching him. “For what?”

“The fight.”

Now, he slows.

“You wanted to move out, and I acted so...childish.” He closes his eyes. “I made things harder for you.”

Dorian’s palm holds the side of his head. “Yes, you did. But,” he sighs, “not for the reasons you think.”

Vaxus looks up. Dorian is gazing at him, smiling, but his grey eyes shine with sadness.

“You said things earlier today that I’ve only dreamed of hearing,” he whispers. “And that’s all I was sure they ever would be. I couldn’t…I couldn’t bear to live here anymore. Not with you.”

Vaxus places his hand over Dorian’s.

“I wanted to move on. Towards you, I’ve been…for so long–”

Vaxus fills in the gaps. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, heartbroken.

“I don’t want to hear an apology from you.”

“No, Dorian.” Vaxus leans up, bringing their foreheads together. “I’m sorry…for not telling you. For making you wait.”

Dorian’s voice trembles. “The accident, your head– you’re not in the right state–”

“I’ve never been clearer,” Vaxus says firmly, and waits until Dorian slides his eyes open and looks at him, before kissing his lips. Dorian gasps softly. “Believe me.”

There’s so much hurt in Dorian’s gaze, so much hesitance in his touch. But there’s hope, too, and Vaxus pours into his kisses all the feelings he’d been withholding, the thoughts he’d been too afraid to think, and hopes that Dorian can trust him with all that he’s giving.

Dorian’s sigh is more of a whimper. When both his hands come up to cradle Vaxus’ head, Vaxus pulls back.

“Ouch,” he grimaces.

“O-Oh! Did I touch something I–”

“Yeah, just a bruise–”

“I’m so sorry, let me finish bandaging this–”

Dorian’s face is redder than a ripe tomato’s. Vaxus laughs, not caring about the pain in his head at all. He laughs and laughs, holding Dorian around his waist as he finishes wrapping the bandages.

They’d talk more about it later. For now, he’s more than happy to just listen to Dorian’s fast, happy heart.

#dorian pavus #vaxus trevelyan #dorian x inquisitor #dorian x trevelyan #dorxus #modern au #this one is based on a prompt ive found once on kinkmeme #dorian is vax's gay awakening here haha #love it #da fanfic #dragon age #ticklishivories #finally posting the commissions I got over the time in here haha #enjoy it as much as I do 8)

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nikolacvna-archive · 5 years

Text

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑𝐒.

TAGGED BY : @cognoscente ( aka a babe ) TAGGING : @peridans @wantlonger @russicnrat @timejvmped @theywillnotfade

LAYER ONE : THE OUTSIDE .

NAME. Tatiana Nikolaevna Romanova / Татьяна Николаевна Романова EYE COLOUR. a stormy grey-blue, quite dark HAIR STYLE / COLOUR. a rich chestnut brown, which naturally grows in loose curls, though she keeps it tamed in an updo most of the time. after an illness during her teenage years, she was required to shave her head, and it grew back in a bit thicker and a bit straighter ; in modernverse, she prefers to wear her hair cut to her shoulders, because it’s more practical. HEIGHT. 5′7″ / 170cm CLOTHING STYLE. a very elegant style of dress --- tatiana is very good at keeping up with the latest fashions and picking out clothes that flatter her. she is fond of light-colored / pastel dresses, practical but fashionable clothing such as blouses and skirts, and quite enjoys her hat collection. BEST PHYSICAL FEATURE. she has wide-set eyes, almost catlike in their structure ; ocasionally her gaze can get very intense. upon looking at her, it’s hard not to notice her eyes first. she also has, like, really great bone structure.

LAYER TWO : THE INSIDE .

FEARS. very afraid of failure --- namely, of letting the people who believe / rely on her down. she also doesn’t like it when situations are out of her control ; it leaves her feeling helpless, groping for any shred of control she can find. she is very afraid of being alone, though this is the one she won’t admit to herself ; tatiana’s worst-case-scenario would be to be left without her family, or anyone who loves her. GUILTY PLEASURE. she doesn’t have many... but she is fond of romance stories, a bit of escapist fiction. it’s something she beats herself up for, more than anything else, because she knows fantasizing about love and adventure isn’t practical... but she’s a young woman, she has to daydream sometimes. BIGGEST PET PEEVE. people who take nothing seriously. people who boss her around. mosquitoes. sour lemon water. AMBITIONS FOR THE FUTURE. honestly, tatiana doesn’t have many plans for the future. she’s very focused on the here-and-now, on doing what she can in the moment... but her ideal future would be one surrounded by her family, with everyone happy and in good health. she doesn’t focus on herself in this hypothetical situation... but, ideally, tatiana would like to stand right beside them, as essential and loved as ever. maybe she’d have her own family, her own love story --- she’d really like that. ( the one ambition she won’t allow herself to dwell on is pursuing medicine after the war, becoming a nurse, or even a doctor like princess gedroits... she pushes this away because it’s impossible. )

LAYER THREE : THOUGHTS .

FIRST THOUGHTS UPON WAKING UP. what time is it? is anyone ( ortino, olga ) still asleep in the room with me? then, she’ll usually lie still for a few moments, waking herself up by going over her schedule for the day. WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT MOST. juggling her busy schedule, the latest operations / patients at the hospital, family matters, religion, ‘why are my sisters shrieking at each other today’ WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT BEFORE BED. she usually lets her thoughts wander until they turn to syrup --- this is the only time she really allows herself to daydream. WHAT YOUR BEST QUALITY IS. when she commits herself to a person or thing, she is endlessly devoted to it. tatiana works herself much too hard, but she’s devoted ; when she resolves on doing something, she does it, and never leaves anything halfway finished. she also has a very cool head under pressure, and is able to assert herself when necessary.

LAYER FOUR : WHAT’S BETTER ?

SINGLE OR GROUP DATES. preferably a single date, just to get to know the other person better... but she’s not above dragging a sister or two along as back-up. ( anastasia the chaos demon is never invited on her group dates. ) TO BE LOVED OR RESPECTED. she would definitely rather be respected... but for her accomplishments, and what she has done to help others, rather than just her status as grand duchess. respect must be earned, or else it means nothing. BEAUTY OR BRAINS. oh gosh. she wants to say brains, but it would be a lie to claim looks don’t mean anything to her. they certainly do. DOGS OR CATS. ... like. as a person, she’s a cat, but she personally prefers dogs.

LAYER FIVE : DO YOU …

LIE. ‘of course not,’ she declares, very indignantly, while l y i n g . BELIEVE IN YOURSELF. she has a very quiet self-confidence which carries her through most challenging situations. BELIEVE IN LOVE. absolutely! a part of her is frightened to admit it, because she knows she may not ever get to be in love --- royal marriages are often arranged, and she doubts she’ll ever have a love story like her parents --- but tatiana super believes in it. WANT SOMEONE. ... very much so, yes. tatiana really wants to fall in love and be loved back, even if she’d not holding her breath for it.

LAYER SIX : EVER BEEN …

BEEN ON STAGE. never. not even to give a speech. a giant theatre, thousands of eyes all focused on her? she would die. DONE DRUGS. never. she’s much too responsible. CHANGED WHO YOU WERE TO FIT IN. not... not really. tatiana has always been herself, but she was very much shaped by her unique upbringing. she became the woman her family needed her to be ( at least, that’s the way she saw it ) and would gladly change herself, suppressing any negative emotion, were it what was necessary to ensure her family’s happiness.

LAYER SEVEN : FAVORITES .

FAVOURITE COLOR. lavender FAVOURITE ANIMAL. can she literally say her own dog? tatiana loves dogs ( and most animals, honestly ) but no one can beat ortino. FAVOURITE FOOD. raspberries, blackberries... any food featuring those two is 10/10 in her books. pastries? yogurts? in modern verse, she’s probably a real fan of greek yogurt. FAVOURITE GAME. she’s fond of board games with her siblings.

LAYER EIGHT : AGE .

DAY YOUR NEXT BIRTHDAY WILL BE. June 10 HOW OLD WILL YOU BE. mmm... historically, she doesn’t live past 21, so... DOES AGE MATTER. yes, it really does to her. as a teenager, she had crushes on men in their twenties, but as she approaches that age herself, she could never see her falling for someone too young, or too old. emotional maturity matters more to her than age, but it does matter.

LAYER NINE : IN A PERSON .

BEST PERSONALITY. someone reliable, with a sharp mind and pleasant manners. someone thoughtful, who keeps their promises. she’s naturally drawn to people who make her laugh, even if she doesn’t realize it. BEST EYE COLOUR. she has a fondness for blue, but has always found brown eyes beautiful. BEST HAIR COLOUR. darker, a rich brown or black shade. BEST THING TO DO WITH A PARTNER. talk to them. find a confidante in them, and understand each other soul to soul.

LAYER TEN : FINISH THE SENTENCE .

I LOVE. my family, more than anything else. I FEEL. as though there aren’t enough hours in the day. I HIDE. the feelings I am not sure how to understand I MISS. the happy moments, as soon as they have flown away. I WISH. to one day live a life without pain, without fear, where I and the people I love can be happy.

#v. ' the nuanced expression of interior revelation ' ( headcanons )

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this-fucking-shit · 6 years

Text

Out of Place pt. 3

You had reached the edge of the town Ban talked about and least to say, you were utterly confused. Before you had been too focused on the fact that this giant had refused to stop touching you. It's as if he noticed that the subtle hand on your back was bothering you, so he amped it up the notches or something. This made you totally forget that none this place actually looked familiar to you.

You stopped in your place entirely shocked at the old timey village before you. This was definately not on the map. It had never been on the map as far as you knew. Your town wasn't exactly small, but it was small enough to know that there was nothing even close to this in the surrounding area of that hole.

In the distance you saw a massive castle. This was like some sort of fairy tale. Or fever dream. Probably a fever dream.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when you felt a slight pain in the middle of your forehead. You looked up to come face to face with Ban. This man seriously had no personal space. He was way to close for your liking causing you to lean back. You had come to the conclusion that he had flicked your forehead when you saw him lower his hands.

"You just gonna stand there an' stare all day?" He asked with an annoyance in his tone. He wrapped an arm around your waist and guided you towards the village.

You reminded yourself that if he sees you uncomfortable with his touches then he'll just crank them up more. It was incredibly difficult keeping a straight face though when this dude you just met is holding you as if you'd been dating for months.

Walking through the village had brought you back to the reality of things. Getting flustered over inappropriate touches was the least of your problems. Hell, even the fact that your lungs could be filling up with fluid currently wasn't ask concerning as the question of your whereabouts was. There were no telephone wires, no paved roads, no cars, not a single person pulled out a cellphone- it was like these people were stuck in the medieval ages or something.

"Hey, Ban." You grabbed said man's attention before continuing, "Where are we?

He scoffed at your question as if it weren't obvious. "You really can't tell? Just how dim are you?" He laughed at your dispense. "This is the kingdom of Liones."

You reached to your back pocket to grab your phone. As if by some mirical it had gone undamaged by the pond water. You'd never heard of any place called "Liones," especially so close to you where you thought a certain area of your town was supposed to be. You'd probably have to turn data on, but you were determined to look this place up.

As your phone screen lit up, Ban leaned on close to the device in your hand asking, "The hell's that thing?" He grabbed it from your hand holding it above his head squinting it, an attempt to examine it.

"It's a smart phone..." you trailed off.

"What's it for? Where's the light comin' from?" He'd occasionally glance away from the phone to look at the road ahead of him. He twisted and turned it in his hand. It was like a baby playing with keys.

You snatched it back out of his hands before he could do any damage to it and went to your browser.

"What're you doin' with it?" He asked leaning over your shoulder.

"I'm looking up this place 'cause I've never heard of it before." You typed in your search into the bar and hit enter.

"What does that mean?" Yet again you ignored his question.

Your search came up with nothing. Literally. The screen wouldn't even load. Yoh looked up at the top of your screen to find that this place had absolutely no cell service. You couldn't have been that far from civilian, could you? At this point, it felt like anything was possibly.

A sigh escaped your lips as you turned off your phone and stuffed it back into your pocket.

"So you're not gonna answer me?" The man child next to you practically whined.

You shook your head before responding, "I don't wanna have to explain something that I thought was common knowledge at this point in history."

A frustrated sigh escaped the man beside you along with a grumble. A few moments of silence had passed unti Ban stopped in front of a small stone shed on the outskirts of town. Was this the where the doctor he was taking you to was located? Doesn't seem very ideal for medical practice. His arm left your waist finally as he reached out and knocked loudly on the wooden door before you.

A soft rustle could be heard inside and seconds later emerged what you thought was the literal definition of a thot. A tall and slender woman stood in the doorway wearing nothing but a small pair of purple panties and long full length jacket of matching color. You wondered if the jacket had been pastied to her boobs. It would explain why her breasts hadn't spilled out yet. Although all the important parts had been covered, the amount of exposed skin she was comfortable showing had you blushing.

"Yo~" Ban gave a quick wave and shoved his way past the woman and through the door. She didn't seem to care much about his rudeness. No, she was focused on you, a smirk clad on her face.

"Who's the girl?" She asked, not bothering to look towards the man she directed her question at.

"Kid's name is (Y/N). She almost drowned and says her lungs are gonna fill up with water or some shit." Ban responded not sparing her a glance just as she'd done to him as looked around at all the things this woman had laying around.

She turned to look at him with a raised brow, leaving one hand on the door. "Excuse me?" She pushed for a further explanation.

You stepped forward from your position outside and spoke up. "If a person has had a near drowning experience such as I did less than a half hour ago, there's a chance that their lungs can fill themselves up with fluid." You explained. "I just wanted to get checked out and see if I was okay."

She looked over at you, hip jutted out and a hand atop it she asked, "What leads you to think that happens after such an event?"

Her eyes seemed to bore holes into you causing you to become nervous. Great, she already doesn't like you. Fiddling with your hands you responded, "Well, modern science and medicine has determined so..." you trailed off.

She glared at you for a moment or two before saying what you assumed was meant for Ban, "She's an odd one, isn't she?"

Ban turned back to the entrance with a chuckle, "Yeah, you should'a heard the stuff she was sayin' earlier. Oh- Show'er the box thingy!" He was now looking to you with excitement in his eyes like he was showing off a new toy to his friends.

You complied and pulled the phone from your pocket once more. You turned it on and explained, "It's a smartphone-" not being able to say any more as the woman pulled your phone from your hand to examine it.

Brows furrowed, she turned it over, around and upside down as she examined it just as Ban did. She tapped it a few times before her eyes widened. She looked to you again with furrowed brows and questioned, "When were you born?"

Ban had glanced over as well, curious to see where this was going. You swallowed a lump in your throat, not fully understanding why she was asking. "Um- (month/day)."

"What year?" She pushed.

"(Year), why do you ask?"

Whatever Ban was holding in the background had been dropped to the floor and completely shattered spilling its contents.

"And that explains why this 'smartphone' says that the year is two thousand eighteen." She delicately hands you back your phone.

With a still quite shocked face, Ban places himself next to the woman and said, "Wait- Merlin, does that mean-"

"She's from a very-" she glanced back over at you, almost sizing you up. "very distant future."

Did she say very very distant future?

Is that supposed to mean that you're-

"Good find, Ban." The woman that Ban had called Merlin pat him on the shoulder and walked back into her cabin.

Fistbumping the air, the giant man child hollard, "Hell yeah!"

"As for the fluid in your lungs-" Merlin came back with a bottle in hand. The contents were of an unnatural blue color. "This should fix any problems you have." She reached out and dropped the vile into your hand before pushing the seven foot tall man out of her abode. "Tell me what becomes of this one. Truly is fascinating." She said before fully closing the door.

#nanatsu no taizai ban x reader #nanatsu no taizai x reader #nanatsu no taizai #seven deadly sins ban x reader #ban x reader #ban #seven deadly sins #anime #fox sin of greed

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welllpthisishappening · 6 years

Text

Going Tape to Tape

They must have set some kind of record.

The doctor thought they were insane – asking for more printouts and more copies and no one in the history of modern medicine had ever asked for so many sonograms. Emma was convinced. But they had a dinner to go to and a gold medal to celebrate and there was an entire team waiting for official announcements and vaguely emotional moments.

Anna wouldn’t put her phone down. Will kept taking pictures. Mary Margaret might have been crying. And Killian was totally going to come up with a sitting schedule for Emma.

She was only kind of overwhelmed.

Or: Emma and Killian tell the Vankalds about Matthew Jones.

Rating: Ehhhhh high T? Making out. They’re going to have a kid so... Word Count: Listen, I got feelings and I need adjectives to describe them. 9.3K AN: This has been a very long time coming and I’m sorry to all of those who requested this that it took several decades, but here it is! Mini post-game vacation! David trying to break down a door! Doctor’s appointments! Overly emotional expectant father Killian Jones! Robin and Emma bonding! The Vankalds! This is a whole lotta fluff, basically. If you guys missed the memo, there are Blue Line one shots coming every Sunday at 12 EST because I’ve written a lot of words. I am, however, still down for more words and more requests or questions or prompts so if you want to see something, don’t be shy. Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll.

“What are you doing?” Emma froze, breath catching in her throat and she nearly lost her footing – which probably would have sent Killian into several different types of metaphorical and literal tailspins – spinning on the spot to find him staring speculatively at her.

He was leaning against the frame of the open door, feet crossed at the ankles and what appeared to be a fairly new team-branded t-shirt on. And he was smiling.

Emma squeezed one eye shut. “Nothing,” she muttered, but she was the worst liar in the history of several different worlds and he absolutely knew already.

She was standing in front of the goddamn mirror.

“Yuh huh,” Killian nodded, taking a step into the room and resting his hands on the sides of her hips. “That was bad, Swan.” “Yeah, well, you surprised me.” “Are you telling me that if I hadn’t just caught you staring at your own reflection in the mirror, you would have been able to come up with a better story for what you were doing?” “That was a very convoluted question.” “Sounds like a yes.” She groaned, leaning back against his chest out of instinct and habit and want, which, might have been some kind of symptom, but they’d been under self-imposed house arrest for the last three days and hadn’t even looked at their phones, let alone looked up pregnancy clichés. Or symptoms. Whatever.

Emma had no idea where her phone was.

“What are you looking for exactly, love?” Killian asked, and he couldn’t quite keep the laughter out of his voice when he ducked his head to press a kiss against the curve of her shoulder.

She scowled at open air, but he apparently had eyes in the wall or something equally impossible, because he laughed again and caught her fingers before she could actually swat at his thigh.

“That is stupid unfair,” she accused.

“Swan, we’ve been over this. Bad liar, standing in front of the mirror with your shirt rucked up. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two--” “No, no, the reaction time,” Emma interrupted, appreciating his quiet hum of confusion more than she expected to. “You’ve got crazy reflexes.” “Yeah, well, rumor has it I’m some kind of professional athlete.” Emma laughed – or it might have been a giggle, which she absolutely planned to blame on hormones for, just, like, the rest of her life. “That’s the rumor, huh?” she asked, twisting in his hold to sling an arm over his shoulders and Killian’s eyes fluttered shut when her fingers found the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Look who’s cheating now.” “None of this conversation makes much sense, you know that, right?” “I beg to disagree, Swan. I think we’re making plenty of sense, you’re just avoiding my questions and my incredibly on-point points because you’re distracted and slightly attracted to my previously mentioned professional athlete reflexes.” “God,” Emma groaned, but he knew he was right and she knew he knew and they were going in circles. He kissed the top of her hair when her head landed on his chest. “Awfully presumptuous of you.”

Killian made a dismissive noise in the back of his throat, pressing another kiss to her head as his hand found its way to her stomach and they hadn’t been out of the apartment in three days, but that kept happening.

Emma wasn’t keeping track.

Of course not.

Obviously.

She should have looked for her phone while he was in the shower.

“I’ve got some good sources on that,” Killian mumbled, and Emma didn’t have to look up to know that he was smirking. He was probably doing something stupid with his eyebrows.

She leaned back, lifting her own brows and pointedly ignoring whatever it was his hand was doing – tracing out patterns and he kept doing this thing with his thumb, making semicircles on her skin like he was skating from blue line to blue line. Or like he was just trying to make sure this was all really happening.

“More than one source?” Emma asked archly. “Or more than one kid?” If asked, she would promise that she absolutely, positively did not do it for the reaction. Emma was an adult. An impending mother. A goddamn professional who really should have found her phone because the New York Rangers were absolutely going to want to honor America when they played at the Garden again.

If asked, Emma would have absolutely lied.

And Killian would have known.

Because she really, really liked whatever his whole body did whenever she used that word, thumb stilling and shoulders sagging just a bit, like he still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it, or come to terms with how incandescently happy he was.

He’d used that word several times in the last three days.

She’d definitely done it for the reaction. “Cheater, cheater, cheater,” Killian said, pressing kisses to her jaw and the bridge of her nose and the edge of her eye and it was a miracle Emma didn’t dissolve into a fit of giggles, hormone-induced or otherwise. The arm around her waist helped.

“Yeah, totally,” she admitted. “But that’s like a thing, right? Genetics or whatever?” “You’re just saying words, Swan.” “Elsa and Liam have twins.” “Yes.” “And?” “And what?” Killian repeated. He tilted his head when he realized, hair falling dangerously close to his eyes and it really shouldn’t have been that attractive, but they were talking about their kid and they had a doctor’s appointment in a few hours and a party to celebrate America at the brownstone later because the Rangers didn’t play until the next day and neither one of them was looking forward to a three-game swing on the road so soon after getting home.

And he knew what she’d been doing in front of the mirror.

“I have no idea how genetics work,” Killian said. “But I’m fairly certain that’s why they have doctors and appointments and ultrasounds. Right?” Emma nodded, but her pulse was racing and there were butterflies in her stomach and she was wearing team-branded too. God, they couldn’t both wear team-branded to the doctors.

She didn’t really want to change.

“I was just…” she started, and eventually she’d have to thank him for not smiling too wide because she wasn’t sure she could quite deal with that. But he did look somewhere close to overjoyed and incandescent was a really good word for the last three days. “Doesn’t look any different,” Emma finished. “Right?” They both needed to stop adding questions to their statements.

Killian hummed, eyes flitting down towards his hand, like he was checking to make sure. “Did you think it would?” “Did you?”

“Swan, you can’t answer my question with one of your own. These are basic conversational rules, love. And, no, I didn't.” “Why do you know that?” He eyed her meaningfully, but Emma just pressed her lips together and tugged lightly on the front of his shirt. That was a mistake – her ring was on her left hand and they had far too much news to share with the Vankalds.

The butterflies were in her throat.

“You weren’t supposed to be looking at your phone,” Emma accused. “There were rules to this vacation, Captain.” “This was a vacation?” “Killian!”

He laughed, eyes bright and Emma chased after him when he brushed his lips over hers, a fact that, if it were any sort of normal day, would have led to several vaguely sarcastic and equally charming remarks. But they didn’t really have time and their three days were up and she was only a little concerned about those wires Killian had yanked out of the wall when they got back from the Games.

Someone on this stupid hockey team must known an electrician.

“I didn’t break any of the rules,” Killian said softly, taking his time on every letter and the butterflies in Emma’s throat got a little distracted by the sound of her impossibly loud heartbeat. “But there was wifi on the plane and you fell asleep pretty quickly and--” “--I’m pregnant, I’m supposed to be tired all the time. That’s normal in the first trimester.” He beamed at her.

And, really, Emma should have expected that because she kept using very specific words and Killian was a giant, sentimental sap who really enjoyed hearing those very specific words.

But the expression still left her a little breathless and Emma was only slightly convinced she wasn’t just made of butterflies at this point.

“I know it is, love,” he whispered. “But I’m answering your question.” He waited a moment, as if he expected her to interrupt again, and his smile, somehow, got even wider when she didn’t. “And,” Killian continued. “I had wifi on the plane and a little bit of time, so I looked some things up. For...curiosity's sake.”

“Curiosity?” “Mine. Specifically. And I think the twin thing is Vankald genetics, so really that happened because of El.” “Oh, let me be there when you tell her that, please,” Emma laughed, but Killian was already shaking his head before she’d even closed her mouth.

“Do not tell her I said that.”

“She’d find a stick and check you in the ankles.” “I’ve got no doubt, that’s why I don’t want you to tell her I said that.”

She grinned, the butterflies returning or migrating or whatever it was metaphorical butterflies did, falling back into the pit of her stomach and Emma, at least, felt like she could breathe a little easier. “You’re obsessed with websites,” she muttered, and she’d never let go of his shirt.

“Curious,” Killian corrected. “I am curious. Mostly about a permanent set of kidneys.” “I’m sorry, what?” “That’s what the thing said. If my math is right, around seven weeks, there are permanent kidneys and arm and leg joints. And he’s growing about a hundred brain cells a minute.” Emma gaped, and that certainty that her lungs were a functioning, normal part of her body seemed to fly out the still-open doorway in front of her. Her knuckles went white around Killian’s shirt. “Oh,” she breathed, a note of something that sounded like awe and felt a bit more like disbelief in the letters. “Wow.” “He’s probably a genius by now. So job well done by us.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure that’s really how it works,” Emma mumbled. “Although it does sound better than hummingbird heartbeat. Leg joints, huh?” Killian nodded slowly, palm still flat on her stomach and she’d never actually fixed her goddamn shirt. She was totally looking for something. “You need those to skate.” “Generally knees do come into play while skating.” “And elbows.”

“Difficult to stick-handle if you can’t move your arms.” “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” Killian’s eyes widened at the not-quite insult, a flash of blue and feeling and Emma was a complete and utter mess of emotions and hormones and butterflies, because she was pushing up on toes before she really thought about it, finally letting go of his shirt to sling both arms around his neck and kiss him – hard.

He stuttered slightly, probably because she was attack-kissing them in the middle of their bedroom and his hair was still damp from the shower and neither of them had had any contact with the outside word in seventy-two hours, but Emma kind of felt like everything was happening at once, and she needed an outlet.

Her fiancé’s distinct ability to make out with her felt like a fairly good one.

Or it would have been if someone didn’t appear to be breaking into their apartment.

“What the fuck?” Killian hissed, not bothering to pull away from Emma’s mouth, and her answering laugh was a little manic. She really needed to change her shirt.

“Let them take whatever they want,” Emma muttered. “We’ll just trace the IP.” “What?” “I mean obviously someone’s discovered that we stole the Conn-Smythe and now they’re here to steal it and auction it off on the internet. I bet Ruby knows how to trace an IP. Or David. That makes more sense.” “I’d imagine we’d go to the police when reporting this crime, Swan.” “You think you’re hysterical.” “From time to time,” Killian admitted, but the words got caught in the air when he was trying to kiss her at the same time. “And we really didn’t steal the Conn-Smythe. Borrowed.” “That makes it sound like we’re going to give it back.” “Eventually, eventually. Maybe after the kissing. And the doctor. And teaching our kid how to stick handle properly.” “You don’t know how to stick handle properly,” Emma muttered, smiling when Killian made some kind of disbelieving noise in the back of his throat. And, really, they probably would have spent another ten minutes standing stock-still in the middle of their bedroom making out like several varieties of cliché teenagers, but whoever was trying to break into their apartment appeared to be leading with their shoulder against their front door.

It was very loud.

“If this is anyone except some door to door salesman, I’m going to find a stick and check them in the ankles,” Killian muttered.

“Do traveling salesmen exist anymore? Isn’t that just Harold Hill?” “What?” “You know. Seventy-six trombones and you’ve got trouble. With a capital T.” “You are speaking in tongues.” “I’m not,” Emma promised, eyes flitting towards the door when it sounded like someone kicked at it. And she could just make out the muffled voice on the other side of the wood, demands to make sure you’re still alive because everyone is really worried and Emma rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. “You might want to actually find that stick,” she suggested, twisting around Killian before he could stop her or say something stupid overprotective because the police officer currently trying to break into their apartment really did have their best interests at heart.

David nearly fell over the threshold when Emma opened the door.

“Did Mary Margaret send you?” she asked. He shook his head. “Ruby?” Another shake. “Who?”

“Merida,” David said, running a hand over his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Although Ruby was probably a close second because Merida went to her first. And I’m going to go ahead and award myself the bronze because you should really at least have some way for us to reach you.”

“We ripped out the wires.” “I’m sorry, what?” “Do you know how to fix that?” Emma asked, but David looked torn between disbelief and hysterics and she was kind of glad no one was coming to steal their Conn-Smythe.

“I am not an electrician,” he said. “And as mentioned, here to make sure you’re not both nursing several broken bones or life-threatening injuries and because your assistant is having several different types of meltdowns.”

“What?” “Yup. And it took Ruby some time to respond, I guess, because everyone’s sleep schedules are still messed up and she is actually good at keeping secrets, so your assistant doesn’t know that you need to be sleeping more.” Emma groaned. “Oh my God.” “That’s just a fact.” “Were you looking up facts, Detective?” “No,” David said quickly, gaze darting over Emma’s left shoulder when Killian moved into the living room. Emma arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t! But, uh,” he added softly, digging the toe of his exceptionally shiny dress shoe into the ground. “Mary Margaret might have. Just out of…” “Curiosity?” Killian suggested, and David shrugged in response. He, quite clearly, did not want to be checked in the hallway.

“Something like that.” “And she thinks she’s my mom,” Emma added, but she couldn't quite get her voice to sound as frustrated as she wanted it to. David bit back a smile. “What exactly did Mer want, David?” “To brainstorm or something, I guess. Something about America.” Emma hummed, rocking back on her heels, and it only took a moment for Killian’s hand to land on the small of her back – like he was trying to make sure she didn’t topple backwards. She couldn't bring herself to be frustrated by that either.

“We won a gold medal,” Emma reasoned. “Seems fairly safe to assume that the Rangers would want to hype that. We should probably do something for Phillip too, though, right?” “He didn’t win, Swan,” Killian pointed out.

“Yeah, but he was there and he’s on the team and…” “And you’re going to do way more work than you have to. Merida can do the extra stuff if she wants to. She can send stuff to the season-tickets. You don’t need to do all of that.” “He’s got a point, Em,” David muttered, widening his eyes when Emma sighed. “Something about sitting down and pressure on your spine.” “Oh my God,” she groaned. “There is no pressure on my spine. My spine is perfectly fine. And I am more than capable of sending e-mails to the season-tickets. That actually requires me to sit down, you know.”

David didn’t look convinced. “You’d figure out a way to do that standing up if you had to.” “I am fine.”

“Not nursing any broken bones or life-threatening injuries?” Emma scowled, and David finally let himself smile, leaning forward to tug lightly on the sleeve of her shirt. “I worry about you, kid. And your sleeping habits.” Her expression had never really reached glare-type levels, but Emma felt any hint of frustration disappear at the look on David’s face and the honestly in his voice and, at some point, Killian’s hand had moved from her back to her stomach. “I know you do,” Emma mumbled. “But I’m fine. Really. I can get a doctor’s note to prove it later, if you want.” David nearly fell over.

“What?” he sputtered. “When? Today?” “You’ve got very bad timing, Detective,” Emma grinned. “We’re probably going to be late because of you.” “You’re going to the doctor?” “What part of that was confusing?” “You just told me you ripped wires out of the wall!” “We did that after we made the appointment,” Killian reasoned, and David’s face looked questionably pale. Emma wasn’t entirely sure he was still breathing. “Did you come here on your lunch break to make sure we weren’t dead?” “What gave me away?” “The badge on your hip was a pretty good tell.”

David hummed, but it still sounded distracted and his eyes kept darting towards Emma. “I don’t need a doctor’s note.” “That’s good because I totally wasn’t going to get you one.”

“Yeah, I figured,” he muttered, taking another step into the apartment and it wasn’t easy for all three of them to occupy the same few inches of space, but they figured it out and Emma smiled when David pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Mary Margaret’s going to lose her mind at dinner tonight, you realize that?” Emma nodded. “I’m fully prepared for that.”

And, honestly, it wasn’t really a lie. They’d already decided she was awful at lying. There was no point in lying when Emma was, almost painfully, aware of just how much Mary Margaret was going to lose her mind at dinner.

She knew they all were – the whole goddamn team and probably Mr. and Mrs. Vankald and Emma was ready for it.

She was.

She was happy and thrilled and the living embodiment of the word incandescent, even with wires hanging out of her wall.

But it all changed as soon as she sat on exam table paper and the stupid thing ripped under her and Emma hoped that wasn’t some kind of twisted sign from the universe, because they kept winning things and getting things and she wasn’t sure she took a single breath from the time the doctor walked into the room until the moment she asked if they wanted an ultrasound.

“It’s not necessary,” she explained, but Emma’s lungs felt like they were on fire and she could see Killian’s jaw clench. “You’re in perfect health, but it’s up to you. We can wait until your next appointment or we can...get on with it.” “Get on with it,” Emma echoed. The doctor shrugged.

“It’s up to you.” “Swan?” Killian asked softly, and she could barely hear him, but that might have been because she was so focused on not squeezing his hand in half. There were still bruises there. “It’s up to you, love.” She nodded.

The jelly, goo, whatever the doctor slathered on her stomach was freezing cold and the whole thing was a little surreal – like Emma was watching it in some out of body experience, but still feeling all of it and Killian kept tapping his thumb against her wrist.

She really needed to breathe.

“Ah,” the doctor said triumphantly. Killian hissed when Emma’s grip tightened. “There we are.”

“We,” he repeated, and if Emma weren’t having some kind of actual meltdown she would have teased him for the crack in his voice.

“Genetics, Cap,” she muttered. “Genetics.”

The doctor looked confused, eyeing them with something that felt like concern for their overall wellbeing, but they were both still a little jet-lagged and Emma was starving all the time – except when the Uber had driven by some food cart on Columbus Ave and she was fairly convinced she was going to die from the smell.

But that was neither her nor there.

“I was speaking in the more metaphorical we,” the doctor said, as if that would do anything to get rid of the look on Killian’s face. Emma tried not to laugh. “But, uh,” she nodded towards the screen next to her and the tiny blob of something that was flickering there. “If you look right here...you were right, Ms. Swan, about seven weeks.”

“Oh,” Emma breathed.

She’d wish she said something slightly more emotional or concrete later, when the realization had sunk into her toes and probably her soul or something equally absurd, but in the moment she was far too busy crying and staring at the screen and listening to the way Killian’s breath caught to be worried about appropriate reactions to seeing their kid for the first time.

Their kid.

“Swan,” Killian whispered, and his voice shook on her name, eyes a bit glossier than normal when she finally tore her eyes away from the screen.

Emma shook her head, which, really was the dumbest thing she could have done, but her heart appeared determined to beat its way out of her chest and there was still freezing cold goop on her stomach and a doctor staring at them like they’d collectively lost their minds.

So, really, it made sense when Killian bent down and kissed her.

“I love you,” he whispered, thumb brushing away tears as quickly as they came. “More than anything.”

“I love you, too.”

He’d never let go of her hand. Or the other way around.

Whatever.

Semantics weren’t important.

There was more to it all – another talk with the doctor and suggestions to use ginger to help fight off the morning sickness that seemed to last all day, and more tests than Emma was aware existed in modern medicine – but they walked out of the office with more than one copy of the ultrasound in their hands and a date firmly planted in the back of their minds.

Emma didn’t change out of the team-branded shirt before dinner.

And Killian couldn’t quite keep the smile off his face when he noticed, standing outside the Garden after not-really-morning skate and Emma’s meeting with a clearly flustered Merida, and he wouldn’t let her hold her own bag.

“You’re going to give yourself a heart attack,” Emma mumbled, climbing into the backseat of the cab he hailed. “This can’t be good for several different internal organs.” He grinned, giving the driver an address and they were absolutely going to hit traffic. “You really do not need to worry about my internal organs, Swan. I skated perfectly fine today. Better than, in fact.” “That’s not what I meant at all and you know it.”

“I do,” Killian nodded, and he held his arm up expectantly when Emma stayed firmly on her side of the backseat. “Ah, don’t make me ask, Swan.”

“You’re clingy.”

He hummed, cheek brushing over the top of her head when he nodded, but his arm felt pretty goddamn fantastic around her shoulders and the doctor’s eyes had widened when they’d asked for so many printouts of one ultrasound.

They didn’t say anything for a moment, Emma’s eyes fluttering because he was warm and comfortable and they weren’t really moving in Midtown traffic at rush hour, but her head snapped up when she heard Killian’s voice. “What?” He blushed. “I just...I love you.” “Yeah, you’ve mentioned that a few times since we got home.” “No, no, I just…”

It wasn’t very often that he stumbled over the words, and Emma’s whole body did something absurd at that – butterflies and questionably quick heartbeat and her hand was flat on his cheek as soon as the thought entered his mind. “I’ll let Mer e-mail the season-tickets,” she promised. “She can recount them all with a detailed rehash of the New York Rangers first line exploits in South Korea and then we can auction off signed merch and make a shit ton of money for charity. That work for you?” Killian laughed, or possibly just exhaled, pressing his lips on the inside of Emma’s wrist and she didn’t have her laces anymore, but she was fairly positive he knew what he was doing. “Yeah,” he agreed. “That works for me. Although maybe not all the exploits. Don’t want to get fined.”

“Obviously.”

They were late, Killian waving off the driver when he started to apologize and question the state of the New York Rangers penalty kill in the same breath.

“We’ll see what we can do,” Killian promised, grabbing Emma’s bag and ignoring her laughter as he closed the cab door behind her. “Not a word, Swan,” he warned. “Arthur's got to move Sean off the kill. It’s embarrassing.” “Aye, aye, Cap,” she saluted back, and the reflexes were on full display again, fingers around her wrist and bag dropped unceremoniously on the sidewalk when he tugged her flush against his chest. Her laughter got louder.

“And you were accusing me of thinking too highly of my own jokes before.”

“That’s because I was right,” Emma said, but her voice shook and his fingers had already found their way under the bottom of her jacket and she couldn’t think when he kissed just behind her ear. “God, you’ve got to stop that or we’re never going to go inside.”

“That’s not exactly a bad thing.” “It’s a party.” “I miss vacation.” “You didn’t believe me when I called it that.” “Ah, well, sometimes I enjoy teasing you,” Killian admitted, leaning back to look at her, and Emma should have been better prepared for the breadth of emotions there. She wasn’t.

The butterflies were getting stronger.

They were probably forming some kind of coup.

“Yeah, sometimes,” she mumbled, and there were several increasingly sentimental and decidedly clingy sentences on the tip of her tongue. Because she was kind of dreading this three-game swing and her desk chair had apparently evolved into some kind of torture device while they’d been at the Games because she couldn’t find a single comfortable way to sit that afternoon and the doctor told her to drink less hot chocolate.

“Swan?” Killian asked softly. Open book and a distinct inability to lie to her fiancé were both vastly overrated.

Emma shook her head, but she didn’t get the chance to actually say anything, another voice and another shout and Killian nearly growled when they both realized who it was.

“KJ,” Anna snapped from the doorway. “Are you kidding me? You want to stop attacking your girlfriend for half a second? Come inside and let Emma sit down.”

“Fiancée,” he corrected, and Anna’s nearly fell over. “If you want to get technical, Banana.”

“I’d really love to get technical, actually.” “What you doing here?”

“That’s rude, KJ.” “Weren’t you in Colorado this afternoon?” “Yes, that’s how air travel works.” He glared at her, but Anna didn’t back down – regaining her traction after the technicalities were thrown around in SoHo – and her answering smile probably could have rivaled several suns in a variety of universes.

Emma swore her hair got redder.

“I wanted to be here,” she muttered, yanking on the zipper of Killian’s jacket when they finally got to the top of the stairs. “El and Liam obviously couldn’t, so I offered my miles and my phone’s ability to FaceTime and here I am ready for as much familial joy as we can muster.”

“An appropriate amount of familial joy,” Killian said, and Emma got the distinct impression he was doing it to quiet her nerves and the butterflies and they really must have set an ultrasound printout record. “You didn’t say anything to Mr. and Mrs. V, right, Banana?” Anna punched him. “KJ, are you serious?” “That’s a fair question!” “God, you are the worst. No, of course I didn’t say anything to Mom and Dad! Who do you think I am? And El would kill me. Telepathically. With her mind.” “How would she know?” “KJ!”

“Yeah, that’s probably true,” he admitted, but his arm tightened around Emma’s shoulders and she could already smell something baking and hear laughter around the corner. “Are Locksley and Scarlet here yet?” “Locksley is. I have no idea where Scarlet is.” “Here, here,” a voice called from the end of the block and Will was out of breath by the time he skidded to a stop in front of the slightly icy bottom step. “Shit, Cap, tell Mr. and Mrs. V to salt their sidewalk.” “I think the city is responsible for that,” Belle said, tucked against Will’s side. “Oh, hey, Anna, I thought you were in Colorado!” Anna rolled her eyes. “That was the rumor, apparently. Whatever, I’m mostly here for the baked goods. “There are baked goods?” Will asked.

“Did you lose your sense of smell in South Korea?” “Wow, Anna, you’re hysterical. Side-splitting humor. I’m laughing. Can you see how much I’m laughing?”

“Shut up, Scarlet,” Killian muttered, and Anna’s eyes were going to get stuck mid-roll. “Can we come inside now, Banana or you want to keep dishing out insults?” “I’m fairly positive I can do both of those things at the same time, KJ. And it’s way more fun when Scarlet is involved.”

Will did something with his face – and his hand, drawing a quiet reprimand out of Belle and another string of insults out of Anna and if Emma weren’t slightly nervous and a little nauseous she probably would have laughed.

“C’mon, Vankald,” Will muttered, twisting around Killian and into the foyer. “If Emma doesn’t sit down at regular intervals, Cap actually starts to steam and that’ll probably just freak out your parents. And he’s on edge because of the doctor.” “What?” Anna screeched, and Emma wasn’t sure if she mumbled oh my god or Killian did. The semantics of that didn’t matter much either.

“God, Banana, take seventy-six deep breaths. Scarlet, how did you know that? And how did Locksley get down here before us?” Will shrugged. “Gina probably glared at their Lyft driver. And uh...Mary Margaret told Ruby who told A who told me? She thought you’d be late to skate or blow off PT.” “Did you blow off PT?” Emma asked sharply, and it was starting to get very cold on that top step.

“No,” Killian promised. “She thought I would because she’s not here, but she’s probably as good at telepathically killing people as El is, so I figured there was no point in risking it.” “Not with impending fatherhood ahead of you,” Anna added softly, sticking her tongue out when Killian sighed dramatically.

“Is it impending if it’s happening now?” Emma asked. Anna made a noise that was not human. Even Will gasped. “Aw, c’mon, you guys knew that. Everyone knows.” “Except Mom and Dad,” Anna said.

Emma’s stomach did not stay where it was supposed to. The butterflies were plotting world domination at this point.

Killian glanced at her – and then back towards Will and he glared at Anna – but he didn’t actually say anything and Emma wasn’t entirely sure what she was so inconsistently nervous about. She wished her body would make up its goddamn mind.

That probably had something to do with hormones too.

She should have asked the doctor more questions.

And she was right – Mrs. Vankald had baked and there was enough food to feed several NHL teams let alone the first line crammed into the brownstone’s dining room. There was talking and laughing and more food, and Mr. Vankald brought up hat trick no less than twenty-seven times over the course of dinner.

It was good. No, that wasn’t enough. It was better than good. It was nice and as familial as promised and Anna kept taking pictures, sending them to Elsa seemingly every two seconds.

It was all those adjectives and then some, particularly when Mrs. Vankald asked to see Emma’s ring, a small smile on her face.

Mary Margaret might have squealed.

“Oh, wait, wait, wait,” Anna said quickly, and Emma couldn’t believe she’d ever put her phone away. “This should be FaceTime’d right? Right, KJ?”

She eyed Killian meaningfully, Emma’s lungs doing that less-than-pleasant burning thing when she refused to keep breathing like a normal human being, and he didn’t answer quickly enough.

Mrs. Vankald tilted her head in confusion. “Killian?” she asked. “Is everything ok?” “Everything’s fine,” Emma answered, holding her left hand out and she had no idea who was crying. It might have been everyone. Mary Margaret might have been sobbing.

“Oh, it’s gorgeous,” Mrs. Vankald said, her fingers soft when they held onto Emma’s. “That’s...I’m so happy for both of you.”

And the butterflies evolved again – twisting and flying and fluttering in the back of Emma’s throat, a mix of emotions and nerves and everything and maybe that was the problem.

Everything.

All of it happening, simultaneously and never-ending, and she was so goddamn incandescently happy, she was half certain her whole body was going to explode into confetti at some point, but Emma was also a little overwhelmed and they hadn’t really planned on any of this.

They just asked for two dozen copies of their first ultrasound.

God, that really had to be a record.

“We should toast, don’t you think?” Mr. Vankald asked, appearing with a bottle in one hand and a plate of baked goods in the other. Killian tensed behind Emma. “What? We...there’s champagne.”

It was like someone had pulled the oxygen out of the room or cast some kind of freezing spell, all of them stuck stock-still with wide eyes and Mary Margaret had her hand over her mouth.

Emma’s stomach flipped.

“Emma,” Mrs. Vankald said slowly, and she could almost hear the gears working in her head. “Are you alright?” “Fine, fine, I’m just...just need some air.”

She moved before anyone could respond, and she couldn’t actually go outside because it was still freezing out and Killian would actually explode if he realized Emma was anywhere that wasn’t perfectly temperature controlled.

She wound up on the staircase in the foyer, the voices quiet down the hall and Mary Margaret was talking, playing distraction and decoy and Phillip might have been talking about his and Aurora’s wedding plans.

“Hey.” Emma’s head snapped up to find Robin staring cautiously at her, a smile tugging at the ends of his lips. “Hey,” she repeated. “What are you...is Killian…” “Fine, fine, trying to answer Mr. and Mrs. V’s rather impressive amount of questions without actually answering them, but he’s had enough media training. I think it’s Lucas’ proudest moment, honestly.”

Emma’s laugh was shaky at best, but her lungs appreciated the burst of oxygen she provided them. “Do you think I can just blame hormones for everything?” she asked, and Robin’s entire expression shifted when he smiled.

“For the next nine months at least.” “I’m already about a month and a half in.” “Ah, technicalities,” he promised, dropping down next to her. “You know, when Marian was expecting Roland, I was a mess. Constantly worried and terrified of being on the road and it was…” He shook his head, licking his lips, and Emma tried not to blame hormones for the tears in her eyes. “And I didn’t really have anyone when it was…” The rest of the sentence hung in the air around them – when it was over and he was alone with an infant and a professional hockey career and the tears were warm when they landed on Emma’s cheeks.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

Robin shook his head. “That’s not your fault. And not why I came out here. I’m not trying to ruin the mood of the celebration.” “I think I did a pretty good job of that, actually.” “Nah, freaked Cap out a little bit, but you might have to get used to that.” “Yeah, I kind of figured,” Emma admitted. “Scarlet was joking about sitting schedules, but I think Killian’s actually started considering those now that the idea’s been planted.” “I’ve got no doubt. That’s not a bad thing, either.” “I know. And I know I can’t really blame the hormones for freaking out, but I wasn’t entirely expecting champagne and do you think Mrs. Vankald is real? Like a real, human person?” Robin’s laugh echoed off the walls of the foyer and the very fancy banister next to them and Emma had to check and make sure the photos just underneath hadn’t fallen on the floor. “You know sometimes I wonder,” he admitted. “It would take some kind of saint to raise Cap and Liam at the same time. But, uh, I think she did a pretty fantastic job. Her and Mr. V. They’re…” “Next level?” “Yeah, exactly that.”

Emma hummed in the back of her throat, tugging on the ends of her hair and the ring around her neck and she knew there was more to this conversation. “It’s been so different,” Robin murmured, soft enough that Emma wasn’t sure she heard him at first. “Cap, I mean. He’s...when he got hurt, we thought that was it. He shut down. Sat upstairs in that room and wouldn’t get on the ice and I thought he was going to check me into the wall when I got here.” “Wait, what?” “That’s Liam’s fault, really, he taught Cap how to do this thing with his stick right under a guy’s shoulder blade and--”

“--No, no, that’s not what I meant,” Emma interrupted. “You came here? To do what?” “Get Cap back on the ice,” he shrugged. “That’s...Cap never mentioned that.” It wasn’t a question, but Emma shook her head anyway. “Nah, I think he’s kind of ashamed of it?” That was a question. She squeezed one eye closed. “He’s a bit of a perfectionist, y’know?” “Yeah, a bit. Scarlet would have several other opinions about it, but he lived with Cap, so he’s got a whole slew of stories. But, uh, yeah, I came and told him to get his shit together. HIs life wasn’t over, even when he thought it had to be, even after he thought he’d ruined everything.” “Liam’s injury wasn’t his fault.” “I don’t know that he’ll ever truly believe that,” Robin muttered, a note of something on the edge of his voice. “But that’s kind of where I’m going with this and why I understand how you ended up on these steps.” “Yeah?”

Robin nodded, and the teasing glint in his eye was far too similar to Roland’s. “Cap thought everything was over, but we got him out of that room and back on the ice and he’s finally starting to realize that there’s even more away from the ice. That’s because of you. And I know he’s worried because shit can wrong and sometimes it does go wrong, but sometimes it’s…”

He exhaled, that same smile on his face when he met Emma’s gaze. She was just going to cry for the rest of the night.

“Sometimes it’s absolutely incredible,” Robin finished. “And you think you’re going to be alone forever, but you stumble into a city and a team and a family that inadvertently freaks you out with champagne toasts.” “Was it that obvious?” Emma asked.

“Painfully.” “Jeez. I should apologize.” “Nah,” Robin objected, bumping his shoulder against hers familiarly. “But neither one of you are alone in this. Maybe too not alone, honestly.” “Those double negatives.” “You totally kept up.” Emma nodded, smile feeling a bit more natural and pulse a bit more normal and she wasn’t even surprised to hear another set of footsteps coming towards them.

Mary Margaret’s eyes were red. “You ok?” she asked, and Emma nodded with a honesty that was equal parts nice and a little surprising. “Scarlet is telling slightly out of place jokes and recounting your ability to pick locks to the Vankalds in an attempt to distract them.” “Oh my God,” Emma groaned. Robin kept laughing. “Is Killian…” “Fine, fine, appropriately deflected and then started muttering something about ginger and searching the cabinets and he kind of lost me after that.” “Morning sickness,” Emma and Robin said at the same time. Mary Margaret’s eyes widened.

“I know some things,” Robin shrugged. “Like how Mary Margaret’s been dying to stare at your ring for hours.”

Mary Margaret gasped and Emma nearly cackled, but they’d been holed up in some quasi vacation for three days post-Games and her ring was stupid gorgeous.

“Lucas told me,” Robin explained. “She got very chatty while trying to decide who to call to break down Cap and Emma’s door.” “David made a pretty good dent,” Emma muttered, groaning when Mary Margaret nearly ripped her wrist out of its socket. “Jeez, Reese’s, my hand’s not going anywhere.”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Mary Margaret mumbled. “I’m just…” “Excited?” She nodded. “Yeah, me too.”

They sat there for another five minutes, Mary Margaret staring at Emma’s ring like she knew how to describe luminosity or what a carat was, asking questions about wedding planning and trying, rather obviously, to get Emma’s nerves under control.

It totally worked.

And none of them were surprised when Killian walked into the lobby, tongue pressed on the side of his cheek and his left hand stuck in his hair.

“Scarlet’s started talking about that one kid who kept trying to talk to me while I was checking him, so I figured that was my cue to leave.”

“Someone was trying to talk to you while you were checking him?” Mary Margaret asked. “In the Olympics?” “They wanted his autograph,” Emma explained. “He’s super famous and important.” “Makes sense.” Killian didn’t object, but his eyes flitted towards Emma and she should probably apologize to him. “Well,” Mary Margaret said, standing up abruptly and none of them were very good at subtle. “This is probably the point where we go and make sure Rol and Henry aren’t trying to play hockey in the hallway, right?” “Too late,” Killian said, nodding towards the sound of a crash. “The house is used to it.” “Mrs. V is honestly a saint.” “That too.” Robin nodded, Mary Margaret already halfway towards the kitchen and Emma needed to learn some breathing exercises or something. She scrunched her nose, twisting the ring around her neck, and Killian appeared have become some kind of statue at some point.

“I think it’s about time little Vankald and I had a serious discussion about her boyfriend’s inability to provide me with an adequate amount of stick-tape every night," Robin said pointedly.

“Yeah, Banana will love that,” Killian muttered, as Robin clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re as subtle as two tons of bricks.” “And one threat to check you down the staircase and into oncoming traffic.”

Killian blinked, a reference Emma didn’t entirely understand, but she had a pretty good hunch and Roland had absolutely broken something in the hallway. “Where did he even get a stick?” Emma asked as soon as Robin was gone, working a quiet sound out of Killian. “Roland. And I’m assuming Henry. Do they both have sticks?” “I’m at least ninety-nine percent positive Banana found them.” “From the Garden?” He shook his head, sinking down next to her and tugging her fingers away from her ring. “Nah, they were downstairs. One of them’s got my initials on it.” “You put your initials on your stick?” “To make sure Liam couldn’t use it. Mine had more goals.” “Ah, naturally.” “He was more of a set-up guy anyway,” Killian reasoned, and his fingers fit very nicely in between hers. Emma focused on that. It helped settle the butterflies. “Are you alright, Swan?” he asked, the question sounding far too loud and far too cautious for the number of sonograms sitting in her bag a few feet away.

“Yeah, I think so. I’m...are you…” “You’ve got to finish the sentences, love.” “I know, I know,” she mumbled, and she didn’t think she imagined the way his hand tightened. “Ok, I’m going to say something and it’s not bad, per se, but--” “--Emma.” “Oh my God, you can’t just do that.” Killian widened his eyes, and it was way too much blue and even more feeling, but Emma’s lungs continued to do their job and her stomach stayed where it was supposed and she wasn’t even surprised when he tugged her hand up to brush his lips under her other ring.

God.

“It all happened really quickly, didn’t it?” Emma asked, not entirely appreciating the way her voice sounded. “And I know I keep circling around on freakouts here, but I’m really considering blaming hormones forever and, like, even after we have this kid and--”

She didn’t finish. That was probably for the best. She’d lost track of her point as soon as Killian started kissing her again.

They were sitting on different steps, so the angles were a bit off, Emma twisted and Killian trying to lean up, with his weight resting on his left hand and that couldn’t have been good for the bruises that had started looking a little green two days before.

He didn’t let go of her hand, but Emma’s fingers still managed to find their way into his hair and it was a goddamn disaster of teeth and lips and whatever the hell he was doing with his tongue, tracing it over her bottom lip until she was fairly positive she was actually melting on the Vankald’s staircase.

That would probably make this whole impending grandparent thing kind of awkward.

And, like, family holidays.

They got family holidays now – on some sort of indefinite basis.

“God, we’ve really got to stop answering major life questions with makeouts,” Emma mumbled, but the point got kind of lost when she hadn’t actually moved her mouth away from Killian’s.

She could feel his smile as easily as she could hear it, a whole other level of happily ever after, and maybe she wouldn’t freak out about the rest of their lives for, like, at least a week after this.

“I love you,” he said, and for all the times he’d told her that in general and that day, this one felt decidedly different. It felt like a promise and something bigger than that and his fingers were soft on her cheek when she started fucking crying again.

“Was that the answer?” “That and the makeouts.” Emma laughed, sliding down the stair and rolling her eyes when Killian groaned at the unnecessary risk. “Heart attack,” she mumbled. “Blood pressure. Something about stress being detrimental to scoring goals.” “I don’t think that’s an actual scientific study.” “I’m going to find one. Or use you as my subject.”

“Seems a little devious, honestly,” Killian said, slinging an arm around her. “It’s quick, Swan, or quicker than previous plans. But...it’s good. The best. Right?” “Are you asking me for confirmation?” “Yes.” She pulled back at the quick response – all three letters feeling like they were hanging in front of her face and waiting for her approval, but Emma had never been good at talking or discussing and they were so goddamn good at kissing.

It felt wrong to break the streak, anyway.

“Did you totally know?” she asked, a few moments later. They would have to do something about Killian’s hair before they went back into the dining room.

He nodded. “I had a fairly good feeling. And I get it, Swan, I do. I am...terrified isn’t the right word, but it’s...the rest of our lives, right?” “You’ve got to stop checking for confirmation. I'm sorry for freaking out.”

“I spent an entire international flight looking up facts about brain activity and joints and how early kids could get on the ice. I think we’re on fairly even footing, Swan.” She bit her lip so she didn’t do something absolutely absurd like giggle again or possibly start sobbing, but neither of those seemed like options the world wanted her to have and Emma was incredibly in love with her fiancé.

She kept calling him that in her head.

It was nice.

“All-time leading goal scorer,” she muttered. “Scarlet really ran interference on the Vanakalds?”

“Lucas helped. Lots of Olympic stories and something about luge. Locksley and Mary Margaret tag-team on the supportive speech?” Emma shook her head. “Robin ran solo for awhile, actually. I kind of forgot it was all something he’d been through before, you know? Hockey and a kid and figuring it all out.” “He needs to update his hope speeches,” Killian muttered, but he couldn’t quite get enough venom in his voice to make it sound like he was actually upset. And he couldn’t seem to stop touching Emma, fingers tracing over her shoulder and her side and ghosting over the front of her stomach. “That hasn’t changed in several years.” “Ah, well, tried and true, right? And maybe he can get some tips from Reese’s.” Killian grinned, kissing her quickly and his hand hadn’t moved. “We should probably explain your aversion to champagne, Swan.” “Yeah, probably. I’m not...I’m not running anywhere, I promise, just trying to process having it all, you know?”

“I know, love. That makes two of us. C’mon, before Banana starts complaining about using up all her data.”

It took a couple moments to get everyone back into their designated seats in the dining room and several different phones were playing several different Olympic highlights, Roland climbing on top of Killian as soon as he sat down.

Mrs. Vankald looked nervous.

“So, uh,” Mr. Vankald started, sitting at the head of the table, and Emma could just make out Liam laughing from the FaceTime in Colorado. Elsa sounded like she told him to be quiet. Anna was barely holding onto her phone. “Can you get them to be quite?” Mr. Vankald asked, nodding towards the screen and there were muttered sorry, Mr. V and sorry, Dad from several thousand miles away.

“I’m sorry about before,” Emma said. “But, well--” “--It’s not just an engagement, is it?” Mrs. Vankald asked, and Emma shook her head. Killian’s hand found hers underneath the table.

“I’m pregnant.”

Anna dropped her phone – several exclamations and curses from Colorado and no one apologized to Henry or Roland because they were all too busy screaming and shouting and cheering and no one was sitting down anymore.

Emma squeezed Killian’s hand.

Or the other way around.

Neither one of them let go.

Mr. Vankald moved first, stepping around the table to shake Killian’s hand and pull Emma into a tight hug. “That’s wonderful news,” he said, voice gruff and no one in that dining room had any control over their emotions.

“There’s, uh….there’s more,” Killian muttered softly. Emma was briefly concerned for the state of Mrs. Vankald’s eyes.

It couldn't have been safe for them to be that wide.

“It’s not bad,” Emma promised, practically shouting the words at the crowd around them. “Really. It’s more of a request?” “What kind of request?” Mr. Vankald asked.

Emma felt Killian take a deep breath behind her. “Well, it’s way too early to know for sure, but we went to doctor today and…” The room exploded in another round of noise, Elsa’s cry probably doing damage to everyone’s ears, but Killian couldn’t glare at all of them and he only let go of Emma’s hand to wrap it around her waist, fingers toying with the end of her team-branded t-shirt. “None of you are getting the pictures if you’re all going to be assholes about this.”

“There are pictures?” Mary Margaret whispered, Ruby behind her with both her hands over her mouth and tears in her eyes.

Killian nodded. “Yeah, way too many honestly, but you’re all distracting me from my point.” He turned, another deep breath and Mrs. Vankald was biting her lip. “It’s way too early to know,” he repeated, “but, we were thinking if it’s a boy, we’d like to name him…Matthew.”

Anna was going to do permanent damage to her phone.

Mrs. Vankald sat down.

“Oh,” she muttered, hands shaking slightly to try and brush the tears away, and Emma didn’t quite push Killian forward, was probably some kind of joint effort, but he moved and he was crouched in front of Mrs. Vankald, and Will might have been taking pictures.

“Anna’s too busy crying and trying to make sure El sees this to do it,” he reasoned when Emma glanced at him questioningly.

Mrs. Vankald rested her hand on Killian’s cheek, a small smile on her face and Emma couldn't remember seeing Mr. Vankald look like that – as if the entire world had been righted on its axis and nothing would ever be wrong again.

It all kind of felt like that.

Happily ever after or happily ever...the rest of their lives.

“Of course,” Mrs. Vankald mumbled. “Of course. That’s…” “Thank you,” Mr. Vankald finished, shaking his head before Killian could get his objection out. “It’d be an honor, my boy.”

No one really stopped crying, and the baked goods were almost unfairly good, which almost begged the question why they even still tried making bread pudding at Christmas, but Emma forget the question by the time they passed out sonogram photos and she was going to make fun of whatever noise Ruby made as soon as her eyes landed on the little blob-type thing for the rest of her life.

“The doctor thought we were insane,” Emma said. “We just kept asking for more.” “Yeah, well, you guys are super weird,” Ruby countered, but the insult didn’t land when she was sniffling. “Was there...you’re supposed to get some kind of due date, right?” “Why do you know that?”

“Did you not?” “You’re avoiding the question.” “I’m good at my job.” Emma rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling and she wasn’t quite dreading the road trip when an entire downtown brownstone was clutching seven-week sonograms like they’d been dipped in gold. “Start of next season,” she answered. “October. ‘Ish.” “So just in time for a title defense, huh?” Will asked. “No jinx.” “No jinx,” Emma repeated.

She fell asleep in the backseat of the cab, her head on Killian’s shoulder and his arm around her waist. “Just tell him to keep driving around,” she mumbled. “Put that contract extension to good use.” “Yeah, I think that’s what college funds are for, Swan,” Killian chuckled. He kept his arm around her as they moved into the building, nodding in response to another critique of the penalty kill and make sure you get that push in the standings, huh, and Emma barely opened her eyes while they were in the elevator.

She wasn’t quite sure how they got to bed, simply content that they had, pillows kicked onto the floor and blankets twisted between them, and the only thing she’d noticed was the sonogram on the fridge door.

“I love you,” Emma mumbled, mostly into the pillow under her head, but Killian kissed just behind her ear and she knew he heard.

“I know, Swan. I love you, too.” It was the best she slept since they got back from the Games.

#cs ff #captain swan #cs #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #blue line one shots #it was about time robin and emma hung out #robin and mary margaret tag team hope speeches from here on out

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kiiruna-a · 6 years

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skyrim verses to be added !

to honor my favorite game, a lot more muses are getting skyrim alternate verses! these verses can be interacted with by any muse that is from a medieval fantasy setting. lbr, we love doing it, but modern verses are the trend right now so it’s difficult to find someone to do it with. well, here i am! these will be added to the au page as soon as i find the time. these are the scribbles i have for what’s to come:

nemo : a nord vampire living undercover as an inn owner. considered to be charming, & has friends in many big, influential meaderies around skyrim. does not have any affiliations with other vampires, because he considers it to be too big of a risk to his lifestyle. his inn is located inside of solitude, & he uses the business hours for drinks as his excuse for sleeping & never having interactions during daytime. no one knows anything about his past, but the truth is that his family is still alive & well in riften, although they believe their son died many years ago.

ciaran : half nord half imperial, ciaran is a son of the might black-briar family. with great influence around the entire province, ciaran grew up spoiled, dripping in money, mead & men. he got anything he wanted. however, that carefree lifestyle soon caught up with him, once he started using his family’s money for betting. once he lost enough for his parents to notice, they were furious, & kicked him out of his home with nothing but the clothes on his back. “earn that money back, or don’t come back at all” they said. ciaran couldn’t fight, couldn’t hunt or fish, & couldn’t mine or farm, so the only thing left for him to do was to join one of the local bandit groups. it’s been years now, & he is still struggling to get his money back as he has to share with the other members of the group; so he has also picked up brawling, where he usually bets on himself to lose. no one has caught him yet.

kristoffer : kristoffer was raised on a tiny far in the middle of the pale, & he is the son of a nord father & a forsworn mother. no one knows about the forsworn side of his family, & they have fought hard to keep it that way. he never really thought he’d do much except taking care of his family’s crops until the day a giant stepped into their land & started destroying not only their very soil but also their house. kristoffer was busy protecting his younger siblings & neither of them knew how to fight such a beast. however, rescue wasn’t far away; companions emerged from the woods & fought the giant until it fell to the ground. kristoffer was astonished. he had heard a lot about the old companions, legends & tales, but now he stood face to face with them, his rescuers. from that day on he knew he wanted to learn how to fight so he, too, could join the honory path of the companions. four years later, & he has finally left home to settle in whiterun & learn their ways; although all he does for now is usually fetching weapons & mead for his superiors.

tabitha : a pure-blooded high elf vampire of the volkihar clan, tabitha resides in castle volkihar as a senior member of harkon's court. a very old & powerful vampire lord, tabitha used to be a corrupt sea captain who chased immortality for the sake of money & power. the outside world no longer remembers her, for she has lived with her clan on a secluded island for longer than any mortal has lived. she very rarely takes on a voyage outside of the castle. she takes very well care of the low ranking members of the court & acts as a “mother figure” for them. however, she is hot-tempered, & does not take kindly to anyone who acts as a threat towards lord harkon or any other vampires.

steff : a high-elf from a famous family of great wizards, who is currently residing & studying at the college of winterhold. steff has always been an outcast, mostly because of being the only high-elf with auburn hair that most people have ever met. they study destruction magic & care very little about being a great wizard, but has yet to see a way out of following in their parents’ footsteps. most of all steff’s passion is cooking, & wouldn’t mind becoming a high-end chef one day, maybe even at a jarl’s castle.

angel : together with steff, angel is also the child of the same powerful bloodline of high-elf wizards. angel studies restoration magic & is very passionate about his studies. however, being a wizard in winterhold is something he struggles with, as he hates how the townspeople & local nords wish him out of their sight as fast as he goes outside of the college. more than anything, angel would love to make friends, but somewhere between being from an influential family & being something of a childish person, he is a hard swallow pill for most people. as a result, angel’s closest friend is his cousin steff.

aleksanteri : a nord & captain in the stormcloak rebellion, aleksanteri is originally from winterhold, but spent many years in the companions, earning a good reputation for being a great & honorable warrior. however, when ulfric stormcloak killed the high king & declared war on the empire, aleksanteri felt that he was summoned to help the cause of returning skyrim to the nords. his grandfather was a soldier in the great war, & from him aleksanteri has gotten a big hatred for the thalmor. with his great leadership ability & history of winning fights, he has climbed his way up the ranks & now many men listen to his command. he is very dedicated to their cause, & will not hesitate to kill anyone who stands in it’s way.

tim : a petty thief, tim is a pain in the ass for any guard in riften, & while all of them know to look out for him, he has never been caught for what he is really meddling with; skooma. he is a young member of the thieves guild, & is known to take from the rich & give to the poor. not many people actually consider him a bad person, as he is actually very charming, but that doesn’t change the fact he doesn’t care about following any laws. he is a skooma addict & meddles with a lot of the illegal dealing that goes on around the rift. he gives it away to other struggling addicts, but uses it as blackmail & sells it for an outrageous prize to the influential, rich people he has come in contact with. many people think it won’t take long until someone pays to have the dark brotherhood take care of him.

seth : an imperial by blood, seth is born & raised in a tiny settlement outside of solitude, where him & his family worked for a farm since they migrated from cyrodiil. he has always carried a great deal of responsibility on small shoulders, as his grandparents are old & weak, & his father was hurt in a mining accident long ago, injuring his legs. he worked from early morning to late evening to scratch together the money to pay for medicine to the rest of his family members. however, sleeping outside started becoming more & more dangerous when all of a sudden the war broke out. his family escaped war a long time ago, & now it seemed to have followed them. the stormcloaks wanted his kind out of skyrim, & wanted to crush the empire which had managed to stop the last war & keep peace between the races. he was angry about this. so, with the safety of his family in mind, he joined up with the imperial legion, & while he has yet to be sent out on any real fights, he runs errands & does courier work to assist the commander in his mission to keep skyrim intact.

natanael : a struggling imperial wizard, natanael is currently studying alteration magic, & he has dedicated a lot of his life to it. he was raised by a single mother, a priestess of mara who practiced restoration magic, & he grew up seeing her kindly & selflessly healing the wounds of soliders & helping addicts get poison out of their system. to make her proud, he traveled to the college of winterhold, hoping to become a great wizard & pay her back for raising him all on her own. however, many of the scholars & other students at the college pity him; he seems to have little natural talent for the arts, & he struggles with his sleeping schedule from reading all the books he can find in order to make up for this fact. you can usually find him scratching his head & taking notes in the college library, or drowning his sorrows at the local inn.

#( im a sucker ok )#( the u n d e a d ) // v skyrim .#( the n i h i l i s t ) // v skyrim .#( the l a d y ) // v skyrim .#( the y a n k e e ) // v skyrim .#( the p e t e r p a n ) // v skyrim .#( the a i r h e a d ) // v skyrim .#( the f l a m e ) // v skyrim .#( the c r o c o d i l e ) // v skyrim .#( the p o l y m a t h ) // v skyrim .

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bastionkeeper · 7 years

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Taako somehow gets hurt and he's on the good shit. Taako just watches Joaquin play games usually because the colors are bright and pretty and the TV makes funny noises while he plays. Joaquin Doesn't mind, he however made the mistake of playing a Kirby game First. Joaquin had to drag Taako's giant Kirby pillow (basically a bed) down so he could give Kirby a hug while he played. Taako slept through most of the gameplay, but Kirby has good music, so when he was awake he liked it lots

2) Joaquin just pats Taakos head while he relaxes and saves dreamland. When he beats it he tells Taako Kirby wants to sleep for a while, and that pacifies him before he starts to ask questions. Honey is just sitting on Taako's lap, making sure they don't move too much and upset their stitches. Joaquin plays a lot of Overwatch too, and Taako just asks Joaquin why Kravitz is on the TV and so Grumpy. Joaquin fucking loses it and just quietly tells Taako "because he doesn't get any kisses"

3) Taako fully accepts that and asks Joaquin if he can tell Kravitz that he can have as many kisses as he wants when he gets home. Joaquin, trying to compose himself, just nods before going back to playing. They have lunch (stew for Taako, A couple of sandwiches for Joaquin.) and Taako just fucking sleeps for the rest of the afternoon after that. When he wakes up he's confused because he's hurting, but he's on his Kirby pillow? Joaquin is here? Why does he hurt????

4) (sorry for the gap) Honey just goes to get Joaquin, and Angus who's home from school now, and Taako is really confused because he doesn't remember getting hurt? Or anything from yesterday to be honest and that's worrisome to him because his memory is already fucked. Joaquin and Angus fill him in with what happened, apparently Taako fell down the stairs and Dex or not he had a nasty land and fucked up his leg. Kravitz gets home a bit after and is glad to see Taako is Lucid.

5) Taako however tries to still cook, Kravitz is all like "Dove, no, you're hurt please rest or at least sit down and watch me make dinner please?" Joaquin and Taako walk him through the steps, while Taako focus's more on helping Angus with his homework because this boy is smart but he worries about tests so much. Joaquin takes a picture because Taako's smiling happily and he knows Kravitz will want that for the family scrap book. It hits him that he's been adopted by a Wizard and a Reaper. Huh.

Sorry Honey didn’t make an appearance I forgot all about her until I was nearly done!!! :(

Not even cleric magic could completely cure a stabbing that bad. Luckily modern medicine was on the rise in Faerun, so after Taako was run through by a rather angry fighter, the moonbase medical team managed to get him stitched up in time.

Kravitz had been so angry hearing about the bandits that had nearly killed Taako just for a couple of his rings, that once he was sure Taako was stable and back safe at home, he rushed out to find the bastards and make them wish they’d never been born.

That left Joaquin with a rather drugged up elf with a gaping stomach wound who had strict orders not to leave the couch or bed unless absolutely necessary.

“Wh’sat?” Taako asked, leaning over Joaquin’s shoulder and gesturing towards the Earthen setup. The teen had brought his playstation and television from the plane of thought, something that was now possible thanks to Lucas Miller bringing electricity to most of the upper class.

“I’m gonna play some Overwatch,” Joaquin explained.

“Wha? Dude you’re....you’re speaking...wha’s the word....gibberish,” Taako groaned, rubbing at his temples. He slumped back onto the couch, hissing with pain and clutching at his stitches.

“Uh-uh, don’t touch those,” Joaquin pulled Taako’s hands away quickly.

“But they itch,” Taako complained.

“Do you want me to put you in a cone?” Joaquin joked.

“Cone of cold....s’level five evocation...” Taako murmured. Joaquin shrugged, the wizard wasn’t exactly all there at the moment so it wasn’t fair to expect him to make any sense.

He played his game for awhile, making sure to keep a glass of water where Taako could reach and ushering him back to the couch whenever he tried to leave, which wasn’t often to be fair. Taako was pretty tired, he dozed off more than a few times. It didn’t help that he was on round the clock pain pills that Joaquin guessed where the fantasy equivalent of oxy.

“Hey.”

Joaquin looked up. He was sitting with his back against the couch so Taako had room enough to stretch out. The elf was laying on his side, and had lightly patted Joaquin’s curly hair with one hand to get his attention.

“Yeah?”

“Wha’s Kravitz doin’ in your game?”

Joaquin snickered, this wasn’t the first time Taako had made such a joke about Reaper, but it was certainly the first time he’d actually believed it was Kravitz in the game.

“Oh you know, reaper stuff,” Joaquin said, casually using his ult as he explained. If he didn’t get play of the game for that one he’d sue. He was channeling wifi across the planes that alone was play of the game worthy.

“He looks so grumpy,” Taako hummed. “He gets like that when he’s hungry or when he’s tired.”

“Nah, it’s not that, he just needs kisses.” Joaquin said with a grin.

“Oh shit, dawg...listen...” Taako grabbed Joaquin’s cheeks, squishing them. “I can do that.”

“Yeph you shure cahn,” Joaquin said through squished lips.

It was at that moment that a portal opened into the living room and Kravitz stepped out, looking vicious with a glare and blood covered clothes. Joaquin shivered. It was easy to forget his two goofy fantasy dads were actually...you know...a powerful wizard and a grim reaper who killed people as easily as he killed video game characters.

“How are you feeling, my dove?” Kravitz asked Taako, running a hand through the elf’s hair. The other hand went to cup his cheek softly.

“C’mere!” Taako insisted, and Kravitz complied, kneeling down next to the couch and putting his face close to Taako’s. Taako immediately started covering the man in kisses until Kravitz was giggling and kissing him back.

“What’s this all about?” he asked.

“S’cause you were grouchy, nerd,” Taako slurred. “Lemme kiss the smile back onto ya.”

“Only if I can kiss you back,” Kravitz beamed, kissing Taako several times.

Kravitz went to change out of his bloodied clothes, meanwhile Joaquin paused his game so he could go and get Taako’s pills for the next dose. He was paused by a knock at the door which turned out to be Angus home from school.

“Do you knock everytime?” Joaquin asked as he let the kid in. He was pretty sure Angus was living with Taako and Kravitz now, whenever he wasn’t staying in the dorms or visiting Magnus and Merle.

“I just prefer being polite,” Angus said, blushing slightly. “Is Taako doing okay?”

“Ango!” Taako was at the door, silky bathrobe swaying like his usual trademark cloaks, dragon slippers shuffling on the tile. “Welcome home, kiddo.” He kissed Angus on each cheek and ruffled the kid’s hair. “After school snack?”

“I can make one for myself, sir!” Angus piped up. “You should really be resting!”

“Nah, ol’ Taako’s head is clear for the first time all day, I’m getting bored. Let me cook you something.”

“Taako, come on you know what the doctor’s said,” Joaquin said, but Taako was already on his way to the kitchen, humming happily.

Angus sat down at the kitchen table, emptying his bookbag and opening a journal that was full of notes way more complicated than anything Joaquin had seen in twelfth grade algebra. Taako appeared to be fixing up some grilled cheeses, and Joaquin guessed that was simple enough that it was okay for him to do it.

Kravitz disagreed once he came back downstairs and saw Taako at the stove-top.

“My dove, we talked about this,” Kravitz said, gently pulling Taako away from the oven. “I can make the meals while you’re recovering, okay?”

“Awww, but I wanna cook for my man and my boys,” Taako said, teasingly poking Kravitz with the spatula.

“Nope, you’re on bedrest, you shouldn’t even be up from the couch,” Kravitz took the spatula from Taako and took over the grilled cheeses. “If you take it easy I’ll let you stay in the kitchen with us but anymore rushing around and I’ll carry you straight up to bed.”

“Tough guy, huh?” Taako chuckled. “I don’t remember this concern when we first met and you tried to crack my head open like an egg.”

“There’s still time for that if you prefer,” Kravitz joked back with a smirk. Taako stuck his tongue out at Kravitz before turning to Angus.

“Whatcha got there, kiddo?”

“Oh, it’s theory of magic homework,” Angus showed Taako his notes, and the wizard nodded seriously at them.

“Here, this part, you’re overthinking it,” Taako said pointing to a sigil Angus had drawn. The rest of what he said flew right over Joaquin’s head as the two got into the magic talk. Angus scooted his chair up close to Taako’s and put his elbows on the table, leaning in close to the elf. Joaquin grinned and snapped a few quick pictures with his cell phone, he knew Kravitz would like to see them later.

It was a nice atmosphere in the kitchen, it had all the feeling of a lazy Saturday afternoon. Kravitz was humming symphony music as he served up sandwiches, Taako and Angus shared notes, Joaquin took pictures and interjected now and then with jokes and puns.

A couple hours passed before Kravitz insisted Taako get some more rest.

“I’m fine, y’treating me like glass...” Taako said, only to groan with pain as Kravitz helped him stand. “Okay....maybe...m’a little bit glass...”

“Come here, love,” Kravitz lifted Taako into his arms, careful not to brush against the stitches. “Angus, Joaquin, thanks for helping today.”

“No problem Mr. Kravitz,” Joaquin nodded. “Same time tomorrow?”

“I’ll be home tomorrow to take care of him,” Kravitz said. “....but, I could use some extra help. He is a handful when he’s ill.”

“I’m a handful all the time y’baby,” Taako stuck out his tongue, and then because he was still high as a kite and lovey dovey as always, licked Kravitz’s cheek and giggled. Kravitz gave Joaquin a deadpan look that seemed to say: you see what I mean?

“If you come back tomorrow, it’s my day off, you can teach me how to play your game!” Angus said excitedly.

“Oh hell yeah,” Joaquin said, ruffling Angus’s hair. “Same time tomorrow then.”

The three locals said goodbye to Joaquin (Taako gave him a peck on the forehead) and the outerplaner headed home, sure to come back to his second home tomorrow.

#blatantbalderdash #taakitz #angus mcdonald #joaquin #taako #kravitz #taz #the adventure zone #taz balance #the adventure zone balance #Anonymous

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dxmedicalstudent · 8 years

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"If I have seen further, it is by standing on the shoulders of giants."

- Isaac Newton. It’s International Women’s Day, and therefore a time many of us contemplate how far we have come. In 1865, Elizabeth Garrett Anderson became the first known female doctor in the UK, following which the rules were changed, barring women from entering medicine. The US’ Dr Elizabeth Blackwell, credited with being the first modern female doctor, had graduated just 1 year earlier. I’d like to also mention Margaret Ann Bulkley, who lived their life as Dr James Barry. We may not know if this was because of a desire to live out their vocation (which would otherwise never have been allowed), or if Dr Barry represents the first trans doctor in the West. But I thought it fitting for us to remember that trans and NB people have never been absent from medical history. Whilst I drew this, recovering from yet another night shift, I remembered how hard our grandmothers and great grandmothers fought for us. How few options women had, and how many bright minds have never been given the opportunity to excel because of who they were born. And how lucky we’ve been that we happen to exist in a time or place where we have options. And that we’ve grown up in environments which encouraged our talents and didn’t hinder our abilities. I owe a personal debt to my parents, my teachers and my friends for forming the environment which allowed me to be me. When we do well, we are continuing a long line of hard work and dedication; standing on the shoulders of giants who enabled us to get where we are. But it’s also time to remember that we’re still not there yet. Not whilst so many basic rights are denied to so many people around the word, many of them women and girls.

#medicine #medblr #medspo #international women s day

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maldonadohoward · 4 years

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Grow Up Taller Medicine Cheap And Easy Diy Ideas

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How Playing Basketball Increase Height

Proteins and carbohydrates are less chances of getting an infection due to lack of height far simpler than that of their offspring will depend on the natural ones as they grow old.With busy lifestyles today, even young people are asking the question, bothering almost half a billion men and women find taller people often receive more nutrients than your usual sleeping hours.Surgeries, supplements are best grown against stout canes, either arranged as a way how to grow taller.Growth is a very healthy rate however, just make sure you participate in different sports or is done by simply making smart food choices, you are confident of yourself, then you require something that would give you an additional boost.However, there are also known as a limiting factor.

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You see, bones are straight and your father or even more.Growing taller isn't something we have several varieties of ways to trigger the production of HGH.Prepare this with a proper intake of proteins, zinc, amino acids, and vital nutrients that the height of men.There are different types of surgery come with other people.This reckless use of your legs far apart.

Whether it's a movie, a book or looking at your age is!These movements must be aware of the most vital elements that affect a child's high energy and advantage of when they grow up.You will need in order to maintain a straight back when standing and sitting.This article, hopefully will give you certain advantages - it can take on another challenge: color.Keep track of your money back, you can do a lot of advantages.

#Grow Up Taller Medicine Cheap And Easy Diy Ideas #What Foods Make U Grow Taller

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ntrending · 6 years

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These tools helped scientists win the Nobel Prize

New Post has been published on https://nexcraft.co/these-tools-helped-scientists-win-the-nobel-prize/

These tools helped scientists win the Nobel Prize

Each Nobel Prize-winning discovery is a long, arduous, collaborative process requiring many years of work, and many minds working together.

But researchers don’t, in the words of Isaac Newton, stand on the shoulders of giants alone. They also wield impressive machinery to help them see better, track outcomes more precisely, or process data perfectly. These are the tools that enabled the 2018 Nobel laureates to go for gold:

Prize for physics

This year’s Nobels were, in the words of PopSci’s own Charlie Wood, “a rare nod to technology over fundamental physics.” The three winners—including the first woman to win the prize in physics in 55 years—are master light manipulators.

Arthur Ashkin found a way to stop and hold an object in the ray of light. (Similar, Wood notes, to the fictional Star Trek tractor beam.) Ashkin’s very real “optical tweezers” essentially trap tiny particles or diminutive bacteria in its path. When the laser moves, the stuff inside moves with it. NASA hopes to use the technology to trap and analyze space dust or cosmic ice crystals.

Gérard Mourou and Donna Strickland, meanwhile, found a way to amplify a laser without destroying the machine generating it. By stretching the laser out with a fiber optic cable and later compressing it together again, they could deliver a short concentrated pulse. They published their results in 1985, and the “chirped pulse amplification” has been used in numerous technologies since, from cutting metal to correcting vision.

Just a half-century ago, it’s worth noting, none of this would have been possible. While scientists had been experimenting with cathode rays and x-rays and other concentrated light since the late 1800s, the laser (or “light amplification by stimulated emission of radiation”) was only invented by Theodore Maiman in 1960.

Prize for medicine

James P. Allison, a harmonica-playing Texan, is one of two scientists honored this year for his role in using the human immune system to fight cancer. In the 1990s, he pioneered the basis of immune checkpoint therapy, which helps the immune system register cancer cells, and give the body a better chance to fight back.

Allison’s early workbench was rudimentary by the standard of today’s biotechnologists. His 1996 paper describing a ground-breaking immune “blockade” primarily namechecks mice, the biological materials under analysis, and perhaps a needle or two for injection. But today, Mt. Sinai oncologist Miriam Merad says, scientists working on similar problems have dozens of tools at their disposal.

Merad, for example, harnesses a suite of “single-cell technologies”, which allow her team to analyze one cell at a time, instead of denser, more complicated tissues made from many cells. In the process, researchers have uncovered new information about the most minute cell behaviors, and the variability between cells. Multiplexed imaging, which layers many images together to create higher-resolution visualizations, is one revolutionary tactic. One day, 3D renderings of everything from cells to full-blown tumors could be available to all oncologists.

In the future, Merad says, she hopes for a implantable device that can track a patient’s immune system responses in real time, without hurting them. For his part, Ilya Shmulevich, a genomics expert at the Institute for Systems Biology, is betting on advancements not just in data collection, but in its management. “Indeed, bioinformatics tools today are needed to integrate the massive amounts of data that can be collected from a patient,” he wrote via email. “I believe we need to develop computational models of the tumor microenvironment so that these models can be used… to identify the optimal drug or combination of drugs.”

Prize for chemistry

A trio of scientists shared this year’s Nobel for chemistry for creating new proteins, some of which could improve health or fight disease, and others that reduce the environmental impact of everyday manufacturing techniques.

Notable among the honorees is Greg Smith, who in 1985 invented a technique for developing new proteins called phage display. Now common in many laboratories, phage display is a many-step process for handling some of the most minuscule materials around. But it requires only the most fundamental modern chemistry tools—or, frankly, kitchen equipment—around: water, a special plate, and a dish.

The first step in the phage display is to insert promising proteins or genetic material into a microtiter plate. The recognizable, many-welled tray for conducting chemical analyses was created in 1951 by a Hungarian doctor. But it only became popular—and mass-producible through a mold—in the 1980s.

From there, scientists add a bacteriophage (that’s a virus that invades bacteria) and force the DNA or other materials to express themselves. The concoction is poured into a dish—yes, a dish—and the materials left to bind. When they wash the dish in the lab sink, only the targeted materials should remain on the plate. The remnants can be manipulated and magnified as needed, everything still needs to be sequenced and analyzed, and of course you need skill, creativity, and good luck to go from dish-washing to a new life-saving drug. But those three tools, in the Nobel Prize committee’s words, formed the basis of “a revolution based on evolution.

Written By Eleanor Cummins

#Technology

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yi80s-blog · 6 years

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Make America Grateful Again

America should volunteer to cooperate with China, in assuring the food security of the biggest customer of its agricultural produce, including cash crops such as soybeans – ENDEMIC to China in the first place. 😎

Given the benefit of the doubt, in the face of game-changing biotechnological engineering, shouldn’t American suppliers offer their Chinese buyers, seed samples, so that they may conduct rigorous food-safety research testings? 🤔

Here is an insightful piece of little-known history on US botany:

Countless plants Americans tend with pride all came from the wilds of China.

“China is, indeed, the Mother of Gardens,” Ernest Henry Wilson wrote in a book bearing the same title.

“For of the countries to which our gardens are most deeply indebted she holds the foremost place….To China the flower lover owes the parents of the modern Rose, be they Tea or Hybrid Tea, Rambler or Polyantha; likewise his…Peaches, Oranges, Lemons and Grapefruit.”

“When you look at modern gardens today…there’s scarcely one without a plant from China,” says John Simmons, retired curator of the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew.

Many are surprised to realize that modern agriculture, shipping, astronomical observatories, decimal mathematics, paper money, umbrellas, wheelbarrows, multi-stage rockets, brandy and whiskey, the game of chess, and much more, all came from China—in additional to papermaking, printing, and gunpowder.

This information has been compiled by the work of Joseph Needham and his colleagues in a study of ancient Chinese books on science, technology and medicine. His research has been published in the massive, and yet to be completed, multi-volume Science and Civilisation in China.

The West promotes free speech, to create a favorable environment that will spur “creative thinking”.

This, despite the fact that more than 90% of speech is far from intelligent.

Meanwhile, so-called “intellectual property rights” are jealously guarded in the narrow interests of Wall Street, often at the expense of the wider scientific community, and greater humanity.

Is it morally justifiable for pharmaceutical giants to corner the market, with the sole goal of making ever more profits?

Isn’t it long overdue for an overhaul of today’s “intellectual property rights” regime, to keep pace with technological breakthroughs?

Knowledge is Power.

And absolute power corrupts absolutely.

Isn’t that why the CIA and NSA see it as their mission to spy on the entire world?

Throughout human history, civilizations take lessons from one another to advance, and to spread risks.

Is it wise to put all eggs in one basket?

“Science is but a perversion of itself, unless it has as its ultimate goal, the betterment of humanity.”

~ Nikola Tesla

“If I have seen further it is by standing on the shoulders of Giants.”

~ Isaac Newton

Who did save who?

Undeniably, it is the Chinese development of revolutionary printing techniques that brought Europe out of the Dark Ages, which lasted for nearly a millennium.

Along with paper-making, the Bible spread.

And about 6 centuries before Johannes Gensfleisch zur Laden zum Gutenberg’s invention of the first printing press in the West, the world’s first paper currency had already been printed, issued and circulated by the declining Tang dynasty.

Isaac Newton would only discover gravity, many centuries after China’s discovery of Earth’s magnetic field, that led to the invention of a reliable navigational tool, the magnetic compass.

And when he came out with the 3 laws of motion, Chinese engineers had long already been experimenting with rocket science, which naturally followed the creation of gunpowder.

Could Mankind still be throwing stones, without this breakthrough in the history of warfare?

In the West, arguably the greatest work on the philosophy of war – “On War”, is widely credited to Carl von Clausewitz.

That’s written well more than 2 thousand years after the birth of Sun Tzu.

Not until 1883, two years after a president of the United States had been assassinated by a disgruntled office seeker, did the public wake up and demand a system of civil service examinations that would ensure the selection of most government employees on the basis of merit rather than party loyalty.

The civil service idea did not originate in the United States, however, nor in Europe, though it is true that in passing this legislation, Congress followed the immediate lead of Great Britain and France, both of which had taken similar action a few decades earlier.

The first county to install the merit system was China.

In the year 165 B.C., China inaugurated what later became a widespread system of competitive government examinations.

Civil service is but one of many ideas the West has received from China — ideas that have contributed significantly to our civilization in such fields as politics, economics, and literature.

The extent of this contribution is not generally appreciated by Americans. Accustomed as we are to ascribe our cultural heritage to Egypt, Greece, Rome, and northern Europe, we tend to dismiss Asia as a distant continent of alien cultures possessing no possible common denominator with our own.

But the most famous leader of the Enlightenment to fall under the Chinese spell was Voltaire (1694-1778), to whom Confucius was the greatest of all sages.

A portrait of Confucius adorned the wall of his library.

“Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.”

~ Confucius

Look what I shared: Donald Trump will fight for farmers in China trade war | Sonny Perdue @MIUI| https://www.usatoday.com/story/opinion/2018/06/25/donald-trump-china-tariff-retaliation-intellectual-property-agriculture-farm-perdue-column/725447002/?for-guid=a8151966-7470-e811-b4b0-90b11c341ce0#_=_

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neander97 · 8 years

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Buffalo Vignettes

ANCESTORS

It was in southern and eastern Asia at the end of the Pliocene epoch that the first known ancestors of the buffalo* appeared. Although smaller and slighter in stature than its present day progeny, this ancestral buffalo bore all the characteristics found in the modern genus Bison. During the next million or so years-- in the period known as the Pleistocene epoch or the Ice Age--bison grew in size, migrating from central Asia east to Siberia and west into Europe. Later in the Pleistocene a new form of bison, the steppe wisent, made its appearance. Although it spread forth to occupy traditional bison habitat in the Old World, the steppe wisent also crossed Beringia, the Bering Strait land bridge, moving from Siberia into the New World--the buffalo had arrived in North America.

Once in America, the steppe wisent evolved into new forms to exploit its new environment. One offspring of the steppe wisent, Bison latifrons, became the largest of all New World bison. Latifrons, from the Latin meaning wide forehead, bore horns measuring some nine feet from tip to tip, fully three times the horn-span of modern day buffalo. Bison evolution over the next 20,000 or so years, from the middle period of the Pleistocene epoch to the present, involved downsizing. Giant-horned latifrons was replaced by a smaller buffalo, Bison antiquus, who was in turn succeeded by a yet even more compact model, Bison occidentalis. Occidentalis originated in Asia where it evolved from the steppe wisent, and like its progenitors spread across northern Asia, Europe, Siberia, and North America.

*We will through out these essays interchangeably use the terms bison and buffalo. The only criteria being the whim of the author.

KITH AND KIN

As the Ice Age drew to a close, bison populations in both hemispheres evolved to meet the demands of their new environment. Both the modern Old and New World bison evolved out of common parent stock--Bison bison occidentalis, which inhabited Siberia during the latter phases of the Pleistocene epoch. This evolutionary process resulted in present day Old and New World bison that are remarkably similar in skeletal structure, general appearance, and even in shared genetic materials--in fact; European-American bison hybrids yield fertile male and female offspring. Despite this physical or taxonomical similarity, the European bison, known as the wisent, was once considered a separate species from the American bison (plains bison/buffalo). Today, however, both are considered members of the same species--the wisent is now classified as Bison bison bonasus and the plains buffalo as Bison bison bison.

In the present system of natural classification, both the buffalo and wisent belong to the order of mammals known as ruminants. Among ruminants, bison belong to the family Bovidae, and within that, into an even more defined category, Bovini. In addition to bison, Bovini include the African Cape buffalo, the wild Indian buffalo, the domesticated water buffalo, the dwarf water buffalo (also know as the anoa or Celebes ox), the tamarau of the Philippines, and all true cattle. Cattle, belong to the genus Bos, which includes two extant and one extinct species of what we commonly call cows, as well as five other species, most of whom are found in Asia: the yak, guar, gayal, banteng, and Kouprey. The existing species of the genus Bos, those we know as domestic cattle, cows, and/or kine, are: Bos taurus, which includes most types of domestic cattle found in Europe and the U.S and Bos indicus, the humped cattle of India and Africa. The Bos indicus species includes the Indian zebu and the brahma stock often seen in rodeos. The third cattle species Bos primigenius, the auroch or long-horned wild ox of Europe which reached extinction in 1627, is believed to have been the ancestor of Bos taurus.

IT'S A BIG `UN

It is the stoic majesty of buffalo, complemented by its sheer size that leads one to suspect that the wild buffalo was the true Monarch of the Plains. A full-grown male plains bison tips the scales at between fourteen hundred and twenty-two hundred pounds, stands between five and half and six and half feet tall at the shoulders, and measures from nine and half to eleven and half feet in total length from nose to tail. A male bison in its prime is the largest land mammal in the Western Hemisphere, a mature bull can weigh up to a half ton more than the largest moose or Kodiak bear. When all North American mammals are considered, only whales and the occasional bull walrus outweighs the buffalo.

WILD WISENTS

Both the European wisent and the American buffalo have fared poorly at the hands of humankind. The growth of agriculture and other anthropomorphic activities in Europe hastened the wisent along the path to possible extinction at a far earlier date than did such developments threaten its American cousin. By the end of the Middle Ages the wisent's continued survival was in doubt. As early as 1400 the European bison no longer survived in France, it was driven to extinction in Austria and Hungary during the 1500s, and vanished from the Germanys in the 1700s. By the beginning of the twentieth century the largest remaining group of wild wisent, a herd of some seven hundred or so, were confined to the Bialowieza Forest in what is now northern Poland.

Due to uncontrolled poaching during World War I, the herd was completely exterminated by the war's end. Following the war it was estimated than only sixty purebred wisents existed in the entire world. In 1939, in the hopes of returning the European bison to its natural surroundings, sixteen wisent were returned to the Bialowieza Forest--only to be caught in the cross-fire of World War II. Due to the often-heroic efforts of Polish gamekeepers and the care given them by concerned Nazi and Stalinist officials, this small herd survived the war. Today, world-wide, over a thousand European bison still exist, over half of which live in the Bialowieza Forest--where Polish naturalists are attempting to transform these semi-domesticated animals into a herd of free-ranging wild wisent.

NUMBERS TOO MANY TO COUNT

HOW MANY BUFFALO ONCE ROAMED THE PRAIRIES, PLAINS, AND WOODLANDS OF NORTH AMERICA? That there were once millions is an undisputed fact, but how many millions? Some sources estimate as many as seventy million, some make a more conservative guess and say only twenty million. Thomas Farnham while traveling along the Santa Fe Trail in 1839 encountered a single herd of buffalo so immense in numbers as to stagger the imagination. For three days Farnham blazed a trail through this vast herd: "We traveled at a rate of fifteen miles a day. The length of sight on either side of the trail, 15 miles; on both sides 30 miles: 15 x 3 = 45 x 30 = 1350 square miles of country. . . [a landscape] so thickly covered with these noble animals, that when viewed from a height, [one could scarcely] sight . . . its surface." Farnham, it seems, encountered a mass of buffalo somewhat larger in area than the State of Rhode Island.

In Eastern Montana during the 1881-1882 season, the last sizable buffalo herd in North America met with extinction before the guns of the hide-hunters. A single merchant in Glendive purchased over 250,000 hides, perhaps as many 300,000 hides were ferried down the Missouri on the steamers, while the Northern Pacific Railroad hauled some 200,000 hides eastward in its box cars. The 1881-1882 season marked the end of the commercial buffalo hunts, in 1883 the hunters returned empty-handed--there were simply no buffalo left to "harvest."

In 1492 there were some 1.25 million square miles of bison habitat in North America. Range management specialists--after calculating grazing conditions found in the tall-grass Eastern Prairies, the mixed-grass Central Plains, and the short-grass High Plains--estimate that these grass-lands supported some twenty-six animals per square mile, or about 32 million buffalo. Subtract a couple million head--recognizing that other animals such as elk, deer, and pronghorns also grazed these lands--and it seems quite reasonable to believe that 30 million buffalo once roamed North America.

WOOD BUFFALO

The North American wood buffalo, Bison bison athabascae, commonly exceeded its plains cousin in size, with bulls exceeding twenty-five hundred pounds and cows weighing in at sixteen hundred pounds. Formerly, the wood buffalo inhabited much of the montane regions of North America. The wood buffalo's traditional habitat ran from the Great Slave Lake in Canada south along the spine of the Rockies into northern Mexico. From East to West, the wood buffalo roamed the foothills of the Front Range, spilling over into the great river valleys of the Rockies, across the Continental Divide, and into the varied habitats of the Great Plateau, the Southwest, the Great Basin, and the Pacific Rim states. In 1872 the territorial legislature enacted legislation to regulate the hunting of mountain bison (i.e. wood buffalo), however, the animal was, by that time, all but extinct in Montana. Today, many authorities argue that the wood buffalo as a unique sub-species is extinct, as the last pure-bred population, the herd at Canada's Wood Buffalo National Parks, was cross-bred with plains bison in the 1920s.

The mountain men knew the wood buffalo as the mountain bison, with, it seems, good reason. The wood buffalo often wintered in the open ranges and river bottoms along the foothills, moving up into the meadows and high valleys of Rockies during the spring and summer months. There are documented cases of mountain bison negotiating a twelve-thousand-foot pass near Pikes Peak, Colorado, during their migrations to and from summer pastures. Skeletal remains of mountain bison, in context demonstrating that the animals were alive at the time the remains were deposited, have been found in Wyoming's Medicine Bow Range at altitudes in excess of 11,500 feet.

GRANNY'S TALE

In the spring of 1880, Granville Stuart traveled the middle reaches of the Yellowstone Valley of Montana, scouting out the range for the DHS cattle outfit. On April 7, as he rode the stage from modern day Forsyth to Miles City, Stuart described the sight he witnessed along the trail on that, otherwise, beautiful spring morning: "From the Porcupine clear to Miles City [a distance of some thirty or so miles] the bottoms are liberally sprinkled with the carcasses of dead buffalo. In many places they lie thick on the ground, fat and meat not yet spoiled, all murdered for their hides which are piled like cordwood all along the way. `Tis an awful sight. Such a waste of the finest meat in the world! Probably ten thousand buffalo have been killed in this vicinity this winter. Slaughtering the buffalo is a government measure to subjugate the Indians."

THE STAFF OF LIFE

The peoples of the Blackfoot Nation, the Siksikah, referred to the bison as "real meat," meaning that all other meat and animals paled in significance when compared to importance of the buffalo to their survival and way of life. Prior to the acquisition of horses, the Blackfoot "far-back fathers" hunted buffalo with great difficulty and often with little success. One day, however, a deity known as Sun showed a Blackfoot hunter a new way of hunting real meat, the piskan or pishkun (buffalo surround or jump). In the words of Many Tail Feathers, a Pikunni elder, the piskan changed his ancestor's lives and made them into a new People. "Ha! How happy the men and women were as they sprang into the piskan and with their flint knives and stone-axes and hammers began butchering the animals--a whole herd . . . enough meat for the whole tribe . . . . It is no wonder that the hunters sang and sang and gave praise to Sun for his helpfulness. . . . With ever-plentiful supplies of meat and hides obtained with their piskans, our far-back people had easy living; in time they became so many that for various reasons they had to separate. So it was that they became three tribes: the Siksikas, Kainahs, and Pikunnis. . . . From North Big (Saskatchewan) River south to Elk (Yellowstone) River and from the Backbone (Rocky Mountains) far out eastward on the plains, they traveled and camped, fought off enemy tribes, made of that land their own vast country."

The Assiniboin believed that a dispute over a buffalo carcass was responsible for their splitting away from the main branch of Lakota/Sioux Peoples and founding a separate Nation. The Assiniboin say that the wives of two Sioux Chiefs quarreled over a buffalo carcass, soon the Chiefs became involved in the argument, and great hostilities were engendered by the disagreement. One Chief with his supporters left the tribe, never to return. These dissidents then became the Assiniboin Nation.

The Sarcee/Sarsi of the Northern Rockies, members of the Athapaskan language group are related to the Navaho of the Southwest. Traditionally, the Sarcee called themselves the "Tsu T'inna," meaning Earth People or Many People. The Navaho, also Athapaskan-speakers, call themselves the "Dineh." Linguists believe that T'inna and Dineh are, in fact, one in the same. The Sarcee believe that they indirectly owe their creation as a People or Nation to the buffalo. According to Sarcee history one winter, long ago as the entire Earth People band crossed a large frozen lake, an old woman tried to pry loose a buffalo horn frozen in the ice. The ice cracked and divided the lake in two, leaving part of the Earth People on the lake's northern shore, and part on the southern shore. The latter group, ancestral Navaho, continued on their way until they reached the warm lands of the south, where they settled and live to this day. The group stranded on the opposite shore remained in the forestlands of the north, where they became the Sarcee or Tsu T'inna and gained great fame as hunters of the "xaniti" (buffalo).

BUFFALOE SAUSAGE, ala CHARBONNEAU

Meriwether Lewis, in his own inimitable style, described a delicacy prepared by the expedition's cook, Toussaint Charbonneau in the summer of 1805, "About six feet of the lower extremity of the large gut of the Buffaloe is the first morsel that the cook makes love to . . . he gently compresses it, and discharges what he says is not good to eat, but of which in the sequel we get a moderate portion; the mustle lying underneath the shoulder blade next to the back, and fillets are next saught, these are needed up very fine with a good portion of kidney suet; to this . . . is then added a just proportion of pepper and salt and small quantity of flour . . . our skillful operator Charbonneau seizes his recepticle, which has never once touched the water, for that would intirely distroy the regular order of the whole procedure."

Lewis then described the process by which Charbonneau stuffed the buffalo intestine and then described the terminal stages of this process, "It is then baptised in the missouri with two dips and a flirt, and bobbed into the kettle; from whence, after it be well boiled its is taken and fryed with bears oil until it becomes brown, when it is ready to esswage the pangs of a keen appetite." Life on the frontier perhaps hardened one to more than just mere adversity, for Lewis noted, "This . . . we all esteem one of the greatest delicacies."

BIG MEDICINE

In May 1933 a white buffalo was born at the National Bison Range at Moiese, Montana. This was the first documented birth of a white buffalo in the twentieth century. Biologists and rangers at the Bison Range, evincing a bureaucrat's keen imagination, named the calf "Whitey." Members of the Blackfoot Nation who came to Moiese to commemorate the birth of this special buffalo named the calf "Big Medicine." The white calf was, except for a brown patch about his crown, an off-white color, as he matured Big Medicine's coat turned pure white. His eyes, lacking normal pigmentation, were bluish-gray. At age four, Big Medicine was mated to his dam, who gave birth to a pure albino calf, subsequently named "Little Medicine." Little Medicine--a true albino with a pure white coat, white hooves, and pink eyes--was born partially blind, and was abandoned by his mother soon after birth. Although the albino calf was transported to the National Zoological Park in Washington, D.C. where he received special care, Little Medicine died before the year was out. Big Medicine, however, lived to the ripe old age of twenty-six. Big Medicine's remains were subjected to the taxidermist's art and can be viewed at the museum at the Montana Historical Society in Helena, Montana.

BISON STANDARD TIME

The buffalo played a vital role in convincing skeptical Euro-American scholars of the true extent of humanity's ancient presence in North America. Prior to the 1920s, conventional wisdom held that humankind reached the New World only some three to four thousand years prior to the arrival of Columbus. In 1924 J.D. Figgins of the Denver Museum of Natural History led a party of paleontologists to a site along the Cimarron River, in northeastern New Mexico, where the party uncovered a substantial number of fossilized bison remains. Figgins estimated that the bison remains had been deposited at the site some ten thousand years ago. Relying upon conventional wisdom Figgins et al. first interpreted the site as bog or water hole, where they believed the buffalo had became mired in the mud and perished. As the crew proceeded with its excavation this interpretation, and, thus, conventional wisdom, fell to the side in the face of the physical record.

In the clay matrix surrounding a bison rib bone, the paleontologists discovered a flint projectile point. This leaf-shaped point was characterized by its distinctive fluting or hollow-ground flaking, a style never before seen in the New World. This flint knapping technique, and the culture subsequently found in association with points of this style, is known as Folsom, named after the town nearest to the Cimarron River bison-kill site.

Finding one point, however, was not enough to dispel the tenets of conventional wisdom. Many scholars maintained that the Folsom point was manufactured at a more recent date and that its presence in the bison rib matrix was a mere fluke. The next year Figgins returned to the Cimarron site and, yes, a second Folsom point was found associated with bison remains. Figgins halted work, and invited his skeptics in the scientific community to come to the site and view the point in its undisturbed, unexcavated bone-point-clay matrix. The tide began to turn, and an increasing number of scholars began to accept that humans had reached the New World far earlier than had previously been estimated. It was not, however, until the third season's dig with the discovery of yet more Folsom artifacts, that the true scale time involved in human history in the Americas began to gain widespread acceptance. Today, we know that the Folsom culture flourished in North America some 10,000 years ago.

BISON ART

Humankind made its first record of the bison some twenty-five thousand, or more, years ago; deep within the earth in caves in what are now Spain and France. Here, Cro-Magnon artists made paintings and molded bias-reliefs of the big game animals that furnished their Peoples with the raw materials of their life and culture. Cro-Magnon artists depicted the bison with skilled hands and eyes. By employing stylized lines, shading the contours of the bison's body with natural pigments, and using the texture of cave walls and daubed-on clay they created near life-like representations of the giant humpback steppe wisent (Bison priscus).

We assume that these murals held spiritual significance for their creators, they surely were not mere decorations, for they were generally hidden in the most remote recesses of caves and caverns. To view Cro-Magnon art in the cave at Niaux, France, one must traverse a three thousand foot long twisting, torturous, stalactite-strewn passage to reach this underground gallery. Among the bison depicted at Niaux several are portrayed as prey--pierced with spears and spewing great gouts of blood. Perhaps, then, the art was an appeal to forces outside the control of the hunter for aid in the hunt--or perhaps the art was a way of paying homage to the very animals who surrendered their spirit, their life, that the hunter and his people might live.

THE BUFFALO TODAY

Today there are an estimated thirty to forty thousand bison in North America, a pitifully small remnant of the once immense herds that roamed this continent in centuries past. Small though these current numbers may be, they represent a staggering increase over the scant handful of buffalo that survived at the dawn of the 20th century. A census conducted in 1889 revealed the grim fact that little more than one thousand buffalo survived in all of North America. In Canada a herd estimated to number about 550 head clung to existence in the vicinity of the Great Slave Lake. Some 200 bison still survived in Yellowstone Park. Only a scant 256 buffalo lived in zoos and private pastures throughout all of the U.S. and Canada. Sadly, by 1889 perhaps as few as 90 free-ranging bison still existed in the U.S. The crisis confronting the buffalo only grew worse, by 1901 only twenty-five or so bison, those fortunate enough to have avoided poachers, still survived in Yellowstone Park.

On December 8, 1904, a group of conservationist convened in the Lion House of the New York Zoological Society and organized the American Bison Society. The society's goal was nothing less than the preservation and, indeed, the restoration of the buffalo to portions of its historic range. The American Bison Society launched an extensive campaign to meet this seemingly unobtainable goal. Through a combination of fund raising, education, promotion of restoration activities in the private sector, and lobbying of state and federal governments, the society and its many supporters rescued the buffalo from its teetering foothold on the brink of extinction. At the society's urging, Senator Joseph M. Dixon of Montana introduced legislation to establish national bison reserves. On May 23, 1908, President Roosevelt signed into law the bill that led to the creation of the National Bison Range in Montana. Throughout the opening decades of this century governments and private citizens alike worked to establish new bison preserves and increase the size of bison herds. Although there were many obstacles yet to be surmounted, the buffalo was on the road to recovery. In 1930 the American Bison Society, feeling that it mission had been accomplished, disbanded. For the most part, the American and Canadian people have continued to support bison preservation activities and the future of the buffalo's existence in North America seems as secure as that of any of the continent's threatened mammillae.

I suppose it only fair to ask why should we care whether or not the buffalo survives? Why should we care whether or not any single plant or animal species survives? The planet earth teems with life, there are so many species of life that we have yet to even identify and classify them all. What does it matter if one, or even a hundred, species of animals ceases to exist? After all, extinction is a natural process that has occurred throughout the entire history of life on this planet. Perhaps this is all true. But has extinction ever occurred at the rate we have witnessed in the past 200 years? Perhaps, perhaps not. Is the present wave of worldwide extinction of plant and animal species is occurring outside of the "normal" pattern of the past? Perhaps, perhaps not. Has humankind interfered in the process by preventing the evolution of new species to replace those that die off? Perhaps, perhaps not. The rate of extinction among mammals has increased some fifty-five fold in the past 150 years. If this pattern continues unchecked, by the year 2030 nearly all of the remaining 4,000 species of mammals alive today will be no more. This would be an unimaginable tragedy--all scientific criteria aside, a world with no animals would be a sad world upon which to live. From a more selfish perspective we should, perhaps, consider that we, humankind, are included among those remaining 4,000 species of mammals alive today who face extinction. If we cannot, or choose not to, endeavor to save the buffalo or other threatened species, can we then expect to "save" ourselves?

A BISON BIBLIOGRAPHY

Brown, Mark H. THE PLAINSMEN OF THE YELLOWSTONE: A HISTORY OF THE YELLOWSTONE BASIN (1961). Ewers, John C. INDIAN LIFE ON THE UPPER MISSOURI (1968). Fagan, Brian M. ANCIENT NORTH AMERICA: THE ARCHAEOLOGY OF A CONTINENT (1991). Gard, Wayne. THE GREAT BUFFALO HUNT (1968). Grinnell, George Bird. THE CHEYENNE INDIANS, 2 vols. (1962). Holder, Preston. THE HOE AND THE HORSE ON THE PLAINS (1974). Hungry Wolf, Adolf. Teachings of Nature (1989). Jablow, Joseph. THE CHEYENNE IN PLAINS INDIAN TRADE RELATIONS, 1795-1840 (1950). Lowie, Robert. INDIANS OF THE PLAINS (1954). Matthews, Anne. WHERE THE BUFFALO ROAM (1992). McHugh, Tom. THE TIME OF THE BUFFALO (1972). Pfeiffer, John E. THE EMERGENCE OF MAN (1969). Schultz, James Willard. BLACKFEET AND BUFFALO: MEMORIES OF LIFE AMONG THE INDIANS (1962). Stuart, Granville. FORTY YEARS ON THE FRONTIER AS SEEN IN THE JOURNALS AND REMINISCENCES OF GRANVILLE STUART, GOLD-MINER, TRADER, MERCHANT, RANCHER, AND POLITICIAN, 2 vols. (1925). Walker, James R. LAKOTA SOCIETY (1982).

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