it's love that brought you here
(cw: blood during pregnancy. she's fine I swear)
Lucy Sable was 17. She was seventeen, with the entire town against her, fighting with her best friend, her mother knowing nothing.
Just a child, and yet she had coped, until she couldn’t anymore.
Sometimes, Nancy rubs Lucy’s charm on her necklace, twisting it between her fingers, pressing her fingers to the cool metal and she swears she can feel Lucy around her. It’s as if she can feel her mother’s arms around her, pressing into her, enveloping her in love just like that first day, and maybe it’s stupid, but she hopes in those moments that her mother can feel her sending that love back.
She was seventeen, alone, exiled and pregnant.
Nancy is twenty-two, married to her person, surrounded by love, and pregnant.
She didn’t know, but then also, on some level, she did.
She wonders if Lucy did too.
Nancy Drew has lived in a horror movie for the last few years. Lest that sound like something awful and terrifying, it wasn’t. Or at least, not on the whole. Less near-death experiences would have been preferable, but after awhile it just became….life. And life wasn’t bad. In fact, on a lot of occasions life was pretty damn great. And the supernatural stuff, it just became normal as well, after awhile. Life-altering terror was reserved for very rare occasions.
But this? This felt like the wraith, the aglaeca and Temperance levels of fear all rolled into once. Nancy can’t remember ever feeling so goddamn petrified. It was in every move, every step, every exhale.
Those two pink lines haunted her more than the ghost of her dead mother ever did.
It feels like something that shouldn’t be happening to her. When she thought of someone who should be a mother, Kate Drew came to mind. Her adoptive mother was warm, gentle, loving and wise.
Nancy Drew doesn’t feel like she’s any of those things.
Ace is those things.
And he is wonderful. It’s as if he was meant to be a father all along. He’s so excited, it practically bubbles out of him. He smiles the biggest smile she’s ever seen when the baby kicks. He’s so giddy that sometimes Nancy presses herself into him and hopes for some of that excitement to absorb into her.
It’s not that she doesn’t want this, per se. It’s just that the idea of being responsible for a whole human life, keeping it safe, teaching it, protecting it, loving it steals her breath away. A whole human, and one that is half Ace. Letting down a child like that would be…it would be something she could never recover from.
So maybe on some level, she wishes it wasn’t happening.
And that’s what she feels, until one day she touches her leg and it comes back flecked in red.
And Nancy Drew was well known for her mind, but it seemed to be moving in slow motion. She knows what that could mean and yet she doesn’t. Somehow, her mind doesn’t bend around this.
A silent Nancy must tip off George, because she looks back at her friend, then at her fingers, and down at her lap, and Nancy has never seen George Fan move quite so fast. Thirty seconds later, she’s in the car on the way to the hospital, and George is frantically reassuring her that everything is fine, everything is normal, don’t you dare freak out Drew, no tears in the car, I’ll call Ace, it’s all going to be fine…
Nancy hears all of it and none of it. Her fingers slide over her middle, just barely extending, presses her fingers in, closes her eyes and it’s a flash.
It’s a flash of a life she hasn’t yet lived. A little girl, one with strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes, giggling. A warm, tiny bundle asleep in her arms. A preteen, collapsing into her after school in a puddle of tears. She and Ace, both swinging one arm, while water splashes up from the puddles jumped in by the little being holding both their hands.
She doesn’t even realize the tears are out until a tissue is roughly shoved into her hand and George’s gruff voice says “I said no crying, Drew!”
It’s the little things that she looks back on that tell her how scared she was. The breathless way she tumbles into the hospital. White knuckles gripping the side of the gurney. Soft, muttered words she can barely recall, whispered downwards. Stay. How tightly she grips Ace’s hand when they pull up her shirt for the ultrasound. And then the definite, unchecked tears when a tiny heartbeat sounds out like a song, an exhalation of every emotion all at once.
That night, Ace’s arm wraps around her like usual, but Nancy’s fingers creep up her belly, pass over the slight roundness, and for the first time, she smiles.
Not for the first time, she wonders if Lucy felt this too, this massive, all-consuming love, this indescribable emotion she feels right now. She hopes her mother did, for her, just like she does for her Lucy Kate, now and forever.
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As I turn 18 and now that I've been to Pride, I want to say:
If you have kinks, even "gross" ones, even weird ones, even ones that get mixed up with agere but arent:
You aren't gross
You aren't a freak
You aren't any less of a regressor
You are allowed to have an adult life outside of your regression.
I keep this space sfw for my regressed self (I prefer my dashboard to be "over the shoulder" friendly) and for my followers with sexual trauma, but that doesn't mean you don't deserve to have your kinks. As long as you keep them on a separate account or side blog, you are allowed to interact with me.
I don't like how hostile so many age regressors can be towards the kink communities. As long as everything is between consenting adults and not directly interacting (following/liking/rbing) with this blog it's none of my business.
So if you torn between worlds: you're valid. You're appreciated. You deserve to exist and you aren't gross.
To all the blogs that say "dni if you wouldn't show this to a child": I absolutely wish my child self had heard this. Kink was left out of all Sex Ed and made me feel a bit othered and weird because I don't feel sexual attraction normally (autism w). 8 year old me would have felt so validated if someone had told me this. Yes, even saying this, is healing my inner child and probably that of other people's.
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