Recent Posts

Despite the Hetalian-Romanian cardboard demeanor canon, I think Nicoleta can be very expressive. Das her cat. Grigore. He does all the cardboard face-ing.

"Don't worry about me, ma! He's the one!"

On your left, you see a bitch professor that has no time for fun. Casually on your right, you see a bitch thief that's into you for yo money. See how they both still have kickin' heels.

Donald calls him 'Bumblebee' because Oliver is really into transformers. He's a derp who's stuck on a wheelchair.

The baby mobile moved slightly due to the interference, the hand-sewn figures and symbols dangled over the wooden crib. Yet, there was no jingle, no noise. As a habit, the mother closed the door softly, making sure that only a short, muffled creak could disturb the silence. As silent as a lynx, she walked by all of the quaint little objects she and her husband had bought to decorate the room. Nothing was interesting to her but the tiny bed with walls like a prison.

After pulling a stool closer to the cot, she rested her arm on the flat wooden rims. The moment she saw him, she felt little strings tug her heart to several directions; it was a complex emotion of happiness and love diluted with sympathy and guilt. The emotional dissonance was hard to register, especially for a straight-forward woman as she. It was hard to swallow the mix of feelings that would typically reside on the opposite spectrum. Some things were just too hard to explain; by the same token, some things don’t need an explanation.

Regardless of the dryness in her throat, Nicoleta stole the muted moment to admire the face of infant. She tensed up; he was too still. Quick off her seat, heart racing, she reached down to set a gentle hand on the child’s body.

His tiny diaphragm had been contracting and relaxing the whole time; it was just her paranoia again. He was still breathing—he was just sleeping.

Her fingers curled in as she brushed the baby’s cheek ruefully, as if she was apologizing for her anxiety. She was still shaken by the fact that he was all hers. This little life, this little form of perfection belonged to her. For so long, she had always been doubtful of her ability to create anything worth admiring; therefore, the sight of her child always struck her with awe and astonishment.

'I’m a mother.'

He reminded her every time.

The magnitude of the realizations had been stacking since the beginning of her pregnancy. This time was just as powerful as the last, just as strong as the first. Nicoleta bit her lip as she rested her chin at the rim of the crib, smiling wryly as she stroked his curly brown hair. Heh. Just like his father’s.

Silent. So quiet. In retrospect, such a thing used to be her ally. She used to relish in the dead-air knowingly with the ambition of victory in her grasp. She used to triumph in the quietude during a successful getaway. Yet here… in the stillness, she worried and feared.

(She couldn’t take it.)

“Lucian,” She began tenderly, as if she was coaxing him. “Are you having sweet dreams, Lucian?”

No response. Of course. She let out a breath, a stifled sigh. It had only been a few days the family had a new member; she decided it would be best for her to let this out.

Nicoleta swallowed. He slept on.

“Mama only wants you to have happy dreams,” She continued as she smoothed out the colorful hand-stitched blanket for the baby boy. “When you wake up in the morning, there will be birds that sing loudly. The trees will rustle—sometimes, there will be rain. It makes a soft relaxing noise and it always makes me want to fall back asleep.”

She rubbed her nose and sniffed. The child moved his head slightly to the side.

“It gets annoying. You’re not missing out, dragule. It… gets even worse when someone starts to mow their lawn in the morning.” Nicoleta chuckled lightly as she rubbed the back of her neck, “It gets so loud and rowdy. Then the cats always like to fight. And people always talk and talk but it’s all nonsense. It gets crazy and loud… Sometimes you want everything to stop but it won’t.”

She wiped an eye as she stammered, “It won’t but… everything will be alright, Lucian. No matter what you think or what you can’t hear or can’t understand, I’ll love you. It won’t be bad because some things can’t be explained in words, you know?”

A pause. She cowardly buried her face in her hands.

“It… can’t be explained.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” remarked Heracles as he quietly closed the door. The man had a feeling his wife would be here during this hour; he was just glad he managed to find her before she drowned herself in her own complexity. Readily, he strode over to the tearful woman and placed a soft kiss on her quivering lips. It was a short, sweet one that always managed to brighten her complexion somehow.

As expected, she smiled but out of embarrassment as she wiped her eyes with a casual pretense. “When did you get up, love? How did you ever notice I left your bed?” She teased with a glint in her eye, “I was so careful too.”

“We’re married. You can’t get away from me that easily.” He quipped with a natural half-grin as he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. In mere moments, he altered his expression to a more serious one.

“Nicoleta,” He began and ended the statement with finality. He knew that was all he had to say to make the woman look away reticently. Nicoleta had her way with communicating through her expressions. She didn’t need to say a thing, for she was the type to expect some mutual agreement. It was a hassle, but he had grown used to it. The situation was already understood.

Without hesitation, Heracles reached out and embraced her as a reminder. As a first-time father himself, he had been going through his share of kicks as well. As for her, he was perceptive enough to identify only half of her troubles.

(That was considered to be a dangerous level of comprehension—to a woman, that is.)

Though the other half was unknown, the way he was holding her represented a form of reassurance—he was going to be there regardless of mysteries and muted stress.

She knew everything. Hell, she always did. She just needed to be reminded.

“We’re going to do fine,” he assured through a soft, coaxing murmur.

With her face buried in his chest, Nicoleta responded with silence as she held Heracles tightly. It was her way of saying, ‘I know. I love you.’

Heracles made a faint smile as he ran his fingers through her auburn hair in response to reciprocate her expression. Some situations didn’t require noise to pass on the message. Here, it was all understood.