#control my life' nearly as much but even then when that's the issue i revert straight to sabotaging the kitchen on purpose like i did when i

[bitegore]

'you feel less angry as you get older, so metal seems less interesting ' factoid incorrect. You experience more real life as you get older so music about lighting people on fire and nuking large chunks of the planet because you're mad about your girlfriend breaking up with you starts seeming fucking stupid because you're not eleven and you know life goes on. On the average I get more mad about the real things now that I don't have to swallow half my feelings (and I get over shit faster, too).

[shortie-wonderland]

Not the Greatest Experience

Many people hope and dream of living in a different country and getting paid to do so. You would think in one of the most prestigious programs that gives opportunities like this, I would be ecstatic... But here I am. Halfway across the world and longing for what had been back home. You might be thinking, "How ungrateful!" or, "You just haven't found your purpose yet." Perhaps both are true simultaneously. It's hard though, getting yourself out of a rut, mostly when this experience has simultaneously taken something very precious away from you in exchange for a worse situation in that respect.

There is so much I could complain about from transportation to frequent diseases, to weird-ass men to the unusually never-ending heat. However, I don't mean to sound so ungrateful. This is just my reality. Or perhaps it's my perspective of reality, and that's where the issue lies. Or maybe it's not even necessarily a perspective but my lived-in experience as I don't have control over how it's handed to me. If I get beaten down by bad experience after bad experience, it's no wonder my perspective might be tainted. It is such that these bad experiences are simply my lived-in experiences at the present moment.

I wonder so often if I'm making the most out of my time here or not. Volunteering at refuges give me such a rush in my soul, but at the same time, how much of an impact am I actually making? I want to help the education system improve even at university level (way beyond my level of expertise), but I don't know how to go about it since I am not qualified fully. Such is out of my control. So much of this experience is out of my control that I feel swept away into nothingness, into purposelessness. But I can't fully take control out of my hands either, now can I? Then how would I get anything done? I need to actively look for those opportunities within opportunities that will at least do something -- enough to make me feel like I at least tried.

The motivation comes and goes in waves when I get inspired by a friend or something I see on the internet, but then the depression hits, and I retreat once again into my cave for days at a time. Perhaps routine will help with this; I'll eat an orange every morning and do yoga and then will be in the right mindset to actively work towards some of these goals little by little. A little internet detox also hurt no one.

You know how people say it takes 21 days to start a habit? I think it's true since I don't think about him nearly as much as I did before. I still do, but it's become more neutral/logical/patient-driven. I realize time won't speed up just because I worry and heavily anticipate the future. There are things he needs to fix and things I do as well, separately. I'm still in love with him. But it's not my whole being as it was at one point -- a low point. I'm reverting to loving myself first and getting to know myself again through books and solitude. I wouldn't mind going on a date or two here, but when I tell you I can't trust a single man here, I MEAN IT! Not to sound like an "I hate men" feminist, but I have been wounded a share of times. And men around these outskirts lie all the time about having girlfriends or even WIVES! Can you believe it. Girls are for the win anways, even if I am a good deal intimidated by them.

I'm glad I can find this as an outlet. Having my first therapy session after years of not, I couldn't have been more unconvinced and dissatisfied by it. (This is rich coming from someone who just applied to a Psychology/Therapy program.) Life isn't meant to be known and no one knows you like yourself, so you really just need to do what you know that will make yourself feel better and get out of the rut.

All in all, I really do believe this isn't the place for me. However, the aggravating experience may be much needed for my growth and will honestly do me a lot of justice in the end. I just need to grit my teeth and step in the beating sun and just put some sunscreen on and call it a day.

This turned into more of a rant and less of a narrative than I was wanting, but oh well. I hope I continue to grow and get through these growing pains. I need to take it in stride and give myself grace <3 I just need to TRY.

Anways,

Bless,

M

[fandomwriterstuff]

“We’re a well-oiled team of military-grade kindergarteners,” his best friend, and the only other human on the ship who would understand what kindergarten was, continued chastising him and his companions. “The level of education and training among the three of you eclipses that of the entire rest of the members of this operation,” Annabeth continued, pointing her finger individually at himself, his pilot Jason, and his Chief Science Officer Nico. “You know, I’m not that surprised with you, Percy, but you are our XO so you should really be more responsible,” he winced at that, still feeling a bit of imposter syndrome at being the Commander of the USS Olympus. “Jason, shouldn’t you be piloting a ship or something?” At that, he saluted her and did an about face before scampering off to get into more trouble. “And you, you’re definitely way too responsible to have gotten mixed up with this Seaweed Brain and Sparky, so what’s in this tomfoolery for you?”

Nico, the only Neptunian on the ship, shifted his large black wings self consciously under the scrutiny of their Chief of Operations. Percy, as the Commander of the vessel, felt obligated to protect his usually stoic and well-behaved… acquaintance? Di Angelo was reserved, almost standoffish, and resented anyone who tried to stick up for him for some reason, but that didn’t stop Percy’s stupid seaweed brain from doing so. Hence the acquaintance. Percy was 99% sure Di Angelo didn’t consider him a friend. But he was nice to Percy and a great officer, so Percy considered him his friend.

“It was my fault, Annie,” he used her childhood nickname carefully, not knowing whether it would soften her up or piss her off more. He was hoping for softening. “It was just another one of Jason and my dumb ideas that we thought we would need a scientist to help with, and we didn’t want to piss off Leo by involving him in it. You know how he is about his engineer and warp cores and whatnot,” Percy held his hands up placatingly. “Leave Di Angelo out of this, he has sciencey things to do, isn’t that right?” Percy side-eyed his companion who (not surprisingly) rolled his eyes.

“I try not to get involved with human pranks or even Jovian mischief, but Officer Grace and First Officer Jackson were about to be meddling with my linguistics team. It isn’t my duty to tell my superiors what to do, so I sought out the next best option, supervising and ensuring no lasting damage was done to the physical or emotional state of the linguistics team. Now,” Here Percy held in a smirk as Di Angelo shrugged. “If they caused interference with the machinery of the ship, that wouldn’t be my expertise, so I allowed it to happen and-” Percy held back a laugh as the other male started speaking even faster to get everything out as Annabeth turned redder and redder. “I’m very sorry about that, truly, but I had no control over the situation.”

“No control over the situation? You three broke our LIT machine and now we have to go back to Earth as soon as we pass close enough to fix it. Soon enough nobody on this ship will understand each other,” the woman across from them crossed her arms and Percy shrunk back a bit.

“I want to make a joke about a machine being called “LIT,” but I feel like it isn’t the right time,” he muttered. “I know the Linguistic Inhibition Technology is important, but most of us have a working understanding of at least one other language, so it shouldn’t be a huge issue, right?”

“You know it works by connecting to the implant technology in our brains, so as it shuts down one by one, members of this ship from spaces stations and planets far and wide will have no clue why they suddenly can’t understand their XO, or their Chief Officer, or their best friend. So you better explain this. And you have to tell them that we’re going straight back to Earth to fix it because no nearby planets have the same brain implant tech as us. Damn Terrans and their brand name technology copyrights,” Annabeth grumbled and finally turned around to walk off.

“Hey, you’re Terran, too!” Percy shouted after her, but she just flipped him the bird.

“She can do that?” Di Angelo asked, side-eyeing Percy.

“Yeah, she’s been my best friend since we were twelve. As long as she doesn’t undermine my authority in front of everyone else, I don’t really care. I’ve done way worse to her,” Percy laughed at the other man’s frown. “Nothing bad, just pranks and things of that sort. Maybe when we get back to Earth we can show you where we’re from. You never set foot off of the training grounds while you were in school.”

“I would… like that,” Di Angelo paused and gave Percy a soft smile.

“Great,” Percy patted the younger male on the shoulder and made his way to the Command Center.

Percy sat himself down in the rotating chair and pressed on the comms device.

“Gooooood evening crew of the USS Olympus, this is your Commanding Officer, Percy Jackson, speaking,” he smiled at the engineering crew that was scuttling by, only for one of them to pause and look at him like he was speaking a different language… Whoops.

“There was a malfunction with the Linguistic Inhibition Technology and we will be returning to Earth henceforth to repair it before the damage becomes problematic. You may experience glitches with your implant technology and may revert to only understanding your first language and those you have studied extensively. If somebody looks like they’re not understanding what I’m saying right now, please escort them to the linguistics team in Science Bay 3. Carry on. Jackson, out.” He clicked again and the mic turned off.

He sighed, this would be one of his bigger mistakes. They were supposed to be exploring, but they couldn’t do that if nobody could speak to one another. One trip home couldn’t hurt him, and he was sure Annabeth would be happy to see her father.

It wasn’t until later after the Chief Officer meeting when someone finally asked Percy about Earth. For many of the non-humans on the ship, Earth was a place to get education and training to go out in the star fleet, and they never set foot outside the campus grounds, just like Di Angelo. But people had stopped asking him questions because Earth was basically “Space Australia,” as Annabeth had explained to him. The adaptability of humans and their need to pack bond astounded many and horrified many others. So, he stopped talking about home.

It was a new member of their ship, Novax (a Vulcan who was a part of Leo’s engineering team), who asked him about it first.

“I hear Earth is 75% made of pure salt water, and is filled with animals of all kinds. Do you have a favorite water animal?” he asked Percy excitedly.

“Definitely dolphins, though they aren’t underwater creatures. Like humans they need oxygen to breathe, and come up for air very often. My favorite actual underwater species would have to be a hippocampus from Neptune. I’ve always wanted to go and see one, but my human anatomy prevents me from going on-planet,” Percy explained and sipped on his hot tea.

“There are a million creatures in the ocean and you pick one that doesn’t breathe underwater?” Clarisse grunted. His Chief Tactical Officer was a brutish Martian, but very specialized in weapons. “And your second favorite isn’t even Terran.”

“What else do you know about the ‘ocean’?” Novax breathed, leaning forward.

“Eh, not much,” Percy shrugged.

“I’m not sure I heard that correctly, maybe my LIT unit isn’t functioning well,” another member of engineering asked, Nyssa. “Your planet is 75% water and you don’t even know what is inside it?”

“I could tell you about the people who spend their life learning about what survives in the deep depths,” Percy looked up, knowing he had all of the non-Terrans hooked on every word. Even Di Angelo had paused in his note taking and was staring wide-eyed at Percy. “But I don’t know if you’d want to know.”

“No we do!” Nyssa exclaimed. “There are people who dedicate their lives to a place that’s literally not navigable by humans, the main inhabitants of the planet?”

“Well as you said, most of the planet is water. Which means that coastal communities are filled with fisherman, whalers, swimmers, and more. I could tell you about some of those. I could also tell you about the scientists that spend years of their lives building bots that can’t even come close to withstanding the pressure at the deepest depths without imploding, or I could tell you about those that do come close,” he shrugged.

“What happened to those?”

“The video feed cut out after only seeing multiple rows of sharp, jagged teeth,” Annabeth answered, her sharp grin frightening those who hadn’t noticed her. Some forgot that she was Terran, because she was also half Minervan.

“I could tell you about whales. Beautiful, they come in black and white or grey or blue. But they can be as big as almost 100 feet long. That’s as long as most pirate ships. And they could fit about 400 average sized humans in their mouths. You don’t want to cross one of them. And they only live on the surface. The things that live in the deep,” Percy shuddered for effect. There were no Neptunians on the ship, so there were no natural water dwellers there, so all of his rapt listeners were shocked by this information. “There’s the anglerfish. They light up the dark with an antenna on top of their heads, and the light lures in prey. But it’s so dim elsewhere that you don’t see their big sharp teeth until you’re right up against them,” he murmured. “Giant squids are almost as big as whales but not nearly as peaceful and beautiful. They have eight arms and two tentacles that could wrap around any boat and crush it.”

“Ten limbs?” Nyssa whispered, clearly disturbed.

“Plus, the Portuguese Man o’ War,” Percy shrugged nonchalantly. “Also known as the floating terror. It’s like a big blue jellyfish that sits innocently on top of the water with huge blue tentacles that sit just underneath with a sting strong enough to kill a full grown human.”

“Don’t worry,” Annabeth grinned that shark grin again. “Percy won’t tell you about the stories of the old days. He doesn’t want to scare you.”

“That was the not scary part?” Novax gulped.

“Anyway, I just got notified that we’ll be back on Earth in a few days, so brace yourselves,” and with that, she stood and left them all staring after her. When the door clicked shut, Percy had all eyes back on him. He shrugged.

“Don’t look at me. I wasn’t going to tell you about the kr- nevermind,” he stood. “Di Angelo, with me,” the younger officer stood, back to business and was at Percy’s side again in a moment. “Clear your schedule, you’re spending shore leave with me, pal.”

“Great,” came the deadpan reply.

“Don’t sound so somber,” Percy rolled his eyes. “I’m just going to show you the beach and maybe a good gay bar. You need to let off some steam my dude.”

The other male reddened.

“That is so… That is…” he huffed. “Highly inappropriate.” he glared down at the ground and Percy felt a little bad, maybe the guy wasn’t out? But it was clear he had a preference for males. Oh well, that foot was already in Percy’s mouth.

“Fine. But I will be attending and I am a great dancer so you’re missing out,” he winked at the flustered officer and made his way back to his cabin. It would be an interesting few days.

He made a plan with Annabeth. Day one before shore leave, Percy would spread a rumor to Novax about the kraken. Bigger than a giant squid and meaner. Known to crush entire pirate ships in the olden days.

Day two, Annabeth would mention sirens to Nyssa. Hideous creatures that could lure you in with their voices and lead you to believe you were bringing your ship in to everything you ever wanted, when in reality you would crash your ships and then drown.

Day three, Percy would tell Leo about the Megalodon. A definitely very real shark so big you couldn’t even imagine it. Percy shuddered at that one.

“But, there are some good things,” Percy was speaking to Nico Di Angelo from his Commander chair, in ear shot of some of the participants of the conversation a few nights prior. “Mermaids, the siren’s nicer cousin species. And the lost city of Atlantis. Known to be a great and bountiful city, lost to the sea and cursed by the gods to be stuck down there forever. Some believe it still exists, but it’s within the Bermuda Triangle.”

“What, pray tell, is the Bermuda Triangle,” Clarisse sighed.

“Hard to explain. Ships just… go in… and they never come out,” Annabeth shrugged. “Planes go down. Ships wreck. People who go in don’t come back out, so we don’t know if Atlantis is really there or not.”

“That’s… terrifying,” Novax whispered as he walked by.

Percy was sure he had created a healthy fear of Earth’s oceans in his crew. And he meant to, because while he loved the beach and swimming, he did want to make them shy away from the depths. They wouldn’t do well to explore it.

[pink-bird-30]

Missing Moment

Okay, I've been sorta fed up with Titans not giving us these in between scenes where Kori and Dick interact and they find out things about each other.  So I decided to write a missing moment that would have happened in 3x06.

(I don't think this story has spoilers, but I guess read at your own risk if you haven't seen 3x06)

You can find the full story here at my FF.Net

As always, happy reading!

---------------

It’d been a rough couple of days. Between Hank blowing up and Dawn leaving for Paris….things were not the same. Kori often finds herself in the kitchen cleaning whatever nonexistent dishes were in the sink, taking the time to focus on something she can control.

Kom was here, that was a new development. And Dick was not happy about that.

Kori scoffs as she tosses the soaked sponge back into the sink and grabs the blue dish rag on the counter, drying her hands. Deep in her thoughts, she missed the lithe steps coming from down the hall.

“Hey.” She jumps slightly, caught off guard at Dick’s sudden presence. She looks up at the black clock on the wall.

1AM.

She tosses the rag on the counter and brushes past him to the living area, not wanting to hear what he had to say to her about Kom. She has to deal with her shit and he has his to deal with, and by the looks of the time, she figures he may have “figured out” his issues with Barbara given the late hour, but she won’t let her mind drift there.

He sighs, “Kori-“

She turns, giving him a sharp look. Her green eyes slightly flash bright, “What? More judgements, Grayson?”

His thick brows furrow in confusion before relaxing in understanding, “Look, I was being-“

“A dick.” She cuts him off, a smile gracing her lips.

Dick rolls his eyes at the comment, nearly hearing it more than he’d care to admit. But he couldn’t help the laugh that leaves his chest.

How does she do that?

“Sure, whatever. I was rude and didn’t respect you when you told me something was going on and I’m sorry.”

Kori’s eye widen, “Wow, Dick Grayson is apologizing.”

He bashfully grins. “It’s known to happen on occasion.”

Kori arches her brow at him and shakes her head, causing her curls to flutter at her shoulders. She doesn’t miss how Dick looks at her, but she pushes that light feeling down.

Not yet.

He walks over to the fridge and pulls out two beers, “Here.” He slides one across the counter, she catches it gracefully and pops the cap with her thumb as she watches Dick reach for the bottle opener on the fridge.

They take their drinks to the living area and settle on the sofa. They didn’t speak for a few moments, just savoring the few silent beats near the raging fire. Kori noticed Gotham was a very cold place. Hardly any sun during the day and the night a deep shadow of darkness. No wonder no one goes out at night.

“When I first came to Wayne Manor, I tried every way I could to leave.” Dick started. His beer rolling between his hands, peeling at the red label. Kori noticed this as a nervous tick of Dick’s, always fiddling with his batons or scratching the back of his neck. Whatever he was going to say, it was in confidence to her.

“Being back her has been…” he takes a swing of his drink. “It’s been tough. I feel myself reverting back to who I was before I left. Back to the guy who goes off on his own and acts like-like”

“Like Batman.”

He looks over at her and nods, “Yeah.”

“You know you’re not him, right?”

“Hm.” He doesn’t seem to believe her.

Kori leans forward, her thigh brushing against his lightly, “Listen to me. You are not him. Okay? You’re Dick Grayson, leader of the Titans. Sure, you have your flaws-”

“Hey!” his face brightens up at the jab.

“But you’re you. No one can take that.” She sips at her beer and settles back against the couch. “Besides, I think you’d look ridiculous in the Bat-suit.”

Dick lets out a hearty laugh making Kori smile.

He should laugh more.

He stares at her for a moment, his dark eyes gazing at her. She knows that look, it takes her back to the last time they were alone like this.

But now isn’t the time.

She clears her throat, breaking his gaze to stare into the fire lighting the room.

“I’m sorry about your parents, Kor.” She wasn’t expecting him to bring it up, hell she hoped she could chug the rest of her beer before having to continue this conversation.

She shrugs her shoulders, “I don’t really know how I feel about it right now.” It was her turn to distract herself from the inevitable. She lets her long fingers tangle in her curls, wrapping and unwrapping them from her fingers. She hadn’t seen her parents for a few years now. And even if she had, she doesn’t remember. Her memories have come back randomly, but not completely. If anything, it makes her feel even worse. Not remembering the last time she saw them.

She first feels the couch dip next to her and then Dick’s warm, callous hand wrap around hers, pulling it free from her hair. He rests their clasped hands on his leg, his thumb running slowing over her knuckles.

“Hey,” he tilts his head slightly, giving her that typical soft Dick Grayson look. The same look he gave her when they decided to figure themselves out first before seeing what this could be. It breaks a small part of her, not meaning to, but a small tear falls down her cheek. Dick, being who he is, wipes it away without thought.

Kori takes a deep breath and close her eyes, letting herself feel comforted. Usually she’d just suck it up and be a tough bitch. But after a while…it builds up.

She lets her head rest on his shoulder, taking whatever comfort he’s offering.

“Dick?”

“Yeah?”

“Who were you before this, before Wayne Manor?” she feels his hand tighten in hers. She can feel him contemplating what to say. She didn’t expect him to tell her everything, but she would like to know him better.

“It’s-it’s complicated.” He sighs, the rush of air moving through him.

“Then uncomplicate it.”

He shakes his head grinning slightly, “You’re a pushy person, you know that?”

“Stop stalling, Grayson.” She looks up at him seeing his eyes brighten looking down at her and then looks towards the fire place. But then his eyes became clouded, like he was preparing for something horrible to happen.

“When I was a kid, my parents and I were part of the circus. Hayley’s Circus. We’d travel from city to city preforming all over…” his eyes glazed slightly, watching the fire intently. Kori lets her free hand settle on his heart, letting him know she’s there.

It was enough to help him keep going, “We were called ‘The Flying Graysons’. Our act was the main attraction because we wouldn’t use a safety net…” Dick takes another sip of his nearly empty beer and sets it on the side table.

“Our first night here, in Gotham, a mob boss named Tony Zucco threated Mr. Haly to hire protection while the circus was in town, but refused. Later on during our act…” Dick stops, needing a moment before continuing. “Zucco hired someone to tamper with the trapeze ropes, so when it came to my parents swinging towards me, they fell.”

“Oh, Dick…” Kori’s heart never felt so broken. She could feel Dick tighten his hand around hers, holding on to whatever life line he had here in the present, while working through his troubled past. She could feel his heartbeat fast under her hand. His face was impassive, solely focused on the light of the fire, but his body was reacting for him.

He seemed to come back to himself after a moment, closing his eyes and opening them again to peer down at her. “I was angry for a while after, but then Bruce showed me how to transform that anger into something else. But it took me a few years to realize he turned me into a weapon.”

Kori nods in understanding, not trusting her voice to say much.

“But after I left Gotham, went to Detroit to start over. I hadn’t changed much. I was still doing the same shit just in a different city. But when Rachel came along things changed. I felt myself change. I think I actually had hope things might get better again.

“And they were. Well, besides all the Trigon bullshit and Slade. I think things have been good.”

“Until you came back to Gotham.” Kori added. Dick nods in agreement.

“Yeah, before I came back here and fell back into old habits.”

“You mean going off on your own, finding old friends to fight with and getting shot at? Yeah, sounds about right.” She grins at him, lightening the mood.

“Yeah, that’s me.” His face changed again. Kori is surprised that someone that is well trained to be impassive, he shows all his emotions through his eyes.

“And you?” he asks. Kori looks at him questioningly. “What’s going on with you and Kom?”

Kori scoffs, “Trust me you do not want to know that mess.”

“Try me.”

She contemplates it for a moment, trying to figure out where to start.

“Well…um…” she huffs in frustration. “Listen, the relationship between me and Kom has always been strained. She always had issues following the rules and listening to our parents. It often led her to getting in trouble all the time. She’s my older sister and she always had to rebel.

“As for me, I followed the rules. I did what was expected of me and since I’m-“ Kori stops, realizing she was about to tell Dick she’s a princess, technically a “queen” of Tamaran. But she keeps it to herself.

“I’m just not sure her true intentions here, but I also couldn’t leave her down there with the scientists for the rest of her life. It wasn’t right.”

Dick nods in understanding, “What do you think she’s up to?”

“I have no idea, but I hope she’s changed.” Kori knew it was foolish to believe that, but part of her wants her sister to be better, to do better.

“For the team’s sake, I hope so too. We can’t have a possible threat living with us.” Kori rolls her eyes and untangles herself from Dick’s side, letting go of his hand in the process. She can already feel the cold feeling of loneliness creeping in already, but she shakes it off.

“I should head to bed.”

Dick runs his hand through his hair and stands up, “Shit—Kori, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-“

“Yes, you did. And you’re right. We have to be careful.”

She turns to leave the room, but not before glancing back one last time. “Thank you for telling me about your past.”

Dick grins in return, watching as Kori ascends up the stairs to her room.

Part of him wants to follow her, missing the warmth he knows she can provide. A warmth the deepest parts of himself remembers all too well. But he shakes himself from the thought and tips back his beer for one last sip before heading to bed.

[piracytheorist]

What are your thoughts on Dark Hook and Dark Swan in ouat in general?

To preface my thoughts, I want to first talk about how the writers of OUAT may have had good ideas for a show, but they lack the ability to execute them well. I think the main reason most of us loved the show was because seasons one and two were quite good - and those were the seasons that the writers had years in front of them to plan out - and then we were just into it. From season 3 onward, you can see the writing quality decline, from the occasional wtfs of s3 to the outright out-of-character, pointless, even backpedalling decisions pretty much all the characters took in s6 (I believe that the main reason s7 worked was because they had a lot of clean-slate characters, even Rogers had a different path to expand from). So there’s the theme of the writers having great ideas, but they can’t work on a very small time frame and develop a whole season in the span of a few months, so their ideas fall flat.

Onto Dark Hook and Dark Swan.

Again, Dark Swan is a great idea; Emma facing her strongest fears, just at the time that she’s fully ready to accept her future and move on from her past pain. But what they failed to realize is how complicated of a concept that is, and how to give it justice, it needs more than a half-season with a limited screentime because of the development of other characters, as all ensemble cast shows have to do. Add to that the fact that the writers wanted to pander to the audience with ANGST! for CS and the obligatory SQ-but-no-homo storyline... with a group of writers that can’t execute their ideas... on a limited screentime... you get this.

And this is a magnificent failure, not only by itself, but most importantly its consequences.

The Dark CS storyline has zero consequences. As proven by the horribly-written s6, Emma doesn’t learn to trust in her family. She doesn’t learn to stop working on her own, to recognize her work - I mean, when she comes back from the Underworld, she’s all “Boohoo I should never have gone there” like bish you saved Killian? You helped souls move on? Bish? - or learn from her own mistakes. Killian... he just falls deeper into self-loathing, and I’m not sure how that’s a positive development from him. He was already on the path of making himself better, of wanting to repent; he didn’t need to assist in nearly killing Emma’s entire family, close and extended, in order to have a development.

And of course, there’s the matter of the heavy things both of them did; Emma ripped out Violet’s heart to force her to break Henry’s heart in order to get his tears. She literally manipulated things and people’s - her own son’s! - emotions to get to the final point. Which may have been a noble cause, freeing Merlin from his prison, but immoral acts for a noble cause? That’s the work of an Anti-Hero character, not a Hero character. And that’s not something the writers realized let alone admitted in the narrative.

Same with saving Killian’s life, against his own dying wish. I actually recently remembered this exchange they had:

Killian: Do you have any idea how it feels to not be in control of yourself? [...] Emma: I know exactly how it feels! Everyone I’ve ever loved abandoned me!

And like, what’s the connection between point A and point B? Killian is talking to her about becoming a puppet to someone, not having free will of choice, and Emma is talking about how she had no control over when people would leave her. One is a terrifying matter, and the other is something everyone goes through. You can’t choose when the people you love will die, and you will meet people who will hurt you.

But because Emma has had that latter a little too much, she wanted control over it. And with the Dark One’s powers, she was even more inclined to use them to make sure it doesn’t happen. Ergo, her taking away Killian’s consent, when he was choosing to die. And then again by hiding Excalibur from him, lying to him about it, forcing him to talk to her by summoning him when he had chosen to go away because he was enraged over the previous three betrayals, and then by taking away his memories when she concluded that he was “too far gone”. Again, manipulation and control, in order to save Killian’s life - when he didn’t want to be saved, btw - all acts of an Anti-Hero character.

And then you have Killian. I’ve said before how I think most of the things he said and done as a Dark One were Killian’s actual deep fears - that he had become a lovesick puppy dog, that Emma was eventually going to push him away and revert to her “orphan” state, that he had no hope of making amends for his villainous past, so might as well give up trying, and making sure Rumpelstiltskin doesn’t hurt him again - so having him say both things like “That’s why you’ll always be an orphan” and “I might have given you your wife back. Soiled, but returned” on the same episode, you kinda wonder, how much of that does he mean? What the hell is going on?

The fact that right after waking up, he desires to die because he thinks he deserves to more than Emma does, the fact that after Emma rescues him he’s a mess with guilt... those kinda point to the fact that he had some control over what he was doing, or at least his feelings behind them - that, for example, he regrets allowing the Dark Ones to nearly kill Emma’s family and friends just so he could have his revenge on Rumpelstiltskin.

So, you’ve got some heavy issues. Manipulation, betrayal of trust, controlling and disregard of consent on the one side, and humiliation, degradation and homicidal attempt on the other side.

What are the consequences of all that? Nothing. The Dark CS storyline is forgotten, Killian’s guilt over it is mentioned once in the later episodes and then never again.

All those required at least a moment to sit and talk about. Killian feeling guilty over it for about one episode - and just for the things he did! God forbid we have Emma face the emotional consequences her actions had on other people - doesn’t even begin to reach enough. 

So overall, it was a very interesting concept, with a less than promising introduction and execution, and an outright disappointing and unrealistic conclusion. And I’m saying this as a CS fan - I’m not saying nothing of this should’ve happened. It was interesting to see how they happened, to see Emma’s and Killian’s deepest fears surface and take control of their actions, but it was disappointing to see that it lead to nothing. It was emotionally taxing, especially if you connected to the characters, and then it was nothing. It never happened, please look away and look! Cruella’s back and we got a villain with blue flaming hair please keep watching the show despite the fact that we disregard one of the oldest rules of storytelling by not providing Catharsis!

So yeah. Disappointing, 0/10, wouldn’t invest in anything A&E write again.

[writinglionqueen]

My King Tribute Fic | The Boar’s Den

A very considerate follower made me a fantastic fanfic that coincides with my My King universe!!! @tinkerbell-has-chlamydia​ dedicated her time to create this masterpiece of a story and asked me to post it here to share with you all. Please give her some love and read this story. You won’t regret it. All credit goes to her. The only thing I can take credit for is beta reading this masterpiece. 

You considered your life to be very blessed, even by the standards of a Queen. You enjoyed the privileges that belonged to a lady of your status, but suffered very few of the entrapments that often followed it. The food you ate was always fresh and well prepared, but you were never forced to eat what was laid out for you, or forbidden from eating what you wanted out of fear that it would ruin your figure. The clothes you wore were tailored from the highest quality fabrics in the world, for you alone, and yet you always took charge in how you dressed, and by extension, what your day would consist of. You lived in the very castle that young girls dreamt of when they heard tales of brave knights and beautiful princesses, but you were never restricted as to where you were permitted to go. You could roam freely and enjoy your home and all that came with it, especially the training grounds which you happily frequented. 

 Above all, it was your husband that you were most grateful for. It was he that granted you all of these liberties. He gave them to you freely, and without hesitation. He took on your discomforts, your burdens and your displeasures as if they were his own and always made it his personal task to help you in any way possible. You admired his tireless efforts to give you everything you desired, both as a queen and as a wife, and you always made sure he knew you appreciated those efforts. There were times where you were even convinced that you lived the perfect life.

 This was not one of those times.

 You had been standing in a single room, that you could not leave, for hours on end dressed in quite possibly the most frivolous (and hottest) garments known to womankind, all while your hunger grew to almost unbearable proportions. However, what you hungered for was not food. It was the man sitting on the oaken throne before you, draped in furs and skins of wild beasts, with his copper and onyx circlet set firmly above his brow, listening to a tailor from a nearby village drone on about the prices of cloth compared to the price of thread.

 Drew had been on campaign for the past month, leading his men in battle against a rebel, who was calling himself the True King. He did call himself that. Now he would find it difficult to call himself anything with his head no longer belonging to his neck. Drew had also captured the rebel’s two generals. His sons, the traitor’s only living heirs, and he had imprisoned them; fully intending on executing them once the two revealed any and all plans for further rebellions.

 Nevertheless, the King’s long absence did have an effect on the realm’s day to day operations, and although you pride yourself on how you maintained your keep, the villages surrounding your castle needed their King. It had been mere minutes between Drew coming home bloodied and bruised, dragging the traitor’s two gigantic sons by their chains, throwing them in the castle’s dungeon, trading in his armour for regal clothing, and taking his place on his throne to hold court. The only interaction between your husband and yourself was when Drew presented you with the sword of his fallen enemy, and placed a chaste kiss to your lips as you welcomed his return in the courtyard with the other nobles of the castle. But even then, you were in such a... dizzied state for seeing your husband again that you allowed that sword (which looked rusted and dull) to cut your thumb ever so slightly. But above all, even though it was short and mostly for the sake of appearances, that kiss he gave you was all you were able to think about as you stood on the balcony of the great hall with the high ranking ladies of the court gazing at your husband’s profile as he tried desperately not to fall asleep.

 All you could think about was how much Drew must have been holding back when he kissed you in front of all those people. How much he wished he could just rip your clothes off, taking you then and there. You knew that when you embraced him after he dismounted his horse and proclaimed to the people that their King had returned a hero, he was desperately wishing that your hands were scratching down his back as you heralded him in a more excited and primal manner. You knew that when the people around you cheered, he imagined the clapping of their hands to be the pounding of your bed-frame against the stone wall. 

 You knew he was imagining it all, because you were imagining the same exact things. Though there were many, many great privileges to being Queen, being made love to by the King was by far the greatest. You were unsure of other wives, but when Drew let you know that you were to be bedded that night, you felt nothing but pure lust until he fulfilled his promise. Even when he was injured (which was often) he still managed to please you, powering through his pain to give you pleasure… and he always seemed to find his as well. 

 It was odd, though. No matter how much you desired your husband, no matter how much your body screamed for him to be inside you, no matter how much you wanted to make him feel the same way he made you feel, you always reverted back to a shy, tentative young girl when you were in his arms, just like you were on your wedding night. Drew had some other worldly effect on you that prevented you from initiating intimacy. Not fear. You had never felt afraid of him, but there always was this… hesitation. This expectation for him to take control, as if there were no other option. It never really bothered you, however. With the way that Drew took control over you, there never needed to be an alternative.

 As you stood there, suffocating in your ridiculous dress, watching the dust float through the sunbeams penetrating the glass of the windows inside this dry, wooden hall, you nearly hallucinated the scenes of what awaited you that night. You discretely swept your tongue across your bottom lip to only find it as dry as the air around you. The only source of moisture that you could sense in the entire room was pooling itself between your thighs. Every time you shifted your stance in a futile attempt to give your feet more comfort, you were sure that everyone in the hall could hear the sopping noise that it made. Your... wetness had trickled itself almost to your knee at this point, and it was completely unbearable.

 Then, if by some miracle, the tailor stopped droning on long enough for Drew to interject that something or other was to be done about his issue and that he could leave the court knowing that he had been heard. Then, the tailor bowed and left. He left. The demon that had been preventing you from heaven has been vanquished. 

 “One petitioner more. After him, this forum will be continued tomorrow.” Drew’s booming voice echoed across the hall. You swore that you heard everyone give a sigh of relief. As a page left to usher in the final person, Drew turned his head so that his eyes met yours. His devilish smirk met your beaming smile as he slowly nodded to you as if to say, “I know, my Queen. I know how you’ve missed me, and very soon, I’m going to show you how much I’ve missed you.”

 Then, Drew draped his arm over the side of his seat, and grazed his fingers over the engravings of it, in perfect view of you. His hand danced a bit more until it landed on a tiny gemstone, no larger than the bud of a flower. He then slowly swirled his fingers around the nub before shifting his muscles and pressing in on it for just a moment, before circling it again.

 You sucked in a breath and held your stomach where you felt heat bubbling inside you. You bit the inside of your cheek and suppressed a moan. It just wasn’t fair. Queen’s shouldn’t be teased. Not like this. Your face hardened as you tried to stay expressionless. Drew smiled and turned his head forward again, still working his hand. He knew the hold he had on you. To everyone else, it looked like the King was absentmindedly fiddling with the etchings in his throne. But you knew better. You knew much, much better.

 Then there was a bang that grabbed you out of your painfully bliss-filled trance. You turned your head and put your hand over your mouth. Not out of fear. Quite the opposite, actually. It was to keep from laughing. The man who had just burst through the door without waiting to be properly announced was shorter than yourself, and wearing a brightly colored… outfit, that no true Scot would ever don. You found the garment very hard to make sense of, so you didn’t bother to try. He wasn’t forced to wear it either, like a fool would be. By the way he took strides that his little legs shouldn’t have been able to take, he was very proud of his appearance. 

 You looked at Drew, whose mouth was slightly open as he stared at the little man who was barreling toward him. For the first time in hours, the King was sitting up at full attention. The walking curiosity stopped a few feet from the throne, dramatically bent his knee and gestured broadly with his hand.

 “Your Majesty. Before I begin, I beg of you to allow me time to praise your grand victory over the vile pretender-”

 “I am grateful for your praise, friend, and I’m sure that your words would move the ladies of the court to tears if they were to be spoken,” Drew quickly said. There were scattered laughs throughout the crowd. The little man just smiled and nodded. “But I must say that you entered this hall with such... urgency that I can say in full honesty... I would like to know your cause here today.”

 At this point, Drew was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands under his chin. Not quite in a mocking manner, but in a manner of one who was asked an impossible riddle. The little man, however, was elated with the attention shown to him by the King. He stood up tall and proud with his bird-like chest puffed out. 

 “I am Slibhin Mac a’ Ghobhainn, and I am here to petition His Majesty for a company of royal warriors to assist me in retaking my home. My home... that was stolen from me... by my very kin.” Drew glanced at you, asking with his eyes if you and he were just sharing a dream one would have whilst they weathered a fever. You just shrugged your shoulders. Drew turned back to your guest.

 “I must say, your request has been the most... ambitious one that I’ve heard today. But, I have to ask you how I can give you my men to reclaim your home when they have just returned from defending their’s.” Drew raised his eyebrow. The man called Slibhin stood back a bit, comically intimidated by your husband’s small gesture. Nevertheless, he persisted.

 “I must confess, Your Majesty. This endeavor is not as… dramatic as I may have relayed.” He bowed his head in faux humility. “My father is… was... the blacksmith of your keep’s village, and with his passing, I should have inherited his estate and all intended incomes. However, my birthright has been… usurped by my… cursed sister. While I had been away on business these past few weeks, she has been, without my knowledge or consent, conducting transactions with the people of the town and has been calling my enterprise her own. Not only has she taken my means of income, but has destroyed my home and has turned it into a… boar’s den of the most unappealing state.”

 Your ears perked up at the word “sister.” You had always had a great admiration for smithing, and had always fantasized about creating something yourself, though you kept this secret. Not even your husband knew... yet. When the image flashed in your mind that a woman was in charge of a smithy, it brought a bright smile to your face that you didn’t even attempt to hide. Drew, however, let out a breath.

 “So, you are asking for the arrest of your sister?” You immediately frowned at that. You knew that Drew was compelled by his office to uphold the laws of the land, but… you both knew...  just by looking, that the man before you had no right (other than virtue of his sex) running a smithy. Slibhin showed his smile again. The smile that had amused you at first now was the cause for your most sincere disdain.

 “No, Your Majesty, that is not what I am asking for. You see, if my sister were to be arrested, then I would be without the means to make my fortune.” His smile deepened. Drew rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was clear that as much as the funny dressed man was enjoying his showmanship, Drew was becoming agitated by it.

 “My late father was very keen on having his skills transferred through his children. When I didn’t immediately become a prodigy under his impossible training regime, he turned to my sister who, in an overwhelming need to be praised by him, showed something resembling skill in the field. As much as it pains me to say this, I need her to perform her duties. I  just need them done under my jurisdiction.”

 “Well, if your father raised your sister to take over his business, what right have I to disrespect a dead man’s wishes?'' the King asked, crossing his arms over his chest. You smirked in a slight satisfaction over that. Even though you knew this had nothing to do with you, it somehow felt like Drew was defending you. Though you couldn’t explain it, you considered Slibhin, the petitioner, as an invader. As a threat. Not a physical threat, not at all. You were certain that even in your present state you could make him bleed. Heavily. It was his mind that you felt put off by. He wasn’t clever, not by any means, but his way of thinking (if you could call it thinking) somehow disturbed you. He just felt so… entitled. Though he hadn’t done anything outrageous, there was something about him you just couldn’t trust. You had hoped that Drew’s questioning would have somehow disheartened the small man, but he just kept…  on…  smiling.

 “Your Majesty, like yourself, I am fortunate enough to have been wed this year...” He smiled and nodded to the space next to your husband. You gasped loudly. There stood your King’s cupbearer. A little girl with soft skin and wide eyes, no older than ten. It was a subtle nod, one that the vast majority court hadn’t seemed to notice, thank the Gods. But you had known what you saw, but you refused to believe it. Yes, she was the closest person to Drew and she was very well dressed, but surely no one could have possibly thought that she was their Queen, or that Drew would ever dare wed or… lay with a... child. Who looked at a child so young and innocent and thought: “wife”? Tears welled in your eyes. Drew leaned forward and inhaled to repute the gesture, obviously aware of what was implied, but Slibhin persisted.

 “But I haven’t married just any woman. I have married the daughter of a Laird.” He said the last word as if he were sampling a rare vintage. “Through this union, I have acquired a status that supersedes that of any blacksmith, alive or dead. By both my birth and my diplomacy, I have the right to that smithy. Now all I need is... well, physical support to take what is mine.”

 You could feel the veins in your forehead bulging as your eyes stung. You hated this man. Everything he said. Everything he thought. Everything about him filled you with a rage. He had insulted you and your husband. He believed his Queen was a child and his King was a senseless monster. More than that, he was stealing a woman’s right to work. Her livelihood. Just because he could. There was no way he could do this. 

 “Very well.” Your head snapped to your husband. Drew rubbed his temples under his circlet. “You’ll have some men to help you restore peace to your home, but that’s all. You cannot-”

 “WAIT!”

 Time stopped. Silence covered the room like a woolen blanket. Even the little gnats that were fluttering about seemed to be suspended in the thick, heated air. Every living thing in the world had turned into a statue, all with their heads turned to you, including Drew’s. Your face felt hot. Hotter than before, if that were even possible. You noticed that your hands were gripping the railing before you. So tightly, in fact, that your knuckles were the color of milk. You looked down at Slibhin. His smile was still plastered on his face, but his eyes were small and full of malice. You took some comfort in that you broke, if just for a moment, that boy’s jovial mask. It gave you the courage to speak.

 “If I may speak on this-”

 “Your King has already made his decree, my sweet girl.” said Slibhin quickly, hoping to put you down as swiftly and as kindly as possible. “I don’t believe he-”

 Drew quickly stood to his feet, causing the floor to quake in the process. 

 “Your Queen has chosen to honor you with her words. I suggest you listen. Kneel, boy.” As if his legs were cut at the knees, Slibhin fell back down with his head bowed once more. You could see that the little man was sweating… heavily, and not because of the blistering heat. Drew looked back at you, his eyes filled with admiration and encouragement. You felt some kind of power in the bottom of your feet, anchoring you to your castle. Your home. Your seat of power. Air gracefully filled your lungs and you spoke.

 “Perhaps it is just my female sensibility, or the fragile constitution that poisons my sex,” you said with an overly-sweet tone, so much so, that the ladies of the court tried to suppress their giggles, leaving the men confused, “but it seems to me that sending military force to settle such a small domestic dispute, even without violence, is very... uncivilized.” 

 You looked at Drew for support. He nodded slightly. “Well said, my Queen. What do you suggest instead?” You hesitated, but only for a moment. 

 “Send an ambassador. Someone to settle the matter diplomatically. I believe it would spare exhausted men more work, and inspire less resistance from the blacksmith.”

 The court murmured in support of your idea, but you couldn’t help but feel disheartened. You didn’t want to send an envoy to solve the matter. You didn’t think there was a matter to be solved. Let the damn girl smith in peace. However, you knew that couldn’t be. The small, hateful man that knelt before you had a right to his father’s business... and his sister’s life if she were not yet married. You just couldn’t bear seeing a young woman dragged out by soldiers to be humbled before her brother; a brother that clearly bore her no love.

 “It shall be done, my Queen. I can think of no better alternative.” Drew proclaimed, just happy that the matter was finally done with. “The crown will send the Laird of Commerce to settle-”

 “I will go,” you said. “Today.”

 Drew’s eyes widened. He turned to you and raised his brow. You did your best to not look directly at him, but instead kept your chin raised and your eyes on the frivolously dressed man. You knew what you had done. The place of the Queen was inside her castle, not in politics. Drew had allowed you some leniency just then, by giving you leave to speak, but that was just because he was so utterly exhausted. The repercussions that may fall on Drew for your actions were not lost on you. He could be seen as weak or incompetent. Your outburst could be seen as him allowing a woman, even if it was his wife, control him. You knew all of this.

 But you couldn’t let this happen. Even though you had never met this smith before, you felt a kind of womanly bond with her. You didn’t have a plan for when you met her, or how you could save her, but you also had no plan to speak out a few moments ago. Slibhin looked back and forth between the two of you, hoping that the King would somehow intervene. Though you had never declared your intention to have the girl keep her forge, he could sense your motives... and he didn’t like them. You could tell that he was just waiting for Drew to silence or perhaps admonish you in front of the court… all with that damned smile on his face.

 “I suppose you will be in need of an escort…” Your head snapped to your husband. He had a smile of his own. Sincere and cocky. “My Queen. I’d like to offer you my services.”

 Your heart fluttered and you nodded. A collective giggle escaped from the crowd. Him doing this not only showed that he approved of your plan, but if anyone dared to oppose you, they would have to go through him first. On top of all that, his attitude was a playful one, showing he wasn’t bothered by your actions at all. You let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding.

 “The court is dismissed. Those in attendance will retire and I will go to fulfill my duties.” Drew’s voice boomed through the hall as the nobles and commoners alike scrambled toward the exit. The room emptied uncommonly fast either out of fear of their King, or because they wanted the ordeal to just be over already. It was most likely the latter. In a moment the only living souls left behind were yourself and Drew. Even the sniveling Slibhin was taken out and told to make his smithy ready for the royals’ arrival. 

 You walked down to the lower level to meet with Drew. The smile on his face hadn’t lessened, but it did change somehow. As soon as you were within reach your husband grabbed you and held you close. It wasn’t in a romantic way; it was in a very lustful way. Your face was forced into his chest. One hand gripped your hair while the other was pressed into your backside. Drew squeezed his hand and forced you to roll into his thigh. You tried to gasp, but found breathing impossible. The King lowered his mouth to your ear.

 “I know what you’re trying to do, little one,” he growled. “You’re trying to torture me. Trying to make me wait. Get back at me for teasing you. But let me tell you something, my Queen.” He let go of your hair and tilted your chin to look up at him. Your eyes were glazed over and your mouth hung open at the sheer sensation you were experiencing. Drew continued, “I may be beaten down, but I still have the strength to take you. I still have the power to ravage you. I still have the endurance to turn you into a whimpering mess. The only thing I don’t have is patience to visit that little idiot’s house and watch you comfort some crying welp.” 

 Drew lifted you and placed you roughly on his throne. He leaned over you and put his arms on either side of your head, caging you. Your chest heaved as your breathing became erratic. Your husband captured your gasping mouth in a fiery kiss and you moaned unabashedly. After a few moments of bliss, you felt a rough, dirty hand slide up the side of your leg. It reminded you that just a few minutes ago, you could feel yourself dripping as you dreamed of this exact scene. But something felt wrong. Your head was swimming and your thoughts were scattered, but you knew that you had forgotten something. Something important. 

 “Welcome me home, my Queen. Not like that little farce this morning. Give me a real welcome.” Drew growled and bit your neck, making you hold in a scream of pleasure... and a small amount of pain… just the right amount. “Come on my love. I want to hear you.” By now his fingers were pushing into your core, threatening to enter you. “Tell me what you want. Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.” He was whispering now. In the midst of his beast-like state, he still found softness to give to you. 

 You felt guilty for what you were about to say. You loved your husband more than anything in this world and you wanted to give him what he wanted. What he craved, but…

 “No, Drew. I have to go to that man’s house. I have to see that smithing girl. Today. I really truly have to...  Please, let me go.”

 Your husband froze. He didn’t even seem to be breathing. You swallowed and started to get up from the throne. Only then did Drew back off from you and in doing so, you felt his fingers leave your core. It was devastating. Drew stood to his full height and stared at you. His face was confusion incarnate. You got to your feet only to stumble forward and be caught by your King. Your legs were still shaking from what he had just done.

 “Thank you.” You were barely able to speak let alone look at him.

 “Are you serious? You actually want to go?” His voice didn’t have a hint of malice. But it seemed... small. Tears welled in your eyes as you nodded. The guilt you felt was immeasurable.

 “I’m sorry. I just… I-I… yes. Yes I want to go… and I need to go now. If-If we, um… share each other now, I w-wont be able t-to think of anything else.” You shook, hugging your husband’s chest. “I’m so sorry. I want to give myself to you. I want everything to be perfect when we…” You couldn’t finish your thought. You looked up at Drew’s face, expecting him to be angry, sad, frustrated, anything like that. But the corner of his mouth was turned upwards and his eyes were sparkling. You went to speak before he rolled his eyes and let out a breath of a laugh.

 “On we go then…” The King turned and lumbered away from you, shaking his head dramatically. “The things a man must do to bed a woman.” He spoke over his shoulder. “You’d think a King would at least have an easier time.” He stopped and turned to you. “Well? Are you coming?” 

 A broad smile covered your face as you ran to catch up with your teasing husband.

 The first word that came to mind when you walked through your keep’s village was “quaint.” Compared to the village surrounding your father’s keep, this was a bustling metropolis, but that wasn’t saying much. Every building looked the same, some just slightly bigger than others. The people also looked the same… some were just slightly bigger than others. Everything was a different shade of greyish brown. With a few splashes of specific colors to indicate different shops. You could tell that these people were poor, but none seemed like they were “in-need.” They had dirt on their faces, but they also seemed to have food in their stomachs. The noises that you heard were dull but plentiful. Men grumbling about prices, old women sharing rumors with one another, big wooden wheels of food carts crawling along on the soft peat roads.

 Luckily, your feet and the hem of your dress were safe from the filth. You rode on your horse a few meters behind your escort, your husband. Though he no longer wore his royal circlet, it was obvious to the village folk around you that he was their King. Everyone got out of his path. From the littlest children play-fighting with sticks to the largest men pulling wagons along because they couldn’t afford a mule, all stopped what they were doing and stared at Drew… from a safe distance, of course. You couldn’t help but feel prideful. You saw how the townswomen stared at your husband. How they lusted after him. They also must resent you for keeping him from them, as if they ever had a chance. You suppressed a giggle. All women wanted him, but he was yours by right. And you were going to lay claim to what was rightfully yours… very soon.

 “Well, would you look at that,” you could hear Drew proclaim. You craned your neck as the King slowed up to leisurely ride beside you. This time, you couldn’t contain the laughter that burst out of you at the sight of the little Slibhin sitting in the dirt, dizzy with pain as blood steadily dripped from his nose. It was a lovely sight. Drew looked at you and raised an eyebrow. Your laughter subsided a bit as a hint of shame plucked at you. That was very unladylike. Even Drew, who resented the little man almost as much as you did was able to maintain his composure. Still… it was funny. You didn’t think much of it.

 Drew dismounted and helped you off your mare. You looked at your surroundings. It consisted of hundreds of grey eyes fixed upon you. Some were trying to figure out who you were. Others were judging you for your outburst. Others still were looking on and wondering how a woman so small could lay beneath a man so large and not be flattened. You began to feel self-conscious and fiddled with your sleeve. You took in a breath to address the crowd before you felt the large torso of your King block out the sun as he stepped between you and the masses.

 “Royal business. On with your day.” Drew grunted. Like ants after you pick up the slab they were hiding under, the people disbursed. You reached out and squeezed his hand in thanks before you turned to the building behind you. 

 Under a shoddy overhang, there stood a gigantic forge with multiple anvils, crafting tables, whetstones, and pieces of different metals and ores grouped together by size and type. Your first thought was that no one man could work this forge alone, let alone one girl. On the wall hung more smithing tools than you knew existed. Each one grimy and well-used. Even the wooden handles of the hammers seemed to be rotting, but you couldn’t help but admire how well organized everything was. As Queen, you were in charge of keeping the largest estate in the country in the best shape it can be, and even you could never be this organized.

 You swallowed hard and looked at your husband. By now he had taken the reins of your horses and led them to a water trough. You watched as he sat on a nearby overturned barrel and looked at you. You gave him a weak smile, pleading for some gesture of encouragement. Drew smirked and replied by spreading his legs. Under his kilt, you saw his already glistening cock jutting straight out of a roost of thick, black curls. Slightly less noticeable were the black and purple bruises that seemed like knolls in the tree trunks that were his thighs. They had to be extremely painful, but he didn’t seem to care.  Drew gave you a look. “Don’t take too long,” it said.

 You turned and knocked on the wooden door in front of you. Slibhin gave a groan of pain and mumbled something incoherent. You just rolled your eyes. The big door creaked open a sliver and you saw two pale blue eyes meekly peer out. You blinked a few times in surprise before crouching to be level with them.

 “Umm… may I come in? I believe you’ve been expecting me.”

 The two beautiful eyes nodded before retreating behind the door to heave it open with both hands. This was not how you expected the visit to start, but now you were more curious than ever. You hiked up your dress, stepped over the threshold and entered the house.

This was a home. You could tell that these people were richer than most, but they put nothing they owned to waste. The chairs were cushioned, but with makeshift pillows that seemed to be sewn from very fine, but very torn silks. Suspended from the ceiling beams were little figurines of colored glass that others would put in a cabinet and never dare breathe on for fear of shattering it. They gave the house a comforting glow when the light hit them the right way. In the wooden support beams and rafters were etched runes that you didn’t understand, but liked to look at. They had little statues and figures carved from wood that must have been imported from somewhere far away, but they weren’t for decoration. They either had overcoats draped over them or cooking utensils in their hands. Expensive looking urns and pitchers had been stuffed with soil and sprouted mixed clumps of different wildflowers, giving the house a sweet, clean air. Everything had a purpose, and even fluffy, expensive furs that even the highest of  nobles would keep locked away safe, were used as carpets and doormats. 

 You couldn’t quite explain it, but you felt… safe here. It was like a child’s nursery in a way. While you admired the house you were in, the door closed, and your ear twitched at dainty little ghosts of footsteps. You turned.

 Standing there was a woman that was somehow even smaller than yourself. Her half-braided hair was so light that it appeared silver in the few beams of sunlight that filtered through the shuttered windows. Somehow, her skin was even more fair, with a sweet but extremely shy look on her face. If you were a child, you would have believed her to be a fae. She wore an extremely well made and expensive looking dress... that appeared to have the sleeves, collar, hem, (and practically all areas that caused discomfort in a woman) torn or cut and resewn. It didn’t restrict her in any way. You would be lying if you said you didn’t envy her. You silently cursed yourself for not changing out of your ridiculous gown before making the journey into the village.

 It was only then that you remembered that you had come here to speak with a smith. You quickly glanced at the girl’s arms, noting them to be as weak and as elegant as a willow’s branch. Her fingers were small and lithe, like strands from a spider’s web. Her back and neck … unbent as if it were an icicle, not at all like the hunched over men you had seen working your keep’s smithy. 

 “My Majesty. I am having a great honor, now, to be receiving your person at my little homestead.” 

 You were taken aback by her broken speech, but her voice was absolutely beautiful... like the ringing of a bell. She got on her hands and her knees before you, a bit excessive, but you understood her intent. You began to question if you should reciprocate her absurd amount of formality.

 “Arise, my good hostess. A woman should never have to kneel in her own home.” You gave her a warm smile, and after a pause she rose to her feet but kept her head down.

 “Please have forgiveness for me, Highness. I am stupid to your traditions of the South.” 

 “You’ve done nothing wrong, sweet girl,” you were quick to reply. “I’ve come here as a friend. Please, don’t feel that you’ve insulted me.” The silver girl nodded understandingly, but her shoulders were still tense. You had never met this woman before in your life, but you desperately wanted to reach out and embrace her. To stroke her hair and whisper comforting words to her, like you would a frightened child during a storm.

 “I believe you know why I’ve come here,” you gently pressed. The woman nodded.

 “Yes, to discuss the business of this family. I am begging you, now, to possess a chair of mine.” You smiled at that. The way she spoke was adorable to you. You grabbed a seat and almost gasped as you sank into the cushion. It was just so comfortable. The girl moved to the chair opposite you as if she were gliding on a frozen pond, and nervously sat. A long unnerving silence blanketed the room until you were finally able to find your words. You deeply wanted to just get it all over with.

 “I would just like to tell you that I do wish I could support your claim to your father’s forge. In fact, I- I admire you. Ladies are often not as… bold as you are about your talent.” You spoke about her “boldness” with great hesitation. You have never seen a more meek person in your life, but she must have some bravery in her. If you had learned anything from being the wife of the King, it was that people are not often as they appear.

 The young woman tilted her head and furrowed her brow in confusion. You were afraid that she didn’t understand you and were prepared to repeat yourself in simpler terms, when you noticed her eyes widening. She flung her hand over her mouth to hide a gigantic smile as her shoulders bounced in an attempt to suppress giggles. While it was comforting to see your hostess joyful, you were the tiniest bit offended that her newfound laughter was directed at you. 

 “I am sorry. I am sorry, Queen. Do you… Do you believe that I am the smith?” Her eyes were playful and innocent. A wave of embarrassment flooded over you as all the color was drained from your face. Of course she wasn’t a smith. Any idiot could see that. Just lifting a hammer would exhaust her. The girl gestured to herself. “I am the wife.”

 That sentence caught you by surprise and you looked up at her. Then you remembered that Slibhin had bragged about marrying the daughter of a Laird. She did carry herself like a noble, but… the way she spoke showed that she was certainly not a native of Scotland.

 “Of course. Forgive me, but your accent…” you tentatively asked. The girl nodded.

 “My mother was Norse. She raised me in the old language, being very prideful of her people and of her land.” Your eyes followed her right hand as it played with her left wrist. It was adorned with a pale silver bracelet. Obviously, it had a connection to her mother. “Yrsa,” you heard her whisper to herself, sadly. She took a moment before seemingly returning to the present. The girl continued. “She was for my Scottish father, a reward. A chained bride from conquest. His only desire was to breed savage boys with cold blood. And she did give to him two sons who were strong and brave and warlike... however  he was plainly not content with my birth.” She kept looking at the bracelet, speaking as if you weren’t there. “It was his demand for her to swaddle me by the sea and have the waves take me… he sent my brothers along to witness my death, and to force my mother if she were unable to do it… but she did not do it… and my brothers did not force her. She hid me and when I was able, I played the role of a servant-girl. My brothers aided my farce.” She gave a weak smile. “I will now have been dead by his own hand if he had known of my living. By the time he was made aware of me, I was too old to kill quietly and I proved useful for marriages... in exchange for weapons and armour.” 

 She looked directly at you. Both pride and pain shined in her eyes.

 “I am Sigrdrífa, my Queen. The fruit of a mother’s defiance and two boys’ mercy.”

 At first, you didn’t know what to say. It was good that you finally knew her name, but you were at a loss for words. You only wanted to hear more of her story. Who was her mother? Was she still alive? Did she know that her husband was lying three feet from the door, knocked silly?

 “Sigrdrífa... are you-”

 Just then, outside, you heard a loud thump followed by a comical wail of pain. Slibhin must have been struck by something.

 “This is the smith, my Grace.” Sigrdrífa muttered, almost amusedly. You were suddenly filled with an excited nervousness. This is why you were here after all. To talk with the smith. If she was anything like this little Sigrdrífa, this would be more interesting than you imagined it to be this morning, and you were imagining quite a bit. At least you would have an easier time understanding her.

 The door was busted open with a kick.

 “Oi, te’ foockin’ cunt’s still bleedin’ by te’ nose! Ah dun’t even use me good han’! Ah shoulda done tha’ years ‘go! ”

 She was massive. Her body nearly filled the door frame, blocking out all the light. Her broad shoulders and arms that were left exposed by her leather jerkin were wonderful advertisements for her trade. Her head was shaved, and you couldn’t tell if the brown that sat on her head was stubble, or layers of ash and dirt that seemed ingrained in other parts of her skin. You suspected it was both. She had no indication of a womanly figure. Her clothes were clearly meant for a grown man, and they fit her perfectly. In one fist, she held the necks of several ducks.

 She opened her mouth to speak again and froze. Her eyes were the color of newly unearthed ore with clumps of dirt still clinging to it, begging it to return to the ground. Rough and unrefined, but strong. You felt that her gaze alone was strong enough to knock you down, and it was fixed on you. 

 You smiled and stood, intending to walk towards her, curious, and only the slightest bit intimidated. That all changed when her once toothy smile was swallowed by her tightening lips. Her nose crinkled and you saw her jaw tighten. You swore you could hear her teeth grinding. She took her tree-trunk of a leg and kicked the door closed. You stopped before you could even take one step. 

 You suddenly felt yourself suffocating. Not like you were in the morning, with boredom and stillness, but you couldn’t find your air out of fear for the giant before you. You felt like a caged animal, not a dangerous animal that could fight back, you were something small like a hare or a field mouse. There was just no way you could do anything physical to her. The smith tilted her chin up to as if to speak over  you. The veins in her neck were bulging, but she still stared at you.

 “Te’ son ofa whore wun’t bluffin’. ‘E got te’ bleedin’ Queen… Ya let ‘er in?” Her voice was surprisingly soft. There wasn’t much anger in it, more like she had been slapped in the face… by someone who could actually reach. You looked back at the meek little girl you had just met. She stood up straight with her eyes locked on the smith, not showing one bit of fear. If anything, she seemed annoyed.

 “She is here to be settling your business.” Sigrdrífa spoke slowly, as if explaining to a child. Patronizing. The big woman sneered and stared you down.

 “She dun’t look li’e she’s ready to settle anythin’ wit me.” Your eyes moved to her free hand, where she used her thumb to crack each of her knuckles. Loudly. You gasped when you felt Sigrdrífa’s tiny hand grab your arm. She spoke to you.

 “I give you apologies, my Queen. She speaks harshly for she fears losing her-”

 “Ah’m naw ‘fraid. Notin’ ta be ‘fraid of. Et’s naw gonnae ‘appen.” The large woman continued to stare at you and raised her eyebrows, as if daring you to challenge what she had just stated. You heard forceful, purposeful footsteps come from behind you. You watched as your tiny protector marched up and met toe-to-toe with the mountain at the door.

 “You are behaving as a boar does.”

 “Ye’ eva jump inta a boar’s den? Tear ye’ foockin’ guts out, they will. Rightf’lly so.”

 “You will lose your neck for speaking so.”

 “They’re welcome te’ try ‘n take et.” She still looked directly at you, never breaking eye contact. A ghost of a smile played with the corners of her mouth. She was cocky. She knew that she could do whatever she damn well pleased to you. This was her den, and you had just stumbled blindly into it.

 “Yer naw takin’ me forge. Et’s mine.” The smith just would not stop staring at you.  Sigrdrífa pushed against the smith’s chest. Her porcelain skin seemingly red with anger. 

 “She has been sent here to keep the peace.”

 “She’s been sent ‘ere ‘cos they don’ t’ink ah’d lay a hand on te’ Queen... Bu’ ah can, an’ ah will.” You felt faint. Your head swam in a freezing kind of heat. You wanted Drew here. You wanted him to barge through that door and rescue you. But you knew he wouldn’t. He only escorted you to keep up appearances as King. He let you walk into this house alone. He must have seen the gigantic girl walk in and kick the door shut behind her. He trusted you to settle things here. He wasn’t coming. If you screamed his name, the smith would still get to you first. It was up to you to save yourself, and you were too terrified of the scene before you to conjure anything that could remotely resemble a rational thought. 

 The smith saw this, and was loving every second of your horror and fear. She opened her mouth to say something else when the woman in front of her began to sob. For the first time since she saw you, the giant took her eyes off of you and looked down at Sigrdrífa, her face now immense with concern. She dropped the ducks in her hand and shot her arms up to hold the trembling woman. Sigrdrífa swatted her hands away and punched at her vest.

 “You are not made of metal! You think that you are, but you are not!” The smith went to hold her again, but again she beat away her hands and continued to wail on the giant’s chest. “You will fight the whole of the King’s army? Yes? You will fight every soldier of this Scotland? You will kill every soldier of this Scotland? You will fight the King? You will kill the King?” The smith took in a breath to respond, but was cut off. “You will be KILLED! You will be dead, and I will wish to be dead!” 

 Sigrdrífa’s strength seemed to fall away instantly. Her hands stopped their pounding and fell to her side. She fell forward, directly into the chest of the monster, who immediately wrapped her arms around her, giving her the support that her wobbling legs failed to provide. Sigrdrífa’s shoulders heaved as she wept, and the giant just... held her. You couldn’t believe the scene that was unfolding before you. You didn’t know what to think. Sigrdrífa spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper. You strained to hear. 

 “You are selfish. You are selfish to try and fight the world. When you are dead, I will have lost all of me. When you are dead, there will be nothing to stop him-”

 “No.” The smith spoke with a stern and clear voice. “‘E won’t touch ye again. Even if ah lose ev’rythin’ else, ‘e will never touch ye again. Ah promise, little one.” 

 Little one.

 Your heart skipped a beat.

 You immediately looked up at the big woman. Her eyes were fixed firmly on Sigrdrífa in a state that you instantly recognized. Her eyes were focused, but so soft. Her mouth ever so slightly curled in a contemplative smile, despite the dire circumstances. Her head was tilted to the side. Her breath was slow and even. She looked at Sigrdrífa the same way Drew often looked at you. Just after you caught him staring, and just before he averted his eyes, pretending he didn’t even see you. It was a look of utter adoration. Pure love. 

 Your eyes darted down to Sigrdrífa. Her posture was different than it was a few moments ago. Though she was still distraught, she sought refuge in the person she had just been fighting, as if she had nowhere else to go. She nuzzled her head into the smith’s chest, as if she was trying to disappear into it. 

 Everything clicked into place. Your heart sank. Sigrdrífa was married to Slibhin, the smith’s brother. A brother that she clearly had no affection for... and a man that clearly had no respect for his wife or his sister. They had found refuge in one another. The smith was unapologetic about her brutish nature in front of the dainty girl, and she in turn felt safe to scold this monstrosity of a human without any fear or hesitation. You quickly looked around the room again to recognize the oddity of it all. The unorthodox nature of it. They had taken useless, idle things that Slibhin had most likely purchased using the money that his sister made, and had used them to serve their own comfort, something that Sigrdrífa desperately needed. These two had made a home together. 

 And you were about to take it all away. You couldn’t do that to them. Even if one of them had just threatened your life. You understood why she did so. Drew would have done the very same thing if someone had threatened to hurt you. Actually, he wouldn’t even utter a word of a threat. He would just kill them then and there. You gasped and held your heart. If Drew knew that this girl had threatened you, she would be killed. You had to do something.

 “I support your claim to your forge.” You felt your throat resonate with sound even though you didn’t even feel your lips move. You didn’t feel yourself rise to your feet and take several steps toward the pair, but that’s exactly what you did. Though the smith’s attention was still on Sigrdrífa, you saw her eyes rise up to meet yours. They were red and threatening tears. Somehow, this gave you confidence.  You had to take advantage of it.

 “Also... no one sent me here. I demanded to come here and settle this matter myself.” The smith stood to her full height once again, but still held the girl. Sigrdrífa turned around in her embrace, wiping her eyes in shame of her outburst. Both of them, waiting for what you were going to say. For the first time since entering the house, you felt like the Queen.

 “I may be willing to forgive you for your childish threats if you sit down and let me speak.” Your back straightened and you lifted your chin. In a way, you were trying to emulate Drew when he spoke to his undisciplined recruits. Sigrdrífa gently pushed the smith’s arms away from her, as if they weighed nothing, bent over and gathered the ducks off of the floor, holding them in her arms like a newborn. She took small, slow steps towards you.

 “My Queen, may I ask you to pardon me? I must be preparing these for supper.” Her voice quaked. She was completely embarrassed. You felt pity for her. She was most likely the most gentle woman you have ever met, and she was thrown into the middle of all... this.

 You nodded and gave a ghost of a smile. She bowed her head and retreated to the fireplace. She sat in a rocking chair and began plucking the feathers from the ducks. The chair and fireplace were extremely close to the table. She was well within earshot and could easily talk business with you, but you understood that she just wanted to disappear. You at least could give her that courtesy. 

 You looked back at the smith at the door. She was walking toward you, but stopped in her tracks.

 “Ah was just gonnae sit down. Ah wun’t gonnae do nothin’ else.” She put her hand up, as if swearing an oath. You had to suppress a smile, keeping your regal composition. Even though you were touched at the big woman’s devotion to the smaller one, and even though you desperately wanted them to live happily with one another, free from the little monster that plagued them both, you still were the Queen, and you had been not only insulted, but threatened by your subject. It was your turn to be intimidating, even if your target was just a stubborn, rough, protective giant. Just like Drew.

 “Sit down.” She almost lunged to the seat opposite you. The ground shook with her every step. Even when she was seated, she towered over you. Frankly, you still had trouble believing that she was really that big. You took your own seat. She folded her hands together and hunched forward, clearly trying to show that she was listening. However, in doing so, she took up most of the table. To answer this, you leaned forward yourself and watched in glee as she retreated into the back of her chair. This time, you did smile. Proudly.

 “Tell me why you should keep your forge.” 

 “Ye said ye s’pport me claim.” The big woman was tensing up again. She knew she was being toyed with, but she could do nothing about it. 

 “I do, but I only support your claim because I don’t want to support your brother’s.”

 The smith smiled at that. A broad, toothy smile like the one she wore when she first entered the house. Her teeth were square, and she had a small gap between the front most two. Just like Drew. She was delighted that someone hated her brother. She looked into your eyes, hoping that you would return her smile, and lighten the mood somewhat. You didn’t return anything. Defeated, the smith cleared her throat and spoke.

 “Ah’m te’ furst born. Ah’m from me da’s furst wife. ‘E said I’d ‘ave te’ forge when ‘e died… ‘E died. ”

 “When did your father die?” You tried to formulate some sort of timeline. You didn’t know what for. You knew you shouldn’t get involved too much in their family affairs, but curiosity got the better of you.  The large woman hitched her thumb back at Sigrdrífa..

 “Same day Slibhin brought ‘er ‘ere. Died in ‘is sleep,” she huffed and rolled her eyes, clearly insinuating that that was not, in fact, the way her father truly died. But surely there was no way to prove any foul play. When a dying old man finally passes, nobody really questions why, or how. You got your thoughts together. So Slibhin brought back his wife and then his father ‘died in his sleep,’ meaning that she never truly had power over the forge. It had just passed from her father to her brother. But something wasn’t lining up.

 “Then… when did you... take control of the smithy? I mean, why is your brother begging for help now?

 “Te, King an’ soldiers wen’ off te’ war. Nob’dy te’ enforce it.” She looked at you like you were stupid. You weren’t sure if she realized what her facial expression was offensive or not, but you didn’t like it. Your cheeks grew hot at that insult, but you didn’t pursue it and further.

 “So you’ve been in the head of the house for about… one month?”

 She nodded her head. You opened your mouth to ask another question about the previous whereabouts of her now unconscious brother, but the smith cut you off, already knowing.

 “E’s been livin’ in a whorehouse fer te’ past month. Anythin’ else? Can ah keep goin’?” Her patience was wearing thin, and even though she didn’t intend to scare you, you felt fear creep back up into your chest. But before you were able to even inhale to steady yourself, you heard the faintest sound of someone clearing their throat. You looked back up at the giant woman, who looked confused in turn. You saw her turn in her chair to meet Sigrdrífa’s gaze. 

 The smaller woman didn’t say a word, just narrowed her eyes, pursed her lips, scrunched her nose and gave the smith a curt nod. The universal way a wife signaled to her husband that he was being inappropriate. The smith’s head lowered and she let out a big sigh, causing her shoulders to loosen and drop. Her hand went to rub the back of her neck in embarrassment as she slowly turned back to you, not daring to make eye contact.

 “Ah’m sorry, my Queen,” was all she said. You immediately stopped yourself from forgiving her… and calling her ‘Drew.’ In that moment, you saw your husband in that smithing girl. Utterly and completely. That was the way Drew always apologized to you. From the body language to the facial expression down to the cadence of her words; it was an exact match.

 “Continue,” was all you said. The smith nodded and did just that.

 “Ah’m te’ one tha’ smiths. Ah’m te’ one tha’ earns te’ gold. Me brothe’ dunt kno’ an’thin’ ‘bout makin’ deals wit’ nob’dy. ‘E’s a cunt. Nob’dy want’s te’ work wit’ ‘em. Townsfolk don’ li’e me much, buh… ah’m sure tha’ ah’ve dun be’er than ‘im.. makin’ deals, ah mean...”

 You genuinely nodded along with each point that the smith made… well, the ones you were able to understand. With every breath she took, you wanted more and more to give her the rights to her forge, and it pained you knowing that you couldn’t do so. Even though you didn’t like the girl, you knew that she cared about what was hers, and she was willing to fight for it. Just like Drew.

 “-Wit’out ‘im, ah’ve made more gold ‘n ah’ve eve-”

 “What’s your name?”

 That caused the smith to freeze, mid sentence. She looked at you as if you’ve just grown three heads. You didn’t think what you had asked was difficult… Perhaps she didn’t understand the question? The woman opposite you rubbed her knuckles across the palm of her other hand and bit her cheek.

 “Brynhildr... Ye’ Grace.” 

 “Brynhildr…” you repeated. The guttural pronunciation forced the name to get caught in your throat, causing you to cough a bit. You composed yourself and smiled politely. “That’s an interesting name.”

 “Et’s a’ ugly name,” she corrected you, looking almost apologetic. “If et’s easier, ye’ can call me ‘Breun.’ Most evr’yone else does.”

 Breun, you knew that word. It was Gaelic for something. You took it upon yourself to learn the language, but your teacher became very… excited in hearing you speak the ancient tongue and often cut lessons short to… reward you for being so studious. You had heard the word before. You just couldn’t remember what it was.

 The smith read your mind. “Et means ‘filthy… stinkin’... beastly...  t’ings li’e tha’...” she rolled her eyes and smiled sadly as she told you. Her voice was much softer than when she first walked in, as if she were trying not to upset you. Her eyes were somehow less harsh-looking than before, but just as strong. You felt like they could hold you up and support you, reliably, just by virtue of them looking at you. You stammered for something to say. Something that would give her comfort. 

 “Why- why would they call you that?” Stupid question. Anyone could see that breun was a perfect description of her, and she knew that perfectly well. She gave you a small smile and turned her hands over on the table, palms up, presenting herself as evidence. You quickly shook your head, trying to spare her feelings. “I will not call you that. That’s cruel.” She shook her head.

 “Et’s true. Well... et wa’ true a month ‘go. Now ah git scrubbed bloody e’ry foockin’ sundown.” The smith tilted her head back when saying that, clearly not talking to you.

 “It would not be necessary if  you did not insist on ending every day by wearing a coat of ash,” a soft voice chimed in. You leaned to the side to look at Sigrdrífa, who had not taken her eyes off of her work, but was sporting a shining smile and a deep blush on her cheeks. You chuckled as you imagined the scene of this colossus sitting in a tub too small for her, with a sour expression on her face as the tiny, dainty, soft spoken girl scrubbed her back with a horse brush and reprimanded her for being too dirty… while blacksmithing.

 “Tha’s naw all et means.” Your attention returned to the smith’s face. “Breun also means bold, loud, an’ unladylike.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Dun’t soun’ too ‘orrible te me.” Her eyes sparkled with pride. “Ah won’ be ‘ffended ef ye call me ‘Breun’, Ye’ Grace.” She offered you a smile once more, and this time you returned it sincerely. It must be a family trait, smiling. Her brother Slibhin, you remembered, often sported a smile when speaking to others, but his was snide and arrogant while her’s was humble and giving. 

 “Breun, it is,” you conceded with a nod. “It actually is a fairly handsome name, in my opinion.”

 Breun’s chest swelled as she took a deep breath, trying not to shed a tear. It dawned on you that you may have been the first person to say something truly kind to her. Well, one of the first people at least. She leaned forward to say something, but froze as she just began to open her mouth. A flush of confusion and a tiny bit of fear washed over you.

 You started to speak. “Excuse-”

 “SHHH” Breun scrunched her face up and held a finger uncomfortably close to your mouth. Your heart began to race once more. Sigrdrífa stood up and moved to stand by Breun, putting her hand on her shoulder. The smith seemed completely statuesque. The only part of her that moved was… her ears. They seemed to twitch. You closed your eyes and tried to focus your hearing. 

 At first, you could hear nothing, just stillness. Then, the lightest, faintest dinging sound. It was constant and even, purposeful. Like a musician beating a drum. It was clearly coming from the outside. Drew would be able to see what was happening.

 Breun slammed her hand on the table and pushed herself up, leaving cracks and splinters where her palm hit. She almost sprinted over to the door and flung it open, shouting incoherent curses. You looked over to Sigrdrífa for answers. She just closed her eyes and shook her head.

 “What man would be foolish enough?” What was she talking about? What was foolish and who was doing it?

 “Ah don’ gev a SHITE if yer te’ Fookin’ King o’ Scotlan’! Tha’s MY fookin’ ‘ammer!”

 Oh no.

By the time you were able to hike up your ridiculous dress and run outside, Breun had already tackled your husband to the ground and was in the process of wrestling a hammer out of his hands. Both yours and Drew’s faces were full of surprise and confusion. No one had done this to him before. Many have attempted. Mostly it was just  soldiers who wanted to earn the respect of their King, but they had fallen from him like raindrops against a stone wall.

 At the realization that he had a real challenge before him, Drew’s face quickly turned from shock to savagery. Your husband pushed Breun back and kicked her in the chest, nearly launching her ten feet across the dry, dusty ground straight into the side of an anvil. The girl let out a loud grunt and doubled over. Drew then got back to his feet and looked at you.

 “I thought you said that you could resolve this matter quietly!” The King was about to yell some more when he was knocked into the dirt again. Breun had already gotten back up and charged him, this time focusing on his right shoulder, the arm of which was holding her hammer. Surely enough, he dropped it, and like an attacking hound that had just been called back to her master, she pushed herself off of Drew, grabbed her tool from the dust, and pointed it at him.

 “Right... now fuck off.” 

 That was the clearest you had ever heard her speak. Probably because that was the calmest she had ever looked, satisfied with her performance. Drew, on the other hand, was furious. Even though he had sustained injuries that would render a normal man bedridden for weeks, the mere fact that he had been knocked over was enough to make his blood boil. As Breun stepped over your husband to put her hammer away, he grabbed her ankle and tripped her. She fell flat on her chest, causing the ground to shake and a cloud of dust to explode around her.

 Breun scrambled back to her feet and threw the hammer on a nearby workbench. Drew got up as well, slower than he should have. You called out to him, but he couldn’t hear you. The two stared at one another, and though you couldn’t tell who initiated it, the two locked up as if they were two bulls. You noticed that Breun was about one head shorter than your husband. Drew started pushing forward, causing the stubborn smith’s feet to skid backwards in the dust until her back hit the stone wall of her house. Her eyes went wide as she realized that she couldn’t best your husband in strength. Drew wore a smirk on his face. He knew he had won. The King raised his eyebrows, taunting his opponent. Breun’s face became flushed with fury and embarrassment. 

 You didn’t know if it was out of defiance or desperation, but you watched on in horror as Breun cleared her throat and spat in Drew’s face. You heard gasps behind you. You spun around to see that a gigantic crowd had formed to see their King. Maybe it wasn’t a terrific idea to not have any guards accompany you and your husband to the town. Just then, you saw a woman cover her mouth to silence a scream. You turned back around to see Drew with his arm raised and the hammer in his fist. You bolted forward, trying to intervene, when you saw a flash of silver. The next thing you saw was Sigrdrífa hanging about Drew’s neck, trying to stop his movement somehow, but only having the same effect as a silk scarf would. 

 Although the girl was light, her screams and pleas alerted Drew to her presence. Annoyed, more than anything, he dropped the hammer, shook Sigrdrífa off, and forced Breun to her knees before giving her a swift knee in the gut for good measure. He then marched over to you, wiping off his face.

 “I’m sending the soldiers to settle this mess. They’ll humble that little bitch and we’ll be done with the matter. She had her chance to submit peacefully and she wasted it.” Drew looked at you, waiting for your response. You couldn’t think of anything, except...

 “Why did you take her hammer?”

 That stopped your husband in his tracks. He twisted his face in confusion, and then shook his head. “I figured I could make a full set of armour for every man in Scotland before you finished talking in there.” His answer was mean-spirited and sarcastic. You knew that he was feeling aggressive and embarrassed at the moment, but it still hurt you that he would speak to you like that. You took a step back from him. Drew sighed and rubbed a hand down across his face. 

 “Let’s go.” Drew grabbed your arm, being purposefully gentle, and screamed for the crowd to disperse once more as he led you over to your horses. He untied your mare and lifted you onto her saddle. You saw him grimace in pain at performing the action, but decided that you could say nothing. You had failed. The forge would fall back into the hands of Slibhin (who was still unconscious at his own doorstep) and the two girls you had just met would go back to their miserable lives that they fought so hard to escape. You went to wipe a tear that was forming in your eye when you saw Drew looking at you. He gave you a small smile in an attempt to comfort you, but you turned your head from him. For the first time since your wedding day, you didn’t want to look at your husband. Drew just sighed and started untying his own horse from the wooden beam, only to be stopped by a small hand grasping the hem of his bearskin cape.

 “My Majesty. I beg you to have forgiveness.” Drew turned around and looked down to where the small voice was coming from. Sigrdrífa looked into his eyes and grabbed his hand with both of hers. “The smith... she thinks with her strength, and not her head. She fights before she knows what else to do.” Drew’s eyes softened just a tiny bit. He looked back at Breun, who was staring down at her feet. She nodded in agreement. Sigrdrífa spoke again. 

 “Your rage for her is within me countless times over. I begged her to be quiet... to be calm... and yet she could not do that. But, you cannot ask the waves of the sea not to crash. It is willed to happen by nature. She has no choice. She did not mean to disrespect her King.”

 Drew took a deep breath and rubbed his neck with his free hand. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. This fragile little thing... speaking to the King of Scotland with such grace and calmness after everything that had just happened. And he seemed to be receptive to it all, as well. You couldn’t help but be the tiniest bit jealous of how... regally she was handling everything. The people around you all seemed to be holding their breath, waiting for him to say something, anything. But before he could, Sigrdrífa let go of Drew and reached up to a rip in his shirt that must have been made during the wrestling match a few moments ago and opened it up with her fingers, revealing a deep purple, almost black bruise that was trickling with blood. In a small voice, you heard her almost whisper.

 “She did not mean to hurt you.”

 In an instant, Drew’s eyes were filled with fury once again. Though she didn’t know it, Sigrdrífa had just insulted the King in the worst way imaginable. She suggested that he was hurt. Your husband refused to ever acknowledge pain around other people, especially those who hurt him. No one had ever heard him even grunt in pain when soldiers sparred with him and landed what would be a devastating hit for any other man. Even you didn’t feel comfortable enough yet to ask to clean his wounds when he came back from battle. He did so himself when he believed you to be asleep. When he bedded you during those times, he would behave much more aggressively, often causing you some pain without realizing he did so. It was an attempt to show you that he was just as much of a man as ever, even when in dire need of rest and healing. 

 It was the worst possible thing the girl could have said to Drew.

 He slapped Sigrdrífa’s hand away... hard. You could hear a multitude of gasps join your own as you tried to process what you had just seen. Sigrdrífa didn’t make a sound. She didn’t even seem to flinch. You figured that she must be used to suffering that sort of pain in silence. Breun was ready to lunge at your husband when Sigrdrífa yelled something in her language, and that prevented the smith from taking a single step. You couldn’t help but marvel at the control the tiny girl had over the beast. Drew hesitated for a moment, clearly regretting what he had done, but knowing that if he were to do anything to apologize, he would appear to be weak. Drew looked at Breun.

 “This time tomorrow, members of the royal guard will have come by to inspect the forge. If they find that you are still defiant in obeying your brother, they will do all that is necessary to restore order.” Drew pushed the girl away, and she fell into the dust. Breun ran to her and wrapped her arms around her, almost completely shielding her from the world. Not even paying any mind to Drew. “Does anyone else have any objections?” the King roared. Everyone in the crowd looked at their feet. No one in their right mind would even look into the King’s eyes after everything that had just occurred. Though, you did notice when you scanned your eyes across the masses, that many of the people looked somber. You remembered the smith mentioning in passing that the townsfolk preferred dealing with her over her brother. Through your husband’s decree, not only was Breun losing something, but the village was as well. But you doubted that anyone was going to bring that to his attention.

 Drew untied his horse and put his foot in the stirrup. His steed jumped, as if he didn’t recognize his master. Drew grabbed the reins and jerked the animal’s head to keep it obedient. You couldn’t quite tell why, but a wave of terror spread over you. 

 Watching your husband climb laboriously into his saddle was almost torturous. You saw him bite the inside of his cheek and hold back grunts of pain as he hoisted himself up. When he sat straight, his gaze fixed itself upon you. For a moment you considered turning your head away from Drew, but found it impossible. Be it out of pity, fear, or a mix of both, you were unable to look away from your husband as he stared at you, accusatory.

 “You shouldn’t have gotten their hopes up.”

 You inhaled sharply, intending to speak in your defense, but after a second, you just bowed your head in defeat. You didn’t want to fight. You didn’t have the strength to say a single word of disagreement. “Yes, my King,” was all you could say.

 Drew nodded and moved his horse forward. You followed suit. The sun had just reached its noontime peak. Lunch would do your husband some good, you decided. You were unsure if you would be able to eat anything. Your stomach felt knotted and tight. At least it was all over now.

 “Ye cheated.”

 Drew’s shoulders tensed. He cracked his neck and turned his horse around, as did you. There, a few yards away, holding the frail silver woman was that stubborn smith who just didn’t know when to quit. 

 “Say that again.” Drew’s teeth were clenched. Tight.

 Breun grunted as she rose, holding the silver girl like a bride. She set Sigrdrífa on her feet, and duster her off, subtly tucking a stray hair behind her ear in the process. You heard a quiet “thank you” from the girl. Breun then smiled and gently pushed her off to the side, to relative safety.

 “Ye cheated. Ye were gonnae bash me ‘ead in wit me ‘ammer.”

 “You spat in your King’s face.”

 “Yer naw te’ King when ye fight!” Breun sounded appalled. “A fist cannae tell te’ diff’rence ‘tween comm’ners ‘n nobil’ty. Yer jus’ a man when ye fight... An’ ye cheated.” 

 Of all the things to be concerned with at the moment, you couldn’t believe that the smith was attempting to rationalize and delegitimize her loss to Drew. You didn’t believe that Breun had much wits about her, and clearly it had hurt her pride, but standing back up after she had been humbled and challenging him again wasn’t just stupid, it was suicide. You looked to Drew, but surprisingly, his face was stoic and unreadable. 

 “‘You’re just a man when you fight,’” Drew spoke very slowly, as if contemplating each word’s meaning. There was something in his voice that unnerved you. It seemed... cunning and dripping with malicious intent, like Slibhin had sounded when he was petitioning for some soldiers. Leaning forward in his saddle, the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly and he raised his eyebrows.

 “Is that how you feel when you fight? Like a man?” Drew let out a small chuckle. The crowd around him burst with loud, deep laughter that shook the air itself. The smith had told you that the townsfolk didn’t like her, but you didn’t expect this level of animosity. Breun herself didn’t move a muscle. Whether she was petrified by the comment or it had passed her by, unimpactful, you couldn’t tell. She seemed to be waiting for the laughter to die down so she could speak. She seemed very unamused. 

 When the thunderous laughter fell into a dull roar of mocking quips and insults from the crowd, Breun walked toward her forge and picked up the blade of an axe that hadn’t been fitted to a handle yet. The crowd went dead silent. You even saw a few men break out into a sprint away from the scene. That would have made you smile and maybe giggle, but you were too preoccupied with all the stupid things that Breun might do with that blade. However, she just looked it over.

 “T’is wha’ ye’ were werkin’ on?” She didn’t take her eyes off the axe-head, purposefully avoiding looking at Drew, as if to insult him. The King’s grip on his reins tightened and he gave a curt nod.

 “Aye.”

 “Aye? Et’s’ done.”

 “It’s hideous.” You couldn’t disagree with your husband there. The blade was a dark grey color, not at all like the glimmering pieces that your husband would present to you. It seemed warped and strange, like it was rotting. In short, it was hideous. It didn’t even look sharp. But Breun just sighed and shook her head, as if she was humor in the matter. 

 She rolled her shoulders back, and took a deep breath, closing her eyes. Sigrdrífa took a small step back and covered her ears. You wondered what was going to happen when you saw Breun open her eyes and let out a monsterous yell. As she did so, she swung her arm around and smashed the blade into the corner of her house. Sparks flew and you heard the most ear-piercing, shrill shriek that you ever thought possible as the stone was hit. Your horse bucked, and it took everything in you to not fall to the dirt. You shushed and calmed her as you stroke her side. You looked to Drew, but his unfriendly gaze was still fixed on the smith. You doubted that he even noticed that you nearly fell from your horse.

 Breun looked at your husband and smiled. The then let her fingers uncurl themselves from the blunt side of the blade and dropped her hand to her side, leaving the axe embedded in the stone. She raised her chin and called out.

 “Calhoun!” 

 You heard an elderly man’s voice ring out through the crowd. “Aye!”

 “Ye’ got any logs stronger ‘n stone?”

 “Nae!”

 “T’is’ll do fine then! Et’s gonnae be ready t’morrow!” Breun then promptly ripped the blade out of the stone and tossed it back onto the side of the forge, never breaking eye contact with the King. She smiled. 

 “Ah’m better ‘n a man. Ah’m a better smith ‘n tha’ fookin’ King.”

 You lowered your head. You truly felt pity for Breun. This was all she could do. Trying to show her strength as a last ditch effort to save something that she had already lost. Like a bear cub would roar in an attempt to terrify the hunter who had already stuck it with a spear. She had nothing left, all that she could do was put on her little show and try not to make a fool of herself any further.

 “No you’re not.”

 Your neck nearly snapped itself as you whipped your head to look at your husband. Being this close to him, you were able to see the features of his face that you couldn’t before. The corners of his eyes were red from lack of sleep. Directly under his nose was a fair amount of blood that had dried and clung itself to his dark facial hair, effectively hiding it from view. His chest was moving, as if just breathing was a great challenge for him. He clearly wasn’t in his right mind, or else he would have dismissed the insult as a fruitless attempt to provoke him. 

 But she was getting to him, and she knew it. Breun’s eyes lit up when Drew took the bait. She walked over to the wall where her tools hung and grabbed two identical hammers. Your eyes widened. She was going to challenge him. For the rights to her forge. Either she knew that something was wrong with your husband or she felt confident that she could out-smith the King. You looked to where Sigrdrífa was standing in the doorframe of her house. Her eyes were closed and her head was turned to the ground, she knew what was happening, but didn’t seem optimistic about it. 

 “Prove et.” Breun stood in the dirt road a few yards away from you, her arm outstretched with a hammer, the handle pointed at Drew. “Prove tha’ yer a better smith ‘n me.”

 This couldn’t go on any further.

 “Stop!” you heard yourself shout from atop your horse. All heads, including the one of your husband, turned to you. You swallowed hard. You despised yourself for what you were going to say… but it had to be said. “The King and I have both indulged in your childish games for long enough! You work at your brother’s forge, under his authority. Whatever chance you believed you had at persuading myself to pity you has been killed by your idiocy and your lack of respect for your King. It is over, smith. You’ve lost.” Breun still didn’t budge. Out of desperation, you added, “ Just today my husband has killed a man far more powerful than you believe you are. Trust me, I am protecting you. To protest any further would be suicide.”

 You raised your chin and gave a definitive nod. Turning to your husband, you saw the smile of satisfaction that you prayed he would have after you had spoken. You looked back at Breun, whose face was unreadable, though she no longer held out her arm. You dared not look at Sigrdrífa. You knew that what you had just said had broken that girl’s heart, betrayed her trust, and damned her to a husband that… you didn’t even want to think about it. You wish you had never learned her story. You wish that you never grew to care about the two women whose lives you were destroying. You wish that you had never seen the home they made together. You wish that you had just kept your mouth shut at Court, and ran to your bedroom to have Drew fuck you until you couldn’t see straight, leaving you in ignorant bliss.

 But you had made a choice, and now you were paying for it. The shame that you felt was masked by the inviting grin that you gave Drew, hoping that he would forget about all this and rush you both back to the keep. Just to be safe, you leaned toward him and whispered.

 “I would like to give you your apology for this mess… along with your welcoming, as soon as we arrive home.”

 A cruel giggle bubbled inside of you. It was extremely ironic. This was the very first time you spoke, or even acted provocatively toward Drew. The first time you initiated intimacy… and it was insincere. But Drew didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t mind. He gave one last look at Breun, who appeared to have taken a few steps toward you and your husband. He didn’t say a word, but simply nodded his head and pulled the reins of his horse, showing his back to the smith. You followed suit, not daring to look the woman in the eye as you turned, knowing that if you did, you would run back to her side and beg the King on her behalf, and the whole Hell you had just endured would start all over again. This was all your fault. Your need to interfere in these women’s lives was the cause of all this suffering. You knew you had to leave before you caused any more harm. You urged your horse forward.

 “Good on ye’, Yer Grace. Ah nev’r took ye’ fer a man tha’ listen’d te ‘is wife. Et’s a rare virtue.” 

 You did your best to keep moving forward. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Drew’s jaw tighten. He was angry, but at least he was still ignoring her. Everything could still work out.

 “Ye’ must love yer Queen. Well… ah least more ‘n yer first one.”

 All the blood drained from your face as your entire body went cold. You closed your eyes and let your head fall into your hands. You heard Drew rear his horse around to face the smith, but it sounded like there was a barrier between you and the rest of the world. As if you were in a bubble. As if you were drowning. 

 “You speak of my wife again, you’ll wish you were never born..”

 “Ah men’ no ‘ffence, Ye’ Grace. Ah jus’ tha’ well… y’know…”

 “WHAT!” Drew screeched, uncharacteristically.

 Even though your eyes were closed tight, the vision of the smith standing there and Drew’s enraged face was burned behind your eyes. You could still see what was happening, and you just knew that Breun was smiling. She thought she was playing your husband perfectly. Riling him up, making him question himself. She thought she knew what she was doing. She thought she was going to get him to fall for her trap, but there was no way she knew how close to terrible, horrific pain and suffering she was, even if she would be spared from death. That was probably for the best. No other man would ever face Drew if he knew what The King was capable of.

 “Et’s jus’ tha’... we,” Breun took a pause, most likely gesturing to the crowd around her, “found et… odd tha’ when sh’ died… ye’ wed ‘gain awful quick-”

 “WHAT ARE YOU SAYING!” Drew screamed. You almost lifted your head and attempted to calm him, but you found yourself unable to move.

 Breun’s voice dropped all of the mock friendliness that it held moments ago.

 “Riches’ woman en te’ world. Lives in te’ world’s bes’ castle. Owns te’ world’s bes’ furs. Et’s te’ world’s bes’ food... Dies of a... chill?” 

 Your hands gripped at your hair as you shook your head. You felt your heart beating faster than it ever had before. Your breaths became shorter and shorter. You felt like you had been poisoned.

 “We jus’ wonder wha’ kinda man ye’ are.” You heard the smith take another step toward him. “Wha’d she do? Got too loud? Too ‘pinionated? Not as pretty as she was when ye’ furst saw ‘er? Squirmed too much when ye’d try te’ force a son in ‘er?”

 You heard Drew hop off of his horse and land on his feet with a pain-filled grunt. You breathed in the dust he had just kicked up, making it harder for you to get any air into your already strained lungs.

 “I’ll show you what kind of man I a-” Drew stopped mid-sentence as you heard a whirring sound of something being thrown and the soft pat of him catching something. It had to be the spare hammer Breun had been holding. You wanted to look, but you were... paralyzed by some invisible force. You felt a cold sweat on your forehead and under-arms. You wanted someone to hold you. Drew. But at the same time, you wanted to run from him. You urged your arms to at least cover your ears so you wouldn’t have to listen, but you couldn’t even do that.

 “Tha’ ye’ will. Ye’ Grace. Tha’ ye’ will.”

 You could hear Breun pacing in the gravel, like an actor on a stage.

 “Now, ye’ can thrash me wit’ tha’ ‘ammer. Beat me ‘till ah’m bleedin’ tru’ me arse, if ye like. Ah’ll recover in a few days... But, if ye’ can win a smithin’ contest ‘gainst me? Ah’ll never wannae show me face ‘gain. Ah’d be broken. Me life’d mean not’in’. Smithin’s all ah am. ‘T’s all ah’ll ev’r be. If ye’ beat me... ye’d kill me.” You heard her footsteps grow louder as Breun took slow steps toward Drew. “And ah t’ink ye’ really wannae kill me.”

 A heavy, sharp silence rained down upon the crowd. You felt dizzy. It’s as if you were frozen solid, but constantly being urged to move, as if lightning strikes flowed through your veins. You closed your eyes tighter, hoping that someone would come and take you away from all this, but praying that no one even noticed you. 

 “We’ll both make pieces. Doesn’t matter what. Better smith wins.” You heard Drew growl. 

 “An’ te’ judge?”

 “The Queen.”

 You tried to react, but there was nothing else your body could do. Nothing else you could possibly feel.

 “Te’ fookin’ Queen? Naw.”

 “The Queen. No one else.”

 “Naw.” Breun seemed unbothered, her demeanor was of someone who was trying to figure out what to wear for the day. “She’d choose ye…” You could hear her stance shift. Her voice became gruff and accusatory.

 “Ah kno’ wha’ ‘appens t’ girls who defy thei’ belov’d ‘usbands.”

 Drew inhaled sharply. More murmurs rippled throughout the crowd. Through it all, you heard footsteps that were heading towards you at an alarmingly fast pace. You gasped as you felt a hand touch your thigh and, as if by some invisible force, you opened your eyes.

 Standing there, looking up at you, was a delirious and bloody Slibhin.

 “My Lady, what have you done?”

 And with that, the world went black around you.

Your fingertips twitched and your eyelids fluttered as you slowly began to regain consciousness. Underneath your fingers, you could feel soft, clean linens covering a mattress. On top of you, you felt the gentle weight of a blanket. You gently moved your head and felt the lenient, forgiving pillow cradle your neck. Your eyes fluttered open, and though your vision was blurred, you could tell instantly, that you were in your room. A contented sigh left you as you turned your head once more to look out of your balcony window, as you did every morning. 

 However, something was different about the sky. You squinted and tried to make sense of what you were seeing. Instead of it’s usual rosy, periwinkle coloring, this morning boasted a sky of bright amber and indigo. You turned over to ask your husband about this, when you found his side of the bed empty. There was not even an imprint left behind by his massive body, as there usually was on the embarrassingly common occasion that he woke before you.

 You made a confused face and sat up in your bed. When the blanket fell from your chest, you saw that you weren’t dressed in your nightgown. Instead you were wearing that damned dress. The tight, itchy, uncomfortable thing that now seemed stuck to your skin by your sweat. You rubbed your forehead and saw dried dirt flake from your skin. You gasped as everything came back to you. The petitioner, the smith, the fight, the shame. Everything. You began to cough uncontrollably as the dried dirt entered your lungs. 

 Enraged, and with tears in your eyes, you fell out of your bed and ran to your bedroom door. You were sure that the sound you made while kicking the door open would be heard clear across the sea. Servants and guards ran to you as you marched down the hallway, unyielding, as if you were made of metal. 

 “Your Majesty! Your Majesty please return to your bed!” you heard one woman yell. “We’ll draw you a bath and bring you some food, my Queen.” you heard another shout. The torches and tapestries all seemed to blur together as you rushed past them. By now, two guards had positioned themselves at the end of the hallway, waiting for you to meet them so they could stop you.

 “Saddle my horse!” your voice boomed throughout the keep. You came up to the two guards.

 “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but we can’t do that. The King gave us direct orders to-”

 “Where is the King? Where is my husband?” you asked with fire in your eyes. You were trying to hide the fact that you were panting, exhausted. A strand of hair fell into your eyes and you violently pushed it back.

 “The King is dealing with official business. He will be back shortly. Please let us escort you back to-”

 “Where is he? I must speak with him. Now.”

 “As I said, My Queen, the King is dealing with-”

 “Where.”

 There were no mirrors about, but you could tell from the look in the guards’ eyes, that you resembled a madwoman. You decided to use this to your advantage. 

 “His Royal Highness is not the only monarch here who knows what it is like to brutalize her enemies. Do not give me a reason to doubt you.” The two guards stood frozen. Now, you knew very well that you couldn’t defeat these two in combat, at least in your present condition, but they recognized your power, and recognized that antagonizing you, in your present condition, would be a very stupid thing to do.

 “His Majesty is dealing with the smith,” one guard whimpered. 

 “They have been… negotiating since yesterday and all of today,” said the other, meekly.

 A million different things rushed into your mind. First, the smith was still alive, at least for now, and had a chance of keeping her forge. That means that Drew must have accepted her challenge and the two had found another judge. Secondly, you had been unconscious for an entire day and a half, and your husband didn’t stay by your side. Thirdly, and arguably most importantly, you knew that you had to be at the scene. You didn’t care about how you looked. You didn’t care that you had disgraced yourself in front of your entire village. All you knew was that you were heavily involved in creating this mess, and you had to be very heavily involved in stopping it.

 “Saddle my horse.” you repeated, gravely. This time, you were greeted with nods and servants rushing about, trying to appease their Queen, or at the very least, avoid her wrath.

As the sun set, you rode fast and hard back to that damned smithy. As you approached, you saw that the entire village had gathered to watch this apparent contest. People had set up tents, and vendors weaved in and out of the crowd, trying to sell their wares. Children sat atop their father’s shoulders. Torches littered the streets, lighting up the town as if it were a festival. Even royal guards were mingling with the common folk. Your brow furrowed as this somehow enraged you.

 “Move!” you yelled, hoping to clear a path for yourself. However, your voice was so small compared to the cacophony that was the crowd, that you yourself could barely hear it. Luckily, if the villagers couldn’t hear the weak plea of an angered Queen, they would still run from a charging mare.

 You ignored the hundreds of eyes that followed you as you rode by, and finally came across the smith’s house. There, you saw everything. 

 First, your eyes went to your husband. Drew was shirtless, hammering away at an anvil. His face was almost unrecognizable as it was completely covered in ash and soot. His eyes were a deep red with irritation caused by the forge’s fumes. His hair had become undone and draped along his shoulders. His shoulders. You could see his muscles spasming with every movement. His body was shutting down, you could see it. And yet, these people cheered him on.

 Your eyes switched over to Breun, who stood beside Drew at another anvil. She had shed her leather jerkin and now only wore a shirt that she had obviously ripped the sleeves ripped off when she bought it. Curiously, the cambric clothing that she wore revealed that she did have a surprisingly female figure. Her breasts were large… well an average size if not a bit smaller than what was proportionate for her. Her waist was by no means slender, but did appear so due to her wide hips. And yet it seemed like there was no place on her body that was not insanely muscular. Not muscles like Drew had, where he took care in making sure he kept in shape for battle (and for you). You could tell she gained her strength from working. She didn’t meticulously sculpt her strength, but she had it all the same. In an odd way, it seemed completely reasonable for men and women alike to be both repulsed by and lust after her form. You knew that if she were able, she would shed the undershirt altogether. Her neck craned and was clearly cramped. She was clearly in pain as well. However, you noticed that her hammering was just a touch faster and harder than Drew’s.

 Suddenly, you saw Breun drop her hammer on the table, grab what appeared to be tongs, pick a small piece of metal and rush to the other side of the area. She dropped it into a barrel where a man made a tally mark onto parchment, before rushing back to her station and taking up the hammer once more. You blinked, and Drew copied her exactly. Then, another man made a tally mark on another piece of parchment.

 You looked around, as if searching for someone to explain to you what was happening. You called out for Drew, but he didn’t hear you. You shouted for a guard, but your voice drowned in the sea of shouts and cheers made by the townspeople. An old man came up to you and tried to sell you some small bird he insisted was pheasant. You shooed him away only to realize the pangs in your stomach. You knew that you hadn’t eaten since this morning, but it shouldn’t be this bad. You felt lightheaded and practically fell off your horse, somehow landing on your feet. The world spun around you as the blood pumped in your ears.

 “My Majesty?”

 That voice. That beautiful little ringing bell of a voice. You gave a sigh of relief and turned to face the sound. But when you turned and saw Sigrdrífa, you were not put at ease. In fact, the exact opposite happened. You saw her there, still as clean and healthy as she was when you left, but dressed in a new gown, one that looked more expensive and more uncomfortable than anything you cared to own. Her hair was fashioned in a gaudy kind of bun, stuck with pins and ribbons. She stood next to an ornate and ridiculously expensive looking canopied seat where her now cleaned off and re-dressed husband, Slibhin was reclined and sipping what appeared to be wine from a goblet (that was also ornate and ridiculously expensive looking.) Soldiers stood beside the two, obviously appearing to guard the two from any unruly peasants or troublemakers, but you knew they were put there by Slibhin to make sure his little wife stood by his side.

 Sigrdrífa took in another breath to speak to you once more when her husband gave an annoying “Ahh!” after finishing his drink and, without looking at her, practically threw the goblet into the silver girl’s hands. This caused her to stop in her tracks and look at the ground, obediently. Like she was a beaten dog. 

 In an instant, you had forgotten your hunger and weakness as you marched straight toward that gaudy throne. One guard looked at the other and nodded toward you. They both pointed their pikes toward you.

 “Careful, witch,” one guard warned.

 “Stay back now, we don’t want trouble,” tried the other.

 You looked at the two guards incredulously. They stared back at you, confused. Slibhin, without looking at you, rolled his eyes and tossed a bronze coin in your general direction. It fell into the dust a few feet away from you.

 “There, now get out of my sight… begging whore,” he spoke under his breath. Sigrdrífa’s eyes widened and she covered her mouth. Again, your anger made you forget your appearance and you practically growled through your clenched teeth.

 “Is that how you treat your Queen?”

 You had never seen someone’s eyes widen so quickly. Slibhin flopped from his chair and into the dirt, groveling and weeping. You saw Sigrdrífa smile ever so slightly at that. The two guards began to walk toward you with immense concern in their eyes.

 “My Queen, let us escort you back to-” You put your hand up to stop them and beckoned for Sigrdrífa to follow you. She went to you immediately, but the guards were not yet done. “Please, the King has ordered all of his guards to keep you-”

 “Fuck the King’s orders!” you screamed with impunity. “If my husband demands something of me, he will tell me to my face. You-” you pointed at Sigrdrífa again. “You’re coming with me.” You grabbed the girl’s hand and walked toward the front door of her house. You paused as she opened the door for you and you looked back at Drew. He had just finished another piece of… something, and he was running to drop it in his barrel, which made him run directly toward you. 

 His eyes were upright and you could have thought they were staring at you, but you knew deep down, that he was staring through you. It’s not that he didn’t recognize you. He didn’t know you. You had seen that look in his eyes before, when he was training in the yard. His intensity and focus always inspired the new recruits, but he always snapped out of it when he saw you. But this time it was different. You had seen him prepare for battles before, but right now… he was in battle. And he was terrifying. Donning only a kilt and boots, your King was fighting for his life.

 You came to when Sigrdrífa took your arm and attempted to lead you into her house. You ripped your arm away from her and looked back at Slibhin who was attempting to follow you in. “No.” was all you had to say before he fell down once more and crawled back to his guards and his ridiculous chair. You turned once more to Sigrdrífa and nodded curtly before walking into the house before her.

With your head turned down, you marched toward the table and chairs that you remembered from your first visit nearly two days ago. You needed something, some kind of base to hold you up. Some sort of comfort. You plopped down into what you remembered to be a blissful, makeshift pillow, and yowled in pain as your backside fell into flat, hard wood. Your body wanted to hop back up to a standing position, but your legs wouldn’t let you. You stayed seated on the most uncomfortable seat imaginable. 

 You opened your eyes wide and were greeted by a pristine, beautiful home that held you in like a prison. All of the… personality you saw two days ago was ripped away, crumpled up, and thrown into a far corner to be thrown out later. Replaced by sterile and beautiful… things. The only sign of life you could detect was a hint of embers burning beneath a simmering pot. You opened your mouth to comment on the change when you heard a little grunt and the closing of the front door. Sigrdrífa turned to you and curtsied. 

 “Hello again, my Queen. Are you well?” She smiled. Like a little doll, she was. Her back straight, her hands holding each other in front of her. Just like your servant girls did when they were awaiting an order. Her smile was perfect. It made her ears perk up and showed a small, charming crinkle in the corners of her eyes. Her eyes, oddly enough, were the ones that betrayed her. They were full of fear. She didn’t feel safe. Her husband had control over her once more, and her only friend in the world was practically killing herself, unable to keep the promise she made of him never touching her again. She wasn’t sure if she could even trust you. She was all alone. This was her only form of protection now. Her beautiful, dutiful doll-like demeanor was all she had for armour. 

 You stared at her for a moment. She stayed perfectly still, as if she were made of marble. A wave of sadness washed over you and for a moment, all of your anger and confusion subsided. You opened your arms out toward her. It only took a moment before her mask cracked, and she ran to you, falling to her knees and sobbing into your lap. You just held her and stroked her long, silver hair, gently shushing her. 

 Her shoulders heaved with each gasping breath she took. Her heart beat as quickly as a mouse’s, almost like it was humming. You wanted to let her cry. Let her expel all the fear, sadness, and hatred that was festering inside of her little glass heart. But you knew you couldn’t do that. You needed to act. And in order to do that, you needed answers. You took your hand and gently lifted the girl’s chin so that her red, swollen eyes met yours.

 “Sigrdrífa,” you gently tried, “What is happening here?”

 She just closed her eyes tightly and shook her head before seeking refuge again in the folds of your dress. You took a sharp breath before taking her chin once again and forcing her to look at you. This scared her, but you held firm.

 “Tell me. I need to know.” 

 She looked at you for a moment, not saying anything. You silently kicked yourself for your aggression. 

No matter what urgency you felt, it would be cruel of you to take advantage of this disadvantaged girl. You smoothed your thumb over her cheek, wiping away a tear.

 “Please. I don’t know what’s happening.”

 The girl nodded her head. She slowly stood up and sat in the chair opposite of you, bracing herself against the hard, unforgiving wood. She took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes. Her voice shook.

 “The smith and the King are in contest, My Queen.” She sniffled and cleared her throat. “They have been smithing to see who can first make one thousand…” she trailed off, her mouth slightly open and her brow furrowed as she tried to think of the correct word. You leaned forward to try to encourage her. She sighed. 

 “Nagl.” She said, and made a hammering motion.

 “Nails? The first to make one thousand nails?” you gently pressed. Her eyes lit up.

 “Yes. One thousand nails. It is claimed that in order to be known as a true smith, a man must first make one thousand nails. The greatest of these smiths can forge a single nail in less than one minute, I have heard.”

 You immediately tried to calculate in your head how far along those two must be if they had been smithing for almost two days, and if what Sigrdrífa said was true. But your head was too cloudy to come to any kind of answer. You closed your eyes and pressed your palms into your temples. You could feel the world spinning around you. 

 “My Queen? What is wrong? Are you to become sick?”

 You absolutely felt that way, but somehow, you were able to look the silver girl in her concerned eyes and compose yourself.

 “I’m fine… I just…” You had to think of something to say. Anything. “How did they get all that metal?” Sigrdrífa looked down. You figured she didn’t understand the question. “For the nails? I don’t remember seeing enough metal to make one thousand nails in the smithy.” The little woman shuffled her feet for a moment before speaking to you deliberately and slowly, as if careful not to offend you.

 “The metal was taken from the royal forge. The King ordered it to be brought here after you… were taken back to the castle.” 

 You nodded your head, accepting the answer. Everything started to make slightly more sense. Forging one thousand nails would eliminate the need for a judge. Also, you supposed that the nails could be used to rebuild houses in the countryside that had been destroyed by the recently ended war. You sighed. Everything seemed more reasonable than it did a few moments ago. It felt like a small victory in a way, understanding what was happening around you when it felt like the world was trying it’s very best to confuse and scare you. You wanted to know more, as if it gave you more power over your situation.

 “So, what happened while Drew and I went back to the keep? Did the entire village swarm the house and set up this… festival?” You asked in a lighthearted manner. This caused Sigrdrífa to pause and hold her hands to her chest. She murmured. 

 “The King did not follow you…  He stayed and arranged the terms of the contest with the smith.”

 Your heart sank. Drew, your beloved husband, hadn’t even followed you back to the keep? How did he know you were safe? How did he know you were even alive? Did he not expect you to wake up before he had won? And if you did wake up (which you did), did he not expect you to come back to him? The one thing that you had always believed to be true about your husband was that Drew protected what was his. No matter what. And all of a sudden this truth was no longer true. You felt your eyes sting once again, but you held those damned tears back. You had cried enough.

 Sigrdrífa leaned forward and gently took your hand, cradling it as if the bone were broken. She took a few breaths before looking you in your eyes.

 “My Majesty, is the King… good to you?” she whispered, as if she were telling you a secret while sat in a crowded room. 

 But, you had been asked this question before. For the first few weeks you were married to Drew, you had received dozens of  letters from your parents asking about how your new husband treated you. You assured them in many, many responses that you were being treated well, and that Drew showed you nothing but respect and adoration. However, this time the question put you off, quite a bit actually. You understood her concerns, considering the fact that she had only ever seen Drew as this seemingly aggressive tyrant. But he had only ever acted that way because he was being provoked. Sure, you didn’t appreciate how he was behaving, but you at least understood why he was behaving that way. Breun hadn’t even tried to come to an agreement in a civil manner. She had never even spoken a civil word to Drew after their first interaction... which was her tackling him. Hell, the only reason she had even listened to a word you said was because Sigrdrífa forced her to.

 You wondered to yourself how this little thing could control a giant. You looked back at the silver girl sitting opposite of you. Her face was leaned in and attentive. Her eyes were wide with curiosity and care. 

 “Yes, sweet girl. The King is very good to me. He is just very…” You searched for the right word. “Frustrated.” You paused and raised your eyebrow. “And... I’m positive that the… boarish actions of a certain smith haven’t helped him very much.”

 You were wondering what reaction you would get out of her. You suspected she would be embarrassed or ashamed of her sister-in-law, eager to apologize for her actions. Instead, she wore a smirk on her face and let out a small huff. 

 “I am afraid that the smith’s behavior is my doing,” Sigrdrífa murmured. “When I was newly brought to the village, she never even spoke. She only ate when the food was tossed to her. At night she would lie on straw and rotting furs on the outside of the house, but never close her eyes. Flugur would buzz by her; crawl on her skin, bite her, and she would allow them.”

 That was a shock to you. You wracked your brain, trying to imagine Breun as docile. How could someone so hardheaded be so passive? Sigrdrífa said herself that it was in Breun’s nature to be confrontational. 

 “When did she become so… protective?” you asked her, trying to sound nice. Sigrdrífa’s face turned red and her eyes refused to meet yours.

 “Because… I needed to be protected, my Queen.”

 There was shame in her voice. Guilt, even. A tear fell from her eye as she shook her head, as if trying to bring herself back to reality. A million things flew through your mind; mostly images. Images of Sigrdrífa cowering in fear. Slibhin with that damned smile on his face, touching her. Breun finally taking action against him for the first time in her life. The look Breun gave Sigrdrífa, letting her know she was safe. Sigrdrífa showing Breun the first kindness the smith had ever known. The most fragile beginnings of trust connecting the two as they both tried to navigate how to live with happiness. 

 Your thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of a bell and the raucous cheering of the crowd outside.

 “Only a few nails left,” Sigrdrífa murmured to you. 

 You turned back to her. “Who has only a few nails left?”

 “The King, of course. Why else would the people cheer?” Sigrdrífa crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself. She let her head hang low. “It’s almost over.” You saw a few tears splash down onto her lap. You didn’t reach for her though. Instead, you were confused.

 “You don’t think Breun will win?”

 Sigrdrífa shook her head. “Her body is too worn.”

 You opened your mouth to ask why she was worn, but your hostess guessed your question before you asked it.

 “She has been forging my mundr… my bride-price. I was traded to Slibhin for weapons and armor; the smith had to make these to pay for me. She had been working for months to complete things for my father, my brothers, and their favorites. She pushed herself so far... if she did not complete them in time, I would have been taken back by my father. AND... after she had finished those, she still did not rest. No, she worked twice as hard to finish her work for the villagers that she had missed during that time! Only a few days ago could I convince her to sleep the whole night, and eat all of her food! Now she challenges the King to-”

 Sigrdrífa cut herself off with a huff, clearly frustrated. You had to suppress a giggle at how flustered the girl was, but you understood the fear and anxiety she felt. She believed that Breun had no chance against your husband. However, you knew that not to be true.

 “Sigrdrífa, the King may not have as much of an advantage as you might believe,” you confessed. “He has been battling a rebellion for the past month, don’t you forget. And he hasn’t rested since returning.

Sigrdrífa, his body is worn as well. I don’t even know how he’s able to stand upright.” You shifted in the uncomfortable seat and cringed at the dry creaking sound it made. Sigrdrífa placed her hand on the side of her head, embarrassed that she hadn’t remembered the rebellion. To be fair, it was a smaller army that took up arms. You weren’t even sure of the name of the traitor, yourself.  Sigrdrífa bit the inside of her cheek to suppress a smile, but you saw hope return to her eyes. There was a change Breun could be the victor.

 “Who do you think will win?” She asked the question rather quickly. 

 “I don’t know.” It was a diplomatic answer, but to be fair, you truly didn’t know. At first, you believed Breun would win only because of your husband’s injuries. But now, you sincerely weren’t sure. However, you knew that that answer wouldn’t satisfy the girl across from you.

 “Who do you want to win?” The question stung, as if it were accusatory, even though the tone in which it was asked was innocent. It was a test. An evil test. Of course you wanted Breun to keep her forge and live happily ever after, that went without thought; but you didn’t think your heart could take seeing Drew be defeated after everything you had put him through. Yes, you were angry with him for not staying by your side when you were unconscious, but he only because Breun had insulted you… and Drew’s first wife. You didn’t like his rage but you understood it. You did want Breun to win, but you didn’t want Drew to lose. You looked back up at Sigrdrífa who held your gaze firmly, and answered.

 “I want the man I love to win, as any wife would.”

 The silver girl nodded. “I would expect nothing else.” Her eyes were sad, but intelligent. Your words had caused her pain, but she understood that you didn’t mean them to. You expected her to read between the lines, but what you didn’t expect was a small breath of a giggle escaping her throat.

 “It is strange then. That we are the same, but… enemies. Sitting here speaking as if friends.” You gave her a smile, showing her you understood, but the girl continued. “Two small women with the same, but opposite hope; for their lover to defeat-”

 Your smile disappeared. Not because you were unhappy, but because you saw Sigrdrífa’s face somehow turn even whiter than it already was. It took you only a moment to realize what she had said.

 She had called Breun, her sister in law, her lover. 

 You hadn’t been Queen for very long, but you were well aware of what would happen if the town learned of what she had just said. There would be no saving either of them. The two would be hunted down to the corners of the kingdom. The common folk would torture them, treat them like demons; like animals. What would happen to the two girls, you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy. If someone knew about this, it would be well within the law, and the interest of your simple-minded subjects, to have both women put to death.

 But someone did know about it. You knew about it. And you certainly had the power to enforce the law, and swore to have the interests of your simple-minded subjects at heart. You looked at the frozen girl across from you, her eyes desperately trying to read yours. Trying to figure out what you were about to say... or do. 

 It took you less than a second to come to your conclusion.

 “You misspoke, Sigrdrífa. I know this isn’t your best language. You used the word ‘lover.’ You meant to say ‘family.’”

 You couldn’t help but smile on the inside as Sigrdrífa sucked in three lungs’ worth of air and let out a long sigh of relief. The rosy color returned to her cheeks. She gave the quiet laugh of an exhausted woman and placed her hand over yours.

 “We both love our family.”

 You reached forward with your other hand and covered hers in turn. You felt something scratch against your skin and looked down. Around her wrist, the girl had tight sleeves embroidered with prickly threads. They were very beautiful.

 You grasped the fabric with both hands and tore it apart. Underneath, you saw her irritated skin finally touch the air. You looked at her and raised your brow. She gave you a toothy smile and immediately presented her other sleeve to you, and you ripped that as well. After that, she grabbed at the fabric wrapped around her neck and tore that collar away as well. Beads and other small gemstones flung themselves from her throat and skittered across the table. You reached out and undid the ribbons in her hair, letting it fall loosely around her waist. Sigrdrífa kicked off her shoes and freed her legs from her stockings and underskirts. She stood up, knocking her chair to the ground, and took fistfuls of lacing that tied the back of her dress, yanking it loose. 

 You let your laughter ring throughout the house. The sight of Sigrdrífa dressed in the most expensive of rags…

 “That cannot be very comfortable.” The silver girl pointed at you.

 She was right, of course; but you could never destroy your dress. You already looked unpresentable as Queen; covered in filth and hair strewn about. The heat of the last two days left you drenched in sweat. You were certain that if you wrung your sleeves a steady stream of the putrid liquid would spill out. The accumulation of dirt and filth that clung to your body itched to no end. That sweat caused the heavy fabric to cling itself to your skin and that dirt made you feel every wrinkle and crease as if they were gashes and gouges of your very own flesh. You had been through so much already, ripping up your dress would just be… be… 

 You balled up the fabric of your underarm and yanked as hard as you could. A small ripping noise came from your dress, but not much else. You heard light footsteps come towards you and two white hangs join your fist. The next thing you knew, your arm was completely free from it’s silky prison. You waved it around in nonsensical patterns, just wanting to feel the air brush past your skin.

 You didn’t even consider the state of your dress as you relished your newfound partial freedom. Sigrdrífa’s giggle resounded throughout the house as she held your sleeve in her arms. Bunching up the fabric of the inside of your other arm, you let out a yelp as you ripped it open. A few more tugs, and your forearm was completely naked, with it’s coverings hanging by a thread by your elbow. 

 “How do you feel now, My Majesty?” There was a kidding nature to her words. You took in a breath to laugh and became very aware of the restrictive waistline that held your stomach in. You clawed at your back trying to get a grip on any seam or hem that you could use to tear it apart.

 “Help me undo this damned sewing and I’ll finally have enough breath to tell you.” 

 She hadn’t even taken one step toward you when you heard the roar of the crowd outside once again. You looked at Sigrdrífa, your eyes asking what that noise meant. The only thing you saw was a flash of her hair as she raced toward the front door. 

You tripped over the threshold and stumbled out of the house, crashing into the dirt. Luckily, no one seemed to notice. It seemed that every head in Scotland was turned toward The King and The Smith. 

 “My Queen!”

 All except for two. The guards that had greeted you when you confronted Slibhin rushed toward you, grabbing you and helping you stand upright.

 “My Queen, allow us to escort you back to the castle.”

 “Your Grace, please come with us.”

 You pushed them off of you. Though there was no strength left in your arms, the soldiers heeded your warning, standing at attention from a very respectable distance  (probably doing everything they could not to upset you considering their introductions to you.) That was when your eyes locked onto Slibhin, who stood at the edge of the crowd, wringing his hands in desperation. He was planning something. You just knew it. Those hands were the hands of a schemer. You almost laughed at how different they were compared to his sister’s. His hands were spotless, well groomed, but weak and feeble, and he used them to plot. To gesture and accentuate his honeyed words as he tried to ruin lives for his own benefit. In contrast, Breun’s hands were scarred, rough, and ugly, but strong and efficient. They were used to make useful things, powerful things. Her hands were like the weapons that she made: grotesque, but practical. 

 Just like that unfinished axe she had forced into the stone wall of her house. It didn’t look like much, but if you weren’t careful, it could hurt y-

 Slowly, you lifted your hand to your eye, gazing in wonder at your thumb. The nick from two days earlier had almost healed. 

 “My Queen? Are… you alright?” The two guards looked at you with apprehension. You turned your body fully to them, and they snapped back at attention.

 “Go and get me the sword of the rebel. The one Drew gave me two days ago.”

 The two men didn’t move. Perhaps they were uncomfortable with the idea of a less than stable monarch wielding a deadly weapon in a heavily populated area, but you soon put those worries to rest.

 “If you don’t, I may mention to my husband that a certain pair of his soldiers believe that his wife is a witch.”

 The two men raced off as if their lives depended on their task at hand… which was probably the case… You truly did hope that there would be no need for what they were fetching. You truly hoped that the contest would end in a clear way, or that Slibhin didn’t dare to protest the eventual outcome, whatever it may be. You prayed that you would be able to look the two guards in their terrified eyes and order them to take it back to the castle before the King learned that it had been “stolen”. But you needed the traitor’s sword just in case. Just in case.

 At last, you turned your attention back to the task at hand.

 The blurred faces of the spectators didn’t hold the fascination and awe that they did when you first rode into town. You dragged your feet through the crowd, absently pushing through the field of brown and grey, searching for silver. As your vision slowly began to uncloud itself, you looked at the scores; there was nothing there. The two men who were making the tally marks just sat and stared with eyes wide as the moon.

 Of course this was the last nail. Of course the two were tied at the last nail. Of course. 

 You couldn’t will yourself to care who won. You just wanted it to be over. Still shuffling forward, you somehow managed to reach the very front of the gathering, all but coming face to face with Drew. 

 He was turned to the side, hammering away at the anvil. Each hit triggered sparks which illuminated his features. He was tired. His skin seemed to be slipping off of his face. The amber coloring against his black, soot covered body was terrifying. He looked like death.

 “Drew.” It was less than a whisper. You didn’t even feel air pass your lips, but you called for your husband. He heard you. Though he didn’t look at you, you saw his jaw clench and a tear fall roll down his cheek, leaving a trail of clean skin in its wake. When it fell, it landed on the piece of metal he was hammering away at, causing a sinister hissing noise. Your eyes fell to the anvil where Drew was banging his tool on a rod of metal, trying to break a piece off; for the final length of the nail, no doubt.

 Though you didn’t tell your eyes to move, they did anyway. You looked past Drew to see the smithing woman shaping the head of an already broken off, and squared length of metal. Her nail was almost finished. She was about 30 seconds ahead of him. Just then, another set of tears fell, but this time it came from Sigrdrífa, who was standing opposite Breun; across the anvil. Tears of joy.

 You returned your attention to your husband, whose breath was ragged and uneven. He was crying like a child. A child who had lost a game. There was no higher form of sadness and despair. 

 “It’s alright. It’s almost over.”

 Drew shook his head violently. 

 “It’s alright. We can go home soon.”

 You didn’t even know where you found the energy to speak. There was nothing left inside of you. You couldn’t even feel happy for Breun, even though your compassion for her was what started this in the first place. You just wanted all this to end. You wanted to watch it all end. And it was going to end with Breun.

 Looking up at the smith again, you were able to see that the nail was done and her hand was reaching for her tongs so that she could carry it to her barrel. You felt an air brush past you as your eyes caught a glimpse of something… fashionable. A dainty hand from an ornate sleeve snatched the tongs from off the anvil. You turned your head to see Slibhin, eyes wide, holding the tongs against his chest.

 You knew what was going to happen next, but what you didn’t expect was the sound. Not only did Breun lunge at her brother, but she tipped over the anvil in the process, sending it crashing to the ground with her.

 Slibhin shrieked like a woman as he was beaten. Half of the crowd cheered at the sniveling coward being taught a lesson, while the other half gasped in horror, believing that the sounds he made were actually coming from the frail, silver girl they had seen rush past them a moment ago. 

 As for you, you couldn’t deny that watching the boy whipped gave you a great satisfaction, but your heart sunk upon closer inspection of the actual brawl. 

 Breun wasn’t actually trying to strike her brother, but instead was trying to recover the tongs from his grasp. But considering that she spent two days exhausting herself, and that the boy was squirming like the worm he was, that task appeared to be impossible. 

 All this while, you saw fire return to your husband’s eyes. He let out a yell as he slammed his hammer down, separating the piece of metal from the rod. He didn’t even try to shape the metal into an actual nail. He just threw his hammer down and reached for his own tongs.

 “NO!”

 Your neck snapped to Breun, who (while still struggling with her brother) looked at your husband with fear and loathing in her eyes. He was cheating again. He wasn’t honoring the rules of a fight, like he did when the two first locked up. Her eyes were bright red with tears. With her attention diverted, Slibhin was able to squirm out of her grasp and run off, tongs in hand. 

 Out of the corner of your eye, you swore you saw Drew smirk. He used his tongs to grab the metal, and turned away from her. You wanted to say something, but you knew that nothing you could say would change Drew’s mind about the forge, about Slibhin, about Sigrdrífa and Breun, about anything.  To be honest, you were a bit relieved that you had no control over the situation. It was as if no one could blame you anymore. You were surprised as something resembling peace slowly washed over you. You let your eyes flutter to a close and sighed in relief.

 That small sanctuary of stillness was shattered like glass when you heard this noise. It was a wail, a shriek, a scream of pain, a howl of  desperation, a squeal of something small trying to defeat something big. You opened your eyes and saw Breun, sprinting like she was being hunted; smoke emanating from her closed fist. 

 You would swear until your final day that you could see the orange glow of the nail burning through her palm, the blaze visible through the back of her hand.

 Drew didn’t even have time to look over at her. The smith lunged herself toward her barrel, her arm just reaching over it, and dropped her finished nail on top of the 999 others she had forged.

 Clink.

 The crowd erupted. In cheers, nonetheless. Whether the smith won their support by her performance, or they were all so happy the damned contest was over, you couldn’t tell. Breun let herself fall to the ground, not even clutching at her still burning hand. The dead skin and blisters of her palm had a few little embers burning at the edges, making it look like she was holding stars.

 Everything else seemed to fall into place after that. Drew’s body gave out and he fell into the dirt. Sigrdrífa ran and threw herself onto her lover, holding her face and placing thousands of kisses on her forehead and cheeks, all the while sputtering out Norse gibberish... and crying, for what you hoped would be the last time this century. Breun was whispering things as well.

 “Safe… yer safe now… safe… little one… safe… safe...”

 You had hoped for a moment that this would be the image their story ended on.

 The beautiful hope was dashed once the previously disappeared Slibhin fell in front of Drew, shaking his shoulders and screaming fruitlessly into his face. 

 “You can’t do this! I’m the only one who can run the smithy! Without me, there would be no smithy! Every single thing that… beast has forged was because I made her! Your Majesty, if I’m not in charge of my sister… this town will collapse! Your kingdom-”

 That was when Drew pushed Slibhin away, letting out a growl of agony while doing so. You rushed to Drew, trying to find some way of comforting your husband, but then the boy switched targets, clinging to your skirt and groveling at your feet.

 “My Queen. My beautiful, fair, flawless Queen. You now realize that you have made a grave mistake. And I know that you will do what’s right in fixing it. I know that you let your emotions control you when it came to my sister. You were entranced by a woman being able to perform a man’s task, but you must understand: the only reason she ever smithed anything in the first place was because I allowed it! I ordered it! I have made deals regarding everything she has ever forged! Before this month, my sister never even picked up a hammer without me saying so! She’s obeyed me all her life! I’m the reason for her success! Please, I beg of you; allow me to serve the realm through my forge!”

 Your patience was at its absolute limit with this one. You glanced back at the crowd. Most of them had turned and left for their homes now, knowing that as soon as their head hit the pillow, it would not be coming back up in at least two days. There were a few stragglers, who had stayed behind to ogle at the exhausted competitors. Luckily, castle guards who had been standing watch over the crowd herded the onlookers away. Good. No one would be around to witness their Queen beat the ever-loving shit out of one of her subjects.

 Both fortunately and unfortunately, before you were even able to clench your fist, you heard two voices calling out to you between their panting and coughing. 

 “Your… Majesty… we… we were able to locate the… the sword,” sputtered one.

 “My… My Queen… the… the traitor’s... sword,” tried the other. He fell to one knee and presented the sheathed blade to you. With a swift kick, you rid your hem of the sniveling boy and walked over to the exhausted and terrified guards. 

 The original sheathe had been lost on the battlefield. This one clearly was taken from the armory by the two guards, just needing something to transport the weapon. The exposed hilt was made from a pitch black metal, but despite the low visibility, it was extremely well sculpted with images. The pommel was a single eye, with a pale blue gem as the iris. It looked hauntingly beautiful. Like the sky on a bright winter’s day, when the frost is hard on the ground. The length of the hit was engraved on both sides with the image of a running horse that had 8 legs. The crossguard was two ravens spreading their wings and cawing. 

 The guard clearly expected you to grab the entire sword, sheathe and all, but you wrapped your hands around the hilt and pulled the weapon free. Where the blade and hilt met, were the heads of two wolves, each with their mouths wide, as if swallowing the blade.

 The look of fear in the eyes of everyone around you made you feel all that much more powerful. You wanted so very badly to use the sword for its intended purpose, on anyone really, but you had a burning suspicion that you desperately wanted confirmed, more than anything else.

 You walked over to the side of the forge where Breun had tossed the head of an axe after embedding it in stone. With an aching arm, you raised the sword so it lay side by side with the axe. 

 It was a perfect match.

 Both the blade of the traitor and the axe that split stone were unsightly; grisly to behold. The ripples that seemed to swim within the metals itself were identical. These pieces were unlike anything you had ever seen before. 

 There was no doubt in your mind that they were made by the same woman.

 You marched yourself over to where Breun and Sigrdrífa lay. The smaller of the two was busy trying to heave the larger one into the house. No doubt to tend to her. The smith looked horrible, but not just because she was tired and dirty. Her breathing was labored and heavy. Her chest was expanding and contracting rapidly. You could hear her struggle to inhale. Her arms and legs were shaking uncontrollably, with the tremors kicking up dirt around her. Sweat poured from every part of her skin and her face was beet red, no doubt with fever. 

 Ignoring the smith’s state, you stood over her, the sword in your clenched fist. You didn’t care about the look of terror on Sigrdrífa’s face. If she wanted to believe that you were about to hurt Breun, then that was her own foolishness. You held the blade across your body, letting the smith see the entirety of it; all of its details.

 “You made this.” It wasn’t a question. Breun’s eyes took a second to focus on you, then the blade, then back to you. You could tell she was holding onto consciousness by a thread.

 “Aye.”

 You were satisfied. Taking a step back and turning on your heel, your eyes fell once again on Slibhin. He was looking at his sister with his jaw so agape that you thought it was going to fall off. His eyes were as wide as an owl’s. It took everything in your power not to cut him down right then and there as he opened his mouth to lie to you once more.

 “She admits it. In it’s feverish state the brute lets the truth come to light. She has committed treason, but knows not the severity of her confession. Your Majesty, please find it in your heart to spare my feebleminded sister her life. Yes, her crime is very worthy of a long and painful death, but you must remember that without her, there would be no smith in your village… an essential part of any local economy. Please allow her to continue her practice… under my strict supervision. I promise you that I will do the thinking for her.” Slibhin started to snicker. “You… you clearly see that she has no judgement… she has even brought herself nearly to the brink of death by challenging her King!”

 You wanted to plunge the sword through his neck when he threw his head back in laughter. But instead, you joined him in his mocking. You glanced back at Sigrdrífa, whose face was painted with confusion; but not fear. She knew you were up to something, and she knew that you were on her side, but she didn’t know what you were planning.

 “It is true,” you said, turning back to the boy. “that your sister is very dull-witted.” Slibhin’s eyes showed a sense of relief that you hated for him to have, but were delighted to know you were about to take it all away. “I would guess… that your sister forged enough weapons and armor for the traitor and his generals… and didn’t even know what it was for!” He laughed even harder at that, assured that you suspected nothing of him, that you finally came around to hating his sister as much as he did.

 “But you, on the other hand, are well aware of every deal you make. And you’re very smart about it too, I’ll bet.” Slibhin bowed in mock humility, still bursting with chuckles. He gave you a beaming smile. He felt comfortable. Good.

 “And you were well aware of the deal you made with the traitor. You were well aware of what you were making, who would use them, and what they would be used for.”

 Slibhin’s facial expression didn’t change one bit. The phony smile stayed plastered onto his face, but you were able to notice the light leave his eyes. You knew that given enough time, he would conjure some words that would allow him to weasel his way free, escape the situation unscathed, mold his circumstances to his liking and find a way to enrich himself while dragging those around him down. You were not going to give him that time. 

 “Guards. Arrest this boy for acting as a conspirator and as a traitor.”

 During the time you were talking with Slibhin, several royal guards and servants from your keep had come down to try and wrangle their monarchs back into the keep, so there were more than enough people more than willing to take care of whatever needed to be taken care of. A plethora of men, and a few scullery maids and stable boys as well, descended upon him. He barely tried to fight them off, only flinging his arms in a weak, sluggish manner. His eyes stayed wide, but now his smile was now gone. Instead, his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. After he was forced to his knees by two rather large washerwomen and his hands were bound, he finally found his voice.

 “M-My… my... my sister-”

 “-smithed under the direction of you and your father for her entire life, and if you somehow believe that you can convince me that she was the one responsible for all this I will save myself some time and cut your head off right here.” 

 You brandished the traitor’s sword and held it above the boy’s head. He shivered and shook and in that moment, you knew what Drew felt like when he passed judgement on criminals and lowlifes. It made you feel too powerful. Slibhin reeked of fear and you inhaled the stench like it was a gift from the Gods. As if it made you stronger. You looked over to where your husband lay, scanning his broken body until you met his eyes. He was looking at you as if you were a storm. Powerful, terrible, beautiful, and part of him wanted to run into you just to feel your chaos for himself. But you also noticed the tiniest glint of fear as well. You had never acted like this. He didn’t know you could act like this. You didn’t even know you could act like this. But you could; and you were. 

 Just then, you felt the beginnings of hunger swirl around in your stomach. Not for food, but for him. It reminded you of when your King teased you in the great hall as he held court. When you longed for his hands on you. When you longed for him to take you. To fuck you.

 But this time, it was different. You weren’t fantasizing about his power. You weren’t thinking about the things he decided he would do to you. Instead you were lusting after the power that you felt inside yourself. You weren’t feeling gracious for any affection the King showed you. You felt entitled to pleasure. You deserved it. You were the Queen of Scotland, and you wanted to make sure he knew it. 

 A knowing smirk formed from the corner of your mouth and you winked at Drew. His mouth fell open slightly and his eyes flashed with an emotion that you didn’t recognize.

 “B-b-but why? Why would I betray my King and Queen? I-I need you to maintain my status.” 

 You clenched your jaw so tightly you thought your teeth were going to crack. Your head swiveled back to the kneeling boy who took a small victory in making you turn around to pay attention to him once more. His ears perked up and he straightened his back a bit. He reiterated his point.

 “Why would I choose to make so many weapons, to start a war, when I had already achieved everything I wanted?” 

 You didn’t want to answer him. You didn’t care enough to answer him. You knew he was wrong. You knew he was guilty. You knew he was… 

 But…

 A shadow of doubt crept up from your stomach through your throat. From the bottom of your heart, you felt that the boy was evil, but you had no evidence. No proof that he was a slimy, conniving, untrustworthy, unfaithful, traitorous- 

 “Because you did not have a choice…”

 Sigrdrífa stood timidly by the incoherent, mumbling smith. A few fingers from her hand covering her mouth. Her eyes stared off into nothing, but you saw her mind working something out. A scornful, mocking laugh was heard, and Slibhin forced a look of amusement on his face.

 “No choice? I alone was in charge of-”

 “You were forced to make weapons and armor…to pay for… me…”

 Time stopped. Fire and ice chased one another up and down your spine. You felt everything and nothing all at once. Your knees felt so stiff that they would snap if you attempted to move. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Breun vomit out some burgundy, watery liquid into the dirt by her head. It went unnoticed by everyone else, who was busy staring at the silver girl. Sigrdrífa looked at you. You must have had a stupid look on your face, as she turned and kept talking to Slibhin, as if trying to indirectly explain everything to you.

 “If you did not… my father would have taken me back… and… without me… you would not be the son of a noble...and you would have no right to the forge. You had no choice.”

 A small giggle left her. You looked at her incredulously. She moved over to her husband. Breun let out a weak whine and reached out, as if trying to stop her from getting any closer to him, but the girl knelt down, putting her face inches away from his.

 “You had no choice.” she repeated, savoring the words. Slibhin’s head fell limp. His shoulders shook as he heaved sporadic breaths. His once captive wife had just proved his guilt. She had just sentenced him to death.

 You couldn’t help but smile when you saw him weeping. It felt like this was your reward for enduring his utter bullshit for as long as you had. You could only imagine how Sigrdrífa felt. She was the one who had lived with him… or rather lived under him for so long. 

 Her beaming smile was bright enough to guide ships to shore in the dead of night… at first. You saw her eyes study him, probably mining for more of that satisfaction of seeing the boy defeated. But as the tears ran from his eyes, the snot ran from his nose, and the dribble ran from his lip, the silver girl’s expression started to change. Her eyes began to dart back and forth, trying to absorb all of the pain and anguish her husband was displaying right in front of her eyes. You could tell she was beginning to get unnerved; nervous and unsure. Then Slibhin lifted his face to meet his wife. 

 His eyes bright red, he opened his mouth to let out some kind of silent cry. You watched as he sniveled and pleaded with his body for… mercy, forgiveness, any ounce of her conscience she was willing to spare him. 

 For a moment, you let yourself believe that she would show him mercy. Instead, she turned away from him. Without a moment's hesitation. He had already used up every ounce of her kindness, her patience, and her sympathy. Her eyes instead met with the smith’s. That was where her kindness, her patience, and her sympathy lay. That was where her heart lay. In the dirt, and the dust, and the ashes.

 So, naturally, Slibhin had no other choice. 

 With his wrists still bound, he rushed forward and threw his hands over her head and yanked her close to him, effectively trapping her by her neck and pinned her on the ground. He looked Drew in the eye and he began to scream.

 “MY KING! MY KING! I GIVE YOU THE DAUGHTER OF THE TRAITOR! TAKE HER! TAKE HER AND KILL HER! CUT HER FUCKING HEAD OFF! ENSLAVE HER! RAPE HER, EVEN! DO WHAT YOU WISH! I AM YOUR LOYAL SERVANT! JUST TAKE THE BITCH AND LET ME LIVE! I LOVE SCOTLAND! I LOVE MY KING! PLEASE-”

 Breun lunged herself across the ground and struck Slibhin. You knew he would never speak again. His jaw went sideways and blood poured out of his mouth. His teeth fell and skittered across the soot. The noise he made was primeval. If an animal had made that same sound, even the cruelest of men would concede and put it out of its misery. His body squirmed and twitched. Sigrdrífa was finally able to break free of his hold, though she was covered in his blood and scratched by his flailing. Breun was hurt in her own right, obviously.

 It was funny. At the very beginning of this entire ordeal, the very sight of what was in front of you would have left you petrified.

 Instead, you snapped your fingers and motioned for the boy to be restrained. And restrained he was. Though the shrieking and gurgling didn’t stop. Slibhin looked at you and tried to speak, but that was quite impossible. You looked down at Sigrdrífa. She had crawled her way over to Breun, draping herself over the bigger woman with her mouth to her ear, whispering something that didn’t concern you.

 “Guards!” At least a dozen men in armor presented themselves before you. “Take this boy to the dungeons. Put him with our other prisoners… and make sure that they know everything that he has said about their little sister.”

 Your men smiled at you, showing that they would be happy to carry out your order. They marched the prisoner off as he shrieked and wailed indistinct sounds of agony, defeat, and fear of what was still to come. You were done with him.

 Turning now to Breun and Sigrdrífa, you saw the smaller one look up at you. Just as you went to take a breath to speak, she spoke your previous words back to  you.

 “‘Make sure that they know everything he has said about… their little sister?’”

 That struck you. All this time, she probably didn’t know if her brothers were alive. If her father was killed in battle, it would be logical to assume that her brothers did as well. Her brothers to whom she owed her life. You smiled and nodded your head.

 Sigrdrífa’s voice was barely above a whisper, but you clearly made out the names of her two brothers.

 “Erik... Ivar…”

 The peace was interrupted by Breun’s grumbling. She lifted her head from the dirt to look at you, but her eyes couldn’t focus. Her face was bright red and beads of sweat littered her face. You turned to your soldiers and opened your mouth to issue the command...

 “FOR PITY’S SAKE SOMEONE TAKE THE GIRL INSIDE! AND FETCH A HEALER DAMMIT!”

 Your jaw stayed wide as you turned your head to your husband, who was still lying in the dirt, but whose voice still commanded respect. His eyes were fixated on the smith. Men scrambled to pick up a nearly incapacitated Breun, which proved to be quite the challenge as the smith seemed to think that everyone that was trying to move her was, in fact, challenging her to a fistfight. A servant ran down the road to find a healer that could not only treat the girl, but possibly survive her left hook as well.

 Luckily for every man in Scotland, Sigrdrífa was able to calm the rowdy young lady enough so that she could be moved into the house. As she herself was about to walk through the front door, she stopped and looked back at you. Though she still had blood stained in her hair and on her clothing, and the exhaustion in her eyes matched the shaking of her legs, she looked more calm and content than ten thousand queens. She nodded to you, a gesture of comradery and of finality before shutting the door, not even giving you a chance to respond.

Drew had been much more lucid than his female counterpart and was rushed back to the keep quickly and quietly. He wouldn't look anyone in the eye and said nothing to anybody. The servants had the sense to go about their duties and disregarded their King. By now you had reached your shared chambers. The guards gently set Drew in your bed as you stood by the fireplace, next to a tub of water that you had requested be filled. You needed a bath. Drew grumbled and winced, ashamed that you could see him like this. One man even attempted to cover the King in a blanket, but was stopped when Drew looked at him with a scowl so deep, you were certain his face would stay like that forever. Drew wasn’t one to be coddled.

 The servants bowed their heads to you as they backed out of the room. You heard one mutter to you, “Let us know if you need us,” before he shut the door behind him, leaving you alone with your husband.

 Drew didn’t say anything to you, nor you to him. He looked straight up at the canopy of your bed, as if seeing through it to the ceiling. You let yourself sigh. Your husband’s eyes flickered at the sound, but he did not look at you. You couldn’t blame him, but it still angered you. You had just spent the past two days dealing with an immature brute, and you didn’t know if you could handle another one.

 First thing was first, you were going to get into that tub. Instinctively, you opened your mouth to call for your husband, asking him to help you with the laces of your dress. No sound escaped your throat, but you felt stupid all the same. Reaching behind you, you were thankful that you had torn a fair amount of the garment, but you still struggled to get a feel for what you were supposed to do. You let out a grunt of frustration as your fingers frantically picked at the back of your dress, not making any progress. Drew looked at you, and your eyes met his. He was trying not to betray his feelings through any facial expression, but you could tell that he was embarrassed. Embarrassed that he could not help you with something that he did every night. 

 You felt embarrassed too. Embarrassed that you were unable to do such a simple task by yourself. Though you always loved it when Drew undressed you before, now you resented your helplessness and cursed all the times you didn’t just undress yourself, like an actual self-sufficient person.

 Rage bubbled inside you at the thought of your dependence on Drew. Out of nowhere, you screeched like a banshee and tore your dress clean from your skin. Standing there, completely naked in front of your husband, and not feeling shy or giddy was a new experience for you. You took the rags left of the dress and threw it into the fireplace. The heavy cloth covered the flames and greatly dimmed the room, but you could still see your husband’s eyes fixed on you. 

 Half wanting to cover yourself for modesty, half wanting to punish Drew by not having him see you, you quickly hopped into the tub. The servants had left a scrubbing brush and some soap for you, but you didn’t even think about using them. You just wanted to sit and brood. You were so exhausted that you were certain the warm water would lull you to sleep before you even attempted to clean yourself. If you did fall asleep in the tub, and your head went underwater, you guessed that Drew wouldn’t even be able to save you in time.

 “My Queen.” 

 You had no desire to look at him, but your head turned toward him nonetheless. You couldn’t will your lips to curl into a smile, which you usually did when you looked at your husband. His body was so bruised and battered that you couldn’t look anywhere but his eyes, but that was no better as they were red and tired, threatening tears. His Adam’s apple was quivering. His lips were slightly parted. His voice barely a whisper.

 “Forgive me.”

 And you forgave him.

 Right then and there, you forgave him. Every single sin he had committed in your eyes: the arguing, the fighting, the brutishness, leaving you behind, failing to win. Everything was absolved. You kicked yourself mentally for not being able to hold a grudge, even for just one evening. However, you were saved by the fact that your face was too exhausted to change from the mask of apathy and disregard that you wore. To Drew, you were still his scowling, disappointed Queen.

 Some Queen I am. Sitting hunched naked in a tub, covered in filth. Bitter and defeated. I’ve never felt LESS like a Queen. I don’t feel like the wife of a King. I don’t even feel like a wife. I don’t even feel like a woman…

 You looked down. Through the muddy water you were able to see your body. Bruises and scratches and scrapes covered it. Your skin was pasty and shriveled.  In certain areas, it was rubbed raw from friction with the tighter parts of your dress. Any little touch on any little bit of your body would only hurt you. But you wanted to be touched. You didn’t care how much it would bring you pain. You wanted to be touched by Drew. To be held by Drew. To be loved by Drew. To be fucked-

 The fireplace roared back to life as the flames finally caught hold of your discarded dress, engulfing it. The room brightened as if it were almost day. You looked at Drew. His eyes were squinted, as he couldn’t even lift his hands up to shield his eyes.

 So you did it for him.

 You rose from the tub, your shadow completely covering Drew. His eyes popped open and he looked at you. You swore you could almost feel the air move as he gasped, taking in your form.

 “You told me… that despite how beaten down you were… you still had the strength to take me… to ravage me… You told me you still had the endurance to turn me into a… a whimpering mess.”

 You tried to keep your voice even and cold. Drew held you with his eyes and for a moment you were excited. You saw his muscles tense up as he attempted to lean forward. Your body shivered from the night air and from anticipation. You closed your eyes and bit your lip, your body’s memory reliving all the times Drew would pick you up and throw you on your shared bed, giving you the love from a wounded warrior, whose heart still beat with hot blood.

 “My Queen…” You opened your eyes again to see Drew with his head back on the pillows, his muscles shaking, his chest heaving from his panting. He ever so slowly was able to bring his head back up enough to look at you. “I… I can’t.” His lip was quivering and his eyelids were fluttering. The fireplace dimmed once more as the flames had eaten up the rest of your dress, leaving a small glow of singed fabric behind. Your body stopped shivering in the cold air. It stopped feeling cold. It stopped feeling anything. You stood there in the tub with your mouth slightly open and your eyebrows raised in confusion and sadness. 

 Of course he wouldn’t be able to take you. You were stupid to even think that he could. You were cruel to ask him to try. And he did try. After everything he had gone through, he still wanted to try and please you. You mentally kicked yourself for trying to get him to exhaust himself further. 

 Then, you heard… breathing. You couldn’t really describe it. It wasn’t whimpering, and it wasn’t sobbing. Just a strange kind of breathing. You turned again to Drew who had his jaw and his eyes clenched tight. He looked so helpless. 

 You moved to him. You couldn't even feel yourself walking. You were gliding. Before you knew it you were crawling over the sheets of your bed, staining them with the grime that rubbed off your body. 

 When you were next to him on the bed, he tried to turn his neck and look at you, but he winced. You kissed cheek and whispered to him. “Just lay with me, my love.”

 You lay your head on his heart, mindful of his wincing as you brushed by the bruises on his chest. Your eyelids grew heavy as you listened to the rhythm of Drew’s heartbeat. Through your lashes you saw your husband fight to keep his eyes open, just to look at you. You turned and wrapped your two small arms around one of his massive ones and heaved it so it lay over you. So he was holding you. Drew sighed contently. The very next sounds that came from him soft snores as you yourself felt all the pain of the last three days melt away. 

 Then you slept.

I am so very honored and so awed that someone dedicated their time to create a fanfic for my fanfic universe....that’s.....that’s so beyond incredible and I haven’t been able to wrap my mind around it. This tribute fic was absolutely amazing. I legit read this fic until 3 am when I was given it. I couldn’t stop reading it and I loved every small detail and the story telling. Thank you again, @tinkerbell-has-chlamydia​​ for this fic. Truly. Thank you so much. I’m so honored you adored my fics enough to write this. From the bottom of my heart; THANK YOU. ~Bri 💛🖤 (Again this fic is NOT MINE. I was given permission to post it here and place it on my masterlist)

Tag: @adriennegabriella @amandalynngraves @amariemoore @andie01 @annoyingasian @ar3le @artemisapalla316 @ashkrystal @astolenheartnkiss @axelwolf8109 @baemcintyre @balorstrowmanblackmurphy @beckyann6879 @bigbabyscottishpsychopath @brownskinafro @calicina @calwitch @claymoreme @commando-claymore @crossfitjesusinblackskinnyjeans @curlyafrogirl @daddyslittlevillain @dalia-corven @darlingambrose @dcnmarvelgamergeek @demonqueen29 @drew-is-boo @drewshoneybadger @fabulousrockstar @fireyegale @fivefootxo @flawlessglamazon @fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression @gold--gucciempress @hardcoresweet45 @heel-rollins @homeorbust @ihavenowilltolivelol @i-have-saracasm @itsicantbelievethis666 @jazzy-tzw @jeffhardyenigmawwefan @junglecassidy @kalliravenne @lilred91 @littlesuperstar @madebypointlesswerewolves @malethirsty @meishaabae @melblacc @meremaidqueen @midnight--luna @monocromaticstaircase @morenokatt @moxleysbaby @moxley-unhinged @mox-made-me-do-it @moxnmurphy @moxtiel @neversatisfiedgirl @nevertoofarfromivar @new-zealand-chic @nicolewoo @nothinginlifebutgreif @number1120 @ofbeornandbjorn @pandaluver96 @queenofthearchitect @saiyandude @sassymox @savemeroman @scuzmunkie @sebstanismylife @shieldgirl18 @shortyiceheart @slytherinyourrpants @softmoxymuffin @superrezzy00 @taryn-dibiase @thatnerdwriter @thatpanpal @the-beastslayers-queen @thehoundsofjustice @thepalaceofmelanie @theworldofotps @thewrestlingwarehouse @trashofambrolleigns @twistedbeautifully @unabashedwrestlefics @undiscovereddisneyroyalty @undisputedmorgs @unprettypeony @voidstrugh @waywardwrestlewritingwaif​ @welcome-to-lovecraft-country​ @xbreezymeadowsx​ @yaint-me​ @youcantreignonmyparade​

[bonjour-rainycity]

The Long Way Around ~ Chapter 11

Link to previous part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/624011835356626944/the-long-way-around-chapter-10

Pairing: Jasper x Reader

Word count: 2552

Warnings: None

Y/n’s POV

Even from many hundreds of yards away, I can smell the blood in Carlisle’s briefcase as clearly as if it were in my own hands. A whine leaves me. I want it.

“Fight it,” Jasper commands from my side. He and Emmett flank me, ready to stop me from getting to the bag of human blood if my instincts win and I go running towards it. Right now, I’d say the chances are about fifty-fifty. And shrinking.

Carlisle reaches into his briefcase, ready to pull the bag out.

“No not yet, she doesn’t have it.” Edward stands a few paces in front of Carlisle, monitoring me, and my thoughts, closely. Ugh he must think I’m so weak.

“It’s alright, it’s only natural,” he calls back, though he sounds annoyed.

I force myself to refocus. Eyes on the prize, Y/n. You can do this. You want to be in control more than you want human blood. You don’t want to be a dangerous person. You can do this.

Edward’s nod to Carlisle is nearly imperceptible. Carlisle opens the briefcase once more, only this time, he succeeds in bringing the stiff, half-frozen bag out into the sunlight.

Its scent hits me in the face and the burn in my throat increases tenfold. I drop into a crouch. I want it. It’s mine, it’s mine.

No!

With a snarl, I shake my head, forcing myself to cling to my human wants instead of my carnal, vampire wants.

You want to be able to go shopping with Rose and Esme. You want to go see a movie with Alice and Arthur. You want to have an actual date with Jasper. You’ve got this.

Carlisle opens the bag.

My humanity leaves me, and the monster within emerges full force. I rush towards the human blood. So sweet, so tempting.

Someone grabs me and forces me to the ground. Get off, get off, get off!

“Mine,” I snarl. The voice doesn’t even sound like me.

Someone cries out in pain, and the hands leave me. The noise breaks through the fog in my brain. It sounds like someone I know, someone I care about…Jasper!

Somehow, my worry for Jasper overrides the allure of human blood. I force myself to stop running forward, and turn back.

Jasper sits on the ground, managing to look stunned and pained at the same time, clutching his right shoulder. Carlisle is at his side a second later. I don’t look for the bag of blood, but its scent is a bit fainter now. Did he throw it? Maybe I should go looking…Jasper’s harsh breaths draw me back to the present. Somehow, I hurt him. Knowing I’ve caused him such pain makes my stomach hurt. I sink to my knees slowly on his other side, not even sure he wants to be around me right now.

“I’m so sorry. I-what did I do? Did I bite you?”

Jasper shakes his head, looking both starkly confused and fascinated. “No, I’m not in pain anymore. Just for a second, it felt like my arm had been ripped off.”

Edward nods from his stance in front of us. “It all happened very fast. He grabbed Y/n, she wanted him gone, and then he got hit with the pain. Vivid, realistic pain. If I hadn’t looked at him and seen his arm perfectly in tact, I would’ve guessed from his thoughts that it had been ripped off.”

Carlisle catches on a split second before I do. “You think Y/n had something to do with this?”

I sit back on my heels, staring at the grass. One blade is so much taller than the others.

“Think about it.” Edward’s voice is fainter than before. “There’s no bite marks, Jasper’s arm isn’t really gone. The only thing that could’ve acted as the causal mechanism is Y/n’s thoughts.”

“Perhaps it was a cramp, or-”

“Carlisle, have you ever known a vampire to get a cramp?”

“Wait, hold on. Y/n?” Jasper’s soft voice is close to my ear. “Are you alright?”

I manage to get words out, but they sound all high pitched and squeaky. “I’m a monster.” The breath I don’t really need becomes shallow and quick. Ugh, I wish I could cry! It feels like my insides are crumbling.

Jasper moves his hand soothingly up and down my back. I definitely don’t deserve his comfort, but goodness do I need it.

“You are not a monster.” His tone is firm leaving no room for argument. “You didn’t actually hurt me, you just made me think you did.”

“Like Jane,” Emmett chimes in. Who?

“Not exactly like Jane,” Carlisle muses, sounding cool and collected. “Esme was in real, actual pain yesterday, but it seemed to fade when Y/n was touching her. As soon as Esme moved away from Y/n, the pain returned.”

“So she can inflict the idea of pain but take real pain away? That doesn’t make sense.” Edward’s voice is condescending.

Jasper jumps in, still rubbing my back. “No, I think it might all be in the mind. A few months back, she actually bit me, but when I was touching her it was like I forgot about the pain. It didn’t come back completely until a few minutes after I let go of her.”

“Maybe she can extend her ability beyond her touch, like Bella? It would take practice.” A huge smile spreads across Emmett’s face. “Lots of potential there.”

“Y/n,” Carlisle’s voice is polite, but there’s barely restrained interest. “When you were a human, were you sensitive to others’ physical pain?”

I shake my head slowly, feeling steps behind everyone else who is quickly piecing this together. “My human memories are so fuzzy…but when I was touching Esme, I hurt too. It wasn’t as bad as I imagine an actual bite to be, but I felt something. It was like a stomach ache that didn’t go away until she was out of pain.”

Carlisle shakes his head, eyes wide. “Fascinating.”

My panic flares. “Not fascinating. Terrible,” I wail. “Not only am I a vampire, but I can make people feel like their arm has just been ripped off? What-” I gasp, trying to force myself to calm down. “What am I?”

“Nothing is wrong with you,” Jasper insists, cupping my face. “We will figure this out, I promise.”

I let out a breath, resting my forehead against his. I’m so grateful for Jasper. Even after I essentially tortured him, he finds it in his heart to forgive and help me. “Thank you.”

Carlisle gently takes Jasper’s arm, giving it one final check to make sure he’s unharmed. Once he’s satisfied, he stands. “Let’s call it a day, shall we? Good work, Y/n. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

I don’t want to go back inside. What I really want is to go deep into the forest where I can freak out in private, but the threat of attack from an unknown vampire prohibits me from doing so. Edward gives me a sympathetic look. I try to brush it off, and stand with the rest of the group. Jasper takes my hand, silently communicating his support. I give it a squeeze, taking extra care to be gentle. I desperately don’t want to hurt him again. He offers me a soft, trusting smile, and I nearly break right then and there.

“Let’s go lie down.”

Following the rest of the group, we head towards the house. Thankfully, everyone else is in town today, so I don’t have to confront any questioning glances. Jasper and I can just go straight up to his room. He shuts the door, giving us a semblance of privacy. Immediately, I fall onto his bed, lying face down. He says nothing, only sits next to me and strokes my hair.

I take a few minutes to think before I speak. I just hate that my special ability is so awful. Edward can read minds, Alice can see the future, Rosalie has awe-inspiring self-control, Jasper can make people feel actual emotions, and I hurt people.

I groan, pushing my face further into Jasper’s duvet. “Why?”

Jasper sends me calming emotions. It’s enough for me to finally sit up and face him.

“It’s not a bad thing, Y/n. Honestly, it could be pretty useful.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t see how hurting you is useful, Jasper.”

He shakes his head, taking one of my hands in his. “Not that. I’m just saying, with the threat from the vampire who attacked Esme…if someone attacked you, you could incapacitate them. I’m not going to lie and say that doesn’t make me feel better.”

I sigh, knowing he’s right. But there’s still a more central issue. “I don’t know how to control it, and that makes me dangerous. For all I know, that vampire could attack me and I wouldn’t be able to summon the ability again or whatever and it would be useless. Or, you could take my hand or kiss me and I could hurt you again.”

Jasper pauses, considering. I know his mind is piecing this out strategically. “We’ll have to learn how to induce or activate it. What were you thinking the moments leading up to getting me off of you?” He cleverly avoids acknowledging the pain I caused him, and I’m both grateful and annoyed. Still, I take his question seriously and think.

“I just wanted the blood. You were an obstacle to that, so I wanted you to let go of me.”

He nods quickly. “You were feeling focused, thirsty, desperate, and determined. And you were feeling it all so intensely….What were you thinking when you lessened Esme’s pain?”

My response is automatic. “I just wanted her pain to go away. She was hurting, and I love Esme and wanted her to stop hurting.”

He considers. “Right now, I don’t think the causal mechanism is anything you’re doing intentionally. I think it’s all based on gut reactions. You didn’t consider hurting me, you just wanted me to let go. You didn’t think of ways to stop Esme’s pain, you just deeply wanted it gone. Like most things in this new life, you revert to relying on your instincts.”

I begin to catch on. “So you think it’s like a skill I could learn?”

“Yes. Starting now.” And with that, he holds his arm up to his mouth and bites down, hard.

“Jasper,” I gasp, immediately trying to pull his arm away.

He winces at the pain but makes no move to suck the venom out. I consider doing it myself, but then get the point of his actions. He wants me to stop the pain with my will. I sigh, feeling desperate and ridiculously out of my depth. I do want his pain to stop, but I don’t know how to make it stop. Still, I can try.

Gingerly, trying not to hurt him further, I take his arm in mine once more. I close my eyes, focusing on how badly I want his pain to go away. Please, please, please, please.

“Y/n.”

I open my eyes to find Jasper grinning broadly.

Surprise and disbelief fill me. “It worked? I did it?”

His smile widens and he encircles my waist, pulling me into his lap. “You did it.”

With a smile of my own, I shake my head slowly. “You promise you’re not in pain?”

He rests his forehead on my shoulder and places a soft kiss there. “I don’t feel a thing.”

As my euphoria fades, anger creeps in. “I can’t believe you bit yourself.”

He shrugs, continuing his kisses along my collarbone. “It was for a good cause.”

Good cause, my ass. Enjoy a taste of your own medicine, Whitlock. I bring my own arm to my mouth, but before I can sink my teeth in, Jasper pins my arms behind my back. He gives me a disapproving look, which makes me roll my eyes.

“Seriously?”

He nods, his eyes not leaving mine. “Pain is for me to bear, not you.”

I roll my eyes again, but this time much more halfheartedly. Instead of continuing the tiff, I lean down and kiss him. His hands release my wrists and grip my thighs, pulling me even closer. I hold back a smile at his immediate response and instead allow the desire to flow through me. I will never get tired of kissing him. In the span of less than a second there’s approaching footsteps and a knock at the door. Esme. I practically fly off Jasper, feeling guilty. He chuckles, though he looks equally abashed.

At Jasper’s invitation, Esme opens the door, smiling sweetly. A quick look to my right reveals Jasper’s hair to be a mess, not at all like its usual calm state. Oh man, this is so awkward. Esme doesn’t comment, her smile just brightens. Internally, I groan.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” There’s an edge of humor to her voice, and I want to bury myself under the covers. Or in a hole. “Carlisle, Edward, Bella, and I were going to put on Casablanca, and we were wondering if you would like to join us.”

“Sure, Esme.” Jasper has regained most of his composure. “We’ll be right down.”

“Wonderful!” Esme shuts the door. As soon as I hear her retreating footsteps, I groan and smush a pillow against my face.

“We just got caught by your mom,” I lament. Though as the awkwardness begins to fade, I can laugh about it.

Jasper similarly recovers, and chuckles as he lowers the pillow from my face. “Unfortunately, it’s a normal thing around here.”

I raise my eyebrow, intrigued.

“You’ve noticed that vampire hearing makes private conversations difficult.” I nod. “And you’ll soon catch on that vampire hearing makes private anything difficult.”

Oh.

A nervous laugh escapes me as my eyes widen. “Oh that’s so awkward.” I gasp. “But you can  feel it! Oh my gosh,” I’m properly laughing now. “Poor Jasper.” I stroke his hair, unable to stop my laughter.

He grins, a long-suffering look on his face. “It is unbelievably awkward. Edward and Bella are the worst. And then Edward knows that I know and I know that he knows I know, and it’s just,” he makes a noise, shaking his head and burying it in my shoulder.

I snort and place a kiss on his head. “Well, I’m betting the past few minutes have at least begun his payback.”

Jasper makes a show of closing his eyes and checking. When he opens his eyes, he’s smiling again. “Oh yeah, he’s miserable.”

I grin, placing one last kiss on his lips before standing up and pulling him with me. “Good. Let’s keep that same energy during the movie.”

{***}

It’s not difficult. While the movie plays, Jasper lets his hands run along my neck, over my collarbone, down my sides. It takes quite a lot of effort to pretend to focus on the film.

Halfway through, Edward just gets up and leaves, shooting us a withering look.

Neither Jasper nor I can help feeling smug.

A/n Hello hello! How are you guys? Let me know what you thought and if you would like to be added to the tag list!

xx,

Bjr

Link to the next part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/624296456441020416/the-long-way-around-chapter-12

Tag list: @puer-de-infinitate @charliestuff @hindustani-diaspora @one-thread-can-save-a-life @salsameter @enchantedcruelsummer @meashy-moo @sana-li @femflorals @80strashbag @tomisbaeholland @heyimval13

[alcxandros]

context: text messages between Seifer and RInoa:

Rinoa: I’m waiting for Squall to come back. He’s going to ask why I was out there. Probably you too. Seifer: And what exactly had you planned on telling him?

Rinoa: That I forced my way for you to get me out of Garden. That isn’t a lie. But what are you going to tell him? Because if it’s coming out that I’ve been sleeping with you I’d rather him hear it from me.

( she’s lowkey asking without being too direct ‘please don’t be a dick and shove this in his face’ ) Seifer: As tempting as it may be to throw that in his face, you both need to work your own problems out. That’s not my truth to tell. But you should tell him. He deserves to know. ( which that message reassured her that he wouldn’t do that ( be a dick ) so she didn’t have to ask that point blank / directly )

Rinoa: I know. And he does. Seifer: Good. Rinoa: I didn’t mean to drag you into my problems. Or cause them.

Seifer: I’m a big boy, I can make my own mistakes and take responsibility for them. You’re not alone in this.

Seifer could probably mean a few different things when he said she isn’t alone in this - not alone in that she isn’t the only one that fucked up, not alone in this situation via isolated and literally on her own like - she isn’t going to be bailed on like ‘wham bam thank you ma’am’ then peacing out. Maybe neither, maybe both ( i have processing issues and often need things super direct and clear ).

But from Rinoa’s stand point - she can’t see that she isn’t alone in either context examples. She took a note from teen Seifer’s hand book and kept going too far until it’s at a point you can’t easily turn back from, to can’t turn back from at all. She’s the one that ran away, repeatedly. She’s the one who forced herself back in Seifer’s life after he told her he didn’t want to take her with him. She’s the one who perused him. It takes two to tango, so the saying goes, but choosing not to tango was not Seifer’s responsibility. His responsibility was looking out for his own well being.

Keeping secrets from Squall, keeping her escaping Garden from him, trying to shield him from how bad she was doing - at this point she’s got a standing history of keeping things she shouldn’t to herself, which are also traits she shows within the game as well ( not telling them who her father was, not revealing she was a sorceresses until she was forced to, ect ).

But she feels she’s fucked up so badly that she doesn’t see a way this concludes that she isn’t alone. Cheating is bad enough, nearly a decade of being together to result in infidelity. Being unfaithful with someone they both have a history with, her an ambiguous romantic history. That could press their relationship past that point and result in them breaking up. Rinoa doesn’t want her relationship with Squall to end, but she also doesn’t even know if they’re together for the right reasons and how much of their relationship, at this point of time, is authentic. Seeds of rebellion have been planted and there is a tiny spark coming back, lighting up just enough that she’s realizing she has no clue who she is as an adult because she’s been denied growth, and she’s been preforming being as content as she could fake it. She’s also terrified he is content that this will just be her life and be fine with it as long as she’s ‘safe’ - to which begs her to question what he loves because Rinoa has never given a damn about being safe over being happy. She’s always been a rebel and always been a fighter, so these past several years absolutely have not been who she is at her core. Who he loved nearly ten years ago isn’t the same person she is now - and that’s a terrifying truth that needs to be faced. She needs to find herself and show who that is and them to figure out if they are still compatible as they are in their mid/late twenties as they were when they were frankly just kids. Time changes things - and she didn’t want them to change.

Regardless of what part of their relationship was wearing a mask and what wasn’t - he has been a constant in her life and she does not want to lose him. And to even attempt building back trust - which takes several years of consistent honesty to recover from - she absolutely should not continue to see Seifer, the man she’s cheated on him with, even if they break off their sexual relationship.

Rinoa doesn’t want that either. Though she does not understand the details of his own cage, she can easily recognize that he isn’t the man she knew when he was 18, the one who unabashedly took on the world. He’s taking risks still, after she applied pressure on him then kept seeing her afterward, but that fire in him - while still there, has been severely dimmed and controlled, just like hers. She doesn’t have to know details to see it. He’s the only person in years she feels truly understands her in her situation, in ways not even Edea could because Edea had her freedom growing up to adulthood. She had choices. While Rinoa is skeptical to open up emotionally to Seifer and avoids talking about her relationship issues, even with walls still being up and guarded because he is still earning trust ( and she isn’t even sure how much he cares about her personal life or cares to hear about it ; again, trust building ) she feels seen for her core self when she’s with him, that he’s annoyed by the personality she wears of her past self and cut straight past that shit and even though it’s faint - just a tiny spark on a nearly dead flame - he is, intentionally or not, showing her how small her cage is and being fine with it is not who she is.  ( idk where to insert this so random insertion here that i can’t think fits into anywhere ; rinoa, while growing trust in him to the point of wearing the bangle when around him for his comfort to allowing skin contact on her scars even if just under a blanket, she is still very hesitant and uncomfortable being emotionally vulnerable with him. when they started sleeping together, she was in it to get out frustrations and it was on a more physical level. him understanding her situation and vice versa, having conversations in his trailer, and getting closer than just sex was not remotely what she expected when they continued to be in each others lives. and it scares her - she is scared to let him in again in the event she gets left behind or disregarded. that trust is still building. )

She doesn’t want to lose the person who she feels actually understands her and her grief, and who is encouraging her to be who she is. While doing so is going, and already has, made her start raddling the bars against her cage - life is going to get harder ( like it is now ) but she doesn’t want to go back. She won’t survive going back.

To lose Seifer would devastate her and because only a spark was lit, she’d probably revert back into being complaisant with the source of her growing empowerment ( until she could nurture it herself ) being removed. But to keep him in her life after she tells Squall she’s been sleeping with him is cruel and would likely shatter any hope for their relationship to recover.

She doesn’t see a way she isn’t alone right now, and won’t be alone when this current storm ends.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Hurt, pt.10 (E.D.)

Summary: Ethan and Y/N meet again, most of their secrets out in the open.

Warnings: ANGST, slight fluff, swearing, talk of depression

Word Count: 2500

Hurt - Masterlist

Memories work in different ways. Some memories feel warm and secure, wrapping you into the fuzzy feeling they evoke like a security blanket. Other times, memories are like a gateway to hell. They lead you down a dark, narrow path with certainty of doom. It's a fine line to walk between good memories and bad ones. One moment you feel happy, in the next the world is crashing around you.

Y/N had felt just that as she stepped foot in her old house, the one she had been staring at for far too long now. She didn't know if she was scared to return because she could still have feelings for Ethan, or because she'd go inside and find that she had become indifferent to it all.

One moment she felt the security blanket...

''You're going to break you back! Ethan!“ She yelped as he lifted her in his arms despite her protests, wanting to do things right from the start.

''I don't know where you come from, but here in New Jersey, it's custom to carry thy wife over the threshold!“

In the next moment it was pain...

''Don't...Damn it!“ Ethan growled out, holding back more than he thought is possible. He's been less than in control of his emotions as of late and he never wanted to lose control with Y/N. But in this moment where he had tried to be honest with her, to ask for her help, for her love, to be there for him and to watch her randomly pack a few of her things in a bag with intent of leaving him before he had a chance to say anything to explain his earlier words? In this moment he had lost himself completely. There was no more Ethna to hold onto.

''You told me to be honest with you!“ Ethan kicked the bag she was packing, hoping it gets her attention. And it did. But the look she shot him was clear as day – it was a look of hate, not sympathy or love. He had lost her. He knew that.

''DON'T THROW THAT BACK IN MY FACE!“ She didn't hold herself back anymore either. She was dancing on a line between madness and sanity, one she found hard to balance. She told him that when they first began dating because she always believed trust would breed solid ground to build a relationship on. She didn't want that to be what makes them break.

''You being in love with someone else? I'm supposed to thank you for telling me that? For not fucking her yet? Want me to applaud you for it? Because I won't! You don't catch feelings overnight, Ethan! Had you told me you've been attracted to someone earlier, when it started, we could have worked something out! Love?! I can't work with that! I can't stop you from loving her, but I won't sit around and watch my marriage burn when it had ended the day you decided I wasn't worth it anymore. You made the choice to hire her. You knew you'd spend half your time with her. Had you cared, you wouldn't have let it get far.“

She could still hear the ghosts of their past – romantic gestures, giggles, pranks, heart to hearts, but she could also hear the fights, the accusations thrown in their last one, the malicious intent behind every word she had spoken.

Sighing, she pushed through the heartache and undeniable regret. Walking the halls, she finally found what she's been looking for – their bedroom. A part of her wanted to remember all the softness, all the kisses and promises made, but a bigger part of her wondered how many times had he tried to fuck Bianca where she used to lay. It's the part of her she's not too proud of, but a part that's ruthlessly honest with her.

Just because he never truly got to that point with Bianca, it had hurt to know that there was a part of him – a deep, dark part of Ethan that didn't love or care for her as much as she thought he did. A part of him could imagine a life without her and before they separated, Y/N never thought she could survive without him. So much of her was comprised of all their moments spent together – the good and the bad – and she didn't want to erase any of them...until that day.

Opening the drawers, Y/N moved aside Ethan's socks, nearly grunting when she saw he had started folding them all wrong like he used to do when they just got married. It took her four months to teach him how to properly fold his clothes and to see he had reverted to his old habits unnerved her. It's a silly thing to be angry about because who gets mad about how socks are folded? But she was angry, not necessarily just about the socks, but the whole situation she found herself in.

Finally finding what she came here for, she closed her hand around the small, black box. Sitting back to rest, she drew in a deep, heavy breath. She had already started having trouble moving and breathing and she was only four months along, her stomach visible just enough to tell she's pregnant, but not enough to say she's as big as she knows she'll get. She was happy not to have the morning sickness issue, but the size? She wasn't happy about getting so big so soon.

Staring at the little black box, she debated whether to open it. It wouldn't do her any good for she already knew what was inside. None of this would do her any good, but she felt the need to do this – to see it herself. It's that nagging feeling you get in the back of your mind that won't leave you alone until you humor it, so she did.

Shaking her head, she opened the box, gasping despite knowing she'd find just that – their wedding band – his and hers – the same one she had thrown in his face as she walked out of their house. He kept them both, but that's not what got her – it's the inscription he had engraved as a surprise – Infinity times infinity, that faced her directly.

''It's just in case one of us gets in a horrible accident and the tattoos are scraped off our skin.“ Ethan shrugged as if his reasoning is the most normal thing in the world and the weird part of it all is that Y/N simply nodded, chuckling, because that's exactly the kind of thing she'd expect him to do, to say, to think – and she absolutely loved him for it.

Placing a shaky hand over her mouth, she felt the tears pricking at her eyes. It's quite clear she can't say she's indifferent to it all anymore, but her other fear had turned out to be true – she still felt something, everything for him.

All her friends and family keep telling her to forget, to let him go. How? It's all part of her. She can't let go of the pain without losing something sacred. The good memories keep her going and the bad ones make her want to curl under the duvet and never come out again, but they are locked tight together like two sides of the same coin.

How to let go of him when she can’t say for sure she wants to?

Y/N didn't know what to say. In fact, she didn't come to see him to say anything at all. She just needed to see him – like she would lose her mind if she didn't. So she came. And she stood there, shaking like a leaf, staring at her husband...ex-husband...or not...she didn't know anymore.

And he stared right back.

Noticing his lips move in an effort to speak, Y/N had rushed toward him. She didn't know why and she didn't want to do it at all, it was a surprise for her too – instinct, something beyond her control, like her heartbeat.

Without control, she threw her arms around him, holding him close. However, she couldn't stop herself from shaking even more in his embrace, especially as he wrapped his arms around her as well – her safe place forming once again.

''Babe, you're shaking.“ His voice had chased away all the sanity in her mind. He had turned her back to porcelain, a fragile doll in need of his kisses and compliments and sexy smirks that made her weak in the knees. He still has all of her, she knows that. But she can't be porcelain again. Never again. Porcelain breaks.

Pushing against his chest, Y/N had stepped back, wiping under her nose with the back of her hand as she sniffled, holding her emotions in, regaining control. She turned to leave, only to find Ethan wanted her to stay.

''Please don't. Just...I've missed you. All of you.“ Ethan's desperate call had made her turn around, giving him a good look at not only her face but her growing abdomen. It felt like the light at the end of a very long tunnel for Ethan, but for Y/N it was anything but. It was the bottom of a well she worked so hard to climb out of.

''I'm not here to mend things between us, Ethan. I just needed to see you. Make sure you're alright. That's all.“ She struggled to keep her voice leveled, but the slight rasp to her tone had given him insight into her pain. And all he could think about is how much he hates that he had caused her any pain, regardless how she carries it with such grace that he had fallen in love with her all over again.

''I understand. I do. I don't deserve you nor do you have to give me a second chance. Y/N, I'm just asking for a moment longer. I haven't given up on you, but if you gave up on me...on us...I understand.“ Ethan wasn't hiding his emotion any longer. He stood there, bleeding heart in his hands out in the open, giving her the choice between mercy and revenge.

''Don't. Okay?“ She pressed her lips in a thin line, releasing a shaky breath.

''I'm sorry you've been hurting and I'm sorry I contributed to that pain. Hopefully, you'll get well and...I hope you'll be happy again. Because I do want that for you, Ethan. I do.“ Her eyes glossed over as he stepped closer to her, grateful he didn't try to manipulate her by saying he'd never be happy without her by his side. He let her speak. He didn't interrupt her. He let her be herself – the new Y/N, and he did love the new side of her too.

''And I hate myself for not seeing your pain before, but that doesn't excuse what you did. It doesn't magically erase the bad, the pain, the lost trust and...If I stay here any longer I might cave and fall back into the bad place you put me in...And I don't want to go there again, Ethan. And I don't want to make you feel worse about it because I want you to get better. Our babies will need you to get better.'' She smiled, absentmindedly placing a hand over her swollen belly and while it pained him, Ethan could tell she would be a good mother already.

''I didn't meant to hurt you. I guess I was hurting so badly...hating that you didn't. There was a wicked part of me that wanted you to hurt just as much. I shouldn't have started the conversation like that. I should have started with what's wrong with my mind. I should have done a lot of things differently and I'm so sorry I didn't.“ Ethan wanted to make amends, to make sure she knows he was working to be different, someone who wouldn't just hurt her for sport. Even he couldn't recognize that part of himself for it felt like a different person, a split personality, but he couldn't place blame on someone else because it was him. He had to take responsibility.

''I know.“ She smiled so kindly that he felt like he was in heaven. It's the same smile she used to give him when he'd come home from work and rush to kiss her before saying anything because that's all he could think about all day long.

''It doesn't make it hurt any less. It changed me, E. I'm not the same woman you married. And it's not the worst change. I actually like myself better now.“ She stepped closer once again, taking his hand in hers. She had turned it in her hold, his palm facing her belly as she placed it lightly.

''Thank you.“ Ethan whispered, wanting to cry but not because of the sadness that took over him when he realized he might not stand a chance with her, but happy tears over feeling her stomach. There was no movement, nothing that would let him know there are babies inside her other than the size of it, but he hadn't felt so happy in so long that he had forgotten what happiness meant.

''I should go. I'm getting tired so easily these days.“ She smiled, pulling his hand away, taking his happiness away in the process just as easily as she had given it.

''Will you come back?“ Ethan asked, knowing that he's supposed to come out in two weeks anyway, but he wasn't really asking if she'd come back here – but if she'd come back to him...to their house...to their life. She just smiled, shrugging because she could see right through him and he knew that.

''Birds often fly in different directions...it doesn't mean they never meet again after the winter has passed.“

Hearing someone approach had brought her out of her most recent Ethan memory, knowing she probably stayed too long – long enough to draw attention and worry. Quickly, she had placed the box back in the back of his sock drawer, her heart pounding so strongly she worried it might break her ribcage open.

''Hey? Found what you were looking for?“ Edward walks in, his charming smile erased with a worried glint in his bright blue eyes, a strand of his blonde hair falling from behind his ear and to his cheekbone which Y/N couldn't help but smile at. He looked like an angel, incredibly handsome and while her mind continued to push Ethan memory of him standing in the same place looking at her the same way, she focused on the British man who had been so kind to waste his lunch break on her.

''Yeah...I think I did.“

Tags: @melodiesforari​​​​​ @brittttneyyyy​​​​​ @beautorigin​​​​​  @dolandolll​​​​​ @xalayx​​​​​ @godlydolans​​​​​ @heyits-claire​​​​ @peacedolantwins​​​​ @dolanstwintuesday​​​​ @accalialionheart​​​​ @ethanhes​​​​ @lanadeldolans​​​​ @ebbach-03​​​​ @dolangels​​​​  @xxaamzxx​​​​ @cutestdolans​​​​ @yaren-ates​​​​ @dolansmith​​​​ @vintagebitttch​​​​ @primadolangirl​​​​ @caqsicle​​​​ @jjustjoy​​​​ @justordinaryjen​​​​ @graydolan12​​​​ @imaginashawnns​​​​ @graysonslovie​​​​ @fandomsfeministsandothershit​​​​ @bdsmdolan​​​​ @graysavant​​​​ @ethanspillow​​​​ @dopedoodes​​​​ @anything-dolan​​​​  @sugarfootdolan​​​​ @joyrivh​​​​ @reblogserpent​​​​ @jonesana​​​​ @emiemille  @herewegoagainandagainandagain​​​​​ @adventureswithmell

[marsupials-of-mars]

Logan's Diary

(Second in my sides' diaries series, eight excerpts from Logan's Emotion Journal experiment picked and curated for your viewing pleasure)

Age 12:

Event: Patton suggested I begin journaling

Emotion: Thoughtful

Context: Patton has brought to my attention that I may be having trouble understanding my own emotions, and suggested i write my feelings in a diary. I assured him that he was being ridiculous, but it prompted in me the idea that as logic, I should have a full understanding of all topics, including emotion, in it's most technical sense. I will not be referring to this as a "diary", and I will not be speaking to it as if it were an individual, as it is a book and can not read or respond. Therefore, I will refer to it as my "Emotion Journal", as that is what it is.

Age 14:

Event: Puberty

Emotion: Overwhelmed(?)

Context: I'm so incredibly fed up with this. Nothing is as it should be, and nobody is willing to listen to reason. Each side has become unruly and chaotic in their own way. Most noticable is Anxiety, who has taken up a position of leadership in the mind. He has no place there. He makes extremely unhealthy decisions due to social pressures or personal worries which have begun to isolate Thomas or cause him to lose his sense of self. He doesn't seem to like the position, but it seems he's been forced into it anyway as his influence has built due to the dreaded neural changes of adolescence. Thomas has begun to wear very dark clothing. However bad all of that is for Thomas, the most unbearable change effecting me personally as a resident of this mind has been Remus. He is absolutely unbearable. Every word or movement he makes causes immense discomfort not only to me but to anyone nearby. Patton has been overly emotional, either crying or unable to sit still, occurring minutes apart from each other in violent mood swings. Roman has been working overtime, attempting to help Thomas through escapism. He creates stories and drawings which distract Thomas from his troubles, but these are momentary fixes, and will become unhealthy if continuous.

Overall, it has been, for lack of a better or more accurate synonym, a clusterfuck, and I'm counting the days until it's over.

Age 15:

Event: Thomas has been questioning his sexuality

Emotion: Annoyed

Context: I don't understand Patton and Roman's persistence in making everything so needlessly complicated. There are many physically attractive girls and yet they decide that they would rather be difficult about it. I don't understand them sometimes. They seem apologetic, but when one is sorry the appropriate action to follow would be to cease one's poor behavior. I've decided to cut contact with both of them for the time being as my feelings toward them at the moment make me prone to irrationalities. I'm always partial to curiosity but high school is already giving me a lot to think about and I don't appreciate having to factor in such a development. I will make the decision to ignore it for now. Perhaps it will eventually cease to be an issue.

Age 18:

Event: Thomas is a legal adult

Emotion: Elated

Context: Thomas turned 18 today, which means as of now he is legally allowed control of his own person in nearly every sense. I've been preparing for this my whole life, and I have a clear view of the many paths we could take from this point onward. Thomas has always been proficient in chemistry, therefore I believe a major in the scientific field would be appropriate. I can hardly contain my excitement. However, Anxiety has been making this transition quite difficult. He keeps insisting that we have no idea what comes next and are entirely unprepared, and somehow this sentiment is drowning out my attempts to guide Thomas. He can be incredibly frustrating to manage, and he's been more and more active as of late. But no matter how much he tries, he will not succede in putting a damper on my good mood.

Age: 25

Event: Thomas insists on continuing to make "Vines"

Emotion: Confused

Context: I will never cease to be entirely bewildered by Thomas's desire to "act", particularly in such small, insignificant, and comical portions. I can somewhat understand his drive for theater, as it is professionally directed and offers a feeling of purpose as well as a decent amount of enrichment both socially and cognitively.

However, these six second looping goofs are of no gain whatsoever. They don't promote social interaction, they don't fill any free time, and there is no true talent involved. Somehow, Roman is enjoying them nearly as much as he appears to enjoy acting onstage. Patton is also quite active lately. I will never truly grasp the appeal of this thespian characteristic of Thomas. Most of his Vines make no logical sense, and are unabashedly ridiculous. He is making a fool of himself. But I do like to see him happy, so I've decided to let this slide, as a benefit to his mental health. However insufferable his Vines, he is always smiling as he makes them, and that is always paramount.

Age 28:

Event: Virgil revealed his name to us

Emotion: Proud

Context: As of late, Anxiety has grown more and more tolerable, and seems to be settling in as one of the light sides. He has been making some real rational arguments, and even when he doesn't succeed, one can tell he is putting effort in, rather than reverting to his usual feigned apathy. It was made clear to me when he changed his jacket. In accepting his color more openly, which he had previously seemed to feel ashamed of, he showed trust and a feeling of belonging. This trust was made even more clear just today, when he revealed his name, Virgil. I feel as if this reveal marks a success in his social progress. There will always be a probability of relapse, but at this moment in time, I pride myself on having put my trust and belief in him. He is quite intelligent when not panicking, and provides a comforting relief from the exuberance of the other two.

Age 30:

Event: I'm nothing but a joke to them

Emotion: Furious

Context: This is why I don't often let my guard down. I trusted them to understand who I am and how I want to be treated, so I presented some of my guilty pleasures: Crofters, singing, poetry, onesies, and the occasional dad joke. I of course took precautions to not overindulge in such nonsense, but I assumed I could allow myself some comfort around who I assumed were my friends. However. They continuously pick at my flaws, they tease me relentlessly for every mistake. To them it's all in good fun, it's some awful game. To me it's not. I feel even more trapped in my outward presentation than before, and they don't seem to notice. It's not my job to tell them how I feel. I manage objective intelligence, they are emotional intelligence. It's their job to understand what I feel for me, they should know what would upset their friend. They know I'm vulnerable, they have to, and they continue to drag me into their silly hijinks and refuse me my objective purpose if I do not conform entirely to it. We have become a joke, we are getting nowhere with this career, we are only plummeting further into the role of some commercialized funnyman, a one dimensional character, and this is what Roman desires that we become. I won't allow it. I need to become who I should be, I cannot allow any further divergence.

Age 30:

Event: Thomas called me "cool"

Emotion: Validated

Context: After helping Thomas manage his introduction to Remus, we had a moment that I can only describe as heartfelt. He called me "cool", something i never really strived to be, but feels wonderful to be described as. Whether or not I am "cool" in an objective sense, what I truly gained from this interaction was appreciation, admiration, respect, and I believe that that is what resonated with me. I always aim to help Thomas, as a side should, and the purest way the favor can be returned is with simple validation. I feel I have an opportunity to employ an expression I've come to enjoy: "on cloud nine". I feel as if I am on cloud nine. That is the best way to describe this feeling. As much as Remus proves himself a nuisance, I have him to thank for providing the grounds for this event to take place. I have reached a balance of who I am and who I want to be, both comfortable and respected. Of course, Thomas doesn't need to be gushed to, and I'm not one for gushing. Therefore, I will now resume my duties as his cool teacher.

[lawfulpride]

Back by popular demand! A conversation between Davos and Thor, Part II.  Thor played by @honourablebravery.

captaincoffee07/25/2020

Thor, never the best at 'reading a room', is not foolish enough to be entirely oblivious. Good at this? Nah, probably not. Oblivious? Not so. The slight crease in his brow furrows further and further inward, before he moves to seat himself beside Davos-keeping a good forearm of space between them so Davos doesn't feel crowded in. "Well, you scarcely know me now, generally I have learned that speaking with someone on friendly terms can change that." They clearly have some sort of shared ground, and Davos seems to burn with the need to speak. Perhaps as Loki, he's forever been unheard Thor thinks, a pin-prick of bitterness touching his heart. "Is it something that you would wish to discuss? I am no wordsmith, but I have a gentle ear, and the ability for pragmatism."

Hopeful07/25/2020

"It's . . .. . " Davos ducks his head. He's been working on this: hard.  But revelations of his personal struggles remain shameful terrain he was trained for 28 solid years to keep to himself.  "It's. Not." He sighs, and looks up.  "It's not seemly.  For someone like me.  I am. I am still learning that I have the right to be." He blinks. "Well. Human."

He gives Thor a long look. " . . . the person I put all my faith and trust in was my brother.  When we turned 28, we were the two final contestants, out of all the monks in our temple, to go to trial for the most prestigious title--and responsibility--of my homeland.  I was winning.  Winning, but I couldn't kill him, even though that was the custom, so I begged him to yield. He was losing badly, but he still wouldn't listen to me, he kept fighting.  And I kept winning.  And then the light passed over the windows of the temple, and blinded me for but a moment. And Danny . . . his name is Danny, Danny Rand . . . .you've surely heard of him, he is as rich and at least half as famous as Mr. Stark . . . . he took the advantage and disarmed me, and won."

"In that one moment everything I had ever wanted, everything I had ever dreamt of becoming, was gone." He grinds his jaw. "But I was still willing to stand by his side as he took the Iron Fist . . . .the title and the duty of which I spoke.  And he thanked me by abandoning us. Abandoning me."

"Coming back here. To play white Kung Fu hero to a city full of reprobates."

captaincoffee07/25/2020

Something about Davos not even being 30 yet both startles and alarms, Thor's brow knitting continually, until it's nearly a flattened line of scrunch. "Siblings are not forged in blood alone, family is family, a lack of a blood bond means little when the pain is so true, the experiences so raw, and the moments so introspective, sharp and clear. Birth right can only account for so much, it's what we know and experience that makes a relationship. This man, Danny, he is your brother, in the truest of it's definition. And you have bene hurt, both by his betrayal and abandonment, and by he effectively sneering in the face of your love and accomplishments." Thor blinks, seemingly startled by how much he's said. "Of course..I can only know this from an outsiders view' He says, quickly. Aware that-regardless of what Davos currently describes, he'd probably not appreciate Thor actually insulting the man. He knew that feeling all too well. "Davos..if I may..what is it you wish to ask him? Can it even be quantified in singular statements? What drives you now?" He saw Davos was indeed human, but he keeps this quiet, not sure how this moral complex is for the other, or what about it disturbs him so. He hasn't enough information yet for that.

Hopeful07/26/2020

Davos folds his arms across his chest.  As he is wont to do, he listens closely to Thor's ruminating.  The god clearly speaks from experience.  "Of course." He looks up suddenly, eyes bright with a different kind of light, one not altogether gentle.  "Your brother is the sorcerer who attacked this city in 2012."   He would love to do battle with such a formidable creature, but he also knows that to say or even think such a thing toward this good man's beloved family member is unkind.  " . . . . as for your question, I don't. I don't know."

"I cannot imagine what I would say."

captaincoffee07/26/2020

There is anger there. Thor can sense it. What he cannot discern is it's direction, and he is not about to make the situation escalate by asking. He feels pain, but he doesn't know quite why he feels pain. For a moment, he wishes he understood people, emotions, nuances better. He tries, and he hopes that is something. "Yes,  Loki attacked New York here..in 2012..he was..unwell..very very unwell, that is not..I wish to not make it sound as if I'm excusing him, but much has come to light, since that moment." He chuckles, fondly, almost, reaching for his ice coffee. "You know.' Having a small sip. "It's entirely possible you won't know until you are within five inches of Danny's face that you'll know exactly what you wish to say"

Hopeful07/26/2020

"it might be unwise for me to ever see him again." Davos looks down at his right fist. He flexes it, over and over, slowly, as though something there is missing: the hand that, briefly, held the Iron Fist, when for a time he stole it from Danny.  A twitch of muscles, that meditates on what might have been. "I have spent many months rebalancing my chi, recovering my self-control and my....clarity...in knowing right from wrong.  Seeing Danny makes me violent and irrational."

"...it did not used to."

captaincoffee07/26/2020

Thor nods, slow, steady, and hopefully with understanding. "Unwise..yes, but are you settled?" He asks, "If you think that it would be possible to never see him, to never have that moment again and carry out your life with something else on your mind, could you do so? I would never advise anything that could hurt you, but I only ask, does it feel wise to you?" He continues, a little quickly. "You seem a man whom carries burdens like brands, Davos. A man who will always feel the burn of things that fester, that he believes wrong, because not having the resolution to something you believed in so deeply..I don't know if you'd be content, letting it go..because to you, it'll always feel like some slow moving knife taking pieces from your spine until someone yanks it back out." He could be wrong, and he truly has little clue where this babbling he speaks comes from..maybe Davos had a way of making everyone more introspective.

Hopeful07/26/2020

Davos sets his jaw.  He stands, and moves to the door.  But he pauses, and turns. His hand tightens into a fist at his side. He turns it and examines his palm. And he returns to the couch, and sinks back onto it.  "You are right."

captaincoffee07/26/2020

He worries for a brief moment if he's said something upsetting, but then Davos just..sits back down. "I cannot speak for you, nor your best interests, Davos..but..I do..I cannot say I do not worry. Your energy is very..intense"

Hopeful07/27/2020

The Steel Serpent looks at the Thunder God in his gauging, serious way.  "I was born to protect, and I must find something to protect, or I will run mad."  It's a confession, a tacit agreement.

captaincoffee07/27/2020

Something to protect. It seems there could be a double meaning to that..but it feels..rude to ask. He's not sure how to respond, precisely. "What about protecting yourself..and what you believe in? It may..I feel that there are causes, things you sympathize with, perhaps, if devotion is what drives you..looking somewhere to it?"

Hopeful07/27/2020

"That is why I am a shifu at several training centers now."  He rubs a palm down the back of his scalp, and inclines his head toward Thor in a single nod. "That is what I seek.  Truth to my purpose.  To be devout, to the people who need to learn to protect themselves. Some of them are children. Some women battered by the pigs who have abused the sanctity of marriage. Some teenagers."

"It's only...Can you miss the person who abandoned and betrayed you? I fear that is my dilemma.  Yet I don't trust myself to speak to him without reverting to shameful ways."

captaincoffee07/27/2020

Norns, what a loaded question. And such a question does not have a simple response-it cannot, at the heart, have any response not loaded and situation-based. He decides to hone in on the most simplistic part of the question (or what Thor thinks is the most simple) "Yes, I think you can' He says, gently, 'But you and I both know there is more to it than that..is there not?" The set up is a clear opening I can expand upon this should you desire it. You are safe in my company.

Hopeful07/27/2020

"Please explain."  Davos takes the opening, finally sipping his nearly forgotten tea.

captaincoffee07/27/2020

"Betrayal..is not a black and white issue, and it of course, determines on the type of betrayal." He's hesitating, but it's clearly in result of thinking how best to word what he desires to bring to the table here. "And how badly you are hurt by said betrayal. I think that, if one is to look for forgiveness after a betrayal has occurred, then context is utterly crucial."

Hopeful07/27/2020

"I don't want forgiveness, I want him to beg it! And I want to still tell him to go to hell!" Davos speaks ferociously but his whole body tightens, trying to regulate the emotions he keeps too constantly locked up in the dark.  "I want him to have never left, I want us to be home! I would have gladly yielded him the honor he was bestowed if he had just taken it seriously!"

A long pause and he draws out a shaky exhale. "Forgive me, I should not have raised my voice."

captaincoffee07/27/2020

Thor's first instinct is to reach out, he's tactile, after all. But he doesn't have consent and he's not sure what a man like Davos thinks of such things. Knowing full well some individuals hated touch. His fingers flex against his own leg, a slight inward curl, "Anger is not always something shameful" He points out, gently, "Sometimes it is good to let it out..lest it consumes us." Unless Davos believed anger a shameful thing, "You are not..." No He puzzles, then tries again, "This is a safe haven, Davos"

Hopeful07/27/2020

"A weapon does not know anger." The words are hollow and come from a dead place behind Davos's now shuttered and lightless eyes.  "A weapon does not indulge in emotions.  It is dangerous.  I do not think you unsafe. On the contrary, you are .....you are quite kind."

"I want him to have valued me...as much as I valued him." That's the root of it all. That's the bottom line.

captaincoffee07/27/2020

"You're a human first, Davos" He lets that sit, a moment. 'I was not always good...maybe this is why I make such an effort now..maybe I always had goodness inside, but could never access it..or..something." Words are not his strong suit. "You know the truth that you cannot force him to value you...Davos, it hurts..but Danny's blindness is not because of you, but him, and whatever has completely clouded his mind, his vision, his everything."

Hopeful07/27/2020

Davos bites his tongue halfway to saying "I know that!" because. Does he? Intellectually, perhaps, but not in his heart of hearts. "I have never been exposed to what...the Western world, I believe, refers to as 'positive reinforcement,' but I shall attempt to believe your words are true."

captaincoffee07/27/2020

"In truth..I do not quite grasp that concept either. My..my father's belief to me..was that..as long as you did what he claimed was 'good' then..it meant something. But it had to align with his personal visions. Order, regulation, he saw the future, did he? Maybe he claimed such, not sure...but I was so brash, so arrogant. And after years of encouragement from him to be so, he tells me no, it is too much, humble yourself..and I do..but it still did not align with his beliefs" "Loki suffered worse for it. He saw right through him at points..he always was to clever.."

Hopeful07/27/2020

Davos lifts his head from where it's been resting, in his hands, and studies Thor perceptively.  "My parents are like your father.  It's exhausting. I'm very sorry. The price of being the model pupil, always, is steep.  But I succeeded often in being what my mother and father...mostly my mother, demanded. It was just that it was never quite enough.  I could always be more perfect. And when I was not, I did not exist."

captaincoffee07/27/2020

"And I, to you, I am sorry..but if I may?" He has no idea how to preface it, simply launching himself head-long into words and hoping it sticks "I have learned, and I cannot claim this to be universal, these parents of ours..they have ideas, they want things accomplished. My father wanted a King, and he molded me to be just that, but when I started to eek from his mold, he punished me. He had two sons..well, Loki is Loki, but we grew up..side by side..and he made it seem as if the throne was allowed to both of us, but he deliberately kept the truth at bay. I was to take the throne, Loki not, and in his eyes we both failed because of what? Because HE couldn't be arsed to communicate openly? Because he treated fatherhood like putting pieces into a puzzle? Adding sealant to a sculpture? How can we do wrong or right when to him, sharing his thoughts was not..we were never worthy of his true voice, only spiels I have to wonder were rehearsed, he even banished our sister and told NOBODY." Now Thor is raging, that tell-tale fiery personality that still lingers beneath the surface, even to this day, rising like an encroaching flame. "She was too powerful..for him..' he scoffs, 'Imagine.." Lies, lies, deceit. Half truths. "Davos, we..we could never live up to what our parents desire, because their desires are not tangible, they are unrealistic, they always were. To the offspring are a means to an end, a continuation in a storyline they've crafted and could never finish, because we have agency. If they wanted someone to carry out legacies, whatever, to their exact specifications, make models, or something, do not expect that people with brains and feelings and hearts are blank slates waiting to be guided about like dogs!"

Hopeful07/27/2020

Davos watches Thor storm around his own lodgings, his inspirational words turning into a blaze of still unresolved emotions.  The Kung Fu master blinks slowly once. He then smiles, a small soft smile, almost modest in nature. This is so familiar. Danny has a temper like this, too.  Danny likes to rail against injustices, too, albeit a bit more sanctimoniously than this Thor fellow does.

Something about it is as comforting as the commiseration, the empathy, within the words themselves. He stands and walks over to the ranting god, and lays a hand on his bicep. "Are you alright?" he asks, and it's clear he actually cares. Davos isn't much of a deceiver.

captaincoffee07/27/2020

The touch does not startle him, it is both welcome and relieving. "..Are you?" He asks, quietly. "I.." He chuckles, 'I am a Thunder God for a reason, it appears." Aware that the moment is radiating tension, but comfort in the same shared space. 'Our lives seem oddly similar, Davos, in some ways."

Hopeful07/27/2020

"I am, in fact."  Davos huffs a laugh through his nose, and nods. "Perhaps we are."

captaincoffee07/27/2020

Thor's grin turns downright radiant, pleased with the good discussion, moving to turn himself more fully, his own wide-palmed hand loosely grasping  Davos's shoulder. "I am glad, to have given you some chance to alleviate some burdens, and I would be honoured to have you as a friend."

HopefulToday at 2:17 PM

Davos reddens.  Particularly his cheeks and ears.  They aren't especially large ears, but with his shaved head, they become prominent.  He could face down any foe with his fists, and with his keen wits, he could navigate nearly any delicate intellectual scenario as well. But being told by a friendly behemoth that he wants to be his friend, that it would be his honor? That's intimidating to someone trained to disregard emotional attachments altogether, save those which pertain to loyalty, and to devotion. "I." Oh, but it's very good for him, this scenario. "I would also be honored." He grasps Thor's shoulder, in return. He has to stand on his tiptoes.

[mystic-scripture]

All the Angst and all the Dirty for Spendy pls

Sure, Sara make me horny and sad why don’t you.

For the Angst:

9. Have they made each other cry?

When they finally talk about Emily and what going to JJ did to Wendy’s head (see preview below), it makes them both cry, whenever one of them fails to see an emotional drag on the other causes issues. They are both very intellectually minded, so talking about feelings is hard for them. So when they do finally manage to break down each other’s walls, it is pretty emotional. 

10. Write a ~300 word argument scene for them. 

Wendy’s hands shook as she took the bottles out of the pocket of her bathrobe. Spencer’s eyes widened, his lips forming words he didn’t have the voice to say. She licked her lips before she spoke, trying to keep herself grounded. 

“What are these doing in my apartment?” She was afraid of the answer, but she needed to know. “And is this why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“Avoi- I haven’t been avoiding you.” He ran his hand through his hair, averting his gaze from hers. “I just forgot they were in there, if you recall I had a bit to drink last night.” 

“Oh, oh I recall, you were escorted here because my place was closer.” Her hand clenched so hard, she could hear the glass of the bottles grinding together. “But seeing as you pride yourself on your Eidetic Memory, I doubt that’s true, so answer… the damn...question.” 

It was Spencer’s turn to lick his lip, his stance going rigid as she stared him down. “I-I was going to have JJ help me flush it. I’ve been having thoughts...and I didn’t want to put you through that again. I wasn’t going to use, but-” 

“You’ve thought about it and your answer was to go to JJ?!” She groaned,dropping the bottles to pull at her hair. “And not me? When I was the one to help you stop in the first place, you thought going to another woman was okay?” 

“I-I didn’t want to worry you,” His eyes pleaded hers to understand, searching for a way to talk his way out of this fight. “I know things have been hard for you since Emil-” 

“How would you know how hard things have been for me? I’ve barely even seen you at work let alone here.” She shoved at his chest. “You’ve barely even touched me since the hospital and you have the gall to tell me how I feel?” 

“Wait, are you mad at me for not being here?” His hands steadied her before she could pull too far away. “For giving you your space when I knew you needed time to figure things out? I thought you were the one pulling away from me.”

“God for a second just think with this,” she snapped her hand away, jabbing a finger at his chest. “And get out of that stupid, big brain of yours! How could I possibly have been pulling away from you? My body language, speech patterns, even the way I’ve looked at you the past few weeks has been screaming for you to notice me!”

“But you didn’t, and you’ve been adding insult to injury by seeing her.” Wendy gulped down the venom forming in her words. “And you will never understand what that did to me.” 

11. What causes them to fight? 

They get into little debates about things all the time, but all out fights? Honestly, Wendy lashes out when she gets insecure, usually about JJ or other girls. Reid tends to into fits of ‘I’m angry because I care’ rage toward her about taking care of herself. They also get pretty pissed at each other when one of them decides to be reckless on the job.

12. Do they have differing political opinions?

No, Wendy does her best to avoid it while keeping informed, but every now and again, Reid will go on a factoid tirade which usually ends up stressing Wendy the hell out. She knows they are necessary, but as long as she didn’t have to partake in them, they were a far away necessity. 

13. Name something they would never do for the other person. 

For? Not much, there’s a lot they would do for each other. Heck, Wendy has nearly died from Anthrax for/with him, and he took a bullet to the knee for her. Of course this causes them to get made at each other for being stupid, but they are very much an “I jump, you jump” couple. 

14. What would be a dealbreaker?

Lies. Wendy has had to deal with so many lies in their job and in her life, she can’t stand it. And Spencer, well we saw what happened when JJ lied to him given how close they were.

15. What are traits they dislike in one another?

It kills Wendy that he is such a technophobe, like technology is her life, and it’s what got her into the FBI to begin with. Also, she is a bit of a neat freak, so when he scatters things about when they are working together she gets a little punchy.

With Spencer, he can’t understand how stubborn she is in spite of any facts he throws at her. It doesn’t matter how many books or articles he’s read on the subject, once her opinion is made, there isn’t much that can change it. Also, he doesn’t understand how she can be so tidy, his brain works too fast to clean as he goes, but she is so freaking meticulous? Sometimes it scares him. 

16. If they broke up, what would be their opinions of each other?

While it would be hella awkward having to revert to their friendship, they are friends and coworkers first. They will always have tremendous respect and want the best for each other. 

For the Dirty:

25. What moves do they know work on the other? 

As soon as Spencer does anything to her neck or earlobe Wendy is done, and he knows it. Also whenever he pulls on her hair to guide her somewhere. Wendy meanwhile, takes great pride in knowing his need to be in control, and will give little noises or attempts at dominance just get him a little more riled up. 

26. What are their favorite parts about physical affection/sex?

Honestly? The dichotomy of it all, the sweetness of everything they do in spite of how rough they go about it. And Spencer makes damn well sure that Wendy comes at least once, a lot of times before him. Wendy likes to watch him come undone, stroking his face and maintaining hella eye contact. 

27. Do they have any kinks/fetishes that they share?

Spencer is totally a Dom, and Wendy is happy to be his sub. Choking, hand binding, and shibari are shared kinks. Also, Wendy in JUST one of his dress shirts or cardigans drives him nuts, and for her, there is something about the muscles in his back that just does it for her.

28. Write a ~300 fantasy one of them has about the other.

 “I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Wendy gasped, pulling him by his tie for a hungry, lingering kiss. “Literally any of them could walk in on us Or worse, hear us.” 

“Then I guess you’ll just have to be quiet.” He murmured, spinning them to pin her against the door of the Jet’s bathroom. 

He smirked as she let out a small gasp, but nodded. His hand took her wrists in his as he ravaged her neck, kissing and licking his way down the opening of her dress shirt. She trembled, biting her lip to keep the moans from coming out too loud, glaring at him. She knew he was doing this on purpose, that he wanted to see just how far he could go and keep her quiet. Her wrists struggled against his grip, her hips dipping towards him when he pulled away.

Chuckling lightly, he let her go, hands going to the zipper of her skirt. Her hands roamed, his sides, dipping to his belt that she made quick work of. Opening the zipper, she dipped a small hand to palm him, releasing a surprised growl from Spencer. Her pink lips formed a satisfied smirk and she bit her bottom lip. 

“And you were worried about me...” She teased, using her other hand to wrap around his neck to pull him into another kiss, biting his lip harshly. “You sure you can manage it, Doctor?” 

Her mocking him, mixed with what her hand was doing almost undid him there, but he grabbed her hips, pushing her into the door with an audible bang. Her eyes opened, and a startled noise formed in her throat, but he quickly shut her up, kissing her roughly, and using the opportunity to gain entrance with his tongue. His hands moved to cup the back of her thighs and she hopped out of the pool of fabric that was her skirt to wrap around him. 

Soon, his pants and boxers followed, and her underwear was twisted aside. He adjusted slightly, making it so that he pillowed her head with one hand, and held onto her with another. Wendy took the hint and placed hands above her head, pushing against him and bracing herself on the door. Looking into his eyes, he taunted her, teasing her entrance. 

“Keep talking,” He ordered, backing away when she tried to meet him. “We’ll just see who can manage it.”  

29. What are each of their signature foreplay moves?

Spencer takes his time roaming her body with kisses, and keeping her pinned, the inability to touch him drives Wendy crazy. Wendy will bite his lip, or tongue during heated kisses and go to pull away all innocent like. 

30. Write a short exchange of dirty talk between them. (kind of not really, just Wendy being a brat)

“Comeon Dr. Reid, what’s the matter? Afraid you can’t handle it?

“You have no idea what I can handle, Little Girl.” 

31. What do they love to do after sex?

Aside from a second or third round? Snuggles, just laying there in the afterglow until one or both of them falls asleep. Wendy traces patterns on his chest while he threads his fingers through her hair.

32. Do they enjoy morning or night sex?

Uhm...Yes. Most mornings end up getting interrupted with their job though.  

Send me a ship and numbers! 

Wendy Tag: @abbyarcxnes @perfectlystiles @raging-violets (sara asked, no need to tag her) @foxesandmagic @anotherunreadblog @curious-kittens-ocs @darknightfrombeyond (Missed you or want to be added? HMU!)

[sightlessdarkcorner7]

The Case of the Southend Werewolf

What would go on to be called the Southend Werewolf begins in the Essex seaside town of Southend, England, on a warm, sunny Saturday afternoon in 1952. On this day, 9-year-old William Ramsey was out in the garden of his family home playing by himself as he tended to do. He was an imaginative boy, who would often spend hours out there in his own little world, lost in his imagination. There was nothing particularly odd about him being out there lost to his imagination on this day either, and having just returned from a day out at the movies watching films about World War II pilots he was out acting like he was a fighter pilot, much to his mother’s amusement. But then something decidedly odd occurred. After about an hour of playing out in the grassy backyard as usual, young Bill Ramsey suddenly felt a strange wave of cold wash over him, like some icy winter chill, even though it was a warm, pleasant afternoon. After this initial chill, he started shaking uncontrollably and he could detect an unpleasant odor permeating the air around him. He would later recount about the feeling: “Have you ever walked into a meat locker right after you’ve been outside on a hot day? That’s what this was like. I was playing and my body temperature was normal and then, well, I’d say it felt as if my body temperature dropped a good twenty degrees. Sweat froze on me and my whole body started shaking. It was as if I’d opened this door and stepped inside to another dimension or something. And there was this odor. Very foul. A few years earlier, a sewer on our street had backed up. I’d never smelled anything as bad as the gasses that escaped. And that’s what this smell was like that day, I was afraid I was going to vomit.” As young William stood there bewildered and trying to make sense of the strange sensations and smells assaulting his senses, they suddenly subsided, yet he felt that something within him had changed. He was no longer interested in pursuing his imaginative play, thinking it rather childish and petty, but was rather extremely tense, coiled, and on edge, his senses keenly attuned to his surroundings. He glanced around him and up at the darkening sky but everything seemed somewhat off to him, and images of wolves began to inexplicably dance through his head, as well as the irrational sudden urge to run off down the road on all fours towards the sea. At some point, his concerned mother came over and called out to her son, trying to snap him out of his daze. It was at this point that Bill was suddenly overcome by a blinding, inexplicably burning rage that coursed through his entire body like an electrical current, and a deep growl lurched forth from his mouth. Before he even knew what he was doing, he allegedly tore a nearby fencepost completely out of the ground, along with its concrete mooring and wire fencing, displaying a vicious strength far beyond what such a young boy should have been capable of, and proceeded to swing it around like a baseball bat in some sort of adrenaline fueled rage. The out of character outburst was enough to frighten his parents into fleeing hastily into their home, where they waited for their son to calm down and gain some semblance of sanity. As they watched, their normally mild mannered son began to tear apart the wire fencing with his bare hands and even gnaw at it with his teeth like some sort of wild beast. Bill’s father decided to go try to subdue his son, but was met with a strength far beyond what he was expecting, and he was unable to pry the fencepost from the boy’s iron grip. With his own son snarling at him and lashing out at him like a beast, Bill’s father retreated back to the relative safety of the house.

After several minutes of his epic tantrum, little Bill Ramsey began to calm down and finally dropped the fencepost as he stood there panting like a dog, blood dribbling down his chin from the cuts he has sustained from biting the sharp fencing wire. After feeling the coldness and rage seep and leech away from his body, Bill trudged over to the house and calmly asked to be let inside. His parents obliged, but they did so cautiously, not sure if their son would revert to the animalistic fury he had displayed just moments before. As they awkwardly ate dinner that night in near silence, their thoughts going over the strange events of the day, they mentioned that whatever it was that occurred was not to be talked about again, and that they should try to forget it ever happened. It was at this time that Bill’s mother would later claim that she had noticed that her son had subtly changed somehow, although she could not quite put her finger on what it was. The family went on to live a peaceful life without further such incidents. Bill Ramsey would go on to have a normal life, get married, and have three children. He became a respectable family man long past that fateful sunny day. However, shortly after his marriage he began to be plagued by vivid nightmares in which he would sometimes wake up panting or growling like an animal, much to the concern of his family. The bizarre dreams and episodes would eventually stop in 1967, after which the family seemed to be free of whatever issues were haunting Bill. They would have a happy life for years and Bill started to think his life was getting back to normal, but then in the 1980s a series of bizarre incidents would prove to him that there was still something very much wrong with him indeed.

In early 1983, Bill was out drinking with a group of friends when he claims he felt a sudden rush of icy cold and sweat, very similar to what he had experienced as a child. Feeling ill, he went to the restroom and says that when he looked into the mirror he could see the frightening visage of a wolf staring back at him. Steadily unsettled by the whole incident, he asked to be taken home, and as he was riding in the car with his friends he was reportedly overcome with an irresistible rage that took over his body and stole its control from him. He began to snarl wildly, turning to the friend next to him and attempting to bite his leg. The driver of the car was able to pull over, after which they all struggled to restrain Bill and get him under control, a feat that took all of them since he seemed to be displaying a freakish amount of strength. Bill would eventually come back to his senses, marking the end of a very strange, very awkward evening out. He would later say that he could remember nothing of the odd incident.

Later that year, things would only get stranger still. At around Christmas of 1983, Bill began to suffer from nearly incapacitating sharp chest pains, something which he had never really experienced before. He also was overwhelmed by a cold sweat that poured from his upper body. His immediate concern was that this was the onset of a major heart attack, and Bill found his way to the nearest hospital emergency room. Once there, he was urgently put on a gurney and prepared for examination, but as he waited he could feel the familiar odd chill from his boyhood episode spread out and overcome him once again. At one point, as a nurse bent over to examine him, Bill purportedly let out a guttural roar and lashed out at her with teeth bared, biting into her arm, after which he threw around furniture and scurried into a corner of the room to growl, roar, and pace like an animal. Police arrived, and together with hospital staff they were able to restrain the immensely strong, rampaging man onto a gurney and sedate him with tranquilizers, all the while as he ferociously snapped his teeth at them and roared like a wild beast. Witnesses would later say that Bill had seemed completely, utterly animalistic at the time, with his hands curved into claws, teeth bared, lashing out at those around him, and snarling and growling unintelligibly. One of the policemen who had helped to restrain Bill would later claim that the man’s eyes had looked feral and wolf-like. The sedated man was brought to Runwell Mental Hospital, and when the drugs wore off Bill claimed that he had no recollection of what had happened and had no idea why he was at a mental hospital. Although doctors there suggested that Bill stay and undergo further evaluation and testing he declined, and since he had voluntarily checked himself in at the hospital he was allowed to leave. It was the attending psychiatrist’s opinion that he was likely to have another such episode in the future unless they figured out what was wrong with him but at the time Bill ignored him and went home, thoroughly exhausted from the whole ordeal and hoping that no further such mysterious attacks would emerge. The doctor would turn out to be right.

In January of 1984, Bill went to visit his mother and as he was driving home he felt another episode coming on. Realizing the now familiar tell tale signs of an impending episode, he rushed as fast as he could to the hospital and ended up in the same emergency room as he had been in before. However, by the time he arrived, the wolf-like ferocity had already utterly consumed him. When a lone nurse told him to wait a moment for a doctor, Bill allegedly lashed out at her and threw her roughly to the floor, before pouncing upon a startled orderly in a frenzy, choking him and trying to bite him. Police arrived shortly after and four officers warily circled Bill, who was by this time once again a savage, snarling beast. The beastly, fierce display was so frightening that none of the officers wanted to approach him, and when one did Bill’s response was to set upon him as a predator might do to prey, apparently injuring the officer so badly that he would remain at the hospital for 4 days afterward. The police would later claim that it took all four of them and all of their strength to get Bill into handcuffs, and that he had been much stronger than his appearance would suggest, to the point that they wondered if the handcuffs would even hold.

After he had been put into the handcuffs and thrown into the back of a patrol car, Bill reportedly came back to his senses and as before could not recall anything that had happened from the time that he had been approaching the hospital. After being interrogated and rationally attempting to tell his bizarre story to the no doubt skeptical authorities, it was recommended that he check himself into a mental hospital. Bill refused and was later released. Unfortunately, it would come to be clear that checking into a mental hospital might not have been such a bad idea at all. On the evening of July 22, 1987, Bill stopped by a bar called the White Horse Inn to have a drink after a hard day at work. There he met some friends and they ended up having a good time chatting and drinking, although by the time Bill left the bar he was fairly drunk. Worried that he was too drunk to drive and that a policeman might pull him over, he nevertheless got into his car to drive home, deciding to take a quiet route home where he hoped he could avoid other people and the cops. At some point he came across a lone prostitute walking along the street and got the bizarre plan into his head to make a citizen’s arrest. He pulled the van over and invited the prostitute in, who obliged as she thought she was dealing with a customer. However, as they drove, she began to get a very strange and ominous feeling from Bill, as if he meant to do her harm. She soon asked to be let out and that was when Bill started to let out a rumbling growl under his breath.

When the car slowed down enough, the prostitute then allegedly made a panicked run for the nearest police station and Bill stepped out of the car to follow her. A police officer emerged from the station as Bill approached, and when he drew closer, the beastly force overcame him and he threw the policeman to the ground to begin choking him. Allegedly, the officer was much bigger than Ramsey, yet the smaller man exhibited almost supernatural strength and was easily able to overwhelm him. More police officers then came running to their fallen comrade’s aid, yet Ramsey proved to be a force to be reckoned with, easily tossing the men aside as he roared like an animal and allegedly spat out: “The devil is in me…I am going to kill you.” It would purportedly take 6 strong police officers and several injections of tranquilizer to bring the wild rampage to a stop. Again, Bill would later claim that he had no recollection at all of what had actually transpired. The prostitute, only known as “Lauren,” would later doubt that Ramsey had ever had any intention of arresting her, instead preferring to believe that he had picked her up with the expressed interest in attacking her.

In the aftermath of this vicious assault, Bill finally checked himself into a mental hospital for evaluation, fearing for his own safety and the safety of those around him. A slew of tests were run on him, including X-rays, MRIs, and various psychiatric tests, yet no discernible cause fro the outbursts could be found. There seemed to be nothing wrong with him, neither physically nor mentally. He was kept for observation for 10 days, during which time he remained his normal, rational and mild mannered self, leaving the hospital no choice but to release him. The police station attack propelled Bill Ramsey’s case into international headlines, and soon everyone was talking about what was coming to be known as the “Southend Werewolf.” In the meantime, Ramsey had several more violent, animalistic episodes, which on several occasions prompted him to go to police and plead to be locked up to prevent him from harming anyone. Bill Ramsey’s plight would capture the attention of famed demonologists and supernatural investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren as they were on a trip to London. After contacting local law enforcement officials, the Warrens were able to get in touch with the Ramseys and arrange to meet with them.

While the Warrens at first were suspicious that the whole thing had been a hoax, after several talks with the police and Bill’s family, it soon became apparent that the strange events that had transpired were very real, although no one had any idea of what had caused them. The Warrens became convinced after several talks with Ramsey himself and his wife, Nina, that he was in fact possessed by a form of demon animal spirit. After much cajoling, Bill was convinced by the Warrens that he should come to their church in in Connecticut in order to undergo an exorcism with a Bishop Robert McKenna, who had many exorcisms under his belt. In 1989, Bill Ramsey and his wife made the trip to the States, hoping that perhaps an answer and cure could be found to his escalating condition. In the days before the exorcism, there was a bizarre incident in which Bill attempted to choke his wife in her sleep, which he would not remember in the morning. When the time for the exorcism actually arrived, there were present Bishop McKenna, the Warrens, Bill Ramsey, his wife, paranormal investigator John Zaffis, staff from the tabloid magazine, The People, who had funded the trip, and several off duty policemen who were to serve as bodyguards if things should spiral out of control. When the exorcism began, Bill was reportedly skeptical and unimpressed, and as the Bishop rambled on in Latin he felt nothing whatsoever. He began to think the whole trip had been a waste of time, and later claimed that he had felt it was all “mumbo jumbo” at the time. Yet as McKenna began to press his stole against Bill’s head and demand that the demon identify itself, things would take a sudden turn for the weird.

Bill’s demeanor abruptly changed, he began to snarl viciously and his face contorted into a beastly visage, teeth bared and eyes wild. His hands also curled up into talons, and he began to thrash about in a rage. Lorraine Warren would later claim that even his physical characteristics changed, with his ears appearing more pointed, his face more feral, and his hands more claw-like. Bishop McKenna also said that Bill’s appearance had changed, and at that moment the frenzied demon possessed man lunged towards him trying to maul him. McKenna stumbled back away from him and produced a crucifix, which he held high while commanding in Latin that the demon leave at once. This seemed to only further infuriate the demon, and Bill lunged and swiped at the Bishop, who ordered the nearby policemen to stand down while things played out. Just as the frenzied, out of control Ramsey seemed to close in for the kill and was about to seriously hurt the Bishop, something odd happened. The man who had moments before been a whirlwind of snarling, spitting aggression suddenly fell to the floor in a heap, with one last roar rattling through him before he fell still. Bill would later say of what happened: “The poison that had been in my body drained from me completely. I was left without any strength at all, and when I turned to look at Nina, that small movement caused me to black out. I gripped the chair as tightly as I could and let the demon continue to be pushed away by Bishop McKenna’s Latin words.” The entire exorcism was allegedly caught on film, and all who were present remain adamant that it all really happened. Bill Ramsey, for his part, would go on to claim that he never experienced any more such incidents and was able to return to a normal, peaceful life. Ed and Lorraine Warren would go on to write a whole book on the case, entitled Werewolf: A True Story of Demonic Possession. As to what had actually been wrong with him, that depends on who you ask. According to the Warrens, Bill Ramsey was possessed by some form of demon. Another possibility is that he suffered from a mental condition known as “clinical lycanthropy,” in which the victim truly believes they are shapeshifting into an animal, which can range from wolf, to bear, to pretty much any other animal, including even frogs, rabbits, and bees. He could have also been exhibiting any number of psychotic disorders or mental issues. Some psychotic outbursts can produce exactly the kind of behavior seen in the Ramsey case, and could also possibly account for the displays of seemingly superhuman strength during his rages.

Could this have been an actual demonic possession by some form of animal spirit invading his body and our realm? All we know for sure is that those who witnessed the events claim it is all true, and the victims of Bill’s attacks, including law enforcement officials remain rather baffled about the whole thing. Considering that Bill Ramsey has had no further episodes and has since 1992 sort of dropped off the map, this is just about all we may ever know. You guys can see the video of his interview for “Sightings” a show he appeared on if I’m not mistaken (video).

[whitewolfofwinterfell]

My favourite Charmed episodes - season 7

This is the seventh part of my Favourite Charmed Episodes meta series all posts in the series will be tagged as #favecharmedeps.

Season 7 is a strange one for me to analyse, because I have very mixed feelings about it. Generally I think of it as a rather forgettable season, but then when I started trawling through the episodes to pick out my favourites, I realised there’s a lot of episodes that I really enjoy from this season. Although the Avatar storyline didn’t reach it’s full potential, I actually think it’s one of the most interesting plots from the series. It posed a lot of questions about the key themes of the show regarding morality and good versus evil, and it also created a lot of conflict for the main characters. Part of me clings to the golden days of Charmed when times were simpler for the Halliwells and the family felt like a more cohesive unit. But I can’t deny that the Avatar storyline brought about very interesting character development and conflict amongst the characters. In addition to the Avatars, Zankou is objectively one of the most interesting and baddest villains to ever be on the show and for the first time since The Source, it felt like the sisters really were going to lose the battle. This also has one of my favourite minor characters from the entire show - Drake. I can’t help but enjoy the episodes that feature Drake. He’s a breath of fresh air in what’s overall a rather dark season, and his chemistry with Phoebe is great. The moments when she’s with Drake are the moments when I feel we catch a glimpse of the old Phoebe that followed her heart wherever it led her and was a free spirit. Strangely, I think that season 7 is the better season between the two weakest ones of the series. I have chosen 7 favourite episodes from season 7 (which is the most I’ve chosen from any season tied with season 3!): Cheaper by the Coven, There’s Something About Leo, Charmageddon, Carpe Demon, The Seven Year Witch, Imaginary Fiends and Something Wicca This Way Goes. 

Cheaper by the Coven (7x03)

For those of you that have been following this meta series, you’ll already know that I generally love any episode with Penny and/or Patty, and this episode is no exception. I enjoy this episode because not only do we get Penny and Patty, we also get Victor. One of the main aspects I love about Charmed is the emphasis on family and the core of that is the sisterhood, but there’s something special about any episode which features other family members. 

The sibling rivalry between Wyatt and Chris was authentic and very realistic of sibling relationships. We know from future!Chris that their relationship was strained, so it’s no surprise to see that developing now. When Grams casts the spell to remove their rivalry and it transfers to the sisters, it shows that you cannot erase complex emotional issues with the wave of a wand. 

Seeing the sisters revert back to a child-like state is comedic, albeit a little cringey, but I always get a kick out of seeing it. As the seasons progress I feel we see less and less of the playfulness and closeness between the sisters, so it’s nice to see it in this episode. Likewise, it’s touching to see Victor and Patty come together as a co-parenting unit for perhaps the first time ever to help their daughters. It was also sweet for them to see the girls in a child-like state since they both missed out on a majority of their childhood and likely never got the chance to see them interact as children. 

The sub-plot with Leo and Wyatt is also a necessary exploration of the aftermath of Leo killing Gideon. Although I’m generally not a fan of Wyatt’s character and the way he’s written, it makes sense that the trauma and emotion of being kidnapped and nearly killed by someone who was a trusted family friend and mentor, then witnessing his own father murder that man, would manifest itself in a complicated manner. After all, the sisters always say their powers are linked to their emotions. Although this issue was quickly resolved in this episode, I still think the fact that the episode tackled this was really important. 

Overall, I enjoy this episode because it’s fun and it brings together the Halliwell family (there’s even a discussion about Prue between Grams and Piper) in a nice way. 

There’s Something About Leo (7x09)

This episode has a very gripping plot that I find suspenseful and engaging. There’s a lot of conflict throughout since Leo is an Avatar and wants to tell Piper, whilst Kyle wants revenge against the Avatars because he believes they killed his parents. 

Generally, although Leo is a main character from season 1, he doesn’t get much attention or many of his own story lines until season 6. I personally find the Avatar story line one of the strongest ones involving Leo and this episode is a culmination of that. In the past Leo chose his duties as an Elder above the love and duty towards his family, and once again we see him in a similar position with the Avatars. He doesn’t want to lie to Piper and keep secrets from her, but the Avatars insist Piper (and the sisters) aren’t ready to know the truth. It’s interesting to see Leo having little control over his new powers and using them based on emotion. After having been split from Piper for a while it poses a real challenge to their relationship for them to have secrets between them, particularly when Piper sense that he’s hiding something from her. It provides good development for them as a couple to see them having to overcome something like this as a couple. When Leo tells Piper the truth, it’s interesting to see how she’s able to remain open-minded and trust that the Avatars aren’t in fact evil. It demonstrates the strength of their partnership and the love they have. 

On the other hand, the reveal about Leo being an Avatar wreaks havoc on the family because of Kyle and Paige finds herself in an incredibly difficult position, caught between the man she loves and her family. It’s one of the first time that the family is divided in this manner and although it’s sad, it’s interesting to witness. The Halliwell family as a unit seem so solid and together, but this episode shows that despite their closeness and how much they love each other, they’re not immune from facing these kind of problems. 

When the truth leads to Leo and Kyle’s deaths, it’s a dramatic and shocking moment that proves what the Avatars said to Leo about it being too soon for him to reveal the truth. Piper may have been ready but Kyle (and Paige) weren’t ready and the consequences of that were disastrous. The episode ends with Leo revering time to before he told Piper the truth about him being an Avatar and everything that happened in the episode is undone. 

Since Charmed is generally follows a demon-of-the-week format, I appreciate episodes like these that are very plot heavy and are the piece of a puzzle for an ongoing plot. The Avatar story line spans across the majority of the season and although the damage done in this episode is reversed, it doesn’t end on a particularly positive note. It demonstrates how dangerous the situation is and provides an insight into how the plot may develop as the episodes continue and the devastating impact it could potentially have on the family. 

Charmageddon (7x13)

This episode is very much the follow-up of There’s Something About Leo and the culmination of the Avatar story line. Once again, I like this episode because I think the plot works very well. It’s an interesting and solid episode that takes you on a journey and has a strong ending.

As I mentioned at the beginning of this post, the Avatar story line in general poses big questions about a lot of key themes that are present throughout Charmed and this episode really highlights that. One of the most significant themes throughout this episode from my perspective is be careful what you wish for. 

Throughout the series we see the sisters time and time again crave and wish for a “normal” life free of magic and demons, and this episode sees their wish granted. They live in a perfect utopia - a happy world with no violence or pain - and they all seem happier than they’ve been in a long time. After all, what could possibly be more perfect than a world like that? Of course, it’s not long before the cracks begin to show and the reality of maintaining a world like that means that innocent people are removed from the world is they pose a threat to the peace. 

After seeing the journey Leo has been on in this season with the Avatars it’s interesting that he of all people is one of the first (with Zankou’s help) to see the flaws in the Avatars utopia. Having Leo pair up with Zankou to reverse what the Avatars have created builds on the conflict that has been present within the family throughout the season. It’s good to see Leo make such a huge decision by himself on the basis of his own morals and sense of right and wrong. He makes a lot of mistakes in seasons 6 and 7, but he’s still able to see the right path and knows that he has to work with Zankou to achieve that. 

On the flip side, this episode (and this season overall, actually) shows how much the sisters have lost their way. Despite the years of experience and the knowledge they have of the magical world, they’re naive enough to believe that the Avatars really can create this perfect utopia without there being any consequences. It shows that the sisters are so desperate for normalcy (and I don’t really blame them) that they’re willing to believe what is clearly a fantasy. Phoebe and Paige, in particular, knew that such a world can’t exist after their experiences in It’s a Bad, Bad, Bad World. They were catapulted into a happy parallel universe where everything was sunshine, rainbows and smiles, but where people were shot in the street for blocking their neighbours drive-ways or had their tongues cut out for swearing. The sisters should’ve been smart enough to realise that a world like that can’t exist without consequences. And Phoebe’s resistance to see the reality of it, even when Leo explicitly told her about it, further demonstrates how desperately they were clinging to a fantasy. 

It’s great to see the sisters (and Leo) team up with the Big Bad of the season, Zankou and reminds me of season 4 when the Seer teamed up with the sisters to help them defeat the Source (although it was actually a manipulation on the Seer’s part). It demonstrates that under certain circumstances, even enemies can come together to right a wrong. It also hammers home one of those core Charmed messages that good cannot exist without bad and vice versa. 

Overall, I love the plot of this episode and the important lessons it contains. When Phoebe goes to the Book of Shadows, like Leo told her to, and had a premonition of all the people she’d lost over the years, it was a beautiful moment. We all go through life avoiding pain and hoping we don’t have to feel it, but it’s a natural part of life and being a human. And although it’s a cliche, it’s true that we all have to feel those things to be able to fully feel the good parts of life - love, happiness, kindness, empathy, friendship, family etc. Life without pain is not truly living. Likewise, this episode provides a valuable lesson on how the things we wish for may not always live up to the expectations we have or turn out the way we imagined. The sisters wanted the utopia that the Avatars provided, but it wasn’t what they expected or hoped. 

The episode ended with Kyle returning to Paige as a Whitelighter, which regardless of personal feelings towards Kyle and/or Paige and Kyle as a couple, was very sweet and fitting. Paige needed that closure after the way in which Kyle died and it was the right way to end his story. As a child I strongly disliked Kyle, because I found him annoying and hated him for wanting to kill Leo. As an adult, I now completely sympathise with Kyle and feel that as a whole the fans are a little harsh on him. He was a little boy whose parents were killed and his entire life was shaped by the trauma of that one event. As a result, he spent his entire life clinging to the idea of avenging his parents deaths and when he was faced with that opportunity, he couldn’t let it pass him by. Yes, it was selfish of him to try and kill Paige’s brother-in-law, but under the circumstances it’s also easy to understand why he felt so strongly about it. He believed wholeheartedly that the Avatars were evil, and although they weren’t necessarily, they were still corrupt and to an extent he was right about them. They created a world that on the surface may have seemed better, but in reality it wasn’t, because it was all an illusion. Everyone’s minds, emotions and behaviours were manipulated by magic, forcing them to conform and essentially transforming them into robots. That’s simply inhumane and immoral. 

Despite the fact that the Avatar story line was a bit iffy in places, I really like this episode and think it’s a strong culmination of the plot and a very strong ending too. My one and only criticism, is that I feel like this should’ve been a turning point for the sisters in realising that they’d lost their way a little bit and lost sight of the purpose of their magic. From the beginning, being the Charmed Ones was all about protecting the innocent, but by this point, the sisters had grown so tired of demon-fighting and everything that went with it that they lost sight of the real reason they were fighting and became too focused on what they needed and wanted. 

Carpe Demon (7x14)

In terms of plot and the events of this episode, I don’t really like it much at all. But anybody that follows me or that is familiar with my Charmed posts will know that Drake is one of my favourite characters on the show and that is the only reason I like this episode. Therefore, nearly everything I discuss about this episode will be entirely about Drake. 

To skip over the plot quickly before I get into Drake, I think this episode is generally a bit meh, a rather forgettable episode that lacks in any real plot. It has a bit of silliness and fun with Drake becoming Robin Hood, which I’m partial to, but there isn’t a whole lot going on in this episode. If you remove Drake from the episode, this definitely wouldn’t make it onto my list.

So, let’s talk about Drake, shall we? I honestly love Drake. He’s a breath of fresh air and from the second he arrives on-screen he transforms the entire vibe of the show. He’s the sort of character that lights up any scene he’s in and his chemistry with Phoebe from the beginning is so lovely. She comes alive around him and we get to see a more playful, passionate and free-spirited Phoebe once again. His energy, positivity, philosophical mindset, interesting background (as a demon), humour and playfulness perfectly offset the darker tone of the season with the Avatars. His arrival is perfectly timed to lighten up the show a little after the Avatar story line and although he’s only on the show for a short amount of time, I find his presence very impactful. There’s a lot of characters that come and go throughout the seasons, but Drake’s one that is very memorable to me and he always stands out. None of the other minor or recurring characters seem to bring the same energy to the show as he does and I always enjoy watching his scenes and watching his dynamic with Phoebe. 

The Seven Year Witch (7x16)

Honestly, it’s kind of crazy that I still commonly think of season 7 as an average/poor season, because this episode is probably one of the best across the series. However, if anyone ever asks me what my all time favourite episodes are, this episode would never enter my mind, mostly because I just have a more personal connection to the earlier seasons. 

I love the plot and emotion in this episode. It’s such a sad yet beautiful episode for Piper and Leo, who have been through so much. Leo, in particular, has had a rough couple of seasons with the Elders, Gideon and the Avatars, so to see him have his memories wiped and be placed in the middle of nowhere is quite difficult. As I’ve said before, I’m not a hardcore Pleo shipper, but this episode proves 100% that they’re soulmates and are meant to be together. Throughout the series Leo has always been torn between his magical duties (as either a Whitelighter, Elder or Avatar) and Piper, and this episode finally ends that conflict that exists inside him as he makes his final choice. Without Leo, Piper’s soul cannot survive and the fact that her imminent death is enough to wake Leo from his amnesiac state is a testament to the love they have. Leo’s literal fall from grace, looks ridiculous (there’s something about it that’s so funny to me, I don’t know if that’s just me being weird) but is actually one of the most beautiful moments on the show, once again showing how strong his and Piper’s love for one another is. And the scene where they reunite is so beautiful, it’s probably one of my favourite Piper and Leo scenes. 

Of course, the guest appearance from Cole in this episode is a pleasant surprise. Despite how he and Phoebe ended, he always loved her and never wanted her to give up on love, so it’s fitting that he should return now when Piper and Leo (the greatest love that Phoebe has witnessed) risk ending. Likewise, it’s a nice twist, but a fitting one, that Cole was actually the mastermind behind Drake coming into Phoebe’s life all along. We saw in Happily Ever After how important it was to Cole for Phoebe to never give up on love. I really see that as part of how deeply he knew and understood Phoebe as a person. She was so loving and passionate, that she would never be completely fulfilled or happy without love (despite what she may have said) and he felt largely responsible for closing her heart off to other prospective lovers because of how deeply he hurt her. 

This episode is also where we saw goodbye to Drake. It’s a sad moment, but I love how it’s done. The final scene between him and Phoebe is so lovely and very heartfelt. Despite how short a time they knew each other, it’s easy to see why Phoebe fell in love with him. Drake had a very similar spirit to Phoebe (particularly early seasons Phoebe) and he brought joy, light, positivity, fun and passion back into her life. Despite having had other relationships after Cole (Jason, Miles, Leslie), none of those men brought out the same side to Phoebe that Drake did. He just captivated her from the very beginning. Seeing how Drake and Phoebe had come to fall in love also fit within the theme of love in this episode with Piper and Leo, but stood in contrast to it. Whilst Piper and Leo were able to overcome the obstacles that stood in their way to be together, Phoebe and Drake weren’t and lost one another. But ultimately, the message remained the same - love is always worth it. 

Imaginary Fiends (7x20)

I’m not particularly a big fan of Wyatt as a character. That probably makes me sound like an awful human being since he’s only a child, but I never really felt like children fit on the show, although I understand the value of seeing at least one of the sisters enter into motherhood during the series. 

However, I really like and value this episode. There’s quite a lot of episodes from season 5 onwards that center on Wyatt, but this is one of the only ones I genuinely like and think is handled really well. The idea that Wyatt has an imaginary friend is one that, from a psychological stand-point, is interesting because of the nature of his life and upbringing. He has a far from traditional life and has been faced with demons, warlocks and all manner of evil creatures trying to kill him or turn him evil when he was still in the womb. Having that kind of lifestyle and a lack of normalcy is obviously going to have a profound affect on a child. The fact that his imaginary friend is in fact a demon is a very good twist that works well, in my opinion. Whilst the notion that Wyatt has an imaginary friend serves as a metaphor for some of the complex issues he has (e.g. not verbally communicating and being very reserved and unsociable), it also raises awareness of grooming. Vicus (the demon), emotionally manipulates Wyatt over a prolonged period of time, gaining his trust and turning him against his own family, all to get the outcome he desires (turning Wyatt evil). The fact that it happens practically right under Piper and Leo’s noses without them being able to stop or control it correlates a lot to cases of grooming. 

The appearance of future!Wyatt is a lovely addition to this episode. Although we saw future!Wyatt in season 6 during Chris-Crossed, this time we get to meet good Wyatt rather than evil Wyatt. It’s so nice to see him interact with the family and to see the wonderful young man he will grow to be, particularly since we don’t see much personality from little Wyatt. It also provides a couple of funny moments such as when Wyatt reveals that baby Chris swallows a marble. Most of all, it’s lovely to see how all of the Halliwell clan shape adult!Wyatt and how the things he says and does show the closeness he has to his parents, Chris and aunties in the future. 

Leo being the one to turn Wyatt from evil to good is a particularly nice moment to see, since the father-son bond between them is so strong. After the crap that Leo went through in season 6 with being separated from the family, it’s good to see that the love Wyatt has for his dad is strong enough to overcome evil. It’s also very telling that adult!Wyatt, even when he’s evil, can’t bring himself to harm Leo. And of course, the end is very sweet with little Wyatt finally speaking and smiling, and seeming to open up a little bit after what was a difficult episode for him.

I definitely think this is one of the strongest (if not the strongest) Wyatt-centric episode from the series and bringing future!Wyatt into the picture only improves the episode. I admire the writers for tackling the complexities that come from a child who has grown up in such a unique lifestyle and encountered so many traumas. It’s not an easy task, but I think it’s handled quite well in this episode in comparison to previous episodes. 

Something Wicca This Way Goes (7x22)

This is by far the best season finale of the entire series. It’s dramatic, it’s suspenseful, it’s emotional and the stakes are so high that it feels like anything can happen. Although I personally never connected to Zankou as a villain, he’s by far one of the most threatening and powerful Big Bad’s that the sisters face and in this episode it feels like maybe the sisters have finally met their match. 

The episode gives me Charmed and Dangerous vibes (which is one of my all time fave episodes), with the sisters going up against the greatest evil they’ve ever faced and having their powers stripped away, meaning they have to find a way to defeat Zankou without their active powers. I’ve always been a fan of episodes where the sisters are forced out of their comfort zone when it comes to magic and can’t rely solely on their active powers. As the seasons progress I feel that the sisters got more and more dependent upon their active powers (particularly Piper’s explosive power) and as a result their creative thinking when it came to their use of magic declined. So it was great to see the sisters coming up with fresh ideas of how to beat Zankou in this episode. 

The sisters’ visit to Victor is very emotional. It’s clear that the sisters believe there’s a high chance they’re going to die in their fight against Zankou, and seeing Piper say goodbye to her sons and hand over the deeds to P3 and the Manor is heartwrenching. But I also love that they chose to entrust Victor to be the one to care for Wyatt and Chris, the house and the business, because it shows how far their relationships have come since he was first introduced to us in season 1. As a quick side-note, I’d just like to say that Victor’s development is perhaps one of the best on the show and is very overlooked. He starts the series as an absentee, irresponsible father who seems to care little for his own children, and ends it having a fantastic relationship with all of his daughters, an amazing relationship with Chris (as we learn from future!Chris in season 6) and Wyatt (who trusts him so much he orbs baby Chris to him). 

In addition to Victor, I love that Darryl and Shelia are in this episode. After how much of a significant part they’ve been in the sisters lives, it’s only fitting that they should see them one last time before their impending deaths. 

The sisters show brilliant flair and intelligence in their plan to defeat Zankou, and they succeed. Those final scenes where they cast the spell and hold hands knowing what’s about to happen is such a shocking moment, and the first time I saw it I genuinely believed the sisters were dead, even though a part of me knew it couldn’t be true. That final twist with the sisters walking out as new people and telling Leo about their plans to start a new life is fantastic, and one that I didn’t see coming. And Darryl watching as the sisters and Leo walk across the street and realising that it’s them is one of the most beautiful moments from the entire series period. I love that moment, it’s brilliant. 

As much as I like Forever Charmed and appreciate the happy ending we got, I actually think I would’ve preferred if the series ended here. It was a great and dramatic ending that was happy but open ended. In my opinion, this as a series finale tops Forever Charmed in almost every single way. The only thing that Forever Charmed improved on is having other characters like Penny, Patty, future!Chris and future!Wyatt etc. Besides that, Something Wicca This Way Goes is by far the superior series finale. Even the title is more fitting, since it plays on the pilot episode. 

And that brings me to the end of my favourite season 7 episodes. As I said at the beginning of this post, it’s strange that I consider season 7 to be one of my least favourite seasons considering how many episodes I actually like from the season. I largely put that down to the fact that the early seasons are so good and so special to me, that I’ll always consider them my favourites. I think thematically, season 7 is a strong season and has some of the best plots from across the series (e.g. Zankou, the Avatars and Leo’s arc) and some very strong episodes. The season also benefits from having Drake, a decent amount of Victor and future!Wyatt. My biggest criticism of season 7 (and seasons 6-8 generally) is that the characterisation of the sisters is very weak. As much as I love the sisters, I don’t really like them much in this season. Paige’s vibrance and quirkiness seems to dim in this season, Phoebe and Piper seem increasingly self-obsessed with themselves and their own lives and the closeness of the sisters is significantly less. The scene near the beginning of Charmageddon when Piper and Phoebe comfort Paige following Kyle’s death is one of the many scenes that highlights for me. Their attempts to comfort her are so pitiful, they don’t even hug her properly. This is obviously down to the writing, but I find it very difficult to adjust to the lack of sisterly moments and the reduction of affection and tactility between the sisters in the later seasons. You can notice this immediately when you compare this post of Prue, Piper and Phoebe to this post of Piper, Phoebe and Paige. There are so many more scenes between Prue, Piper and Phoebe where they’re hugging or holding hands or stroking each others’ hair, whereas the ones of Piper, Phoebe and Paige are mostly of them standing by each other. Anyway, I digress. Season 7 overall, is an underrated season and writing this post made me realise how many episodes there are that I enjoy from the season and how many good aspects to it there are. 

Next time I’ll be writing about my favourite season 8 episodes. Since season 8 is and always has been my least favourite season, there probably won’t be many episodes that I’ll be analysing. 

Thanks for reading!

[bettsfic]

sleep!anon: (1) god it feels so good to have someone understand. i only realised at about 17 that i must have spent half of my life being tired and not knowing it. after that, i started sleeping more, and after some self tests, i realised about 10.5 hours seems to be the sweet spot (9.5-10 i can get by, but over time, it gets worse), which was perfectly feasible at school/uni, but 9-5 is more troublesome. i sleep about 9.5-10 hours, nap on the train over (about 20 mins)

(2) and even then, still have to catch usually at least one (sometimes more) discreet 10 minute nap at some point during work. like you, i usually REALLY need it around 3-4PM. and i hate feeling tired at work because then every mistake i make, i'm like is this me? or is this just bc i'm so f*cking tired? like, sometimes when i'm trying to nap at work, i can feel how tired i am and knowing i'm not alseep makes me want to cry. i genuinely feel like i'm halfway to having a breakdown sometimes

(3) i'm not surprised that feeling anxious/stressed means you need more sleep - it's really taxing mentally and physically to be stressed. now you've said that, i wonder if mine has been getting worse recently because of the stress/anxiety i have over mistakes and how tired i am etc... GOD don't get me started on people who call you lazy. i think some folks think it's a joke, haha ur so lazy lol, but i would give ANYTHING to be able to live like them. to feel rested after 7-9 hours.

(4, final) i can't even comprehend what life like that would be like. imagine not having to regiment my bedtime so strictly, actually waking up in the morning and not wanting to d*e. like, my life revolves around controlling my sleep, and then people turn around and call me lazy? do not like. anyway, sorry to go off, just feels so good to talk to someone who understands! in any case, how did you go about doing a sleep study? i've thought about it but not sure if it's worth it?

i’m not sure if you’ve considered it, but you might have sleep apnea. it’s the most common sleep disorder and it sounds like you have a lot of the symptoms. like if you’re asphyxiating in your sleep, you’re not hitting REM, so you need to sleep longer. if you do a sleep study, the apnea tests come first. for me, they gave me a take-home test which is cheapest and easiest, and i tested negative for that, but the home test has a lot of false negatives (but not false positives), so they had me come in for an overnight stay. i tested negative for that, and the narcolepsy test is during the day.

that’s it, that’s all they can test for. narcolepsy, delayed phase sleep, and hypersomnia all use the same test and all have virtually the same treatment. if you have apnea, you sleep with this machine thing on your face. a friend of mine uses it and it completely changed his life. for narcolepsy et al, the medicine is called nuvigil, which i’ve never taken because it was way too expensive, so my doctor put me on adderall instead. which, let me tell you, adderall was awful for me. i was operating at 200% and convincing myself it was my “true” 100% and basically my entire life had been a lie. but that wasn’t real at all. 

i’m going to caveat here that my sleep doctor was absolute garbage, totally incompetent, and i nearly sued him, so i’m hoping you’ll have a better experience. you usually need a referral from your GP, so i’d start there. hopefully you’ll get a newer tech test so you don’t have to go through what i went through. apparently you can do most of it from home now. the sleep study will be totally worth it if you test positive for apnea, and even more worth it to find treatment for narcolepsy et al, and most worth it to take it to your HR people and ask for disability accommodations. 

another thing to check for is carbon monoxide. i had a dude inspect my chimney at home and he said i’ve been slowly carbon monoxide poisoned for years now and i think that’s maybe part of my fatigue issue, because the *day* i moved to my grandma’s house, my sleep reverted to something sustainable. like i got tired at 10pm, fell asleep by 11, and woke up naturally at 8am. and it’s been like that now for a month (exception being EDS [excessive daytime sleepiness] due to aforementioned stress). chronic fatigue syndrome may also be a thing. so a good sleep doctor will take you through all of this and hopefully find you an effective treatment. oh! and idk how old you are, but if you’re under 25, there is a chance you will grow out of it, which sounds ridiculous, but developmentally your brain doesn’t get steady sleep-wise until then. THAT SAID, even if you are under 25, you’re unable to adapt to the environment you’re in, so you still need accommodations.

also keep in mind -- disordered sleep is extremely normalized, which is why the term “lazy” is tossed around so much. nearly all young people have disordered sleep because they’re forced into adult schedules. and most millennials have disordered sleep because of growing up with disordered sleep, and now because of a constant invasion of blue light late at night. i think i only know one person my age who doesn’t have disordered sleep, and she’s a middle school teacher. everyone else i know is delayed phasic, polyphasic, or chronically fatigued. it’s a serious, horrible issue that causes so much anxiety and depression, like you know how it feels to lay in bed at night, freaking out about the following day or all the stupid shit you said? that’s fatigue!brain. i’ve basically learned not to listen to any of my own thoughts between the hours of midnight and 8am. they’re all lies.

okay this is getting long. i do hope you find help and good treatment. i’ve heard good things about nuvigil if your insurance will cover it, and if not, i hope your workplace will allow you accommodations so you can nap in your car in the afternoon, have a flexible schedule/delayed start time, and/or work from home.

[watercolorwillowbrook]

Let’s talk about the REAL story (spoilers)

Ramble warning ahead. All recall too because I gave the comics away aaaaages ago.

Okay kids. I am an old lady. Back in my day we didn’t have the cartoon (yet), we had the comics and my parents HATED the fact that I read x-men (due to the way the women were portrayed)

But let’s talk about what those comics were and why the movies make me physically ill. Especially in regards to jean, Phoenix, and dark phoenix. One— Jean is lacking in the movies. More often than not she is just portrayed as the ass that Wolverine wants but can’t have. What was she really— Jean’s power came about from her LITERALLY stopping someone’s soul from passing into the afterlife. That friend that everyone glazes over? Yeah, that soul. AS A CHILD. If I recall correctly. Professor x even admits to the fact (in early issues) that she potentially is more powerful than him as a psychic and telepath, though her telepathy is bound at that point. He knew from day one when he came to help her, AS A CHILD, that she was one of the most powerful minds in the universe. And he wasn’t the only one to notice. There are clear hints that Phoenix, as an entity, saw this struggle to keep her friend, and intervened at the risk of Jean being dragged into the afterlife along with her friend. During her early days with professor x, he purposely bound her powers because she lacked maturity and wisdom. Her wreckless emotional abandon was what nearly killed her, and he recognized that she needed a normal life experience to learn how to cope and use them effectively later on. Not to mention that she was being driven into insanity. She fears her powers to the point of her health deteriorating, and it gets to a point where professor x has to help redirect her to focus on normalcy. The first time she really uses her power without fear is to pull up a psychic hologram of Scott, who she had developed feelings for. (Side note, the whole time her parents have no idea she’s a mutant. They just think she is emotionally disturbed.)

Fast forward to the x-men getting caught up in intergalactic bullshit. Now, the comics were by far more telling than anything else. The movie glazed and the cartoon had to skip over some stuff to meet a rating standard. But literally, when Jean took over the ship to take everyone home there were multiple scenes of how radiation continually hit her and how she was withering away, her hair was falling out, her skin was mottled and dying, her muscles were disintegrating... she literally was being fried to death. It was pretty graphic. Her will to save her friends, and her love for them, and once again her fucking mental strength caught the eye of the Phoenix— now the Phoenix is a literal force. It has no physical form and cannot experience anything on its own. So, in exchange for helping her (and subsequentally making her pretty much immortal) the Phoenix approaches Jean And makes a deal. Power for a chance to be a living, feeling being. On that note, we see something that will come back later— we already know Jean will do anything out of love for her friends, but also, we see that she’s scared to die. And that is important for later, and it completely makes her relatable.

So, they all live and times goes on. Now if you pay attention throughout the ensuing issues, you notice that Jean GRADUALLY becomes more powerful, more ruthless, and more sexual. She goes from being a very demure woman to a very provocative one. So how did it happen? Now I missed this as a kid because it was all subtle (comics were censored a lot so everything had to be implied) when I reread the series after the cartoon in the 90s came out, it clicked more for me. So during a fight with magneto, a huge chunk of the x-men get lost in the savage lands. Only Jean and beast make it back. Thinking everyone dead, professor x goes with lillandra into space and beast runs off to join the... avengers? I think? I am pretty sure. ANYWAY. This leaves Jean all alone, so she goes to Muir island, since Moira was pretty tight with her. Starting from the flight over, Mastermind fucks with her head— and you see this in flashbacks and thoughts from him as the story progresses. He approaches her as a priest on the flight to get her to confide in him, then again approaches her at a beach where he literally ends up sleeping with her (raping, really, since he is manipulating the situation) and then running into her as Jason. This takes place over a good few months, and that is when Emma Frost provides a way for mastermind to infiltrate Jean’s thoughts and start giving her mental illusions of a past life where Jean was married to mastermind and they were in love. And Jean falls for it because emotionally she is starved— Scott is dead to her at this time. Again the cartoon and several remakes forget to include this. Jean herself is beyond loyal, and the only reason she fell for any of it was under the belief that Scott died.

SO, this manipulation goes on for about a year and a half until BAM, the x-men manage to get home and suddenly scott isn’t dead anymore. (Emotionally whiplash. This shift happens a lot.) To speak to her character, Jean inmediately tells him everything. Scott had a bit of a fling too, but they both decide what happened, happened, but that they want to be together. La la laaaa...

For what good it does. ANYWAY. Time goes on and we continue to see an escalation in Jean’s behavior. She gets more aggressive and savage, dresses more provocative. She gets her Mack in with angel in front of everyone (Lol it’s meant to be innocent, but Jean/ Phoenix are also highly aware that warren pursued her when she was younger.) off and on, she has dreams and visions of her and Jason in the 1800s or whenever, where she is deemed the black queen of the hellfire club. Then the M’krann crystal saga goes down. MORE shit goes down in which Scott and the others start to suspect that the hellfire club is part of it (you know, instead of just being a kinky sex club. They should have just stayed in that lane imo)

So, they have this great idea to crash a hellfire party. Unfortunately it’s been YEARS, and mastermind has continued to work on Jean this whole time, so it is no problem for him to manipulate her into turning on her friends and joining them. She literally thinks she is doing it for the love of her life. (Mastermind) really whatn he does is he psychically manipulates her into succumbing to the personality HE has designed for her as the black queen.

At some point Jean and Scott do a fucking Vulcan mind meld thing, and they are in each other’s heads, mmk? This is before they crash the party. So while scott is all kinky bondaged up, he tries to reach her telepathically. Mastermind catches him and psychically kills him. He, as most people do, underestimate Jean. Seeing Scott killed sets her off and she reverts back. Now we see a brutal side to Jean here as she literally psychically drives mastermind into a state of insanity. I am pretty sure she puts white queen into a coma too. Anyway, this is just a taste of what is happening. A fight ensues and they all leave, but on their way out a bunch of shit hits Jean.

1. She realizes she had been fucked with over and over for years.

2. Mastermind literally mentally and physically raped her. Over the course of years.

3. She enjoyed the feeling of turning on her friends and having the adoration of the hellfire club AND tormenting frost and mastermind.

So, Jean also feels guilt for it all, and unable to really cope, she mentally seems to collapse which allows the Phoenix (which is an entity that craves feelings) to rush in and grab all those dark emotions and run with them. Because Jean wouldn’t let Phoenix experience it— she regressed those feelings in herself.

That is how dark Phoenix came about. The cartoon and movies make it all appear to happen over a short course, but the truth of the matter is, she was mentally manipulated and physically assaulted over the course of YEARS by the hellfire club. I recognize that some of this isn’t appropriate for cartoons, and it would be Difficult to show in a movie that’s only a couple hours long. However it does an injustice to Jean’s character because she RESISTED for such a long time because she was strong, and a good person. She didn’t just get her rocks off on power right away and loose her shit. It was trauma after trauma.

ANYWAY, after a huge battle and getting Jean back under control, the fkn Shi’arr (Sp?) pop in to be the galaxy police, eventually Jean goes back to being Phoenix, as a stepping stone to being dark Phoenix again. There was a battle so it wasn’t for anything, literally once again all of her friends were being harmed in effort to protect her. (Even though she killed billions of people by snacking on a star and destroying a solar system buuuuuut...) Jean still had a lot of control, and on the blue side of the moon comes a few realizations

1. This wasn’t who she wanted to be

2. She is tortured by the understanding she killed billions of people (Remember that Jean is a loving and kind person who has a fear of death both for herself and others)

3. She cannot live an immortal life always being in control and being unable to slip at any moment. Literally a prisoner within herself.

It at this point we see more of Jean’s strength. Jean who, from day one has feared death, now accepts that it is the only way to truly protect everyone that she loves. Granted they all try to stop her, but in the end she takes her own life. This puts an end to her being an uncontrollable force, as Phoenix goes back to being an entity without a physical manifestation, and stops the feud between the aliens and the x-men.

This is why each medium and how things are presented is important. With comics being released in (originally) 8 page monthly installments, the reader really got a sense of the time for the story to build up. The pacing was there. With the animation and the movies, it all feels rushed and kind of forced— hence why I personally do not care for them. I have to look at them in a different way, but to me, there is a lot more power in the comics.

Just my two cents. Imma shush now.