The note is dropped, forgotten, as Max moves to the bedside in sheer awe - disbelief - at the miracle cuddled up in Magda’s arms. He settles beside them, thumb reaching instinctively to swipe across that tiny, wrinkled forehead. “Hallo, bisl eyner…” All of the worry from before - the distance, the terror, the this is wrong - vanishes in the instant he strokes that little face.

He doesn’t realise his eyes are wet until the first sob chokes out of his throat, free hand coming up to cover his mouth, eyes fixed on that tiny little bundle. His child. Their child.

“She’s beautiful, Magda, she’s perfect. I didn’t know–I’d have been here sooner–”

It’s not exactly how she’d planned this, but then again, she hadn’t known what to expect. She was cut off from the people she might’ve asked, overlooked like some kind of life-ruining pariah at a time she could’ve really done with more support. The months had passed too quickly, feeling far more like days and weeks than any grand expanse of time, but for whatever the reason and whatever the struggle, the outcome had justified it all.

“We managed.” And managed is exactly the word. A towel, some string, a bowl of water and scissors. Unprepared she may have been, but unequipped she was not. She’s not sure what use Erik would’ve been had he made an appearance. It wasn’t exactly the most pleasant of experiences bringing new life into the world, and while yes, she would’ve loved someone to hold her hand and tell her that she wasn’t dying during the throes of contractions, it’s probably for the best that he’d been nowhere near.

Eyes half closed, she’s shifting slightly, offering up that tiny little girl to the man who deserves equal credit for her creation. “Besides, you’d have been out cold in less than a minute the second things got…sticky.” How wry a tease it is, yet not far from the truth, Magda would argue. She’s happy though, even in her weary state, and maybe just a little relieved that he’s come at all. She’d thought after the distance and general…apathy, that he might spurn them both.

#[ HAAAAA NICK#YOURE W E A K FOR THE MAGNET ]

Send me ‘HC’ + a word and I’ll tell you a headcanon about my muse(s) based on it.

Anonymously send me '+' and a question and my muse has to answer honestly no matter how uncomfortable it makes them

Jon? Why would I like him he’s so.. *trips and thousands of compliments and selfies of Jon fall out of my jacket pockets* wHAT A WEIRDO.. LisTEN OKAY THESE AREN’t MINE. I’M JUST.. *FRANTICALLY TRIES TO GATHER THEM UP* LISTEN i-- JUST LISTEN. *THOUSANDS MORE COMPLIMENTS AND SELFIES SPILL OUT ONTO THE FLOOR* fUCK I’M JUST HOLDING THEM FOR A FRIEND OK JUST ListEN.