#i cannot imagine how daunting that was and how terrified they must have been and even then

[timeisacephalopod]

Regarding that true crime post I just made if y'all want an incredibly well put together true crime podcast look up Unreformed: The Story of the Alabama Industrial School for Negro Children. It's put together by Josie Duffy Rice and I'll warn you there's hideous racism and child abuse of all kinds, the school reminds me of what Canada did to Indigenous children and gets compared by the press in the sixties to a concentration camp, but it's an incredible story with interviews from victims of the school and the OG whistleblower who eventually became important in some reforms at the school even if he had hell to pay for it and was still, in a lot of ways, complicit in participating in the abuses at the school by transporting children to it but his complicated nature makes him quite compelling. And the adult victims- it's horrifying that this kind of thing went on such a short time ago that first hand victims are still more than alive and well to talk about it.

[evolutionsvoid]

Rainforests are absolutely incredible ecosystems, as they are packed to bursting with strange and beautiful species, but that benefit can get a bit frustrating sometimes. No denying that I love every trip I take to one of these habitats, as I always see something new, but the sheer amount of flora and fauna within them can be quite daunting. How do I pick what I am going to study? How do I keep myself focused on just a single species? And also, most importantly, how do I even find the thing I want to research?! Forests can make tracking difficult enough as it is, but a rainforest has so many layers and so much life high above in the branches that it feels almost impossible to enter one of these places with a single goal in mind. If I am visiting a rainforest, it is almost better to go in with an open agenda and just see what shows up during your research. Because if you go in with the idea that you just want to find and research a single species, then it is almost guaranteed that you will never find it. One reason for that is because the environment is huge and filled with trees, plants and mist. Another (and the big one I have a hard time with) is that a whole lot of life lives up in the trees where it is hard to reach. Perhaps for a gralatar or furceros this wouldn't be so hard, but a simple dryad like me cannot easily scale these massive trees and comfortably navigate the labyrinth of branches above. I have tried some expeditions up above, with the help of some local gralatars, but these didn't really work out that well (for me). I won't lie, I was kinda terrified the whole time. Walking and climbing across all those branches while also keeping an eye out for other creatures was nerve wracking. Eventually I just settled on a large stationary tree stand for me to hide in and look out from. Whatever came into view was good enough for me! So while I sat around tied to a tree with spider silk, I did get some good sightings of the arbocellus, who were much more in their element then me!

Since they climb high above in the rainforest canopy, most ground walkers see very little of the arbocellus. But what little they do glimpse is certainly enough to leave an impression! The flurry of tendrils as they grapple for a branch, and the piercing gaze of a single cyclopean eye. Another common name for them is the Jungle Eye, as they are described as tentacled eyeballs that hang above in the canopy. I can't imagine what it must have been like for the first person to encounter one. To look up into the trees one day and see a massive eye staring down at you! I bet they thought some tropical giant was spying on them or something! Even when we know the truth about them, the random encounters still throw you off guard. I remember during my watches when I caught a glimpse of one passing through the branches, and I must admit I had a momentary freakout! Even with the knowledge that it wasn't a real eye, I was still caught off guard!

Though stories give the idea of large eyes with tendrils haunting the canopy, it isn't fully the truth. It turns out, that the huge eyes they see aren't actually real eyes, they are just back patterns that look like them. The arbocellus is actually an echinoderm, more specifically related to sea stars and brittle stars. Their actual eyes are way smaller and are both found on the tips of their limbs and ringing the mouth in the center. The arbocellus possesses six flexible limbs to help it live up in the canopy. Four of these arms are long and thin, designed to reach for and wrap around branches as they climb and swing. The end segments of these tentacles have blunt spikes on them, which are meant to help secure its grip on wet branches. The other two are much shorter and bulkier, with their tube feet at the end modified to act more like graspers. These thick arms are for grabbing and holding, which is good for seizing food and carrying it along as they navigate the canopy. In the middle of it all is their mouth, ringed with sharp serrated teeth that can crack and cleave! Hidden within its gullet is a long "tongue," which unfurls to reach into its food and suck out the tasty bits! Though it acts like a tongue, the current belief is that it is some modified portion of their stomach, made long and tube-like to slip through shell and husk to feed. With long tentacles and a vicious looking maw like that, most people would be quick to assume that it is a nasty predator. Beware the vicious crawling eye, as it drops down upon its prey to crack open the skull and suck out your brains! Oh, the countless headless corpses left behind from such horrid beasts! Aw, I am just kidding! Arbocellus is mainly a fruit eater! Those grabbing arms pluck fruits from the branches and the powerful teeth gnaw through rind and shell. Once a hole is made, the tongue slithers in and releases digestive juices. The inner flesh breaks down into a soup, which is then slurped up by the tongue. It should be noted, though, that while the arbocellus primarily eats fruit, it does like to supplement its diet with some meat. However, the only ones who need to worry about them are egg-laying species, as that same feeding strategy works well against egg shells. Parents must keep a close watch over their nests, or else an arbocellus is sure to swing in and steal an egg or two. That is when those grabber arms shine, as they seize a stolen prize and cling to it desperately as the treestar flees the wrath of the parents. Thankfully, the arbocellus is able to withstand a great deal of punishment. Their skin is very tough and thick, making it hard to pierce and wound. Predators need a strong bite or really sharp claws to do any damage. With their arboreal nature, they prefer the flight method when faced with a threat, fleeing to the branches and losing their pursuer in the tangled canopy above. If cornered, those spiny tendrils can give a good lashing, and can also choke someone out if they get wrapped around a throat. Even if the predator can get a bite in, the arbocellus isn't too worried about losing a limb. In fact, they prefer that attackers just take an arm and leave them be, as their regenerative abilities allow them to easily grow back lost appendages! This leads to sightings of arbocellus with missing limbs or even stubby ones that haven' fully regrown. You will see that they get along just fine with an arm or two less! I feel like now would be a good time to mention the eye pattern on their back. Like I said, it isn't a real functioning eye, it just really looks like one. It is currently believed to be a false eye to startle attackers or make it difficult for predators to determine where to strike from. As far as we know, that is all that it does. It does not have any special powers or magical abilities tied to it. There is no curses created by it or evil eyes cast from its gaze. It just looks like an eye, that's it. Of course, you can probably tell that there is a whole lot of superstition around this species, what with the giant eye. Some folk believe them to be the watchers of the jungle, the all seeing eyes of the gods. Others claim that the gaze of these climbing eyes is evil and they place curses upon those they stare at. That is why some folk wear specific hats or headgear when they go into the rainforest, to protect them from the evil gaze of the arbocellus. As a result, the piercing eye of the arbocellus shows up a lot in paintings, carvings and decoration, with their role being good or evil depending on the culture. I have seen some warriors brandishing shields with the eye pattern painted upon them, meant to scare their foes in battle. In other places, I have seen the skinned husks of the arbocellus hanging above doors with spikes driven through the "eye." This is meant to blind the evil and keep those within safe from the cursed gaze. Piercing the eye is how one prevents a curse from being placed upon them if they catch an arbocellus staring at them, so this species winds up getting a lot of darts or spears in the back. Thankfully, their thick skin and regenerative abilities keep these wounds from being lethal, but you can easily see how this species has grown fearful of locals. I guess these attempts to ward off evil have somehow worked out, as the cursed gaze has fled higher up into the safety of the canopy. Now the people live happily without fear of evil eyes and the arbocellus lives happily without getting stabbed in the back a whole lot.             Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian

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

“Arbocellus”

With limbs like that, why not take to the trees?

[pengillys]

the whole edited/deleted scene in the anti-hero music video makes me incredibly sad and i can’t fully put my feelings into words, let alone in an eloquent way, but i’m gonna try anyway…

i cannot imagine how daunting and absolutely terrifying it must have been to share something so personal with the world only to have people try to invalidate it for whatever reasons. honestly my heart actually breaks for taylor. she let herself be vulnerable and share something that would have been extremely hard to talk to about. i applaud her for sharing it because it takes an immense amount of courage to speak up about things such as ED’s, but it makes me very sad to see people be as mean and as rude as some people have been. quite a few of the comments i’ve seen were truly unnecessary – they did not have to be made, they did not have to be said.

the thing that people aren’t grasping and aren’t understanding here is that when you have an eating disorder, your thoughts and your actions and how you act around food is irrational and you often have intrusive thoughts surrounding it. eating disorders lie to you and they make me think things that are not rational. people seem to be missing the point of the video and how it’s all about intrusive thoughts of taylor’s – including the irrational thoughts that seemingly must pop into her head sometimes when she’s struggling with said ED. i just do not understand how people are sitting there and trying to make someone feel bad and make someone feel invalidated by their own thoughts. how taylor feels about her body has nothing to do with anyone else but taylor herself. the comments that some people are making are incredibly hurtful and incredibly damaging – not just taylor, but also to all of her fans out there who are struggling with the same thing.

[padawanlost]

I still, up until this day, have no idea why the council held such a personal dislike towards anakin. Aside from the “he’s too young” or “he feels too deeply.” Didn’t anakin try to follow the rules? Unpopular opinion, but the fandom tends to drag how Anakin was the embodiment of rebellious and recklessness at every turn but... he’s really not?

The Council’s behavior around Anakin had NOTHING to do with who he was as a person. Just like Obi-wan’s ‘pathetic life-form’ dismiss, the Council’s rejection of Anakin happened before they even knew what he was. People use Yoda’s ‘fear is the path to dark side’ speech to validate de Council’s decision but the truth is that they had already dismissed Anakin before that. and even if they hadn’t, it baffles me how some people have no trouble with how a 9 years old child was treated. Anyone who looks at 9 years old and gives up on them because ‘they don’t like a good person’ or that they are ‘beyond helping’ is an asshole. The audience may know, but at that point not a single character knew what would become of Anakin. 

Like Anakin, I was well past infancy when I began my training at the Jedi Temple. There was much concern about whether I was too old to learn the ways of the Force, that my Cerean childhood might cloud my judgments, but … I am not certain of how to express myself. My mind tells me I should feel empathy for Anakin, but my instinct tells me something else. [Ki-Adi-Mundi in Ryder’s Windham’s Jedi vs. Sith: The Essential Guide to the Force]

What disturbs me most of all is Anakin Skywalker himself. It is not in my nature to make assumptions about anyone based on appearance, and yet I find it almost alarming that the boy looks so entirely unremarkable. If I didn’t know better, I would have dismissed him as a harmless raga-muffin. [Ki-Adi-Mundi in Ryder’s Windham’s Jedi vs. Sith: The Essential Guide to the Force]

This is cruel. A raga-muffin is defined as ‘a poorly clothed often dirty child’. They recognize Anakin’s extreme situation, they know he was a former slavery who had just been separated from his mother but their reaction is: ‘I don’t trust him’. a bunch of grown men treat a poor, traumatized child coldly because they don’t trust HIM. Is that the wisdom I am supposed to blindly admire and defend? The one that dismiss everyone who doesn’t fit in? No, thanks.

There was no sympathy for Anakin.

Inside, Anakin Skywalker faced the Jedi Council, standing in the same place Qui-Gon Jinn had stood some hours earlier. He was nervous at first, brought into the chamber by Qui-Gon, then left alone with the twelve members of the Council. Standing in the mosaic circle and ringed by the silent assemblage, awestruck and uncertain of what was expected of him, he felt vulnerable and exposed. The eyes of the Jedi were distant as they viewed him, but he sensed they were looking not past him, but inside. They began to question him then, without preliminary introductions or explanations, without expending any effort at all to make him feel comfortable or welcome. He knew some of them by name, for Qui-Gon had described a few, and he was quick to put faces to names. They questioned him at great length, testing memory and knowledge, seeking insights at which he could only guess. They knew of his existence as a slave. They knew of his background on Tatooine, of his mother and his friends, of his Podracing, of Watto, of everything factual and past, of the order of his life.  [Terry Brooks. The Phantom Menace]

And yet, Anakin tried so hard to fit in. This super rebellious, ‘fuck you, council’ Anakin the fandom uses to justify the Council’s behavior only exists in the clones wars (2008). Yes, Anakin have always broken rules and had difficulties acting as the perfect Jedi but he never openly defied the Council. If you watch the movies it becomes obvious that Anakin always submitted to them (even when he didn’t like). His greatest defiance (his marriage to Padmé) shouldn’t count as justification for the Council’s behavior because they found out the truth. 

Anakin was submissive. The only time openly challenged the Council to the their face was when they denied the rank of Master and we we all know how that short-lived:

Most of the time, Anakin was really insecure. When he was growing up he desperately needed Obi-wan’s approval. Later he needed Padmé’s support to go after Shmi and later Obi-wan. 

[Padmé] put the cup down on the small table beside her. “Even though you’re concerned for Anakin—and I know you are, so don’t bother with the stoic-Jedi act—I imagine you’re not very pleased with him right now. But you should know, Obi-Wan, he did not disobey his orders lightly.” Startled, he stared at her. Then he pulled a wry face. “Which time do you mean? When he left Naboo for Tatooine, or Tatooine for Geonosis?” “Both times. Obi-Wan, no matter what you might think, he takes being a Jedi very seriously. It’s all he talks about. Being a Jedi, and not disappointing you. He—” [Karen Miller. Star Wars: The Clone Wars: Wild Space]

He was the Chosen One, they told him. He was supposed to bring balance to the Force. Anakin thought that some little extra support might go with being the Chosen One, a helping hand or at least some understanding from the Jedi Council, but instead he was passed around like an unwelcome burden, ending up with Qui-Gon Jinn and then Kenobi because nobody else would have him. His chosen status meant less than nothing; it felt more like a stigma. And they wondered why he was difficult at times. Maybe they didn’t want balance, whatever that was. Maybe nobody liked a Jedi who was that different. He felt like an embarrassment to them. I do everything you ask of me. I try so hard. When is it going to be enough? When are you going to say, “Okay, Anakin Skywalker, you’re good enough”? Karen Traviss’s The Clone Wars

And even if he hadn’t been, NOTHING justifies the treatment he got as a little child because you cannot use something that didn’t happen as a reason. In real life, if someone mistreats a kid because they fear the kid might grow up to be a criminal it would be considered abuse. But because it’s Anakin – the butt of every joke – the cold treatment Anakin receives as child is somehow a beautiful example of the Council’s compassion and forethought. 

It’s kind of funny. I mean, if the Council was right to treat a 9 years with disdain because the kid was going to grow up to be evil I wonder how fans justify Yoda admiring Papatine – an actual Sith Lord – for years?

The Jedi were sworn to uphold the Republic and protect its ideals, not entangle themselves in the fortunes of any one Chancellor. Political careers were not their affair. Personalities were supposed to be irrelevant. But somehow Palpatine was changing that. Not by being a bully or imposing his will. Quite the opposite: he was constantly resisting the Senate’s eagerness for him to assume more and more executive powers. He resisted, the Senate insisted, so reluctantly Palpatine agreed. And every time he acquiesced to its requests, he turned once more to the Jedi for advice. It was hardly an ideal situation. The Jedi Council was not just another branch of the executive office. But how, in good conscience, could it refuse to aid a man who so humbly petitioned for their assistance? A man who championed them in the Senate at every opportunity? Who had worked tirelessly for peace since assuming the highest political office in the galaxy and was now faced with the daunting, terrifying task of keeping their vast Republic intact? How could the Jedi Council turn its back on such a man? Clearly, it couldn’t. Clearly, in the face of these extraordinary times, the Jedi must set aside their traditions and come to the aid of the man a galaxy looked to as its savior. [Karen Miller. Star Wars: The Clone Wars: Wild Space]

Somehow, I guess it’s okay to treat 9 years old Anakin poorly because he *might* be evil at the same it’s also okay to treat a sith lord with the uttermost respect and bending the rules to accommodate him because he *is* evil but they don’t know it yet ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

So, this is not just about Anakin and how the fandom has a lot of trouble sympathizing with him. This is also about how the fandom fails to recognize the Council’s shortcomings.

Not to quote Filoni again but...”I’ve always felt that one of Anakin’s downfalls, like it’s never that Anakin was innately going to be evil, but the people around him, the Jedi, in their lack of compassion, in being so selfless that they almost forgot to care.” 

[dwellordream]

“Critics of Chaucer's Troilus and Criseyde tend to regard the eponymous female character as either the tale's victim or its villain. Those subscribing to the latter position consider Criseyde cagey, devious, and self-centered. In their view, Chaucer creates a character who fits within the "power of women" topos, in which a wily woman effects a worthy man's ruin. During the Middle Ages, "sermons, treatises, instruction manuals, poetry and romances included lists of celebrated men who were brought low by the apparently irresistible power of women and their sexuality." Critics of Troilus and Criseyde argue by analogy when they regard Troilus as suffering such a fate at the hands of his love. They imply that since most medieval writers portray women as manipulative black-widow figures bent on destroying men, Chaucer must have done so as well. For example, D. W. Robertson, Jr., notes that, for Criseyde, "the mastery of a man like Troilus, a man of prowess and renown, a prince, and a handsome prince at that, would be quite an achievement."

Winthrop Wetherbee also emphasizes the virtues of the ill-fated Trojan prince and stresses that, no matter how interesting we may find the duplicitous Criseyde, we cannot admire her, for she remains "incapable of anything like the integrity or aspiration of Troilus." These critics, whom Carolyn Dinshaw describes as "masculine readers" of the text, create the impression that Chaucer has fabricated a terrifying, power-hungry figure in Criseyde. She emerges as less a woman than a monstrous, near-masculine, abomination, the incarnation of the Medusa myth that Helene Cixous regards as the traditional literary stereotype used to describe an indomitable female character. Dinshaw attributes this view of Criseyde to the critics as well as to Chaucer: "Masculine reading in Troilus and Criseyde is dominated at last by a desire to contain instability, carnal appetite - those things that... medieval writers (and their descendants, modern critics) associate with femina."

In an effort to counteract this ominous image of Criseyde, Dinshaw and other feminist critics have repositioned Chaucer's heroine as the tale's victim. They see Criseyde as the polar opposite of the conniving character imagined by the text's "masculine readers," regarding her instead as an emblem of passive femininity whose submissive nature makes her vulnerable to the machinations of ruthless men. Angela Jane Weisl, for instance, views the hapless heroine as "invaded by male power," and Catherine Cox regards the consummation scene as tantamount to rape. Focusing upon Criseyde's unfortunate position as a beautiful woman trapped in a society that treats her and all women like "commodities to be traded," Dinshaw exculpates Criseyde for her seemingly callous treatment of Troilus. Far from being fickle, Criseyde, in favoring Diomede, selflessly works to further her nation's male-dictated agenda. In Dinshaw's view, Criseyde is merely a pawn of the Trojan patriarchy, a bargaining chip used to establish a temporary truce.

These critics may succeed in exonerating Criseyde; however, they also succeed in making her much less interesting. Stripped of any motives of her own, Criseyde becomes a mere automaton, and the reader's interest shifts to the men who manipulate her. Unwittingly perhaps, feminist critics, by curtailing Criseyde's agency, diminish her significance. They too sacrifice Criseyde, flattening her character and transforming her into a type, another example of the endlessly suffering woman who must endure countless indignities at the hands of callous men. Readers, however, need not relegate Criseyde to the status of victim in order to redeem her character. Criseyde, certainly, does not view herself as a passive pawn, and this essay attempts to read the events comprising Troilus and Criseyde from her point of view, a perspective that has often been slighted by critics intent upon examining the agenda of her nation or the psyche of her lover.

Criseyde's actions, for instance, indeed may be constrained by her nation's perilous position, but so are those of her male counterparts. Even valiant Hector finds himself powerless to gainsay the people's will when they decide to trade Criseyde for Antenor, for the lords make the compelling argument that the Trojans desperately need more manpower in order to rid themselves of the Greeks who have relentlessly plagued the besieged town (IV, 176-96). The council ignores Hector's angry protests and enjoins him to set aside his ideals, exclaiming "'O Ector, lat tho fantasies be!'" (IV, 193). Troilus also feels constrained by his nation's plight. He so fears the opprobrium of his father and of Parliament should he strive to rescue Criseyde from her awful fate that he is rendered impotent, unable to make even the slightest effort to effect his love's salvation (IV, 540-67).

Criseyde, however, does try to wield power, albeit within the narrow scope granted her. She lays the ground rules for her affair with Troilus, for instance (III, 169-75), and she constantly engages in activities such as reading and writing that Cixous regards as potentially subversive to patriarchal society. Unlike Troilus, she displays great confidence in her own abilities and plots to bring about her safe return to Troy without her lover's help (IV, 1296-1414). As her uncle Pandarus understands, his niece admires men of action, men like heroic Hector who value their individuality and refuse to let challenges daunt them. Such men strive to follow their own moral code and often refuse to conform when they believe that they have judged correctly and society has erred. Hector, for example, does not shy away from offering Criseyde his protection, although such an offer might be viewed with disfavor among those incensed at her father's treacherous act (1,117-23).

Nor does he readily succumb to the chorus of voices demanding Criseyde's exchange for Antenor but, rather, continues to protest passionately against such a maneuver up until the very moment when Parliament seals the Trojan beauty’s fate: For which delibered was by parlement For Antenor to yelden out Criseyde,/And it pronounced by the president, Altheigh that Ector "nay" ful of te preyde. (IV, 211-14) Criseyde attempts to appropriate this heroic ethos for herself, believing firmly that the challenges she will face in her attempt to escape the Greeks will prove far from insurmountable. By the end of the poem, however, Criseyde has recognized finally that the man for whom she is willing to risk her life lacks the qualities of a hero, qualities that she believes she herself possesses and qualities that she had once thought Troilus held in abundance, making her fall in love with him. She now realizes that her lover does not share her faith in the heroic ideal and that his earlier heroic stance was nothing more than a pose, part of his attempt to make her engage with him in the game of courtly love.

Laura Howes believes that "Chaucer is often his most critical of established social and literary systems when he appears his most conventional." Even though the poet fashions Criseyde as a strong-willed woman, his poem does not represent a straightforward rendition of the "power of women" topos. Instead, Chaucer uses this convention to expose the hypocrisy embedded in courtly love, a system in which the male lover feigns to cede power to a lady only ultimately to subjugate her. Chaucer employs the "power of women" motif subversively to create an image of a self-determined, desiring woman, who yearns for a wholesome, natural sexual relationship - a relationship not tainted by the artifice of courtly conventions - and who refuses to be transformed into the passive receptacle of a male lover's passion.

…The first time Troilus sets his eyes upon her, Criseyde displays her strong-willed nature. When Troilus ogles her, the Trojan beauty flashes him a look that implies "What, may I nat stonden here?" (I, 292). Her haughty attitude is not only bold but also rash, for she, the daughter of a traitor, refuses to submit to the gaze of a king's son. Criseyde misinterprets Troilus's behavior, regarding it not as prompted by her beauty but, rather, as offering a challenge concerning her right to participate in Troy's public domain. She fears that this prince might not share his brother Hector's generous attitude concerning her status as a citizen of Troy. Unlike Troilus, at this moment her thoughts revolve not around the possibility of a love affair but, rather, the ramifications of the ongoing Greek siege and her father's subsequent defection. Critics often stress Criseyde's meek and fearful nature, but in this instance Chaucer depicts her as a brave woman indeed, holding her head proudly in the public sphere and refusing to show shame for her father's misdeeds.

Chaucer makes her audacious behavior all the more striking by having it follow the narrator's assertion that Criseyde stands as the very emblem of femininity (I, 281-87). One would expect such a woman to accept passively Troilus's stares, to blush perhaps, and bow her head, but not to gaze unabashedly back. Criseyde may seem feminine, but she displays an inclination to behave in a masculine manner. She resembles Portia in Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, who possesses a "man's mind, but a woman's might." By juxtaposing Criseyde's feminine appearance with her bold behavior, Chaucer suggests Criseyde may possess a masculine spirit as well, and, indeed, the narrator describes her as "nevere lasse mannyssh in semynge" (I, 284, emphasis added). The author's use of the word "semynge" indicates that Criseyde's femininity relates only to her surface, her good looks.

Criseyde's exquisite appearance belies her true nature as a woman who cherishes her autonomy and will not readily succumb to a man's will. Before Pandarus presses Troilus's suit upon her, Criseyde lives peacefully in a predominately feminine realm. Weisl stresses that Calchas 's defection leaves his daughter fearful and vulnerable: "Calchas' exit at night through the walls of Troy is the first event of Troilus and Criseyde; in the vacuum of power created by his absence stands Criseyde, 'wel neigh out of hir wit for sorvve and fere' (I, 108)." Criseyde, however, loses no time in recruiting Hector as her defender, recognizing that she needs to protect both herself and her feminine retinue. Her decision to appeal to Hector represents her first act as a matriarch and emerges as a deed of heroic proportions, for she has not only her own interest but also the interest of the members of her household in mind.

She recognizes the peril of her position and approaches the Trojan prince with all the tact of a skilled diplomat engaged in a dangerous and urgent mission. Using her feminine appearance to her advantage, she dresses in "widewes habit large of samyt broun" (I, 109) to underscore that she too has been betrayed by her father's duplicity. Her wretchedness as well as her loveliness move the noble prince to pity her plight, and she elicits his oath that no harm will befall her as long as she resides in Troy (I, 113-26). Further, Hector promises to protect Calchas’s daughter without demanding any favor in return, revealing that Criseyde has played the role of a chaste, and hence untouchable, widow with consummate skill.

Once Criseyde assures herself of Hector's staunch but laissez-faire support, she finds her father's desertion a boon. Unlike Calchas, whose arbitrary behavior toward his daughter in calling her to the Greek camp indicates the power he holds over her, Hector leaves Criseyde alone, free to pursue her own will. Thus, her father's defection enables Criseyde to enjoy finally her widowed state. Judith Bennett notes that for many medieval women, widowhood emerged as the first time since their marriage that they could exert a measure of control over their own fortunes. For instance, these women often would serve as managers of their deceased spouses' estates, a role Criseyde may assume finally after her father abandons Troy.

Criseyde revels in her newfound autonomy, exulting that she now stands "unteyd in lusty leese" (II, 752) without a husband to "Chek mat" her every move (II, 754). Criseyde's use of this metaphor to describe her marriage offers more evidence of her steely will; she had not been a woman who meekly obeyed her husband's every whim. Criseyde's allusion to chess also reveals that she thinks of herself in martial terms. Freed from both her husband's and her father's control, she no longer considers herself the passive, acted-upon king but rather a powerful and potent player. Her situation resembles that of Binx Boiling's aunt in Walker Percy's The Moviegoer, who "with her illustrious brothers dead and gone might now at last become what they [her brothers] had been and as a woman had been denied her": her family's champion.

As mentioned, Chaucer depicts Criseyde's household as comprised entirely of women. Such an image evokes the realm of the Amazons, a society to which Chaucer alludes in the Knight's Tale. The poet depicts these women's pursuits as potentially subversive to patriarchal culture. Pandarus, for instance, finds Criseyde and her companions sitting together listening to a tale, a common entertainment for aristocratic women of Chaucer's day; however, these ladies do not listen to a romance but rather to a "geste" concerning "the siege of Thebes" (II, 83-84). They represent a cluster of women reading about the actions of men - they are feminine readers of a masculine text, the epic. Criseyde's choice of reading material reveals her intellectual curiosity as well as her attachment to the heroic ideal. She wishes to understand the workings of the public domain and to grasp the significance of her nation's own war. Additionally, as a woman who likens herself to a figure in chess, she senses, perhaps, a connection between herself and these legendary heroes and looks to their tales for inspiration for her own bold deeds.”

- Mary Behrman, “Heroic Criseyde.”

[inyourwildestdreamslove]

To Live Again

Ben x Reader

Soulmate AU

Not even death could keep you from your destiny. 

The world is silent as you gaze at the tombstones surrounding you, yet a haunting melody thrums in your ears. You have an idea, just the tiniest inkling of the concept you need, but it hasn’t fully formed yet. This is why you are leaning with your back against a tree, the world growing slowly darker around you. The concept for this photoshoot must be just right. It’s to be a darkly beautiful piece, haunting if you will, and the perfect place to capture such a wonderful sight is in a graveyard. The name of your Soulmate glows blue in the pale light as the moon peeks out from behind the clouds.

You sit a while longer, just thinking of all the possibilities and wondering fleetingly when you are going to meet ‘Ben.’ After about an hour, the chill in air is too much and you stand up to leave. You go to turn your flashlight on only to discover that the batteries are dead. You frown at your lack of luck but don’t think anything else of it as the moon is full and it will be easy to navigate your way back to your beat up old car.

You don’t think much of the dark as you make your way towards your car. However, you notice something glowing red off to the left. You contemplate just ignoring it, but something is telling you not to, especially when you notice the name on your arm glowing a deep red. You walk towards the tomestone and notice the name of your soulmate in glowing bold red letters. What is more startling is the man lying unconscious on the ground half in and half out of the grave. Your own name glowing a deep red on his own arm. Your eyes widen as you take in the sight and can’t believe the carnage that is left behind. Splintered wood is scattered everywhere and the cratered like hole looks like something burst up from the earth. The man lying on the ground seems to be okay, just unconscious from what you can tell.

“Well what do I do now!?” you exclaim more to yourself than the unconscious man in front of you.

You regard him warily before you take your foot and gently nudge him with it and jump back. When he doesn’t move you take a step closer and crouch down beside of him. You study him for a moment before you reach your hand out and nudge his shoulder.

“He’s dead isn’t he…” you groan to yourself.

After a moment's consideration, you steel yourself against your own fear and reach out. You put your fingers to his pulse point and you’re surprised to find a heartbeat.

“Oh… okay…well….shit. What do I do?”

You look around the empty graveyard with the hope that no one or someone would be there. Upon seeing no one anywhere near you, not that you really expected to… it’s a graveyard… at night…

“Where are Sam and Dean when you need them….?” you wonder aloud as you stare down at the man on the ground. Your soulmate.

“Oh shit… he’s my soulmate… My soulmate was buried alive?!”

You whip your head around to see the dates on the tombstone and your eyes widen at the dates.

“This can’t be...right?”

Your mind is reeling as you see that he’s been dead for almost ten years, and yet he looks like he’s around your age… He looks closer to 30 than he does to 20…

“Ok something weird is going on here… What kind of syfy movie is this? Any takers?”

You sigh at the silent grave yard around you and gaze down at the man below you. Your name is glowing a bright red on his forearm and regardless of how much you want to turn tails and run, you know you cannot abandon your soulmate to face whatever this is alone.

You brace yourself and bend down and grab his arms, pulling him out of his grave and onto the grass. With much effort you turn his body so that his back is on the ground. Picking up his arms you begin the daunting task of dragging his limp body towards your car. The feeling of his skin starting to gain warmth is not entirely unpleasant, but you aren’t sure how to deal with this situation. Somehow you haul him into the back seat of your car, with no help from him whatsoever. After you plop down into the drivers side you take a moment to catch your breath then start the engine.

As you are driving down the road you hear a groan from behind you and when you look in your rearview mirror you are surprised to see the man, Ben, sitting up in your back seat holding his head. You let out a screech and out of panic you jerk your car to the right, the car wheels hitting the side of road then the grass jolt you out of your panic enough for you to steer the car straight and come to a violent stop on the side of the road. You throw your car into park and whip around to see the man behind you.

“WHAT is going ON?!” you yell in a panic looking him dead in the eyes.

“You...You...can see me?” he asks just as panicked.

“Yes. Yes I can. Of course I can. What is going on?!”

“I’m sorry! I’m not going to hurt you! I’ll just go!”

You watch in shock as Ben turns and just rams himself straight into the door. His hand comes up and cradles his forehead in his hands and he groans in pain. Very suddenly his head shoots up out of his hand and he stares at the door like he’s never seen one before. His hand reaches out and he rests it against the glass, his other hand rests over his beating heart. If you weren’t prepared for the moment that he rammed into your back door, you definitely weren’t prepared for the moment that he burst into tears.  

“Oh!” you exclaim as you struggle to get out of the car, your forgotten seatbelt catching your chest and throwing you back into your car. You can feel your heart breaking for your soulmate, and regardless of how freaked out you are, you can feel him. You wrestle with the seat belt until you free yourself then hurtle yourself out of the car before you yank open the back door. He had been leaning against it in his emotional state and tumbles into your arms. You hear him gasp as he rests against you for a moment before his arms wrap around you. He clutches you as if you are the world and nothing else could ever even begin to matter. You rest your lips against the top of his head murmur soothing words into his hair. You feel your own eyes well up with unshed tears at the man in your arms.

“Ben? Ben… It’s okay…. I just need you to calm down okay?”

“How… How do you know my name?” he asks as he pulls back from you after a moment. His hands are still locked onto your form, as if you are an anchor holding him here.

You pull away from him just enough to show him his glowing name on your forearm.

“You’re…” he asks as he gazes at you as if you are an angel.

“I guess so….” you murmur as you avert your eyes from his.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps out before jerking away from you and curling into himself. You’re stunned at the reaction, and a little hurt.

“Ben...Why are you sorry?” you ask softly.

He lets out a humorless laugh, “I’m sorry you’re stuck with me…”

“Stuck? No…” say in confusion.

“You should stay away from me…” he says as he scoots farther away from you, back into your car and curls in on himself.

You’re left speechless. You had dreamed of the moment that you would meet your soulmate for years and you had never imagined that this would be your first encounter.

The sharp pain of rejection stabs your heart and you slowly get back into the driver’s seat.

“Do you want me to go?” Ben asks from your back seat.

“No… Where would you like me to drop you off?”

He’s quiet for a moment before he whispers quietly, “The Umbrella Academy.”

In an instant your blood runs cold, and you remember the celebrities of your childhood. Ben had been quiet, elusive and often a reluctant participant in the antics of The Umbrella Academy. You remember being especially intrigued by him since his name is emblazoned onto your arm. Never would you dream that your name would don his arm as well. Suddenly you understand his sorrow and his confusion. He had died mysteriously of a violent accident when he was just 20 years old. His powers had gotten the best of him is what he rumors say. A power that is great and terrifying.

With a sigh you head in the direction of the city and to the mansion you never thought you would ever see in person.  

The ride is silent and uncomfortable. Anytime that you would glance in your rearview mirror to see the man in the seat behind you, he would be staring with abject determination out of the window. You pull up in front of the mansion and park the car. Ben says nothing to you as he just gets out of the car. You watch as he hesitates at the gate and gazes up at the place he spent his childhood.

It takes only a moment before you get out of the car and rush to his side. He glances at you out of the corner of his eyes before he averts his gaze once again. You say nothing as you take his hand in your own. You’re surprised when he doesn't fight it, just tightens his hold on you.

“I’m sorry…” he whispers forlornly.

“You have nothing to be sorry for…” you say softly.

With a new found courage, Ben pushes the gate open and the two of you walk up the stairs to the front door. Ben just stands there and stares at the door.

“I don’t want to be here,” he finally says.

You turn to look up at him in confusion.

“I spent my whole life trying to get out of here, and I don’t want to go back… but I don’t have anywhere else to go…”

“But you do… You have me.”

He looks down at you in awe and surprise.

“I can’t…”

“The universe, against all odds, wants us to be together… You can.”

For the first time you watch as the man you are supposed to be with smiles at you. It’s more than you ever hoped for.

[gotboredwrote]

Starting Early // TM!JFM

Pairing: Tim Murphy x Fem!Reader Word Count: 8.2K Style: One-Shot Warnings: Fluff, some pregnancy discussions, swearing, some angst Summary: You and Tim had been trying for a baby for a while, and one day you popped into the museum with a small box in hand ready to make what you could only imagine was a very stressful day better. Once it’s official, Tim cannot wait to show the baby around his place of work. Permanent Author’s Note: To clarify, I write because I get bored. Nothing is meant to be professional in any way, nor is meant to offend, cause anxiety, cause anger, cause sadness, or promote disagreement among readers in any sort of (semi)permanent way. A/N: This could have been written for literally anyone I write for but I had a strong urge for Tim, so that’s that.

Masterlist

~

To say that it had been a stressful time in Tim’s life was an understatement. One of the biggest stresses of his life had recently come to a head, though, and that was yours and his wedding. But he would never admit to you that the planning had stressed him out. You, on the other hand, made that apparent. That was something he loved about you. You were not shy, so you two balanced each other out. The wedding ended up being absolutely amazing, and the honeymoon was a great way to relieve all the pent-up stress.

Once the honeymoon was over and the two of you were back to your daily grinds, the other stresses in his life returned, including the museum, dealing with his kooky family, and a new pressure entered, as well. One that he was not quite sure he was ready for, but knew he wanted the minute you suggested the idea. You two were going to try for a baby.

But things were not working out the way you wanted. You were positive you were doing things right, but it had been months and no test came back positive. After almost half a year of trying, you were both getting extremely discouraged, and Tim’s workload had increased tenfold, so he was even more tense than usual. To say that you both were wrecked over the situation was an understatement, and after the day you saw Tim go to work with tears in his eyes, you were determined to pick up his spirits. But you were not sure how you were going to do that.

Until you took the most recent test.

~

You had woken up sick to your stomach the morning after Tim left with tears in his eyes, and could not hold it back. Tim was about to walk out the door when he heard you in the bathroom and rushed over to the door to check on you.

“Babe?”

All he was met with were some sputtering coughs.

“Y/N?”

“W-what?”

“You need me to stay home today?”

You trudged your way over and opened the door to face him instead of talking through it.

“I’m okay. The chicken last night must not be agreeing with me. I’ll be okay, go get your work done. I’ll just see you when you come home, okay?”

“But you’re sick, I can’t—”

“Yes you can. I’ve been sick when you’re away on a dig and been fine.”

“You’ve been sick when I’m away and not told me?!”

“This is exactly why I didn’t tell you, honey. Now go off to work because I think round two is coming.”

“Babe—”

And the door was shut in his face. ‘Great,’ he thought. ‘Now I have to worry about her, my job, and the fact that my body is so screwed up it can’t even give her a damn baby.’ He walked out to his car feeling even more defeated than usual and a little bit depressed. He could not help but wonder if he was worth being with you, as dramatic as that was.

As Tim was walking out, and you were finishing up the round two that came rather violently, something dawned on you. And it both terrified you and made you thrilled.

Once you felt like you could stand up without feeling dizzy, something else that had been happening the last few days, you got changed and grabbed your own car keys. You raced down to your local drug store, the same pharmacist seeing where in the store you were heading. He was glad you did not see him, but he gave you a pitiful look. He stopped counting after you had bought 40 tests. He had never seen someone more determined to have a baby, and he just did not have the courage to breach such a sensitive subject with you. But he did not have to worry for much longer, because the next time you came in the store, you bought beef jerky, something you or Tim never ate. And he knew.

When you got home, you practically shot gunned a bottle of water in an effort to get ready for the little stick that was more daunting than it should have been. Then, as soon as you felt the sensation, you went in the bathroom, and the waiting game commenced.

5 minutes.

4.

3.

2.

1.

…

It was not even two little lines you got to see. You had splurged in the hopes that maybe this would be the one on one of those tests that quite literally spells out ‘not pregnant’ or ‘pregnant.’ You read the result.

And you could not wait to drive to the museum.

~

The drive usually only takes about 20 minutes, and even though that was all it took this time, the nerves and nausea radiating through your stomach made it feel like 20 years. On the way there, you had stopped at a local craft store and bought a small, white box and some blue and pink tissue paper to place the test in. It was astounding to you how a small piece of plastic was about to change yours and Tim’s life for the better.

You parked your car and made your way into the museum, Lilah the normal receptionist sitting in her chair having her daily coffee and pastry. She saw you walk in, smiled at you, and waved you through. Normally, the people who come to see someone on staff are required to have a visitor pass, and when you and Tim first started dating, you were no exception to the rule. Now, the entire staff of the museum knew who you were, and thought it was just plain silly for a staff member’s wife to wear a badge, especially when you visited so much you practically worked there yourself.

Once through the opening exhibit, you made your way back to the hallway of offices and walked up the flight of steps to the second floor where Tim’s office was. As you were walking up the steps, though, one of Tim’s bosses happened to be walking down and started talking to you.

“Y/N! I’m not really surprised to see you here, but it’s always nice to see you, nonetheless. What does Tim owe the pleasure?”

“I actually have a surprise for him, Jerry.” Jerry was Tim’s oldest boss, and he was genuinely the sweetest man you had ever gotten the pleasure of meeting. “Is he in his office?”

“Well, I’m not quite sure, actually. Here, I’ll follow you up and if his door is locked, I can let you in and you can wait for him.”

“That’d would be great, Jerry, thank you very much.”

You walked up, and sure enough Tim’s office was locked. Having Jerry there was a blessing, and he was about to leave you and lock the door behind him, when he turned around.

“Sweetheart?”

You looked up at him with wide eyes and a hum.

“If I may… what is that little gift you have? Today isn’t Tim’s birthday, is it?” “Oh! No, no it isn’t. This is actually just a bit of a surprise for him, is all. Surprised me, too, if I’m being transparent.”

“Is it what I think it is?”

You nodded enthusiastically, tears already threatening to spill from your eyes.

“Well. Knowing Tim, you’re about to make him the happiest man on Earth. And you already did the day you married him. Congratulations, deary.”

You could not even bring yourself to say thank you because you had started crying happy tears. Jerry shut the door behind you and you heard the lock click. You had calmed your crying down after about 5 minutes, and then another 5 minutes later, you heard the door unlock again. Tim walked in with an enormous stack of paperwork that completely dropped to the floor when he saw you seated at his desk. Thankfully, it was all in sealed file folders, so nothing cascaded across the floor.

“Jesus! Ah… oh my god. Y-Y/N… what are you… doing here?” Tim had to speak between breaths because you had scared him so badly.

“Sorry, honey! I just wanted to come see you and your door was locked, so Jerry let me in so I could sit down.”

“It’s…it’s fine. Just let me… catch my breath for a sec.” Tim sat down at the chairs that were opposite his chair, not wanting to make you get up, roles reversed momentarily. “So. What do I owe the pleasure of my wife’s presence on this… overwhelming day?”

“Well, I actually have something to give you.” “… I didn’t forget about my birthday again, did I?”

“No, Tim.” You were laughing in an attempt to cover up the emotions that were starting to resurface, since you knew what was about to happen. Your lives were about to change. Well, Tim’s was. Yours already had, alone in the bathroom earlier this morning.

You slowly slid the white box over to your husband, and he looked at it with confusion at first. Then he slowly reached for it and lifted the lid. He saw the pink and blue bundle of tissue paper and looked back up at you with even more confusion. You were doing everything in your power to not give anything away, but much to your chagrin, a tear slipped from your eyes the moment Tim made eye contact with you. The confusion lifted from his face, and a new emotion took over – concern. He ripped into the tissue paper like a small child on Christmas morning, but with the intensity of a grown man. The tissue paper had been scattered all around his legs and the floor and the top of his desk until he got to what was hidden underneath it.

‘Pregnant.’

The room was silent for a moment. Then came the sniffles from both sides of the desk. Then the eye contact of eyes that were flooded with tears and burning red with overwhelming feelings of love. Tim was by your side in an instant, latching on to you with everything he had. You were sobbing and he was laughing. It was a moment you would never forget.

“I… I knew we were doing it right.”

“Obviously, Timmy.”

“You’re going to be a mom… oh my God, you’re going to be a mom and-and I’m…”

“You’re going to be a dad.”

Tim looked at you and his eyes sparkled the way water looks when the sun shines down on it.

“An amazing dad.”

~

[2.5 Weeks]

“Isn’t that a good idea? We can start he/she early!”

“You know I don’t like pictures, Tim.”

“But this is different! This is something we are both going to want to look back on, and what better way to do it?”

Tim had come home from work a few days after he found out you were pregnant with a bag from a local electronics shop and was enthusiastically telling you about a plan he had. The plan involved something you had hated even before you were pregnant, but knowing that you were going to just be getting bigger and bigger as time went on made you hate the idea even more. Tim had wanted to document your pregnancy through pictures at the museum at milestone dates.

“… fine. You spent all that money on the camera, so I guess I can deal with it.”

“Astounding! And it starts today, you’re coming to work with me!”

“Tim! I have to go to work myself, I can’t just not show—”

“I already called your boss, he said it’s fine. Probably because he wanted me to just shut up, but it worked!”

You just looked at Tim lovingly while he laughed to himself. Then you ran over to the bathroom. Tim never thought he would get used to hearing you get sick. He almost felt bad that he was the cause of it, but knowing what would come out of it after nine months made it completely worthwhile to him. You were not so sure in the moment, but Tim’s enthusiasm convinced you otherwise.

You had made your way to the museum carefully, because the motions of cars did upset your stomach more. But the ride was quick and pretty painless this time. The two of you had decided not to tell anyone right away in case the worst happened, so when the museum staff saw you and Tim walk in together, no one thought anything different. Except for Jerry, but Tim had talked to him in advance and he knew not to say anything. When you two passed him walking to Tim’s office, he just gave you both a small smile, which you both returned.

Once all of Tim’s belongings were in his office, the two of you started walking hand in hand through the museum. Tim seemed to be taking you to a specific exhibit that he had in mind, but you were not sure why. Then it dawned on you. It was the exhibit that had the skull he found a long time ago on a dig when the two of you were still dating. (You do not have to read this for this story to make sense, just know that it could be read as a prequel of sorts.)

“Why are we stopping here?”

“You didn’t think I bought an expensive camera without a plan on when to use it, did you?”

“Of course not, but why this exhibit?”

“Don’t you remember? This is where the skull I found it is. I thought this could be where we take the growth pictures. Do you… hate the idea?”

You were feeling emotional to begin with, what with all the new hormones raging through your body, but you were just so happy in that moment that you just hugged Tim tightly. When you pulled away, through more happy tears, you told him how happy you were and how much you loved the idea.

Tim had you stand sideways in front of the display, lit with gold-tinted lights that illuminated your silhouette in a way that almost made Tim cry.

“There’s not much of a bump yet, Tim.” “But we know he/she’s there.”

[One Month]

The morning sickness had increased. Quite a bit. You felt sick around the clock, and practically everything you ate came up later in the day. Tim had gotten better at handling it. At first, he would have trouble being in the bathroom or even near it. Now he can hold your hair back for you as long as he does not look at you. You took what you could get.

One particular morning, Tim had woken up more excitable than he had been recently. You just felt sick so you ignored him. Then you felt a flop on top of you, signaling Tim had thrown something on top of you.

“What the hell are you doing? I don’t work today, why are you waking me up? And throwing my clothes on me?”

“Because you’re coming to the museum today. It’s been one month!”

“What…are you talking—”

“One month since you got pregnant, baby!”

The days dragged so much for you with how awful you felt, both physically from the sickness, and emotionally from not being able to tell anyone yet, that you completely stopped keeping track of dates. You had trouble believing that it had already been so long.

“Oh… that means it’s picture day, huh?”

“You bet! Plus, I’m giving a tour today to a group of 6 year-olds, so maybe you could tag along and see what we have coming!”

You offered Tim a weak smile. You were both so sure of having a kid together, but the reality of at it all had not really set in, at least for you. Your brain still continually told you that it was simply severe food poisoning from that chicken. But to Tim, it was his child. He was so proud that he could do something like that, and he wanted to prepare in every possible way he could, just so he could be the kid’s best friend. But you knew he did not have to prepare for that – it would happen by default. Almost made you jealous.

After a smaller than usual bout of morning sickness, you got dressed in the outfit Tim had picked out for you. The same one you wore the first time he took a picture. You understood why. The pants were a simple pair of grey sweats that were baggier around your lower abdomen and butt but were fitted toward the bottom, and a simple, oversized by about 3 sizes, pastel yellow tee shirt. An outfit that would be very easy to utilize for showing off a growing bump. Just what Tim wanted to do with his camera.

You went into your kitchen and smelled one of the few breakfast foods that did not make you sick, a chocolate croissant, something that Tim liked to bake for you even before you got pregnant. It was a specialty of his. One of the few things he could cook or bake, in general. He was standing at your kitchen table, with a somewhat bashful expression on his face. He held a croissant out in front of him, work bag and car keys in the other.

“I didn’t have time to bake them this weekend, so these are store-bought, but I warmed this one for you.”

You just walked over, took the croissant gently from his hands, and gave him a big kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you, honey.”

“You’re very welcome. Hope they’re not better than mine.”

“Close. But yours are better.”

“Fantastic.” He seemed really giddy about that fact. It made you smile. “You ready to head in?”

“I think so, I just need to grab my wallet.”

With that, the two of you made your way over to the museum and barely had any time to lock your belongings in his office when the exhibit manager of the day came over and told Tim the group was already there, and they were getting impatient. He needed to make his way down quickly or there would be a bunch of rambunctious 6-year-olds making a mess for the janitors.

Tim told them he would be down as soon as he could, but he would only walk at the speed you felt comfortable with. You were his priority. You were doing good on the sickness today, and he was not about to be the reason that changed. You two made your way down and instantly Tim went into tour guide-mode. It honestly was one of the funniest Tim personalities you knew, but you loved it all the same. Tim was introducing himself to the kids and the teachers and chaperones while you watched from the back of the group. A small group of Tim’s coworkers walked by the group and saw you standing there, and waved enthusiastically. Nothing out of sorts. You two still had your secret in place.

You followed the group around from the back, sometimes talking to one of the chaperones about this or that, and even mentioned to one that you were in the very early stages of your pregnancy, to which she became giddy but kept it contained. The only reason you mentioned it to her was because you had pointed out that one girl seemed to be very sad the whole tour and the lady mentioned that it was her daughter.

“If you’d like, when they have a break, you could go talk to her.”

“What? Why? Why me?”

“You’re gonna need practice, sweetheart, boy or girl.”

You gave her a nervous look, because this was making reality really set in for you. But you heeded her words, knowing she was right, and made your way over to the little girl while she ate her lunch alone.

“Hi there.”

She looked up at you with big, beautiful blue eyes.

“May I sit with you? I don’t have anyone to eat lunch with.”

She just nodded her head and kept slowly munching, her mother watching from behind so the girl did not see her.

“What’s your name, sweetie?”

“Josephine.”

“That’s a beautiful name! Mine’s nowhere near as pretty, it’s just Y/N.”

“That’s pretty too!”

“Well, thank you. Josephine is prettier though. Your lunch looks good, what’re you having?”

“PB&J!”

You gasped in shock. “That’s my absolute favorite! In fact,” you reached down into your bag, “I brought one myself!”

Josephine laughed loudly, the sound attracting the attention of both her mother and Tim, but you two were too wrapped up in each other to notice.

“Josephine, can I ask you a question?”

Another nod.

“You looked really sad all morning, and that made me sad. Could you tell me why?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Honey. I promise there is no stupid reason to feel however you’re feeling. Emotions are natural reactions to whatever happens to you. What you feel is okay to feel. If you tell me what it is, I might be able to make you feel better.”

“…Tyler called me unpretty.”

“Tyler called you unpretty?”

“Yeah.”

“Well listen. Tyler is the one here who is unpretty. You, my dear, are beautiful. Just like a Disney princess. You have a name fit for one, too. And I want you to know that that kind of behavior is not tolerated in the adult world, so I will make sure it stops for you, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“You think you can enjoy the rest of Dr. Tim’s tour?”

“Are you going to be there?”

“Of course I will, sweetie. Dr. Tim and I have a very special relationship. I’m his biggest fan.”

“Do you love him?”

Her question caught you slightly off guard. “More than anything in this world, sweetheart.”

“Okay.”

“But I’ll be right behind the group the whole—”

“Would you hold my hand while he gives the show?”

You stopped in your tracks. That felt too much like something her own mother should do. You glanced over to her, knowing she was watching the interaction now, and she gave you the thumbs up.

“I would love to sweetie.”

For the rest of the tour, you stuck by Josephine’s side, hand not leaving hers once. Every once in a while, you were certain you saw Tim sneak a lingering glance at the two of you, and one time it lasted so long, he had to break himself out of his thoughts and his eyes had gotten a little glossy.

At the end of the tour, you all said your goodbyes, and you gave Josephine a quick hug, and gave one to her mother, as well. As you and Tim watched the bus drive away, Tim turned to you with a small smirk on his face.

“What do you want, Dr. Tim?”

“Oh, nothing… mom.”

He grabbed your hand and immediately took you to the display so he could take your picture. Still not much of a bump, you noticed, but you sure as hell felt different after the interaction you had today.

“My money’s on girl.” “Really? You’re already making bets? On what grounds?”

“You were too damn good with that little girl for it to be coincidental.”

[Two Months]

Morning sickness was still a bitch, frankly. Your doctor, one of only 5 people who know about your pregnancy at this point, including you and Tim, put your mind at ease explaining that it should subside around month 4. Halfway to the cravings period, she explained. Nothing particular important happened in the last month, both at Tim’s work and with your pregnancy. Things were going smoothly, other than the incessant sickness, but that more than likely meant you and baby were healthy. At least according to your doctor.

You felt Tim throw your clothes on top of you again, signaling that you would be spending another day at the museum. Another picture day. This time you were less upset about him waking you up. But once you stood up, you were sprinting to the bathroom.

Damn morning sickness.

One chocolate croissant and a twenty-minute drive later, you were seated in Tim’s office reading a book from his shelf, one of the few novels relating to dinosaurs he had amongst hundreds of textbooks. He had mainly a paperwork day that day, so the two of you just enjoyed each other’s presence. Something you hardly got to do even before you were pregnant. Your work lives made it so hard to see each other for any extended period of time, but you found ways to make it work.

Before either of you knew it, you had spent the entire day in his office, with you reading and him doing paperwork. It was practically time to go home, but you still had not taken your picture yet. You and Tim gathered all your belongings, locking up on your way out and made your way down to the exhibit. When you got down there, you placed all your stuff out of frame and stood profile to him and head gazing down at your stomach, just like any other shoot.

But you never heard the shutter.

You looked over at Tim who had tears streaking down his face, the camera shaking from how his hands were violently doing the same. You rushed over to him and grabbed his face, completely overwhelmed with confusion because you had no idea what triggered this. It was not raining or anything, so you had no idea what had set him off.

“Tim, baby, what’s wrong?” The panic was apparent in your frantic tone of voice.

“You’re showing.”

“What?”

“You’re showing.”

“What are you talk—”

“Let me take the picture.”

You slowly pulled away from him, resuming your position from a second before, and you heard the shutter go off this time. You walked back to him to see what he was referring to, and it hit you as hard as a wave of nausea in the morning.

You were showing.

The baby was showing.

You had already started to show after only two months.

You looked up at Tim with eyes that were just as watery as his, and hugged him tightly, but his grip was lighter. Knowing what was in between the two of you.

It became real.

[Three Months]

You had your doctor’s appointment, and she told you that it was officially safe to begin telling people about the pregnancy. Everything was looking fine, and the fact that you already had a small bump this early meant the baby was big and healthy. Absolutely nothing to worry about.

You told your families, and they all were extremely supportive, and Lex even cried, knowing that her kids would have a new family member to play with. Everything was going great, and you and Tim constantly felt like you were on cloud 9.

When you went into the museum to take the photo that day, you decided enough was enough and stopped hiding the bump, letting Tim’s coworkers ask about it. Some clapped him on the back, some broke down in tears at how amazing of parents they knew you two were going to be. It was all very overwhelming, but the two of you kept it pretty well together. Until it was time to take the photo. For some reason, seeing how much you had grown in a month set both of you off to the point where you were leaned up against the exhibit window, crying silently with each other.

Until you decided to speak.

“Am I going to be a good mom?”

“Wh-what?”

“Am I—”

“You’re going to be a perfect mom. I don’t know what brought this sudden fear up, but know that you are going to be a natural.”

“It’s all becoming so real, Tim. Like, I don’t need to stand sideways anymore to see the bump. He/she is really growing. They’re real. I just… don’t want to mess up.”

“Do you really think you and I aren’t going to make any mistakes? I mean, yes, we are near perfect human beings,” Tim’s sarcasm and sass always made you laugh, because it was never something people expected to come from such a shy human, “but all parents make mistakes. That’s how kids develop personalities. Otherwise, baby-making could basically be named cloning and we’d have invented that without even knowing it.”

Tim saw that you were not looking at him and tears were still running down your face. So, he grabbed it and pulled it to look at him.

“I didn’t have to see you with that girl to know you are going to be as perfect as you can be. Because I can see how much the idea of being a bad mom is eating away at you. You couldn’t handle the prospect of someone thinking you’re a bad mother, so you’re going to do everything in your power to make sure that doesn’t happen. Plus, I just know you. You were practically a mom even when we were dating. How much you doted on me. Took care of me on my bad days. Still do.”

You believed Tim. You believed every word that came from his mouth.

“And I know I’m going to be a great dad by the same logic as you. I don’t want to be a bad dad more than anything in this world, so I’m not going to let it happen. Plus, Lex can always give us pointers.”

“…thank you.” “Anytime, mother of my child.”

“…that’s weird, don’t say that.”

“You married this weirdo, you should expect this after all these years, Y/N.”

[Four Months]

Your morning sickness subsided – just like the doctor told you it would. It was a relief to not be throwing up every 2 hours. But the cravings were not much better. Beef jerky? ‘Really, baby?’ you always thought as you would gaze at your ever-growing stomach, now practically impossible to hide.

Walking in the museum with outside food or drink was against the rules, but Tim’s coworkers and bosses made an exception for you, knowing how hard you two tried to get to this moment in your lives. Especially when they saw you walk in going to town on a bag of beef jerky. They could tell by your expression that you hated it but it was what the baby wanted, and they always laughed out of pity and bemusement.

Nothing particularly exciting happened this day, either, just like last month. With the exception of a recent find being dropped off the museum for display. Tim told you he would finish up his paperwork and you could go watch them set it up. Then he would come find you when he was done and you could take your picture and go.

Once Tim had taken the picture, Tim had started crying again, so you ushered him to join you by the display and sit down.

“What’s going on, Timmy?”

“What… if they’re scared of me?”

“What on Earth are you talking about?”

“Scars, Y/N.”

You just looked at him in shock.

“I don’t look like you. Or anyone else. I’m marked. I know eventually I’ll have to explain what these are from, but what if when they’re a baby they don’t want me to hold them? Or feed them? Or change them? Or lay them in the crib? What if they just think I’m a monster? And not…dad?”

“… I wish I could say it won’t scare he/she. But I definitely think they’ll be interested… to a degree. But that won’t matter to a baby. All they’re going to see is your big beautiful eyes and your smile. All they’re going to hear is how cute they are and your gorgeous singing voice when you sing them to sleep. You’ll appear as the farthest thing from a monster, and you just have a really cool bedtime story to tell them when they’re younger. You can save the real stuff for later.”

“…”

“I love your scars. You know that. Very much so. I think the baby will, too.”

[Five Months]

You had officially gone one month without morning sickness, and you were very thankful for that fact. Tim would never say it to your face, but he was too. He did not want to make you feel bad for making him feel sick all the time, too, seeing as that the cause of yours was him. Your cravings were still in a pretty full swing, though, but they were never terrible combinations like movies and television made them out to be. Most of the time they were just foods you were not particularly fond of, but you could move past that, since they did not make you sick.

You had another doctor’s appointment, as per usual, but this was one you did not tell Tim about. Not because there was anything involved he had not seen before, but because this was the official appointment where the gender could be found out. You had a plan; you were going to have the doctor tell you the gender, and then you were going to work with the museum to have a small, private gender reveal for Tim. When you found out the gender, you cried and wanted to immediately share the news with Tim, but patience is truly a virtue, and you knew it would be worth the wait.

When you got home that day, you called the museum and told them what day you would be coming into the museum to take the newest photo, and they were more than willing to help you out. You wanted the surprise to be simple, so you explained what you had in mind, and they were all for it. Eventually the day came where you and Tim went to the museum together, and you spent the day like any other, moseying around sometimes with him and sometimes not. On one occasion when you were by yourself, you walked over to the exhibit where you took your photos to make sure the reveal had not been set up yet, and thankfully it was not. Meaning, Tim had no clue what he was in for.

Later in the day, the museum had closed up for the public, so you made a quick call to the manager who was going to set up your surprise to signal it was go time. You stalled Tim in his office as long as you could, but eventually, you ran out of stuff to say. So, you two made your way downstairs, and all you could do was hope that the manager got out of there in time.

Once in front of the exhibit, you decided not to say anything at first. See if Tim would notice. You set yourself up in front of the viewing window and assumed the position, and you heard the shutter go off. You were almost hurt that Tim did not notice the glaringly obvious breach of protocol in the exhibit, because you were the one who wanted to do this surprise for him. So, you decided to egg him on a bit.

“Tim, did I tell you I had an OBGYN appointment today?”

Tim’s head slowly looked up at you from the camera and his eyes were glossy, and you were certain you could see his lips trembling, holding back a smile.

“I didn’t think not telling you would make you this upset, honey, I’m really—”

“Pink.”

That explained the tears. And the attempt not to smile. He saw your surprise in the photo looking closer. You had instructed the museum to find a small beanie that would fit onto the skull in the exhibit that Tim had found on the dig. A pink one. To let him know that he would be having a daughter with you.

“It’s pink… you’re having… having a girl?”

“We’re having a girl, yes. A girl, Tim!”

“That’s the greatest news anyone could have ever told me. A girl… oh my God, a girl!”

You could see that he was ecstatic to hear that it was a girl. Both of you would have been happy with whatever it ended up being, but the happiness that radiated off of your husband indicated to you that he might have been leaning toward a preference.

“Oh no.” “What, Tim? You were just so happy.”

“I’m going to have to fight a lot of men soon.” “What? Why?” You were practically laughing just at the thought of Tim trying to win a fight. He was headstrong, sure, but body strong? Not so much.

“She’s going to be just as beautiful as her mother, which means a lot of potential suitors.”

“I’ll help her. She needs a man just like her father.”

 [Six Months]

After finding out that the two of you were going to have a girl, it was time to tell your families and friends, and they had nothing but sweet and wise words of advice. Everyone kept saying to you privately that they could see you being a great mom to a boy or a girl, but that Tim would be especially good with a girl. For some reason, it just made sense, and you could not help but agree with them. He was always just so tender and sweet with everyone he meets, and he treated you like a fragile piece of glass when he interacted with you, giving you the utmost care. You would not be surprised if that happened with your baby, but ten-fold.

This day at the museum was nothing out of the ordinary – paperwork, some smaller tours, things of that nature. You did not mind though. With how far along you were getting, nearing the third trimester already, you were starting to constantly feeling tired. So, being able to lounge on Tim’s office couch and just doze off or read a little bit was always a nice feeling.

At one point though, someone had knocked on the door while Tim was out, and you honestly were not sure if you should answer. That situation, despite how long the two of you had been together, had not come up since the first time. The first time it was just a package for him, so it was not a big deal, but you could never be sure who it was, since his door did not have a peephole.

You carefully stood up on your own, not used to not having Tim right by your side to help you, and answered the door. Standing behind it was a very cheery Jerry, Tim’s boss.

“Y/N? I didn’t expect you to answer.”

“Timmy is off with an intern explaining something he did wrong.” You both laughed at the idea of Tim being all nervous and jittery about something being wrong. “Would I be able to help you with what you needed?”

“Actually, the whole reason I came was for you, but I was just going to have him give you this.” Jerry handed you an envelope that felt extremely thin, but you did not question it one bit. Jerry had his ways of explaining himself sooner or later. “Just read that whenever you get a chance, dear. I think you’ll like what’s inside.”

“Alright. Should I—”

And he shut the door behind him, leaving you with your mouth agape.

So, you decided now was a good a time as any, since Tim was not there still to keep you company. You sat back down, carefully, onto his couch and opened the letter. It was a single sheet of paper, with hardly 15 sentences on it. You read it slowly and quietly to yourself, and when you had finished, Tim walked back through the door. He was met with the site of you crying silently and red-rimmed eyes. Immediately he was by your side asking you if you were okay and if the baby was hurt. You just looked up at him wearily but forcing a smile on your face while sliding the letter in his direction. Tim read aloud.

 “Dearest Murphy’s,

I hope this letter finds you at a happy time, or maybe, it would be better when you’re slightly sad and could be a pick-me-up of sorts. I would like to make this short and sweet, so as not to take much up of your time. First and foremost, I would like to offer you a piece of advice – frankly, it is what I would call the best piece of parenting advice one could receive, especially as first-time parents. ‘Protect the child at all costs, but do not prevent them from exploring potential.’ Pretty self-explanatory, but in case it isn’t clear – please keep the child safe at whatever cost, but if they express sincere interest in something and there is no inherent danger involved, even if it makes you anxious at first, don’t squander it. Children are so precious, and their minds take in everything, despite what you may think, and preventing the child from expressing themselves is only going to make them despise you and want to do everything in the opposite way you told them to. Secondly, I would like to offer Tim paid paternal-leave for as long as you are earning yours from your employer – we will match the length of time. Plus, as a bonus from the entire museum staff for all you two have done over the years for us, a small token of our gratitude is enclosed here that I sincerely hope will help you throughout the beginning of this journey.

I sincerely treasure you both as human beings, and I wish you all the luck with your little family.

Sincerely yours,

Jerry Turner, CFO Cretaceous and Jurassic Periods at American Museum of Natural History”

 Tim was still at a loss for what had made you cry, and then he saw the ‘small token of their gratitude.’

A check.

For $10,000.

Both you and Tim were sobbing. Loudly.

You could not believe it, because that would cover so much more than you could have ever imagined, and neither of you were quite sure what you did to earn such a thoughtful and extremely generous gift. You wanted to thank Jerry, but you had no idea where he ran off to, and you two were so overwhelmed by the gift that neither of you had the strength to move.

Little did you know that Jerry had watched Tim walk back in his office and was outside the door hearing how happy you were, and his heart swelled up.

You took the monthly picture, tears still streaking down your cheeks. You looked ethereal, despite the tears.

[Seven Months]

Officially within your third and final trimester, things were getting down to the wire. You had stopped all the various side-effects of pregnancy, and all that was left was the constant sluggishness. Tim did not want you drinking too much caffeine, so he cut back as well. You were constantly having the energy sucked out of you, but Tim kept going a mile a minute, somehow, considering the boy lived off of tea and the occasional coffee if he really needed it. You assumed it was nervous jitters knowing how close you two were getting to meeting the little one.

You had arrived at the museum early, and Tim had gotten all of his paperwork done the day before so he could spend the day walking around the museum with you, seemingly with a plan in mind.

Every time you would arrive at a new exhibit, Tim would drop down to his knees, and he would gently lay his head down onto your belly. Then he would start talking. Anything he could say about the exhibit – reading the signs, spewing random bits of knowledge here and there, whatever he could think of. After he did this about four times, you stopped him and asked him just what it was he was doing.

“I’m talking to her.”

You just looked at him sweetly, almost tearing up at the sentiment.

“Gotta start her early, don’t I? Can’t have her being into mathematics like her mother.”

And then came the eye roll. You almost did not let him take the picture that night because of that little gripe at your job.

[Eight Months]

It was hard for the two of you to believe you were down to the last potential thirty days, but you were already there. The two of you were both planners, so every single thing that could be accounted for was already accounted for – she had a room, clothes, diapers, everything. The two of you went and took your monthly picture, wondering if you would get to take another one, when it hit Tim that the two of you missed something crucial in your planning.

“Oh shit.” “What?”

“We don’t have a name yet.”

“Oh shit.”

Sitting down on the bench looking into the exhibit, you both thought about it for a while, throwing out ideas neither of you liked. Just to put something out there and maybe draw inspiration. Then Tim suggested another two names, and instantly you knew they were the ones. Both of you were old fashioned, and you knew you were going to get some comments about it, but it did not matter.

This was your daughter, and you could name her whatever you damn well pleased.

[Eight Months and Twenty-Two Days, June 11]

It was so much pain.

So much more pain than you expected.

But dammit, you were going to meet your daughter today, and that was that.

You honestly could not even remember the drive to the hospital, but the next thing you knew, you were in a hospital gown with a doctor telling you that you were nine centimeters dilated and that the pushing would start soon. Despite everything you told him was going to happen, Tim was right by your side gripping your hand like a vice, with an expression on his face that made the doctors think he was in as much pain as you were.

But it went quicker than you thought it would. That final centimeter happened quick, and everyone in the room was on you in an instant to coach you through the pushing. You only had to push for about 15 minutes and then you heard it.

Small but powerful cries, indicating that the baby was here and healthy.

Immediately she was on your chest and they were starting to clean her up, and then they took her over to the crib to wrap her. You were still catching your breath when you saw Tim walk over to you, bundle in his hands, him sobbing with joy.

“She’s—”

“Gorgeous.”

The nurse came over to the both of you with a clipboard after a few minutes, now that both of you had calmed down lightly.

“Alrighty. So, we have a healthy baby girl, born June 11 at 4:49am, weighing 6.1 ounces and measuring 20 inches in length. We have all the other stuff taken care of, we just need to know if she has a name yet.”

“She does.” Tim looked so proud that he was the one who got to say it for the official birth certificate.

“Agnes Eloise Murphy.”

The nurse smiled, double checked the spelling, and walked off to file it. You were just gazing at him with almost a hint of fear in your tired expression, because something the nurse had said threw you off a bit.

“Timmy…”

“Hm?” He was still gazing down at Agnes, not really mentally with you at that moment.

“Do you realize what today is? What her birthday is?”

“I do.”

“And you’re okay?”

“Of course I am. I will never have to remember the horror of Jurassic Park on this day any longer, she is a distraction from that nightmare, she is a living, breathing dream come true.”

 [One Month Birthday]

Agnes turned one month old, and neither of you could believe it. Other than doctor’s appointments, she had not left your apartment. You both decided that she could make one exception, and Tim was more than eager to take her to the place where he found out she would be coming into this world.

The two of you took her around the entire place, and ended at the exhibit where all the pregnancy photos were taken.

“You don’t know it yet, but this place has a lot of special meaning to mommy and daddy, and you too. We’ll tell you all about it when you’re older, lovebug.” Tim spoke to his daughter the same way he did when she was still in your belly and it made you melt. You knew it from the moment you laid eyes on her that she was going to be a daddy’s girl.

As he spoke to her, she smiled and placed a hand right atop the scar adorning Tim’s cheek. She laughed for the very first time.

“I told you she’d love them.”

When you look back down, you can see her enthusiastically swinging around the small dinosaur plush toy you had given her as a first stuffed animal. You smiled and looked back up at Tim, not believing how precious she was.

“And a dinosaur lover just like her dad, too.”

“Told you we had to start her early, keep her away from the numbers.”

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Incandescent [2/3]

title Incandescent (2/3)  summary Vengeance is the best pick-up line. pairing itasaku (of course)

Part 1 | Part 3

It was a well-known fact that King Fugaku had bastard children. At least two, in fact. One, he had taken in as his “nephew” and currently served as a baron not far from the capital. The other, for some reason, he had never acknowledged. Never even spoken to. It had been a source of great scandal in the Cian Kingdom when it had first come to light. But now, no one batted an eye.

Which Sakura thought was absurd.

“He made him and he won’t even speak to him?” Sakura complained. 

“It’s not as uncommon as you think, Sakura,” Kizashi answered.

“That’s right,” Mebuki piped up. “If anything, Papa is the strange one for not having mistresses.”

Sakura hid her smile behind her napkin as she watched her father sputter. 

As Sakura recalled that conversation from a few years ago, she started when a servant arrived to set down tea in front of them. The plates and silverware rattled together. Her eyes met Sakura’s. Sakura didn’t dare look at her guest. She just nodded at the girl to dismiss her. She couldn’t leave the room faster. The door closed with a click behind her.

Sakura sat alone with her esteemed guest. Emperor Itachi of the Bermellon Empire.

Bermellon was a powerhouse of military prowess and technology. It was much older than the kingdom of Cian, and its access to the ocean meant that merchants flocked to its ports. A plague several years ago, along with a civil war waged among the nobles had weakened the empire considerably. Rumors had spread of a new emperor who had seized the throne and brought stability to the lands. All that the rumors could agree on was that the emperor was a recluse who didn’t appear in public for any reason.

“You must be uncomfortable. I beg your pardon for the sudden visit,” the emperor said, lowering his head. 

Sakura pinched her thigh through her dress. It hurt. So this wasn’t some kind of strange dream.

“I.... Please don’t beg, Your Majesty,” was all she could think to say.

Itachi was silent as he took that in. And then a smile curled his lips. 

“Then instead of begging, let me ask you a question, My Lady. Is is true that you’ve been in a somewhat... vindictive mood lately?” he queried. Pointer finger on his cheek and thumb on his chin as he watched her.

Her curiosity overpowered the fear. She met his gaze. “Perhaps.”

His smile widened. “Excellent.”

Sakura didn’t know why. But she felt quite comfortable recounting the last several months to a foreign monarch. Which, in retrospect, was probably a very stupid thing to do. Maybe it was his silence. It was hard to find someone who just listened.

“That is... quite a slap in the face,” was all he concluded at the end of her story.

“What I resent most,” Sakura began. She seized a cookie from the platter in the middle of the tray, “Is that I have brains. Why would he believe that I was going to seduce the son of the Knight Commander when I’m already going to become Queen?” 

“That would be unnecessary,” Itachi said. 

“Exactly!” Sakura took a bite of the cookie. And then, settling back in her seat, she sighed.

“Well, there’s no use in getting angry. It’s what I get for underestimating the no-name niece of a baron,” she mumbled, mostly to herself. After a moment, her gaze flickered up to Itachi. 

“I’m not what you expected, am I?” Sakura guessed.

Itachi smiled a little. He wasn’t so daunting when he smiled like that. “Am I that transparent?”

“No. You have to get good at reading faces when you’re engaged to someone like Prince Sasuke,” Sakura replied. And then she tilted her head to one side as she thought as she added, “You remind me of him.”

His smile faded. “Which reminds me, we haven’t gotten to the reason for my sudden visit.”

She was aware that he had just changed the topic. But she gestured for him to proceed. She could always poke at that again later.

“Simply put, after the civil war, the farmlands and much of our infrastructure were destroyed. We’ve been able to make ends meet by importing crops from neighboring nations. Like yours. But the harsh tariffs your king has recently set against my country have hurt everyone. My people cannot afford to eat.”

“Wouldn’t this be the job of an ambassador to discuss this with His Majesty?” Sakura wondered.

“You’re correct. It would also be his job to discuss how Cian has engaged in skirmishes along our border and attempted to blame bandits,” Itachi added. 

“So my country is provoking you to see if you’re weak enough to attack?” she guessed. 

Itachi nodded. He took a sip of his tea. “That’s what I believe.”

Sakura folded her arms across her chest. “Then where do I factor into all of this?” she asked.

“Even outside of your kingdom’s borders, your family’s power is well-known. And then I happened to hear rumors of the House Haruno’s.... falling-out with the Crown. Naturally, I thought we could help each other. We put on a show, feign closeness. We can use that to our advantage to each get what we need.”

Sakura eyed him as she lifted her teacup to her lips to take a sip. She placed it back down on the saucer, soundlessly. “Do you plan to add Cian to your empire?”

Itachi didn’t flinch from her gaze. In fact, she almost wanted to flinch. Meeting with the Queen had been unnerving enough. This man was on a whole other level. “You’re quite blunt, aren’t you?” he observed. 

“Your question doesn’t cancel out my question, Your Majesty,” she pressed. Perhaps, a little foolishly. 

Itachi chuckled. “True. That was rude of me. But I also have many things I’d like to ask you.”

“Then we take turns. If you’d answer my question first, I’d be happy to answer one of yours,” she suggested.

“Very well. My answer is ‘no’. I don’t plan on conquering Cian.” And then he paused as he searched her gaze. “You’re not frightened?”

“Terrified.”

“Of this plan?”

“Yes. And of you. You’re very intimidating,” she answered. She didn’t see a need in lying about that. 

He chuckled, eyes flickering down to the teacup. “I wouldn’t be a good ruler if I wasn’t.” And then his eyes moved back up to her. “Your next question?”

“Is it alright for you to be away from Bermellon like this?” she inquired.

“No, actually. But this was a special exception. In the future, I’m afraid our correspondences will have to be through writing,” he told her. And then he tilted his head a little as he looked her over.

“Why do you ask?”

Sakura gestured around the room. “Because if you’re going to continue to visit, Your Majesty, we’re going to need to update these furnishings. My mother would have a fit if she knew you sat in the same room as out-of-season curtains,” she told him. 

Itachi’s eyes sparkled as he pressed his knuckles to his mouth. It took him several moments for him to speak again. In which Sakura felt at ease because she knew it was from him trying his best not to laugh. Which would have been very undignified for a fearsome emperor. 

“I look forward to working with you, Lady Sakura.”

“Likewise, Your Majesty.”

Itachi’s departure was discrete. He slipped out through the servant’s entrance, the hood of his cloak pulled up to cover his hair. As the carriage pulled up, Itachi turned back to look at her. Sakura lingered in the doorway.

“Do you have a pet name, My Lady?” Itachi inquired.

“Do I look like the sort of woman who would have a pet name, Your Majesty?” she retorted, forehead wrinkling at the very thought. Pet names were for little girls. Perhaps the only peer who could have gotten away with calling her by such a thing would have been the royal family. Just imagining Sasuke’s look of disgust if she asked him to call her by a pet name made goosebumps rise up and down her arms. 

“No. I suppose not. You’re quite endearing enough as is,” he mused mostly to himself as he turned to climb into the carriage. 

The servants pretended to have seen nothing, and all Sakura informed her mother when she arrived a week later was that she had been dreadfully bored without her.

“You changed the curtains. Thank you, love,” Mebuki observed as she sat in the parlor. She cast a confused look at the servant girl who stifled a giggle.

It began with a letter. A formal correspondence from the Emperor of Bermellon to Duke Haruno. 

“What does it say, Papa?” Sakura asked, leaning on him as she read over his shoulder. Kizashi handed it to her once he was done reading.

“The Bermellon Empire has had trouble feeding all its citizens after the civil war. The nobles were fond of razing farmlands as a battle strategy, apparently,” Kizashi informed her. He folded his hands under his chin as he waited for her to finish reading. 

Sakura wrinkled her nose. “Bermellon had an agreement with the Crown. They sold surplus crops to Bermellon. In exchange for what, Papa?”

“For not attacking us. For a while, Bermellon’s armies were a serious threat,” Kizashi replied.

“But not anymore.”

“Not anymore,” he agreed. “I’d heard rumors that King Fugaku was planning to lay down strict sanctions against Bermellon. I never thought Bermellon would come running to us for help, though.” Leaning back in his chair, Kizashi bit the end of his pipe. 

“Well, we grow the crops. It would make more sense for them to deal with us directly rather than go through the Crown,” Sakura commented. She stole a glance at her father, measuring his expression. He appeared to be lost in thought. 

“Why don’t we help them, Papa? It wouldn’t do for people to go hungry,” she suggested. 

Her father’s eyes flew to her. Sharpening.

“You know what kind of message that would send.”

“I know, Papa.”

Kizashi’s eyes narrowed even more. His mustache twitched. “What are you planning, dear daughter of mine?” he wondered. 

Sakura rested her chin in her palms. She beamed at him as she answered: “Wouldn’t it be so much more fun if it were a surprise, Papa?”

Kizashi penned a reply that afternoon. Sakura sitting at his side as they brainstormed how to word the response. Mebuki eyed them as she watched Sakura pour wax onto the envelope flap. Sakura blew on the wax to cool before she stamped it with the seal. 

“The royal family is moving to the Winter Palace. They should arrive in the next week or so,” Mebuki announced.

“Do you think they’ll try to make amends?” Kizashi queried.

“Of course. Although it seems like our daughter has other plans,” Mebuki noted. Sakura just smiled at her. Mebuki reached out and stroked Sakura’s hair. “Remember, darling. No treason.”

“Yes, Mama.”

As the weeks went on, letters went back and forth. Sakura started to pity the messengers who rode from the emperor’s palace on the coast to the Haruno family’s manor further inland. 

Under the guise of lightening her father’s workload, Sakura had taken on writing to the Emperor herself.

At first, the messages had been strictly business. Contracts and official documents that were signed and stamped to ensure a fair deal. There had been a few letters that had been a bit snippy as they negotiated about the money that would change hands. Sakura had to admit that the Emperor was a shrewd negotiator. The number they settled on wasn’t exactly unfair to her, but it was certainly less than she would have liked.

But as the number of letters grew, Sakura found that their correspondences sounded less and less like business. 

He didn’t exactly spill his soul onto the page, but she could make some guesses. His palace seemed like a quiet place. And he worried a lot. About his people. About himself. 

In one letter on a particularly dull day, Sakura mentioned off-hand that she missed the capital. Particularly the sound of the cuckoo birds that would wake  her in the morning.

She stood dumbfounded in her garden a few weeks later. Inside a silver cage sat two birds. Their feathers were grey, almost blue. Their bright yellow eyes stared at her as she approached. One of them opened its beak to let out a familiar “cuckoo” sound.

“Those are...” Sakura trailed off when one of her servants handed her a letter. The imperial seal stamped into the deep purple wax. 

A token of thanks for all that you’ve done, was all it said.

Of course, Sakura hosted a small tea party a few days later. And while she didn’t say anything about the birds, she did place the cage in the middle of the garden, where everyone could see.

“Those are lovely, Lady Sakura,” one of the ladies commented.

“They were a gift from His Majesty the Emperor of Bermellon,” answered Sakura. Pretending not to notice Ino almost choke on her tea.

It didn’t take long for rumors to spread from there. 

Sakura told her chattiest servants about the latest thing the Emperor had written to her or sent to her. And in turn, those servants spread the gossip to her friends and family. Who in turn informed their friends. 

By the peak of the winter, the royal court buzzed with speculation like an angry beehive. Was the daughter of Duke Haruno engaged to the Emperor of an enemy nation? Was this a plot on the Crown’s part to gain Bermellon’s trust? Hadn’t Lady Sakura just been rejected by the Prince?

Sakura sat in the shade of the garden. It was a little cool, but the cloak around her shoulders kept her from feeling uncomfortable. The lavender the Emperor had sent to her several weeks ago had taken nicely to the soil. The stalks of silver-green leaves swayed back and forth, spreading the fragrance through the air. 

“What’s most scandalous, I think, is that it’s difficult to tell whether he’s courting you or not, I think,” Mebuki observed. She gestured around the garden. “Flowers, birds, teas from his lands. Normally he would be sending dresses and jewels if he were trying to woo you.”

“Oh nonsense, Mama. He’s just showing his appreciation for our trading partnership,” drawled Sakura. And they dissolved into laughter. 

The cooler weather passed and it was time for a new social season. 

Sakura took a deep breath. She rolled her shoulders to loosen up before she nodded at the steward. He opened up the doors. A servant girl entered bearing a large silver tray. Envelopes of every shape and size covered the surface. Some of the messages were doused in perfume, which Mebuki promptly plucked out and tossed in the discard pile. (”That’s tacky, my dear. Anyone of good standing uses their name, not their nose to get attention.”)

“Hm. Garden party. Garden party. Oh. Flower viewing. So different from a garden party,” Sakura read as she shuffled through the invitations.

“Which ones will you go to, Mama?” asked Sakura. 

Mebuki glanced through the names. “The sister of Earl Sabaku is throwing a stargazing party. She always has the most interesting ideas.” 

And then Mebuki picked up a few more envelopes. “Countess Inuzuka has continued to annoy me. But I might show my face at Marquise Nara’s tea party.”

“And Marquise Yamanaka?” Sakura prompted. 

Mebuki laughed. “That goes without saying.” But then Mebuki looked at her daughter’s face and her smile fell. “Oh. You’re... not planning on attending.... any of these,” she realized.

Sakura grinned. Pressing her hands together, she fluttered her eyelashes. 

“Actually, Mama, neither of us are attending. We have somewhere to be,” Sakura corrected her. 

Mebuki sighed. 

“....Let me go get your father.”

“Duchess Haruno, it’s so good to see you,” the Queen greeted Mebuki a couple weeks later. Mebuki curtsied deeply. 

“Thank you so much for meeting with me, Your Grace,” Mebuki replied. 

“Of course. We are always glad to see such a dear and trusted friend,” Mikoto answered her. And they were all titters and smiles. Which did nothing to mask the frigid atmosphere in the room as they sat together.

“Now, whatever is this urgent matter that concerns you, my dear duchess?”

“The Haruno family won’t be attending the spring banquet?” Fugaku barked. His voice echoed across the dining room. Mikoto wrung her hands, her food untouched. Sasuke stared at his plate, like he wasn’t a part of the conversation. A servant walked in with a water jug, eyed the expressions of the royal family, and silently backtracked out of the room.

“...Or the summer ball,” added Mikoto. 

Fugaku’s fork and knife clattered onto the plate. He threw his napkin on the table.

“This is unacceptable,” Fugaku said.

Sasuke stole a glance at his father and found himself on the receiving end of a glare.

“This is your doing, Sasuke.”

“How is the Haruno family’s insolence my responsibility?” Sasuke retorted. 

“Oh, Sasuke, don’t,” Mikoto sighed. But there was no point. 

“Not only did you dissolve an engagement, you publicly humiliated the daughter of the biggest threat to our kingdom. To make things worse, you abjure the girl you chose to replace her with after less than a year. What sort of message does that send to our people?” Fugaku spat. Sasuke bit his tongue as he looked away.

“For years, Sasuke, Duke Haruno has been called the second king of this nation. Should he choose to rebel, it would plunge this nation into a bitter conflict. One that I’m uncertain we would emerge victorious from,” the king then said in a softer voice. 

Slowly, Sasuke turned his face back toward his parents. Fugaku was still scowling. 

“I’ve been hearing unsettling strange rumors about the south right now. Fix this before it’s too late, Sasuke. Lady Sakura has always been enamored of you. Use that to your advantage,” the King demanded.

However, when Sasuke arrived at the Haruno mansion in the Capital the following day, it was empty. 

“The Duke has moved here for the season, Your Highness, but there has been no word from the Duchess,” the steward informed him. And then he added, “It’s very likely that they are still at the manor, You-”

Sasuke stalked off before the steward could finish speaking. He had his fastest messengers sent south to the Haruno lands. They returned several days later empty-handed. Neither women was there, and none of the servants could say where they had gone.

Interrogating Sakura’s usual friends was just as pointless. Lady Ino claimed that she was just as confused as to where her friend was, and then punctuated her words with some scowls and maybe even an eye roll. Lady Temari was less obvious about her disdain, but answered just as coldly. 

“How am I supposed to fix this if I can’t even find her?” Sasuke grumbled. 

“Well, you probably shouldn’t have messed things up from the start then,” Naruto said, patting him on the back. Which was the sort of privilege he had by being one of Sasuke’s only friends since childhood. And oblivious to Sasuke’s expression, Naruto went on. “I tried to warn you. My cousin’s crazy. And Lady Sakura would never do all those things Karin said. If I were you, I’d be really mad at myself for falling for any of that.”

“Naruto.”

“Hm?”

“Stop talking.”

“Alright, Your Highness.”

A few days later, a message arrived at the royal palace. It might not have caught anyone’s attention except for the deep purple wax that sealed the flap in place. 

As soon as Fugaku turned it over, his mouth tightened into a thin line. 

“What is it?” Mikoto asked. 

“Trouble,” was all Fugaku could say.

[chaos-of-the-abyss]

I love Tolkien too!! Who’s your favorite character?

Anon, how dare you make me choose my favorite character when there are so many beautiful characters to pick from? 

In all honestly, I find that I can’t answer that question. I hope you're okay with reading a much, much longer response than you probably imagined originally. I’ll go over my top characters and why they’re so high on my personal list, because many of the reasons are different from character to character. These aren’t in any particular order.

This also isn’t even all of my top favorites, but the answer became so long that I had to limit it to a few. Basically, I wrote whole character analyses gushing about why I love the characters I mentioned - Sauron, Melkor, Manwë, and Varda. Enjoy :’)

Sauron

I loved reading about just because of how evil he is; it makes him very entertaining (and horrifying, more often than not) to read anything he’s involved in. He’s the worst. Literally the worst. I love how cunning and deceptive he is because I’ve always had a penchant for conniving characters. 

“Now the Elves made many rings; but secretly Sauron made One Ring to rule all the others, and their power was bound up with it, to be subject wholly to it and to last only so long as it too should last. And much of the strength and will of Sauron passed into that One Ring; for the power of the Elven-rings was very great, and that which should govern them must be a thing of surpassing potency; and Sauron forged it in the Mountain of Fire in the Land of Shadow. And while he wore the One Ring he could perceive all the things that were done by means of the lesser rings, and he could see and govern the very thoughts of those that wore them.”

But I also find Sauron interesting because it looks like he began as an anti-hero, a Byronic hero, even someone who had good intentions but coupled them with extreme measures and moral greyness. And instead of being your stereotypical angsty brooder who eventually finds “the light”, is redeemed, and finds happiness, Sauron plunged deeper and deeper into malice, ill intentions, and a desire to dominate.

“In my story Sauron represents as near an approach to the wholly evil will as is possible. He had gone the way of all tyrants: beginning well, at least on the level that while desiring to order all things according to his own wisdom he still at first considered the (economic) well-being of other inhabitants of the Earth. But he went further than human tyrants in pride and the lust for domination, being in origin an immortal (angelic) spirit. Sauron desired to be a God-King, and was held to be this by his servants, by a triple treachery: 1. Because of his admiration of Strength he had become a follower of Morgoth and fell with him down into the depths of evil, becoming his chief agent in Middle-earth. 2. when Morgoth was defeated by the Valar finally he forsook his allegiance; but out of fear only; he did not present himself to the Valar or sue for pardon, and remained in Middle-earth. 3. When he found how greatly his knowledge was admired by all other rational creatures and how easy it was to influence them, his pride became boundless.”

Tolkien himself says that Sauron “began well”, and because of his admiration for Morgoth’s immense power, was corrupted alongside him as well. It was also the fault of his arrogance; when he discovered that other beings admired and were amazed by him due to his status as a (former) angelic being, the praise basically got to his head. While I love redemption stories, it’s refreshing to read about a character who had his chance and let it go. And Sauron’s evil is absolutely unquestionable. It’s not up for debate; he is malevolent, selfish, and duplicitous, and through his desire for order, perfection, and control, actually seems to represent what Tolkien considers a very absolute form of evil.

“The most improper job of any man, even saints, is bossing other men.”

And what I find so gripping about Sauron is that he doesn’t carry out his cruelty with professionalism and a sense of necessity; he absolutely relishes it.

“Then straightaway they brought him into the dreadful presence of Sauron; and Sauron said: ‘I hear now that thou wouldst barter with me. What is thy price?’

And Gorlim answered that he should find Eilinel again, and with her be set free; for he thought Eilinel also had been made captive. Then Sauron smiled, saying: ‘That is a small price for so great a treachery. So shall it surely be. Say on!’

Now Gorlim would have drawn back, but daunted by the eyes of Sauron he told at last all that he would know. Then Sauron laughed; and he mocked Gorlim, and revealed to him that he had only seen a phantom devised by wizardry to entrap him; for Eilinel was dead. ‘Nonetheless I will grant thy prayer,’ said Sauron; 'and thou shalt go to Eilinel, and be set free of my service.’ Then he put him cruelly to death.”

Melkor

My initial reason for liking Melkor seems very similar to my reasons for liking Sauron: He’s a stellar villain, and, like Sauron, a complete and utter monster. And he’s intense. He’s terrifying; Tolkien’s descriptions of him are great, and just reading it on a page is captivating.

“… And he descended upon Arda in power and majesty greater than any other of the Valar, as a mountain that wades in the sea and has its head above the clouds and is clad in ice and crowned with smoke and fire; and the light of the eyes of Melkor was like a flame that withers with heat and pierces with a deadly cold.”

Yet he’s also quite different from his lieutenant, in my opinion. Melkor seems to be much more motivated by personal envy than Sauron is: 

‘As a shadow Melkor did not then conceive himself. For in his beginning he loves and desired light, and the form that he took was exceedingly bright; and he said in his heart: 'On such brightness as I am the Children shall hardly endure to look; therefore to know of aught else or beyond or even to strain their small minds to conceive of it would not be for their good.’ But a lesser brightness that stands before the greater becomes darkness. And Melkor was jealous, therefore, of all other brightness, and wished to take all light unto himself.’

He has a very interesting desire for light (tying into the envious aspect of his nature) that does nothing to redeem him in the slightest.

“He began with the desire of Light, but when he could not possess it for himself alone, he descended through fire and wrath into a great burning, down into Darkness. And darkness he used most in his evil works upon Arda, and filled it with fear for all living things.”

‘With Manwë dwells Varda, Lady of the Stars, who knows all the regions of Eä. Too great is her beauty to be declared in the words of Men or of Elves; for the light of Ilúvatar lives still in her face. In light is her power and her joy. Out of the deeps of Eä she came to the aid of Manwë; for Melkor she knew from before the making of the Music and rejected him, and he hated her, and feared her more than all others whom Eru made.’ 

A very interesting quote that has sparked a lot of discussion. Whatever this “rejection” means (I have my own thoughts in this, but I’m trying to keep this objective for this post), Melkor sought spirits of light to recruit to his side, and it seems that Varda embodies light, purity, holiness, etc. Her titles reflect this, as does this statement about the light of Ilúvatar. 

Now this embodiment of light, this spirit of brilliance, rejected to join Melkor’s side, and Melkor ‘hated her’. It’s quite obvious that Melkor is, for lack of a better word, salty, that Varda, whose face shines with Eru’s light, “rejected” him. He cannot have Eru’s light (the Flame Imperishable), and Varda is perhaps the closest he can get to this. But she declines to ally herself to him, and he despises her for it. He’s not just peeved at losing a powerful ally, he loathes her on a personal level because she represents light that he can never have, no matter how much he desires it. (Take that as you will.)

Melkor is compelling, to me, because of how contradictory he seems. He’s absolutely monstrous and evil, no doubt about that, and his malice, like Sauron’s, is unquestionable. But he’s also a very convoluted character; clearly, much of his evil is borne out of personal insecurities. If you think about it, his duality makes perfect sense and is not contradictory. I like that: a character that’s undoubtedly evil embodied, yet is still layered in a natural, human way, and not one-dimensional. 

Manwë

Manwë is a character I adore for entirely different reasons than the first two above. As a person, he’s probably one of the characters I adore most out of any fictional universe. I love how he’s described as majestic and kingly - and he is!

But Manwë Súlimo, highest and holiest of the Valar, sat upon the borders of the West, forsaking not in his thought the Outer Lands. For his throne was set in majesty upon the pinnacle of Taniquetil, which was the highest of the mountains of the world, standing upon the margin of the Seas. Spirits in the shape of hawks and eagles flew ever to and from his halls; and their eyes could see to the depths of the sea and could pierce the hidden caverns under the world, and their wings could bear them through the three regions of the firmament beyond the lights of heaven to the edge of Darkness. Thus they brought word to him of well nigh all that passed in Aman: yet some things were hidden even from the eyes of Manwë and the servants of Manwë, for where Melkor sat in his dark thought impenetrable shadows lay. [...] Elves and Men revere Manwë most of all the Valar, for he has no thought for his own honour, and is not jealous of his power, but ruleth all to peace. The Vanyar he loved most of all the Elves, and of him they received song and poesy. For poesy is the delight of Manwë, and the song of words is his music. Behold, the raiment of Manwë is blue, and blue is the fire of his eyes, and his sceptre is of sapphire which the Noldor wrought for him; and he is King of the world of gods and elves and men, the vicegerent of Ilúvatar, and the chief defence against the evil of Melkor.

I apologize for the sudden subjectivity, but in my eyes, you will never read a more badass description of a character. Period. 

Anyway . . . despite his magnificence and power, Manwë is very well-intentioned, very noble, not at all corrupted by his authority, although he is quite literally the ruler of the entire world (Arda). 

Elves and Men revere Manwë most of all the Valar, for he has no thought for his own honour, and is not jealous of his power, but ruleth all to peace. 

As explicitly stated by Tolkien, Manwë is good. And personally, I think he’s one of the strongest characters in Tolkien’s universe. In power, yes - I mean, I believe he’s stated to be the second most powerful of the Ainur, right after Melkor. But in strength of character, Manwë far surpasses his brother and a good amount of the other characters. He shows it several times; for one thing, not being corrupted by the amount of power that he has is impressive in itself, but I also think this is noteworthy. It’s a decision he is often criticized for, but as Tolkien himself insinuated, Manwë choosing to release Melkor and offer him a second chance was a good thing.

“Who then can say with assurance that if Melkor had been held in bond less evil would have followed? Even in his diminishment the power of Melkor is beyond our calculation. Yet some ruinous outburst of his despair is not the worst that might have befallen. The release was according to the promise of Manwë. If Manwë had broken this promise for his own purposes, even though still intending ‘good’, he would have taken a step upon the paths of Melkor. That is a perilous step. In that hour and act he would have ceased to be the vice-regent of the One, becoming but a king who takes advantage over a rival whom he has conquered by force. Would we then have the sorrows that indeed befell; or would we have the Elder King lose his honour, and so pass, maybe, to a world rent between two proud lords striving for the throne?

Of this we may be sure, we children of small strength: any one of the Valar might have taken the paths of Melkor and become like him: one was enough.”

Rather than doing what Melkor would have done - going back on his words out of fear and refusing to extend a helping hand to a defeated enemy - Manwë chose to do what he believed was right, what was according to his morals. He didn’t waver or back away in the face of peril and stayed true to who he was. And to me, that’s the ultimate act showing strength of character.

Varda

Ah, the OG queen I stan. I always loved Varda, truthfully, but @marta-elentari ‘s metas made me love her even more. 

Varda is that character that makes me scream “Yes queen” from the very start. I love the feeling of power and brilliance I get when I read descriptions of her:

‘With Manwë dwelt Varda the most beautiful, whom we Noldor name Elbereth, Queen of the Valar; she it was who wrought the Great Stars; and with them were a great host of fair spirits in great blessedness.’

‘With Manwë dwells Varda, Lady of the Stars, who knows all the regions of Eä. Too great is her beauty to be declared in the words of Men or of Elves; for the light of Ilúvatar lives still in her face. In light is her power and her joy. Out of the deeps of Eä she came to the aid of Manwë; for Melkor she knew from before the making of the Music and rejected him, and he hated her, and feared her more than all others whom Eru made.’

My first impression of her was that she was a very intelligent woman and a very keen judge of character, considering she was the first to sense the darkness in Melkor. I also admired her for rejecting him, because Melkor coerced multiple powerful Maiar to his side, even those with good intentions (*cough* Sauron *cough*), and I don’t imagine his powers of persuasion were any less potent or any less on display when he attempted to cajole Varda to join him. Yet she declined. 

But then, courtesy of @marta-elentari , I found these quotes:

‘And Manwë and Ulmo and Aulë were as Kings; but Varda was the Queen of the Valar, and the spouse of Manwë, and her beauty was high and terrible and of great reverence.’

I find this “high and terrible” description to be very interesting. Insofar I had only known Varda is this Virgin Mary-type figure, but I think that quote added some less ‘holy’ aspects to her personality. And I loved that. We see the word ‘beauty’ juxtaposed with ‘terrible’ in LOTR, when Galadriel is tempted by the Ring:

“Instead of a Dark Lord, you would have a queen, not dark but beautiful and terrible as the dawn! Tempestuous as the sea, and stronger than the foundations of the earth! All shall love me and despair!”

This quote is an external manifestation of Galadriel’s buried desire for more power, a change from the wise and kind Lady of Lothlórien that Galadriel was initially characterized as. Of course, learning more of Galadriel’s history and her younger days’ desire to come to Middle Earth and rule her own kingdom - another form of power - it makes sense and is not at all odd. 

But the similarity in word choice makes me wonder if Varda was ambitious and desired power and a position of rulership, just as Galadriel did. Because I’m a sucker for ambitious female characters, I latch on to this theory, and it makes me love Varda very much: a Holy Mary figure who is mighty and pure, but also more complex than the surface level seems to indicate, and a woman who isn’t punished for her ambition. 

[monicalorandavis]

Tell Me Who I Am

*Trigger warning: childhood sexual abuse*

The film, Tell Me Who I Am, is the most terrifying documentary I’ve ever seen. It’s also a film that is resolutely about a brother’s love for his twin. The space between those is vast and yet the wall of secrecy inherent to the story is born from love.

The film tells a story of reinvention, lies, secrecy and, sexual abuse. It is a story of a mother’s deepest betrayal and a family’s coping mechanisms. It is dark and disturbing and I don’t know the last time I was left with such a pit in my stomach. I sat upright out of bed at 3 am and I fear I may never go back to bed. My mind is rattled. I feel deeply, that my world is too. [spoilers ahead]

By the end of the movie we know that a mother has sexually abused her twin sons. She pimped them out to her friends and seemingly hid the money earned in hideaways around the family home. All of this was wound tight in the memory of one twin while the other begged him for the true story of his childhood. And if you cannot cope with that, I understand. I almost wish I had someone protecting me from myself. (Perhaps then I would stop torturing myself with movies that travel the darkest terrain of the human psyche.)

But the truth comes at the end of the film. The beginning of the story is the beginning of Alex’s story. He suffers a motorcycle accident where he loses his memory. He recognizes no one but his twin brother, Marcus. The woman in the hospital room badgers him again and again to tell her who she is. Alex has no memory of her. Come to find out, this woman is their mother.

Marcus and Alex head home with her, arriving at their stately home. However, in spite of Alex’s condition, he knows things are not right at home. Their father is cold. There are unending rules. They, for whatever reason, live in a garden shed even though there is more than enough room indoors to house them. But Marcus explains this all away, easing Alex’s unease. And so begins the story of how Alex was granted a happy childhood under Marcus’ re-imagining of their lives. What’s more, Marcus then too gets to reinvent the life he himself has lived. They are both, in Marcus’ opinion, the better for it.

Though their parents forbade them from entering the upstairs of the home and never provided them with a house key, Alex believes this to be part of a natural family dynamic. Many of the oddities about their mother Alex believes to be due to her being an eccentric figure. Her secrecy, her hoarding, her numerous tiny dogs dressed in costumes were all part of an identity that Alex on the surface could bond to and even grow to love. Marcus however could never. He watched in anguish as Alex could hug and kiss her on her birthday. And in the film, the emotional disposition of the twins is starkly different. As you would expect, Marcus is tense and more challenging than Alex who is affable and deferential.

The abuse is vast and I feel guilty for even writing about it but the story bore a hole in my mind that is already drilling down into my spirit. The weight of it is making my heart heavy and it’s only been a few hours living with it. Marcus has lived with it for 50 years. His capacity to lock away this childhood secret is world record breaking.

I feel as though the best way for me to cope is to pore it out here. I feel like the twins’ mother has somehow managed to abuse me psychologically. (I should say, I am vulnerable to this sort of secondhand trauma as I was also molested so this type of intimate betrayal feels sad and familiar.) Their pain is not my own however. This is their story.

One detail of Tell Me Who I Am that has buried itself under my skin is the fact that the twins’ mother hid all of their presents from them in the attic. It was only after she died that the twins go rummaging through her things and find them all. Mountains of birthday and Christmas presents were found, still wrapped, with cards from aunts, grandmas still attached, covered in layers of dust. Just sitting there. But why?

(Why would this woman abuse her children? Of course that is the biggest question. But frankly, that’s too daunting for me to grasp. Incest against your children is a cruelty that I think the perpetrator must justify somehow. I do not care to know how. I choose to not give that woman any compassion.)

My question is to her basic capacities as a mother. In the documentary, the twins discuss moments eating breakfast that their mother prepares. She did feed them. She provided them with nourishment. But it feels perhaps that is where any semblance of a normal mother-child relationship ended. How, how did they survive? How did they avoid a life of addiction or self-harm or torturing others? How did Marcus manage to ever look at her again? How did he not scream or cry any time Alex displayed any affection for her? He could self-protect, sure, but while he would never admit it, his compassion for her was astounding.

By the film’s end, Alex watches Marcus’ interview where he outlines the full scope of their childhood - the abuse, being “passed around” to their mom’s friends, the whole thing. Alex cries as Marcus watches on from a window. But, Alex is relieved just to have something. They embrace and agree to be done with it. They need to be done with it now. But now that the film is out there for the world to see, how do they survive reliving it again and again?

Could it be that the love Marcus has for Alex, the protection he yielded over his twin, a protection that he broke Alex’s trust for - could that be the cause of their mutual healing? I think, maybe.

It reminds me of that book, The Giver. In it, the townspeople share their tragedy to a designated man who absorbs their pain - the pain too heavy for them to carry on their own. His special gift is receiving. I think Marcus shares that gift. But, as soon as Marcus finally shares the magnitude of their abuse, we watch a transformation in his body. With the release of their story, his shoulders relax and his voice softens. It is the physical shift of an emotional unburdening. It is beautiful to witness in real time. It is from his darkest shame that we, the audience, get to witness someone heal.

[night-filled-mountain]

For the Hozier ask thing: No Plan, Be, Talk

- No Plan - Do you believe in a pre-determined purpose in life?

No, but I think it can be helpful–for some people!–to think and act like you have a pre-determined purpose, as long as you’re not too rigid about it. Sometimes the random twists and turns of life just get overwhelming, you know? And you need to weave them into some sort of pattern–“A, B, and C all happened in order to lead me to D,” or “Despite X obstacle, I know I’m meant to accomplish Y.” Humans are pattern-finding creatures–that’s why we like stories so much. I can’t imagine getting through life without periodically making it into a story, whether you actually believe in some divine Plan and Author or not. (This is reminding me once again of that Brian W. Foster lyric I’ve become obsessed with: “And if it wasn’t designed, then I’ll be damned if I ever know why.”)

Though honestly, for me? The opposite is true. I’ve faced, and continue to face, so many mental-health barriers to having the kind of life I’d like to have, and I’ve fought (and continue to fight!) such a harrowing, hard-scrabble fight to make that life happen anyway. It’s a massive struggle, it’s ongoing, it’s every day. It’s exhausting and humiliating and entirely without dignity. So the thing that I like to tell myself about the life I want? Is that I wasn’t meant to have it. Some particularly nasty gods have played a trick on me since birth, crafting a person for whom friends/romance/productive work/artistic fulfillment/Happiness are impossible–and day after day, I’m fighting them, trying to prove them wrong. Clawing and biting at them with everything I have in me. Forcing my way out of their boxes, grasping at what I want, and spitting in their eye for good measure.

I’m sure my preference for this narrative says something about me as a person, but I leave that up to you, anon!

- Be - Have you changed much as a person in the last year? 

…I literally don’t know where to start.

In August 2018, I wasn’t married yet. I lived in a small town in New Jersey with my parents and sister, and was desperately terrified of moving (permanently) anywhere else. I had completed two master’s degrees just a few months before, but I’d never had a full-time job, and I was 250% convinced (for the aforementioned mental-health reasons, and a chronic physical illness to boot!) that I could never, ever have one. Oh, and I’d just gotten back from a visit to my former roommate (which remains the last time I saw her, not counting Skype), and I was suffering constant agony over the intense, passionate, mutually pining, emotionally needy, co-dependent mess that was that relationship.

And now?

I’m married. I live in Boston, in an apartment where I’ve paid 100% of the rent for the past six months (though that will soon be changing!). I have a full-time job that has challenged and transformed me in ways that I could not possibly have imagined six months ago. Like…literally could not have fathomed. Outside the scope of my brainpower. Beyond my wildest dreams.

I’m the head of my department…because I’m the entire department. I do heavy-duty customer service. I interact with dozens of strangers every day–children, teens, and adults–and I usually do it without a whisper of social anxiety. I pick up my desk phone when it rings. I make phone calls when I have to. I send and receive dozens of e-mails a week. I manage a budget! I place orders! I schedule programs! I answer reference questions! I operate and troubleshoot various forms of technology constantly, and teach others how to use them. I reason with, joke with, assist, educate, entertain, chastise, and discipline 20+ rowdy teenagers ON A DAILY BASIS. There have been many days, and once an entire week, when I was literally in charge of my entire workplace and everyone in it. And it was all still functioning when my boss got back.

…And it’s actually really timely that I should write about all this now, because I’m smack-dab in the middle of an extremely daunting work task, one that’s causing my ADD to kick my ass to hell and back. And I’ve spent the past few days wondering just how fucking desperate this place must have been to hire someone who’s been wretchedly sobbing over her utter lack of focus and organizational skills for almost 30 years. So it’s…quite the morale-booster to look at these paragraphs about just how goddamn far I’ve come in a year.

…Also, Ex-Roommate and I have gone no-contact, and most days, I don’t think about her. And if I do, it doesn’t hurt so much.

- Talk - What’s your best friend like? 

I have three (3) best friends, and they are MY WORLD, so get ready for this.

(1.) My husband. We’ll call him Kit, which is, in fact, a name he often goes by. He is a Gemini, which I mention only because he’s a very classic Gemini: bursting with curiosity, interested in everything, with a dizzying array of hobbies and interests that seem to change and shift by the moment. He teaches science, and used to teach history. He loves camping, sea shanties, Lawrence of Arabia, board games, and tabletop RPGs. Being a teacher, he’s had the summer off, and he’s spent it being a house-husband: cleaning our apartment, buying all the groceries, doing my laundry an embarrassing number of times, and cooking me dinner every single night. He loves being useful to people and making people happy. He’s terrific at long-term planning, but has no sense of time, and he’d be late to everything without my intervention. We have separate bedrooms, and mine is obsessively neat, and his is…not. He was once bitten by a squirrel that he was hand-feeding on the Boston Common. A few days later, he received a serious electric shock from a string of Christmas lights, and the bandage he’d placed over the squirrel bite was burned black instead of his hand. This perfect balance of cursed and blessed is, in a way, all you really need to know about Kit.

We love to watch movies and TV shows together and discuss/analyze them obsessively. We love to have looong philosophical discussions and/or debates. We take walks, we get Italian food and/or ice cream far too often, we go on jolly road-trip adventures, and we read out loud to each other. He’s currently reading me Charles Dickens’ Our Mutual Friend, which I have read before (twice) and he has not, because I love it so intensely, and I know that he will too. He’s the best person on earth to discuss virtually anything with, to be honest. He’s my DM in the best D&D campaign I’ve ever been part of. I’ve just made a new D&D character, although I don’t have a campaign for her yet, and Kit cannot stop lavishing praise on her and getting excited about her…even though she’s a hobgoblin, and he spent a significant portion of a recent car ride passionately arguing with me about the viability of hobgoblins as player characters.

He is absolutely extraordinary at admitting when he’s wrong, owning it fully, changing his opinions, pursuing personal growth, and just becoming a better and better person all the time. And I’m so damn honored that I get to be here for it.

(2.) We’ll call my second best friend Unicorn, which is a multilayered inside joke.

I met Unicorn during my freshman year of college. We lived on the same floor. I was the odd woman out among my suitemates because I had crippling social anxiety; he was the odd man out among his because he was gay. Somehow we started watching movies and TV shows together, and it became our Thing; I think our current marathon record is six or seven movies in a row. We’re both from New Jersey, and he still lives there, and there are few places in the world I feel safer than on his giant couch, in front of his giant TV, with snacks and glasses of Limeade close at hand, and his neurotic little dog nosing about. He has a pool, a massive movie collection, and an encyclopedic knowledge of state politics, because he works as a full-time environmental canvasser. His hours are absolutely terrifying, as are the physical and social demands of his job, but he still finds time to run a D&D campaign for his coworkers, and to visit the rest of us in Boston at every possible opportunity.

Unicorn is barely a month older than I am (a fellow Leo, though I think it suits him a hell of a lot better than it suits me), and he understands me in specific ways that the other two members of our little quartet just can’t. We get each other’s humor, we have similar tastes in men, we both love to swim. When the four members of our found family are all together, he is invariably the only person who notices all my little puns and innuendos, and laughs every time.  He listens to me, and asks me questions, in a way that no one else in the world quite seems to do. He made a speech at my wedding that reduced me to a blubbering mess. And, most importantly of all: He started inviting me to our college’s LGBT group when we were juniors (right after Kit and I started dating), which was how I met my third best friend, and how we all became a family.

(3.) I’m going to refer to Best Friend #3 as “Dragon,” because…he loves dragons, and because he was Unicorn’s roommate when I first met him, and it keeps the mythological-creature theme going. …And once again, I don’t know where to start, so I’m going to go dig up an old post I made about Dragon, copy and paste it below, and then figure out how to elaborate on someone who both my husband and I have identified as the best human being we have ever met.

This is a friend who invites the whole gang of us to his apartment for entire long weekends, and cooks for us, repeatedly. Who hosts “fake Christmas” every year, complete with a tree decorated with blue and silver ornaments because he is Jewish, and made all of us hand-stitched, personalized stockings, and fills them with gifts and sweets purchased specially for each of us. Who once baked me a cake just because I was coming to visit him. Who organized and directed my entire move from New Jersey to Boston because his Tetris-like car-packing skills and his utter laidback unshakable calm in the face of any task are absolutely unparalleled. Who is a goddamn wizard at literally everything, from cooking and baking and sewing to Photoshop and graphic design to painting D&D miniatures to putting together elaborate cosplays to theater tech to writing and research to courageous and tireless activism to law (did I mention he’s a lawyer?).

…That was my old paragraph, so let me add a few things. I can’t emphasize enough how much he carries that aura of calm and kindness and competence about him at all times. Never in my life had I had a cooking/baking experience that didn’t stress me out until Dragon let me help him make an entire dinner and various desserts for our friend group, and it was just…so chill. So well-organized and perfectly timed, but without ever feeling like those things took any effort whatsoever. He was so kind and patient with me, demonstrating each task step by step, then being entirely confident in my ability to perform said tasks, and never trying to nitpick at the way I did them or take them over himself. Part of his job involves teaching, and I know he must be fantastic at it, because no one else has ever been such a soothing balm and a stimulant (both at once, somehow!) to my poor, tormented ADD brain. Someday (maybe soonish!), our whole found family is going to live together, and the thought of being around Dragon all the time just makes me weep with joy. And did I mention his sweet, child-like enthusiasm for holiday celebrations and ghost tours and spooky TV shows and musicals and fantasy novels and text RP and all other Best Things? (Ok, he also loves dogs and Marvel movies, and I love neither, but I forgive him for this.)

Oh, he also officiated my wedding. And he also had top surgery today, and I have maybe never been this happy about anything ever, what an auspicious day to finish this post!

[skyheld]

Dalish: 28. (A memory that strains a relationship)

memories  |  not accepting  |  @theshirallen

Sura stops in her tracks;  plants her feet on the path with all the tense-limbed stillness of a startled deer.   “ You want me to leave?   Now? ”

“Not today, ”  Levinia says,  with a smile as though it should be obvious.   “ You’ll want time to prepare and say goodbye to everyone,  I know that.   I was thinking a little later this week,  or at the start of the next if you prefer. ”

Panic rises in Sura.   The Keeper has mentioned this before.   She wants to send Sura away from the clan.   On her own.   But it has always been in the future,  in a few years,  when she’s ready  —  and she has always sort of hoped,  sort of believed,  it will never come.   She can’t go.   She’s not ready,  not in a million years.   A week is nothing.  

“ A-Athanael, “  she stammers,  saying the first thing that comes to mind,  “ Athanael could do it,  I’m sure he’d want to— “

“ Athanael is my Second, “  Levinia says,  “ not my First.   We have talked about this,  Sura.   You knew this day would come.   I know you don’t think you’re ready— “

“ I’m not.   I’m not,  Keeper,  I’m really—”

“ But you are, “  Levinia says,  and her smile is gentle but terrifying,  because there’s no uncertainity in it.   No persuasion.   Just comfort,  for a decision that’s already been made.   “ I know this,  and I think deep down you do,  too.   Sometimes,  for fear to not hold us back,  we have to force ourselves to do the very things we’re afraid of,  the very things we think we cannot do.   Before baby birds throw themselves out of their nest the first time,  do you think they know how to fly? “

They’re birds;  they’re meant to fly.   I’m Dalish and belong with my clan.   “ I-it doesn’t have to be now,  though,  right?   I—  I could leave in a year or—  or a- a few years—  or I could just,  I could— “   I could just never leave,  she wants to say,  tears stinging the back of her eyes.

“ Sura. ”    Levinia puts one hand on each of her shoulders,  her grip firm.   “ You underestimate yourself.   You always have.   Think about it  —  you know how to navigate.   How to set up a safe camp.   How to hunt and gather food.   Don’t you? ”

“ Yes,  but that… ”

“ And you can defend yourself, ”  the Keeper continues,  ignoring her.   “ You’ve become a very strong mage these last few years,  and a good archer too I’ve noticed.   You have every skill required to survive on your own.    Don’t you? ”

“ No I don’t!   What if I meet humans?   If I meet templars?   What if get lost,  what if I’m injured and I can’t treat it,  what if— ”

“ Calm down,  da’len,  and listen.   You don’t even have to be on your own for long unless you want to.   There will be many clans more than happy to welcome you,  and I promise you,  you’ll find yourself right at home with them in no time.   Being a travelling Keeper isn’t always easy,  I won’t lie about that,  but you have everything you need to make it. ”   She looses one hand from Sura’s shoulder and places it above her heart instead.   “ Right here. “

So many times she has comforted Sura with words just like these.   Sometimes it has seemed like she’s seen right through her,  seen just the thing she’s afaid of  —  even when Sura doesn’t see it herself  —  and with just a smile and a gesture,  she has made it less daunting.   So many times she has coaxed her,  gently but firmly,  into doing something she didn’t think she could do  —  and she has done it.

But this isn’t like that.   Sura isn’t afraid.   She’s not insecure.   It’s bigger than that.   If the fears Levinia has helped her overcome were puddles to swim across,  then this is the ocean,  bottomless and dark.   Every step is insurmountable.   Is impossible.  And every word the Keeper speaks hardens the knot of anxiety in Sura’s chest,  pulls it tighter and tighter.

She shakes her head.   “ I can’t.   I’m sorry,  but I can’t.   I don’t know what made you think I—  I would be strong enough but I—  I’m not.   I’m sorry.   I don’t want to— “

“ You don’t want to, “  Levinia cuts her off,  and suddenly her gaze is hard,  her voice snaps like sails in the wind.   “ But to be a Keeper means being able to do things you do not want to do.   Things you are afraid to do.   That is part of all our responsibility,  including yours.   Sura,  your fear now is all the proof you should need that you must learn to be independent. “   She catches Sura’s eyes,  makes her unable to look away.   “ A Keeper cannot be scared by the prospect of being on their own.   A Keeper cannot be held back by fear of the unknown.   This is nothing you can avoid.   For your clan’s sake  —  our clan’s sake  —  you must go.   And if you do not do it now,  you never will. ”

“ S-so I have to? “   Sura squirms under her gaze,  trembling,  unravelling,  tears running unhindered down her cheeks.   “ You’re not—  you’re not giving me a choice? “

Levinia sighs.   “ There is…  always a choice,  da’len. “

Step down as her apprentice.   Let Athanael be First,  take up hunting or healing or halla-keeping instead.   And be known as the woman who could not be Keeper for the rest of her life.

A feeling creeps over her,  that this isn’t really happening,  not to her  —  that she’s watching it happen to someone else,  and she’s powerless to do anything about it.   What is she supposed to say?   How can she explain to Levinia that no logic or reasoning in the world is going to make it possible,  that nothing has ever gripped her thoughts with such terror as this,  that her mind has never reeled so violently at anything before?   How can she convince her of anything,  when her arguments only make Levinia more certain in her decision?   When the very fact that Sura is screaming DON’T MAKE ME LEAVE means she should leave in the Keeper’s mind?

What right does she have to decide it like this?   Suddenly anger breaks through her shock.   Sura is twenty-two years old,  she’s earned her vallaslin.   She has lived almost her entire life with this worry and fear that she inherited from her grandmother,  that runs in her blood,  and she has not allowed it to hold her back.   She has mastered powerful,  dangerous magic.   She has learnt to hunt,  to swim,  to climb trees,  to steer an aravel.   She has helped the hunters take down a bear.   She has ventured into an elven ruin with the Keeper and Athanael.   Yes,  she has often been afraid,  more so than most people  —  she has done those things despite it.   And she has learnt to listen to herself,  to her anxious,  overbearing mind.   She knows how to tell the real dangers from the imagined once;  what she can do from what she can’t.   She can make decisions for herself.   She has a right to.

There is always a choice.

“ I’ll go,  then, “  Sura says  —  or she hears herself say it,  though the words don’t seem to be her own.   In a daze she speaks,  her heart pounding with fear and with…  something else,  something deeper and braver,  something hard as ironbark and cold as a Wintersend night,  something that burrows into her spine like a spear and straightens it out.   “ I’ll go, “  she says,  “ but by the Dread Wolf I do it by my choice,  not yours.   I’m leaving the clan— “

“ Sura— “

“ — and I’m not coming back. “

[fhawnmillahn]

Counting Meme

Fhawn

ONE INSECURITY

♦ “It’s... daunting thinking about whether my support, my benefaction, or... my ministration---that’s what I’d like to believe it was---truly brought him back and set him to the right path, once more. 

Where he traveled off to, I may never know, and whether he’ll maybe return tomorrow or never, who can say.” 

TWO FEARS

♦ Is... is it rational of me to somewhat fear those thaumaturges and their guild over in Ul’dah? I’ve witnessed what fire begets, temperamental and unyielding as it is. What it’s capable of is... terrifying, so when imagined in the hands of a some overconfident student...

I’ll admit, unless under duty or urgency, I avoid visiting the city if I can.”

♦ “I think I’m at my wits end with these weevils. If one more infestation decides to tear at my nettle and yarrow roots, well... I’d fear for their safety as much as my garden.”

THREE TURN-ONS

♦ “...Passion. For sure.”

♦ Though it’s impossible not to be vain about your interests sometimes, there’s just... something about gingers and their red-maned brethren. Such captivating colors.”

♦ “Perhaps I’ve been spoiled with present circumstances, but I sure do love the mind and artistry of a musician. However, I do wonder if it’s just my envy.”

FOUR LIFE GOALS

♦ “Green thumb or no, everyone is capable of assisting in spreading the bounty of verdure. There’s nothing quite like uniting all under the solace of a healthy, beautifully lush world. My heart races at just the thought of it all.”

♦ “This goes hand-in-hand with my previous statement, but I... would honestly love to offer flowers to every body inhabiting this world alongside me. Even if it’s just a single blossom, I think it’s both a blessing and reminder for all to know they’ll always have something to both cherish and share with everyone.”

♦ “I... I’ve recently thought about children and... maybe fostering a few.”

♦ “After my years have been shed and I’ve provided all that would secure the sanctity of both family and kin, I’d want to live out my remaining seasons adventuring. 

To see all that grows and blooms the land over would be my final dream.”

FIVE THINGS THAT MAKE ME HAPPY

♦ “The coalescence of the early morning, home, and my garden. Waking to the soil and toil is sometimes all I need; it’s nothing short of a blessing experiencing such succor with every rising sun.”

♦ “Learning. Erudition. Being a student to the woods is fulfilling when I get to discover something new. Be it a seed, a leaf, or an unfound substance, there’s ever a secret waiting to be understood.”

♦ “Honestly? Receiving a level of intimacy and camaraderie; not so much the specifics but the rapport of it all. Knowing that someone’s time or attention can never be formally asked for, so when someone offers so willingly to me, it... well, it makes me glad to know they think that highly of me.

Perhaps that can be mistaken for pride, but... I am technically proud of the many friends and companions I’ve shared both time and thoughts with, as well.

♦ “There are times when I must away from home and the hearth, so when I return... and I’m greeted by all of my loving family... and Therron offers to play me a song... and I am struck by those lulling, sonorous notes...

...the sensation is to die for, truly.”

♦ “When all else fails, I break into my cupboard, pour an arbitrarily selected blend, and retire to Haven.”

SIX WEAKNESSES

♦ “I suppose I’m inevitably going to lose a match of physical prowess. Though, strength is more than brawn, as the wise are to say.”

♦ “As often as I’m assured sentimentality is virtuous, just as much reason can be played against it to argue sensitive and concerning flaws exist in altruism. And I suppose those that believe are right to be both aware and pragmatic about extending your care and concern to strangers.

...not that I’ll ever truly believe that. Everyone deserves some touch of kindness.”

♦ “Sometimes I get the impression certain people or parties might consider me strange or eldritch. In truth, they’re not entirely wrong... I’ve never fully fit into these social structures society has. Though, I suppose that is inevitable when you’re born away from society, grew up relatively apart from society, and continue to live out in the woods.”

♦ “If I could live a life without cold, steel machinery or strange tech-infused magicks tearing up the world, that would be heavenly.”

♦ “I have sensitive ears, and I don’t simply mean in response to noise. I... it’s difficult to explain, but more than just loud frequency, friction or even relative proximity to any sort of touch is... painful. 

I’ve never understood why either...”

♦ “Ironic as it is, I sometimes forget to maintain and properly heal my own body after serious labor and toil. So, as is expected, some days and night my back will ache, my shoulders might jerk, and I may pull a muscle or two if I get too comfortable working in the garden, carelessly. I need to hold myself to a better standard, but alas...”

SEVEN PEOPLE / THINGS I LOVE

♦ “My garden. I would be nothing without any and all of what green I manage to bless this realm with. May I never see a world without their cherubic beauty.”

♦ “Like loyal kin, my family at home has forever and always won my heart. Dew, Bleu, Piper... we’re all bound at the seams now. Though they have chosen to remain at my side, they are still of the wilder side of nature so I’ve always made certain there was a choice in their company. I’m... doubtful they fully understand, but whether that’s because of their attachment or my ministration is difficult to discern. 

Despite this, I... I cannot lie and must admit that I’m glad they’re still with me.”

♦ Tea. It’s astounding some days, really, because I forget how much of a remedy my home-brewing has been to me since my former years. I may very well have gone mentally unhinged without it, I think. It’s both terrifying and amusing to think about.”

♦ “Friends... acquaintances... companions... tutors... work affiliates... the whole wealth of motley individuals I suppose, from one face to the next. It would take till sundown to name them all by heart, and some I feel may have been lost to memory, but to all that have... simply touched my life, in what way they may, I... I could not be where I am now. 

This has nothing to do with coyly imply destiny or fate, either. I... I’m just happy for everything. Even the times when, perhaps, people weren’t their best, provided that’s not some fatuous notion to believe. I just appreciate them... all of them. They have all taught me something valuable and introduced me to an infinitude of thoughts and feelings that have inadvertently assisted in constructing who I am. For better or worse.”

♦ “Smiles. The pure, unfiltered expression of someone’s sheer elation and ode to joy. It doesn’t matter whether I facilitated to it’s existence or if it even has one, for seeing anyone smile, especially someone I care more extensively for, brings me a profound sensation I can never have enough of.”

“See, you’re probably smiling right now! It’s infectious!”

♦ “My beloved...

Continue to inspire me with ardor like no other. It is one selfish desire I’m glad to share in forever.”

♦ “Myself. Forever and always...”

Tagged by: @red-dawnbringer (thank you again, you bean)

Tagging: @dancingnlancing, @dandiilionz, @chxsingthemoon, @valourheart-xiv, @theforestsquiet, @nightmaze, @geisterfuchs, @elixirsgelsandherbs, @elyot-xiv, @yoiku, @season-of-maha, @nemophilisty, @ffxiv-whitefox, plus anyone else who is reading or curious to try. Might as well go for it!

( For anyone with alts, feel free to use whichever and however many characters you want for the meme! <3 )

[thievesgambit-a]

HEADCANON 011: MR. SINISTER

Remy has a long, sordid history with Mr. Sinister, which includes doing him a variety of favors in exchange for performing a surgery that dampened Remy’s powers. This surgery was voluntary, and a deal with a very real Devil. 

Frankly, Mr. Sinister is probably the only person in the world that actually terrifies Remy. Sure, heavy hitters like Apocalypse, Magneto, Sabretooth, Thanos, and all those guys--they’re scary, and Remy is scared of them when they’re clashing. But if you ask Remy what fear and terror looks like, it’s Sinister’s face that he imagines. 

Sinister is not just evil to Remy. His experiments were truly heinous, yes, but more than that, Sinister is irrevocably entangled with Remy. He is a representation of Remy’s past that he wants to forget: one where he hurt people, helped put together one of the worst mutant mercenary groups out there, and where he contributed to the destruction of an entire mutant community. He is a man that is remorseless and sunk his fangs into Remy early on in his life. And the thing is: Sinister is the first individual that really made Remy feel in danger. I don’t think Sinister ever really hurt Remy, but he just has that aura, you know? It was a creeping, disgusting chill that stuck to Remy like tar. And, to top it all off, Sinister was interested in Remy--had an interest in his genetics, in his potential, in his powers. Never before had Remy felt more like a pathetic rodent than under Sinister’s gaze. 

And, for a long time after the Marauders Massacre, he always watched his back. Remy never felt safe, never felt as if he had escaped Sinister. He felt like eyes were watching him wherever he went, waiting to drag him back. Remy refrained from making meaningful relationships for fear of what Sinister might do to them, or how they might be used against him. When he joined the X-Men, he was sure that Sinister would appear and reveal their past. Everywhere, anywhere, any time, Sinister invaded his thoughts and feelings. Everything could be, during this time period, traced back to Sinister in some way. And the fact that Sinister had so thoroughly infected Remy’s paranoia just made him even more scared of him.  

And we must remember that Mr. Sinister performed brain surgery on Remy and took away some of his powers. This was voluntary on Remy’s part, yes, but it cannot be denied that Sinister has a very physical, very real mark on Remy. His hands have been inside his head, cut him open, played around with his organs, and stitched him back together. His presence was thoroughly invasive. His work still persists today at the base of Remy’s brain, and he literally is reminded of the fact every single day. Each time he uses his powers, he remembers exactly who and why his powers are limited to inorganic matter, and why it is only through touch. That is something he will never get rid of, and, especially in his earlier days, felt very much like a brand that whispered to him, “I’m not done with you yet”. 

He never could grow comfortable with the X-Men while he kept the Morlock Massacre a secret. He enjoyed being around people again, and valued Storm, but each day was a day filled with tension. Is today the day they find out? Is today the day Sinister comes for him? Is today the day? Is tomorrow? Is the next day? 

A lot of time has passed, and Remy has since made friends and family in the X-Men, so he is no longer as afraid. He certainly does not look over his shoulder every waking moment anymore, and he gets enough sleep. He has people he trusts will back him up and who are capable of keeping themselves safe, as well, and they all know about his past. While Sinister remains the only figure Remy is afraid of, these days, he is treated more akin to a nightmare than a real threat. 

That does not change the fact, however, that Remy must remember this man every time he uses his powers. Sometimes, when he thinks about how he will have to remember this for the rest of his life, it daunts him, sometimes depresses him. When this happens, he sometimes gets a faraway look. Usually, he has someone around to bring him back. 

[brumesque]

Learning the ways of mortal man was an arduous journey, wrought with pitfalls. Even as Ishgard moved in better hands towards an open mindedness not belonging to it's predecessors, there will still be some resistant. Reputation always leads when personal impression holds no ground. A curiosity to see what this city looked like from it's underbelly, how the iron grip of tradition turned against it's own. He sought her out specifically, who better? Then the alpha at the center of the pack of hounds. The cloak hangs heavy over his shoulders, hood drawn high. It does little to shadow the daunting height of him but at least dissuades the obvious connections to who he is. Clawed grip on the top of a too small doorframe for all nearly nine feet of him, leaning in from the Ishgardian wind to the perhaps harsher warmth of a place he is decidedly not welcome. Tracking her down was hard, catching her stationary was harder. She was never far from her hounds. " 𝙃𝙞𝙡𝙙𝙖, 𝙄 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙞𝙩. 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙪𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙙𝙤𝙩𝙝 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙚. 𝙏𝙞𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙨𝙚𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙙𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙣𝙤𝙗𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙮, 𝙩𝙞𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙙𝙧𝙖𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙨." Even trapped in mortal flesh it was hard to miss the distinct curve of his horns when hood is pulled back, the scars over terrifying yellow eyes. Nidhogg was a thing of nightmares at his fullest, perhaps to his benefit he didn't meet the same mark now. "𝙇𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙫𝙚 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙪𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣, 𝙄 𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙬𝙞𝙨𝙝 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙠."

@revewyrm 

     Hilda thought she had seen the most disturbing of phenomenon known to mankind. As it turns out, there's more surprises for her to unravel whether willingly or not. Her eyebrow raised, taken aback not only by the oddity of this approach but the uncanny look of the speaker. She should be afraid. Her instincts told her so. While cloaked, very little was left to her imagination. There's an evident shape of horns, scales that'd be familiar to anyone who's lived their entire life in Coerthas, The Holy See most of all. The burning glow of their eyes and the... antiquity of their speech. Their voice left a shudder in her spine alone. She's not prepared to see them to their fullest. Not prepared to know who they are.

    "Notorious I am. We can both agree this sudden fame is beginnin' to not serve me so well." In spite of her own mind telling her to run, defend herself for whatsoever this creature's meant to be, she remained steadfast and laced her words with her usual humor. Truth of the matter is, she's frozen in her steps. She didn't know what else must be done. "You do understand, my friend, that you're as suspicious as they come. What? You came here to brand me a heretic? Laws have changed, you know?" Man and wyrm have seen common ground, or at least... that's what they're told and been shown until now. "How ‘bout you tell me why you're askin' that and I'll decide whether you're worth talkin' to?" Not good to test the waters when she knows fully well what danger she had stumbled upon on, but the fact that they cannot enter the Brumes with their towering height soured the supposed fearsome experience. She’s holding back a mixture of laughter and shudder.

[imagine-loki]

A Warrior’s Life

TITLE: A Warrior’s Life

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter One Hundred

AUTHOR: wolfpawn ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Viking Loki coming to your village, raiding, and pillaging, before deciding there is something about you that intrigues him and deciding to take you back to Asgard with him. There, you are forced to learn a new life and language, and though you hate what has happened to you, you learn that Loki is not as bad as you think.

RATING: Mature

NOTES: This chapter is a little bloody, and I do not own the images used.

The two men stared between husband and wife, both standing with their swords drawn and identical looks that told the men of their murderous intent. ‘I would like to introduce you to the true me UíNeill, not the heavily pregnant and purposely underfed and filthy thing you were shown as a means of control.’ Maebh stated, swinging her sword around casually. The battle was lost, and as with many times before, the Aesir stood triumphant with their Midgardian allies looking around somewhat shocked, those alive rounded up as per Maebh’s command.

‘You…’ Conor looked at her. ‘Demon!’

Loki looked to his wife. ‘I apparently am in cohorts with Hela herself.’ She looked at the men, grinning as she gave a small whistle, a moment later, Morrigan landed on her shoulder again, giving an angered caw at the men as it did so, but men staring in fear.

Conor whimpering in terror. ‘You are a monster.’

‘I am not a Monster, or a Queen, I am the Goddess of Death.’ He fell to his knees, so she pointed her sword at UíNeill, ‘What are you the God of?’

‘You cannot be…’ UíNeill’s words were weak and shaking as they left his lips.

‘Look around you, look at the death and carnage, our numbers are smaller. Also, remember how you last saw me, not once did I flinch, now here I stand in front of you, I am tall as you cower.’

Loki looked at her in concern. ‘What did he do?’ He growled furiously, angered that someone would lay hand on his wife.

‘Nothing to worry about dear, though I have to inform you…’ She smiled.

‘I knew it, my visions were right, mine and Danu’s.’ He chuckled. ‘Einar.’

‘We will have to see how accurate Danu’s predictions are, as time goes by.’ She turned to look at the men and spoke in a blase manner. ‘There is so little fun to be had when your husband has visions of the future.’

Conor stared in terror at Loki. ‘How else do you think I was here, waiting for you?’ He sneered, not understanding why it concerned the man so greatly, but he could see the effects of it on him.

Maebh frowned for a moment as Morrigan cawed, she turned slightly to see on the hill nearby were those they had left behind to protect her children, Danu sitting on the front of Fandral’s saddle. ‘Looks like there are more to add to the battle, it is a pity you have already lost.’

‘You would not have been so successful were you to face us like men.’

‘I am not a man, though, am I? And yes, were you to have your armies here, you would indeed win a field battle, but you do not, do you? And as it stands, you have not, so they other possibilities do not matter, do they?’ She smiled. ‘Make this easier on yourselves, forfeit your weapons, do not make this any more difficult.’

‘You think I would let you just take everything?’ UíNeill snarled.

‘I do not want what you have.’ That silenced the man. ‘I do not want to be on this land any longer, I want to take my children and go home with my husband.’

‘And more than likely claim I do not want any more children only for us to have another one within the year.’ Loki grinned.

‘Insatiable, I swear.’ She grinned. ‘I am one for a bit of sport, so here is going to be our little game. I am going to choose men of yours and they are going to try and kill me, if they lay one cut to my skin, if I bleed even from the smallest nick, you all go free, if they don’t, I kill you all.’ She smiled playfully. ‘Alright?’ She turned and looked at the men kneeling on the ground and inspected them all. ‘Him, him, that one, and has anyone seen a man with blonde hair and a tragic attempt at a beard?’

‘I got him with my axe.’ Volstagg stated apologetically.

‘Ah well, you cannot have everything you want in this life, can you?’ Maebh smiled before moving on. ‘Okay, and there was a...oh wonderful, he is alive still...for now. Yes, this one, in fact, I will start with him. Get him to his feet and give him a sword.’ The man in question was dragged to his feet and thrown forward, a weapon given to him. With others going around UíNeill and Lord Conor to prevent them trying to escape. The man looked at the weapon as Maebh dug her shield into the earth standing up before she handed her sword to Thor as Loki gave her her favourite daggers, which he had brought with him in his search for her. She looked lovingly at him as he handed it to her. She looked to her shoulder and gave a small nod. The raven flew over to her shield, perching on it as she walked forward, watching keenly as she did. She looked at the man in question, the man who was in charge of taking her from Asgard. ‘Come on now, fight me, there is no old woman for you to threaten this time or my daughter.’ her words made Loki and Thor realise who it was in front of her and what he had done to their mother. ‘You do to me what you did to her, you all live, if my blade gets you first, you suffer.’

The man looked at the sword for him and the small dagger that she had. She was wearing leather and a dress, he was wearing metal armour. Thinking that she could not win, he lunged forward, just as he did, Maebh got to a knee, allowing the sword to go through the air above her as her dagger, sharpened by Loki as he waited his chance to use it on someone and used her new lower vantage point to slice it deeply across his stomach under the area that is protected by his armour, allowing her access to his lower abdomen and associated organs. No sooner had the blade ceased its job when she stuck her hand in and pulled out his innards as he screamed in agony and fell to the ground, she threw them to the dirt in front of his face as he continued his painful cries, death coming slowly to him. ‘That is for Figga.’ She stated coldly before turning to the other terrified looking men. ‘Next,’ another was thrown towards her. He looked around in terror for an exit. ‘The only way you are leaving alive is if you hurt me.’ She took the sword the other man had tried to use on her and threw it at the next man. ‘Come on.’ She grinned viciously, swirling the dagger in her blood-soaked hand. The man wanted nothing to do with her. ‘You were all talk when I was tied up like a rabid animal, how you wanted to “Teach me my place”, was that not what you said?’

The man’s fear became too great and he rushed forward towards the weakest part of those gathered, where Loki and Thor stood. The brothers looked at one another for a mere moment before Loki brought out his sword and stepped forward. ‘You heard my wife, the only way you leave alive is to fight her and win.’

‘I….’

He ran forward as Loki raised the sword, impaling himself on it, as he pushed the sword in more, Loki pulled the one out of his hand and grinned as he leant in. ‘Learn your place, under my wife’s feet as no more than a corpse.’ He growled before pulling out the sword, allowing the man to fall to the ground, Thor getting the sword and throwing it over closer Maebh again.

‘Really, is anyone even going to try and fight me?’ Maebh seemed as though the idea that none of them would fight her was upsetting in some manner to her. She looked to the first man she had pointed to, ‘Come on then, what was it you said again, after my child was born I should be forcibly bred time and again, was that not it?’ She glanced at Loki and Thor who were both equally angered at the idea. ‘No man touches me but my husband, ever. So come and be a man and defend your words against me.’

‘I will not.’

‘Whyever not?’

‘I cannot win.’

‘Well, that you must have known from the start, surely?’ She smiled.

‘How can one defeat the Goddess of Death?’

‘You call yourself Christian, ergo you cannot believe in me.’

The man looked to Morrigan, then to the Aesir warriors. ‘You had no right winning, only the old Gods could alter it so.’

‘You hung your colours to the new faith and you were found to be wrong, a bad decision on your behalf, live with it, or should I say, you do not get to live with it, for your error will cost you your life.’ She indicated for him to rise to his feet. ‘I will make it easier on you, choose another to attack me at the same time, that should make me less daunting, perhaps.’ Another man was thrown forward and another sword given out. The Aesir sneered at those Midgardians allied to them watched in terror, having heard so much of the woman that had been taken from Midgard, the daughter of the Uladh king that had fought UíNeill’s tyranny. Together the men stepped forward, to which Maebh indicated to her husband and Loki threw a second dagger into the air for her to catch, the drying blood on her hands from the man she had disembowelled meaning her grip on the weapons was almost as though they were stuck to her. She was still looking at her husband to thank him when they rushed forward, she grinned and turned again in time to sidestep the sword aimed at her and getting both daggers, brought both across his throat at once, causing him to fall to the ground gargling as his last breath left his body. Before the other man knew what hit him, she sliced deeply into the insides of both of his legs, then stuck one dagger into his heart before the other into his temple. When he fell, she placed one foot on him before taking out her daggers again, ‘Next.’

‘You mean to toy with us all?’ UíNeill tried to act as though he was bored, but his fear was blatant, she was as deadly as he had heard.

‘Well I am getting bored and my newest son will require another feed soon.’ She stated factually.

Maebh walked towards her shield again and looked at Morrigan, who flew back to her shoulder before she got her shield out of the ground and walked to her husband and Thor and to the two men still being forced to kneel. ‘Have you had your fill?’ Thor chuckled.

‘Not yet.’ She looked directly at UíNeill as she spoke.

‘Midgard will not bow to you.’ UíNeill had no idea what was said between them, but seeing the way Maebh looked at him, he knew it was regarding him in some manner.

‘I do not want it to.’

‘Then why all of this?’

‘You brought me here, you brought this on yourself.’ She hissed. ‘I want my home, my children, my husband, you had me brought here, if you had left well enough alone…’

‘They raid our lands!’

‘And you raid others. It is a vicious circle really.’ She stated boredly as a young man, came to help her clean her hands. ‘Now we will leave and with you gone, the Midgardian Lords will fight and bicker among themselves too much to care of our leaving, and with all that happened, your plan to continue antagonising us will not continue and we will all live in relative peace once more.’ She took a rag from the young man and looked to one of the dead on the ground, dipping it in his blood before turning and going to Conor, dabbing it on his chest over his heart. She smiled at him as he stared at her in terror. ‘I would try to flee if I were you, I have no use to keep you alive any longer.’ Morrigan gave a vicious caw and the man got to his feet and was about to flee when an arrow hit the mark in his chest and he fell to the ground dead. ‘Well now, that is that business is done.’ She looked to UíNeill who was looking to the direction where the arrow came from, ‘That leaves us with you.’

‘The…’

‘She is my daughter after all. She has incredible aim for one so young, do you not think so?’ Maebh stated proudly, looking to the hill behind them, Danu stood on a rock, with the bow still raised from her shot, her face one of pride, Fandral’s one of respectful fear, clearly seeing the deadly likeness between mother and daughter.

‘What sort of animal does not allow people the right to their last prayer?’

‘They are not prayers to me, so why should I allow them?’

‘You call yourself a God, but you are not one.’

‘My husband is named after the God of Mischief, Lies and Chaos, he deceived you on your arrival here, did he not? What is to say he did not do so by his Godly powers? Beside him is a man named after a God of Thunder and other things, including fertility, he fights like a raging storm and he gave a blessing on this marriage which can almost be considered a curse, I have bore more children than any normal woman would want.’ Thor chuckled. ‘Cease it.’

‘No.’

‘Honestly, do you see what I have to endure?’ She acted as though he was a friend rather than a foe. ‘I alone decide life and death, I have given life and taken it here today.’ she stated.

‘You stand with them.’

‘What reason have I not to stand with them?’

‘Even with what they did to your siblings?’ She frowned. ‘The youngest was younger than the child brought with you, I was brought the axe that was in him, in his back, severed his little spine, did it not?’ Maebh’s nostrils flared. ‘It was one of theirs, it had those symbols on it,’ He pointed to an axe one of the men had, indeed the symbol of Tyr, the War God was on it, she remembered the insignia from the one she had seen in Aodhán’s back. ‘They killed your brothers and raped and killed your sister, and you stand with them.’

‘The men who did those acts died in the middle of them.’ Maebh stated, not allowing her anger show. ‘I know for a fact their actions were not ones permitted, I do not hold all accountable for the acts of some, I was the one that sent them to the next world.’

‘Yet you claim to be the Goddess of Death, to say you allowed your own kin to die means you are more heartless than I imagined.’

‘It is noted that sometimes things change as a result of certain factors in the world around them. We often do not intend to be what we are. You chose your path, mine was chosen for me by your actions, but I adapted and made myself what I am now as a result.’ She stated, looking at him, walking towards him as she did. ‘By my actions, you will die, so many will die, because I will create chaos through your actions and their ramifications.’

‘You think it right to let them die?’

‘It is you that has caused this unrest.’ She dismissed.

‘But you kill me, they war.’

‘I will not be here to care. I will be at home, nursing my baby, training my daughter, raising her and her brothers to be the next generation to put your kind back in their place when they get too big for themselves.’ She smirked. ‘I will be busy ensuring my son, the future king of Svartalfheim and his wife will be happy, I will find my children good spouses and I will grow old caring for my grandchildren before I embrace my family already passed in death again, happy to have lived so long with those I love so dear.’ UíNeill gave a look of contempt. ‘You see, that is the difference here. I live life for love, I love my family, I will kill to protect them, I do not love to kill. You, on the other hand, enjoy bedlam and chaos, blood and loss, ergo you were never happy in this life.’ She petted Morrigan who affectionately toyed with some of her loose hair, the man looking at the bird and her in disdain. ‘Lean over, it makes it a cleaner blow and guarantees a swifter death.’

‘I rather look you in the eye, see if you are as strong as you pretend to be.’ He sneered.

‘Suit yourself, I was being kind.’ She gave the shield to Thor who gave her her sword. ‘I suppose you want to say a prayer.’ She scoffed.

‘Would you allow me?’

‘You wanted to take my daughter and have her forget who she is and what she comes from for the sheer pleasure and joy of it, and my son to fight as a warrior for you, what do you think?’

‘Then get on with it.’

‘I will give it to you, you are braver than T adhgán , Cathal and so many others that snivelled as they awaited my sword, you could be commended, were it not for the fact you are such a horrible piece of shit.’ She shrugged.

‘You are what they say.’ UíNeill acknowledged.

‘I am, but I am not the whore they say though, that part they got wrong.’ She smiled before taking the sword and having it cut through the air, into UíNeill’s raised neck, severing it. No sooner had his head hit the ground and she turned to face the men still on their knees that had fought for him. ‘You backed the wrong man.’ she stated, before looking to those standing over them. ‘Kill them all.’ The men looked to Thor who nodded and unsheathed their swords before plunging them into the men in front of them.

Maebh walked off towards her children, Morrigan on her shoulder, having righted itself after she moved aggressively to kill UíNeill. Loki walked beside her, saying nothing, but ensuring to remain as close to her as possible. He looked up and smiled as he noticed his daughter running towards him. He dropped his weapons and knelt for her to run into his arms, kissing the side of her face time and again as he held her. ‘My beautiful little girl.’

Maebh smiled as she looked at them for another moment before going to Fandral, who was walking forward with her son in his arms. ‘Thank you, I know you would rather be able to battle, do not think it is because I do not feel I cannot trust you.’ She stated to the blonde warrior.

‘You left me as the last line of defence for your children, there is no greater declaration of your trust in me, I would think.’ Fandral stated. ‘Though I do not think I would be needed.’ He looked to Danu.

‘Well, every woman should know how to defend herself.’ Maebh smiled taking Einar from him, the baby still sleeping soundly. She looked down at him, his little tufts of black hair visible. She gave her thanks to Fandral and turned to Loki and smiled. With Danu in his arms, he walked forward again before putting her down as he came to Maebh.

‘Einar.’ He took him from his mother. ‘He is a good size.’

‘Our biggest yet.’ Maebh agreed. ‘Even if he hid so well.’

‘You gave birth to him and did all this…’

‘All in one afternoon.’ Loki looked at her in shock. ‘He is not the day old yet.’

‘You are incredible, there is nothing you cannot do. You are invincible.’

‘I disagree, this ride is going to be hell, I can guarantee that after it, I will very much show I am not.’ She groaned, causing Loki to laugh, before looking at her shoulder, ‘What is this about, may I ask?’

‘What?’

‘The bird, the Goddess thing?’

‘Oh, it is intertwined really, there is an older religion than the one practised here now, and in it, there is the Morrigan, the Goddess of Battle and Death, and she has a raven, or three ravens, or even turns into a raven, whatever you wish to believe, they watch the battles for her, and she decides on the field who lives and who dies. So of course, when this little thing came to us, it played into the old religion.’ She explained.

‘And they actually thought you a demon?’

‘Einar was not showing when I came, he made his presence known overnight, so really, they thought I had made a deal with a demon to get out of this, that I bore him as some form of demonic offspring. Christians are very superstitious.’

‘Evidently.’ He looked at her in awe. ‘My beautiful Maebh, I am so sorry.’

‘We had no idea, they lay in wait.’ She leant in against him. ‘How long before we can go home?’

‘We need to get Danu cleaned and you and Einar checked, we will head tomorrow.’ He stated. ‘Are you sure you can ride?’

‘I need to, he needs clothing and warmth.’ she looked to her husband. ‘I thought we finally ran out of chances.’

‘Never, the God of Mischief and Lies and the Goddess of Battle and Death cannot be outdone.’ He grinned.

‘The day will come.’

‘Then promise me that we go down together, hand in hand.’

‘Taking as many of them as we can with us.’ She promised. ‘But not this day.’

Maebh

Loki - minus the helmet

Thor