“Here, you can have mine.” He hands you his canteen and continues to stare at the fire in the middle of camp. The group (Jasper, Monty, Miller, Bellamy, Raven, Octavia, Lincoln, Harper, Finn, and Clarke) stare at him in shock.
“No, you idiot. My water broke.”
“I gave you mi- oh my god you mean that- oh my god. I’m gonna be a dad. I’m not ready. Can you hold it in? Just for a bit?” He asks, his voice getting progressively higher pitched. You slap the back of his head.
“No. I will not hold this baby in my for any longer. Now. Help me to Abby.” Murphy jumps up and picks you up, ignoring your protests. The group let out loud cheers as they go with you to the infirmary.
“Some women have had to wait days for the baby to come out. There’s no way of knowing.” Abby says with a sympathetic smile, patting your shoulder and nodding to Murphy before walking out of the empty room. You were uncomfortable, contractions were coming every few minutes, and your legs were spread wide open. The rest of the group were waiting outside, bouncing their legs and talking animately to eachother about the baby.
No one knew it’s gender, you wanted to wait and see. Murphy had whined but you ended the nonexistent argument with a simple “I’m holding your child in me for nine months and then pushing it out of me and you are arguing with me? Not smart, John.” He had shaken his head with a grin and fell to his knees, he arms wrapping around your waist as he began kissing and talking to your stomach….Right outside the infirmary. Everyone had a field day with the fact that the angry teenager was grinning like a fool, on his knees, kissing and talking to his unborn child.
You had just blushed, not liking him looking, and drawing attention to, your stomach. You had been insecure before, but now, you couldn’t fit in your own clothes. Murphy had stood up, taken both of your hands in his and kisses you, pulling away and telling you how beautiful and perfect you were. He said those same words every single morning, every night, really any time he saw you.
Now, he sits on a chair your hand in his. “Are you excited? I’m excited. I didn’t know I liked babies. But I love ours. I love you just as much. I can’t wait to meet them. I wonder if it’s a boy or girl? I think it’s gonna be a girl. A beautiful baby girl that looks just like her momma. Your eyes, your hair, your everything.” He rambles on and you close your eyes, a smile taking over your face. Then you feel pain in your stomach and let out a groan. “Are you okay? So you need anything? Do you need me to get Abby? Abby!” Murphy goes into a panic, standing up and using the rag you had by the bed to wipe away the sweat that was quickly forming on your forehead.
“It’s just another contraction- oh!” You gasp. It hurt more this time. “Get Abby.”
“Abby!” He screams. She comes running in, looking at you for a second. Before checking between your legs. A smile spreads across her face.
“I think it’s time.” She sings.
“Time? Time for what? Is she okay? Is the baby okay?”
“Time for the baby to come out of me dipshit!” You snap. Realization crosses his face and then a smile is there and he’s kissing your cheek. “I love you, Y/N so much. I love our baby. So much.” He takes your hands in his.
“Alright, Y/N, time to push.” You barely hear her but you do as she asked. Your head falls back and you squeeze Murphy’s hands. Abby calls for Jackson and he comes rushing in with a smile. He puts you on anesthetics to ease the pain and grabbed the rag and dabbed at your forehead.
“John. I hate you. This is all your fault. Putting your-oh!” He doesn’t take it to heart. He knew you didn’t mean it. His grin stays in place.
“I love you too, Y/N.”
“C'mon, Y/N, push harder.” You push as hard as you can, grinding your teeth and breathing heavily through your nose. Your eyes close as you push again. “That’s it, good job. Just a little bit more. There’s its head! You can do it, Y/N, push!” Jackson encourages you and with a few more impossible pushes, you hear loud wails and quiet laughs. Your eyes fly open and you hear Murphy cheering loudly. You see your baby, in Jacksons arms, screaming and crying and you grin with a small laugh. Murphy tries to hide it but he’s crying just as much as the baby, tears pouring down his cheeks. He was overjoyed.
“You did it!” Abby says, taking the baby. “It’s a girl.”
“I knew it. She’s so beautiful, Y/N. So perfect. I love you both.”
“Do you want to hold her?” Jackson asks, holding the baby out to your fiancé, who nods enthusiastically, speechless. “Here, hold her like I am, and cut the umbilical cord with these.” Murphy takes the baby in his arms and gently takes the scissors, cutting the cord and putting them down before pulling her close. She stops crying and screaming and stares at him.
“Hi, baby girl, I’m your daddy. Do you want to meet your mommy? Well, you already know her, but you’ve never seen her, would you like to? She’s just as pretty as you.” He moves back and gently sits next to you, handing you your child. You take her and she stares at you in wonder. That’s when you lose it, tears rolling down your cheeks.
“She’s so perfect.” You whisper.
“So, what’s her name?” Abby asks you both a few minutes later, coming back from wherever she was with Jackson. The two of you share a look, already knowing the answer but wanting to verify it. You turn back to her.
“Augstina.” You both say at the same time. (A/N: Thank you for all of your help and allowing me to use your beautiful name, @dxsturbxa!!!!]
“That’s beautiful. I need to get her cleaned up, I’ll bring her back in a minute if not less, I promise.” Abby gently takes her from you, and walks out. John gets off of the bed and helps you sit up and get your legs off of the holders and onto the bed.
The group enters a few minutes later, all smiles as they crowd around you, congratulating you. It was pretty calm until Bellamy has enough of the awkwardness and grabs Murphy, pulling him into a hug and making you giggle as Murphy freezes, not knowing how to respond. Harper gently pulls his arms and wraps them around Bellamy for him.
“I know we’ve had our differences, but congratulations, man. I’m proud of you!”
Everyone joins the hug and you move over, trying to stand up and join in. John immediately wiggles out and pushes you back. You try to argue but he interrupts.
“No, not yet. It’s too soon. You’ll get hurt.”
“Aw.” Comes from the entire group.
“Glad to see you all found your way in.” Abby rolls her eyes at the group with a fond smile. She has a very clean Augstina in her arms. The baby sobs, whimpering. She reaches the bed and gives her to you. The sobs stop are her eyes open, looking up at you and Murphy. You both share a smile, and you kiss her head. You could of imagined it, but you thought you saw a smile on your daughters face.
“Awwww!” You look up and you could have sworn you saw Lincoln wipe away tears.
The next day you and Murphy walked to your shared living space in a room in Mount Weather. Augstina was in John’s arms, sleeping peacefully. You open the door and turn on the lights. On your bed you see loads of little toys- cloth dolls and knitted animals, blankets, a drawing of you, John, and Augstina in the hospital room, Two buckets of food, a wooden cradle, and in the corner of the room, a stroller. You see a note on your nightstand and pick it up with a grin.
We hope you enjoy the gifts! Lincoln made all of it except for the food, (he helped picked that). He’s very resourceful. And a total sap for babies apparently, because he’s been making these since he found out you were pregnant. Basically, this is my way of gossiping about Lincoln to you because I get the feeling that you two won’t be leaving that room any time soon. Haha. Hope to see you at some point. I love you, Y/N. John, (can’t call you Murphy anymore, cause there are three of you), you’re cool. Good luck!
[Thank you so much, @dxsturbxa!! LOVE YOU TWIN!!!!!💙💙]
I know we all understand what she’s saying in this scene, but sometimes I feel like the gravity of it gets overlooked. Everyone always talks about how much Marcus loves Abby, how Marcus has been in love with her for two seasons, but I hear far less about how much Abby loves Marcus. Abby loved Jake, she loved him with her whole heart. And when Abby is about to lose Marcus too, she tells him she loves him. She tells him by saying she feels as much for him as she did for the first man she thought she’d spend her entire life with. She can’t lose the person she loves most in the world (second to Clarke both times, of course) again. She loves him despite his role in Jake’s death, she loves him despite the blood on his hands or the wrong in his past. Abby loves him so much that she can’t bear the thought of losing him. Abby loves Marcus completely and irrevocably, and I’m just very glad she told him.
Well! After a brief
hiatus, I’m back. And so is Sleepy Hollow. This was a really solid episode,
with good character work all around, an interesting plot that tied into the
show’s mythology and holy shit what are they doing to my baby
I mean this in a good
way, of course. Finally, she gets to process. Finally, she gets to be taken
care of. We get to go back to her deep-seeded fear of being crazy. And we get
her founding some creepy religion! It’s good stuff. But the question that I’m
left with is, how do Pandora and THO fit in? This episode seemed to essentially
introduce a new Big Bad and an X-Files style government conspiracy that’s been
hinted at all season, but never made explicit. How does that technocratic threat fit in with abusive ancient gods? Can
Let’s get to it:
So, I think we all
agree that the THO/Pandora interactions are gross. It’s textbook abusive
behavior – giving back power which he basically forced her to give up, telling
her “if I’m not happy you can’t be happy,” making it clear that she is not his
equal. It’s disgusting. What I can’t
tell is if TPTB intend it to be so.
This show has always had a messed up version of loves we should root for –
Katrina and the Headless Freaking Horseman, really? – and I can’t tell if they
think this is romantic or vomitus. But I’m tired of seeing a femme fatale cringing and crawling at the feet of a man who
has been nothing but foul.
So when did Crane learn
“O Sole Mio”? As much as I want to believe Abbie is a secret opera fan, I feel
that’s probably not the case. And the song wasn’t published until 1898. That
would be an interesting bit of knowledge. I do wish that instead of seeing
Crane lambast the vanities of the modern world, we got to see him being bewitched by the 250 years of beauty
he missed. We did some good stuff in that time.
Platonically cooking my roommate platonic candlelit dinners, as you do.
No but seriously, it’s
so wonderful to see Crane taking care of Abbie. And there’s an interesting
runner with food in this episode that we’ll get into. Really nice thematic work
here – and themes have been improving all season.
So we first see Crane
opening a bottle of wine when he’s cooking, then later when Abbie walks in.
Exactly how wasted was Crane intending to get?
Abbie’s absolute resistance to being cared for. Because this is
something we truly haven’t seen before, it’s hard to know how much of her reaction
is PTSD/runic psychosis and how much is just Abbie. Does she recoil because it’s unfamiliar? Does she dislike a
fuss being made over her? Or is she just curling in on herself like an
armadillo, knowing that if she gives into comforts like food and wine and good
company, all the pain might come rushing out of her in an endless wave that
“A diminutive being stranded far from home.” Henceforth, Abbie
Mills is our Diminutive Being. It is canon.
Abbie unable to accept
the kindness and solace Crane offers. Crane trying to be supportive and respect
her boundaries, but drinking to mask the sting.
I’ve found this entire
Papa Mills storyline to be very anti-climactic. While there is an interesting
choice in him just being a frail human who ran away for frail human reasons, it
feels out of step with the show and makes him seem so, so much worse. He could have come home to care for those
girls after their mother died. He had chance after chance after chance to make
things right. And he chose, time and again, not to. It’s loathsome. For a much more interesting take on him,
read @icanseewhyshessingle amazing “Shoqed.”
Papa Mills calling her “Jennifer”
is a nice touch to show how out of step he is with her.
Saying he couldn’t come
back because “life had moved on.” What a bag of schlongs. Your daughters were
drowning in foster care. They hadn’t moved on. They were mired in pain. And you
Current sexuality: Abbie Mills at the shooting range.
But oh, our poor baby.
What better metaphor for Abbie being off kilter than to have her shooting
ability out of whack, something that’s so core to who she is.
Danny wants trust from
Abbie, but right now Abbie isn’t capable of trusting anyone. Most of all
Current sexuality: Abbie Mills’ collar bones in a deep v t-shirt.
I like that they’re
continuing to let Joe have a distinct role as the medic, like when he was
checking Nevins’ eyes. On a team where there’s a great deal of overlapping
skillsets, it helps set him apart.
I miss the Pandora who
steals men’s spleens and wore cute wigs. She was fun.
So, that meal Crane
brings Nevins. I have so many questions. Where did he get a freaking cloche to cover it? How long did it take
him to roast that chicken – it ain’t a quick meal. Maybe he already made it for Abbie, a homey treat to tempt her, but she
turned it away again so it became Nevins chow? Again, the runner of food as
comfort is fascinating – even down to the fact that Abbie stopped drinking
coffee, denying herself even that simple creature comfort and routine.
Note: Title is based on Prosthetic Love by Typhoon.
Maybe if the baron’s son had lived, the soldiers wouldn’t have come in the dead of night, with their swords and distrustful glares, seeking to burn her mother for witchcraft.
The boy had been deep in the throws of the plague by the time Clarke and Abby had been summoned. There was nothing to be done, not at that late stage of the disease’s progression. From the second they stepped into the smoky, stuffy room—damn ‘physicians’ don’t know a thing, her mother had muttered under her breath as she let breathable, fresh air in through the window—they knew he was a lost cause. Even so, Abby had stayed, and so had Clarke. They brewed tisanes to ease the boy’s pain and lathered him in balms to bring down his fever. Abby held his hand and Clarke sang as he slipped into Death’s warm embrace, as his parents were nowhere to be found.
They were around afterwards, however, to scream and rage that Abby hadn’t done enough, that she had let their son die out of spite because they had called the physician first. It wasn’t a secret that Abby Griffin hated the newest lackey sent by the church to ‘civilize’ their village, especially when those fearful of the church’s wrath turned to his new but ineffective treatments instead of hers, which had served them well for decades, centuries even. Clarke’s mother didn’t suffer fools, especially those that bowed to fear. The only ones we should fear are gods, she always said. That was another thing the entire village knew about Abby and her daughter: they still worshipped the Old Nine of Brittany. The Saints, as they were now called, to fit with the church’s doctrine. Still, it had never proved a problem other than the occasional threat or suspicious glare.
So maybe if the baron’s son had lived, nothing would have changed. But Death came to their village, taking the little boy with Him and leaving grieving, angry, vengeful parents in His wake.
It started with a panicked knock at their door in the dead of night, and Tor Lemkin bursting into their cottage.
“They’re coming for you,” he wheezed. “Abby, they’re coming.”
Clarke watched with wide eyes as her mother glanced at her mournfully before pulling Tor to the other side of the room, whispering with him in rushed, hushed tones. Pulling the rough, wool blanket to her chest tightly, Clarke strained to hear but could only catch incoherent fragments of conversation. Panic rose in her chest as she watched her mother’s expression twist from fearful to determined and finally to resigned. Falling silent, Abby went to her workbench, pausing there for a minute before walking over to Clarke, tears in her eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” she murmured, voice thick as she crouched beside the bed. “I had hoped this day would never come, but we have no choice now. We have to leave. Tor has arranged for friends to hide me, and to take you to someplace safe as well.”
“I want to stay with you!” Clarke cried out, clutching at her mother’s wrists.
“I know, baby,” Abby choked out. “I don’t want to leave you. But it’s the only way to keep you safe. You’re going—“ she paused, her eyes flicking to Tor cautiously—“you’re going north.”
“No,” Clarke argued stubbornly, scrambling to cling to her mother as she fought back tears. “I’m not leaving you. We can fight them, together.”
“My brave girl,” her mother whispered into her hair, pressing kisses to her temple. “Hold onto that courage, and to your compassion. I love you so much.”
Then something sharp pricked the back of Clarke’s neck. Her vision darkened, her skin warmed, her mouth dried up.
“Mother,” she rasped, identifying the symptoms of her mother’s own special brand of anesthetic even as she slipped into oblivion.
May the Nine bless you, and may we meet again.
Her mother’s heartbroken farewell was the last thing Clarke heard before her world went black.