#i didn't speak to her in gaelic but she said she had gaelic as a first language but she grew up on the mainland so as a toddler she quickly

[relnicht]

watched an episode of the chosen (online tv series about Jesus) and it was good! but watching it I was wondering whether they'd not heard of hemming clothes in 1st century Judea

[hunterbunter3000]

ok so I've had this in my memory for ages and i can so imagine Sweetheart having this as a tattoo on her back, like the angel wings tattoos that are the complete length of your back so and the crescent on her neck like oml like its barely visible from under her shirts and it just makes her neck look that much more delectable plus the contrast from the womb tattoo to the angel like wings is a sight to see, makes the boys go feral (especially soap once he sees it, he didn't notice before cuz he was too short lol)

IM GOING FERALLLLL

THIS IS AMAZING FOR SWEETS HOLY COW

The original idea was that she was going to have two pieces, high and low tattoos, the low one was something like this:

But then I scrapped that, and she was just gonna have a regular back tattoo (like a big one or one in the middle of her back), and it was gonna be something like this:

B U T that changed and the new idea was that the back tattoo was traveling on her body, like coming to her collarbone and neck, and coming down her arms (which is talked about in the 18+ Gaz ask), something like this:

BUT GOOODDDDDD YOURS IS SO SICK GREMLIN

Like I can see her getting it because a friend told her that it'll look so cool, not telling her what it means. (As you said, it looks like angel wings) and then that friend dies, not telling her the meaning. (Her friend told her to get it because Sweetheart is like an angel)

Sfw

(Just kinda sensual teehee)

Cw.: biblical talk (angels), so much praise, overstimulation (sweets cries), bit of angst and feels, (idk if this counts as angst? I'm still learning what's angst and what's not😭) soap is so down bad he's speaking in Scottish Gaelic-- it's translated by Google so I'm sorry beforehand! He talks so damn much, I went overboard 💀 the translation is at the end!

So skip ahead to the now, she's taking care of some wounds she got from a mission, with her shirt off and hair down, wrapping her ankle with concentrated eyes. She doesn't hear Soap knock on her door, and she doesn't hear his little gasp. She also doesn't hear him walk slowly towards her, but she does feel thick, warm fingers move some of her hair and trail down her back. She jolts, turning around abruptly. Her tense shoulders relax, seeing it's only her best friend.

She needs to be more vigilant.

"Jeez, Soap," She chuckles, "You scared me."

His eyes are wide, skin flushed with pink and breaths uneven.

"Tha mi duilich..." he mutters breathlessly. Sweetheart cocks an eyebrow. "Whatcha say?" Soap sucks in a breath and closes his eyes tightly. It's like he's telling himself something.

"Sorry, I'm - I said I'm sorry." Sweetheart nods, "Oh, that's cool! Is that like- Gaelic or somethin'?" Soap nods as if he's in a trance, eyes still focused on her back. Her glowing, hunched over back with the mark of an angel. It has to be. Different scars align on her skin, some in different lengths, some overlapping others, and many that are jagged.

But the beauty of the tattoo is still relevant.

Sweetheart calls out his name softly to get his attention but fails. His mind is hazy, and too many thoughts going through him. The waves of heat pulse on his skin and insides as he gets closer to her back.

Sweetheart doesn't feel comfortable, but she doesn't feel uncomfortable at the same time. She sees him get on his knees and reaches out for her, but freezes. He turns his head and shuts his eyes again, having mental turmoil with his actions. He stares into her eyes, asking her if he can touch it. Feel it.

Admire it.

Her eyes flutter, looking back at him one last time, she shifts her hair to one side, combing the curls with her hand, showing more of the tattoo that goes up to the nape of her neck and around her shoulders. Her actions speak a million words to him.

You can touch it. But please, be gentle.

She hears him whine- whine-- and his palms are clamping on her back immediately.

"Tha e cho breagha. Fuck, bidh thu mar bhàs dhomh, leanabh." His hand slides around to her tummy, tracing the heart to her womb tattoo since he remembers where it's located, engraved- burned-- into his memory. "Ach bheir thu air ais beò mi le seo," His voice is but a whisper over her back, the woman confused if he's talking to her or the tattoo. She feels plush lips where the blade is located. Oh god--

He's kissing it.

Sweetheart shivers, a whiny moan bubbling in her throat, but she covers her mouth with her shaky hand. She hears him mumble Gaelic again, but it doesn't feel like he's talking bad about it. It feels good, warm. Like he's praising it.

Worshipping it.

His other hand feels her skin all over her side, up her back till he reaches her shoulder. "Bha fios agam gu robh thu a 'falach rudeigin fo na turtlenecks sin, brèagha. Bha an corp seo an-còmhnaidh a’ falach rudeigin. Air do ghualainn," His fingers trail on the lines of the angel-like wings, "Air do ghualainn," They snake upwards and around, the pads feeling the bumps of scars and the outline of ink. "Suas do mhuineal."

Sweetheart whimpers, shivering under his touch. Her shoulders cave in, and she bends more forward. She feels his lips trail up her heated skin, wet with love and praise from the scotsman. She knew he loved her tattoos that she showed him, but she never thought he would do something like this.

Did he really like them that much? Did he really like her that much?

Soaps breath shudders on the halo, feeling her goosebumps form and hairs sticking up, hands raking up and down the spiked angel wings.

"Tha mi a’ guidhe nach do dh’fhalaich thu uam, a ghràidh. Tha gaol agam oirbh uile, agus chan atharraich sin gu bràth."

"I'm- I'm sorry...?" Why is she apologizing? She felt like she needed to apologize for something she did but didn't understand what he said. She was going to speak again, but the gentle lull of his shushing in her ear stopped her.

"Òr 's a tha mise air do chràdh agus an dubh a tha air do chorp naomh. Tha am peant dubh maireannach a th’ agad a’ toirt ort coimhead ethereal. Fuck, chan eil fhios agam carson a tha thu a’ còmhdach seo. Bidh thu a’ faighinn cho togarrach rium a h-uile uair a thig thu faisg orm, agus a bhith faicinn an ealain a th’ agad air do bhodhaig na urram ann fhèin. Tha do bhòidhchead tarraingeach, aingil. Chan eil fios agad dè an ìre de chumhachd a tha agad thairis air na fir a tha a 'coiseachd air an talamh seo."

If he keeps going, she's gonna pass out at this rate.

His growly, Scottish drawl always made Sweetheart heat up and melt. But this - this carnal, whispering preaching onto her skin - it's too much, overflowing her cup to the point that it spills all over the floor.

"Mar a chuirinn seachad mo làithean uile ag innse dhut mar a tha thu mar thiodhlac bho na nèamhan. Cha bhithinn leisg a dhol air mo ghlùinean agus mo dhìlseachd gu lèir a thoirt dhut a h-uile latha." He mumbles, lips talking against her skin like he's muttering scriptures to the ink.

With his blue eyes half-lidded, his hands slide down her shoulder blades and back up, his touch so gentle like feathers and silk, down to the small of her back, where the blade ends.

"Tha mi a’ guidhe nach do dh’fhalaich thu uam, a ghràidh. Tha gaol agam oirbh uile, agus chan atharraich sin gu bràth."

"Johnny..." Sweetheart calls out, mysterious want laced in her voice. She doesn't know why he acts like her tattoos are sacred. She doesn't know why she feels tears forming. Her eyes flutter back when his thumbs massage her hips.

He hums, "An ann air sgàth sin a fhuair thu seo? A chionn gu bheil thu bho na nèamhan? Tha e ciallach nam biodh tu. Archangel, a 'stiùireadh shaighdearan gu cogadh le do bhall-airm, ceannardas, agus làmh an uachdair."

Her breath hitches. Archangel?

Why did he say that?

He thinks she's an angel? One of the heavenly hosts, a dispenser of justice and bringer of hope.

Oh my God.

If he thinks that she's like an archangel, then that's the best compliment she has ever gotten.

She feels tears coming down her cheeks, the heavy feeling in her head and warmth coursing through her veins. She remembers when her old high school friend from home told her to get this piece as a tattoo since she had trouble figuring out what to get. She was so excited, kept asking her every day what it meant or what significance it had with Sweetheart, but all she kept saying was, "You'll figure it out."

Sweetheart asked sporadically when her friend was in the hospital. Her answer was always the same.

Sweetheart stopped asking completely when her friend was buried next to her family. She didn't give an answer anymore.

She covers her mouth again to stop a choked sob, tears streaming down her face.

Her friend knew.

"Fiù 's nuair a tha thu air do dhòrtadh ann am fuil an nàmhaid, tha thu fhathast a' seasamh àrd ann an neart, misneachail, nad ghlòir gu lèir. A ’coimhead thairis air a h-uile duine, a’ cuideachadh neach sam bith ann an fheum leis a ’ghàire radanta sin."

Soap knows.

"Ged nach fhaicear do sgiathan, bidh iad fhathast a 'deàrrsadh fon t-solas a tha a' gluasad bho do shàil. An dòchas agus an gaol a bheir thu do dhaoine ... bheir e orm tuiteam air do shon eadhon nas motha a h-uile uair."

And now Sweetheart knows.

He kisses her shoulders, neck, and spine- all the way down to the tip of the blade. He could kiss this skin forever, hearing her soft moans and whimpers. Soap hears her little hiccups and moves to face her. He tenderly cups her jaw and slowly lifts, seeing her big, glistening eyes look up at him. Her damp cheeks, creased eyebrows, and wobbling bottom lip melts his heart. He looks at her with such fondness and love in his eyes, Sweetheart is sure that she will pass away. He brushes her hair out of her face as if she's made out of the finest china.

"Oh, mo ghràidh, mo leannan."

He cranes his neck down, soft swollen lips meeting her forehead. Sweetheart's eyes close, clumped with tears, leaning into his kiss and clutching his hand.

"Mo aingeal dìon."

꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱

Translation:

It's so beautiful. Fuck, you'll be the death of me, baby. But you'll bring me back to life with this. I knew you were hiding something under those turtlenecks, beautiful. This body was always hiding something. On your shoulders... Up your neck. I wish you didn't hide from me, my love. I love you all, and that will never change.

You have nothing to apologize for, my darling, my heart. Words can not describe how much I ache for you and the ink that's on your holy body. The black permanent paint you have makes you look ethereal. Fuck, I don't know why you cover this. You get me so excited every time you come near me, and to see the art you have on your body is an honor in itself. Your beauty is alluring, angelic. You don't know how much power you hold over the men that walk this earth.

How I would spend all my days telling you how you're a gift from the heavens. I would not hesitate to get on my knees and give my devotion to you every day.

Hmm, is that why you got this? Because you're from the heavens? It makes sense if you were. An archangel, guiding soldiers into war with your weapon, leadership, and dominant hand.

Even when drenched in the enemy's blood, you still stand tall in strength, confident, in all your pretty glory. Watching over everyone, helping anyone in need with that radiant smile.

Even though your wings are not seen, they still shine under the light that radiates from your halo. The hope and love you give people... it makes me fall for you even more every time.

My dear, my sweetheart.

My guardian angel.

Bonus.!

Bruh, I totally blocked out the others HAHA

They haven't seen it yet, but Soap boasts about it 24/7. He described it the best he can without giving anything away. But he talks consistently that he saw it and he touched it and-- other stuff.

He doesn't tell his team that he practically went to church on her back tattoo, but he sees how jealous they got so that's good enough for him. Thank God Krueger doesn't know.

[notsoblackandwhite101]

Na'lright, so that last ask made me lose my damn mind. Spent the last few hours doing this! Behold, Fergus's family tree... currently. I may tweek it down the line. I previously said in past asks that Fergus was being raised by his parents and siblings in London, but I'm altering that!

Fergus's mum, Vivienne, was born and raised in Ireland, youngest of three pups. Her family were hardcore wild foxes, who rejected all facets of 'civilized' society. They hunted for their food, lived in burrows, ect ect. Only Vivi didn't vibe with that. She was a bit more lazy. It was so much easier to steal from dumpsters than it was to hunt. There were less hunting dogs in the towns and cities to! This started a big row with her folks and her brother Aidan, until she decided to leave. London was the biggest city around, so she snuck on a ship and made her way over. She enjoyed living in London, away from her traditional parents and brother. Things got a little harder when a one night stand unexpectedly left her expectant, but she raised Fergus the best she could. She taught him all about living in the city and while Fergus is a bit of a runt due to a lack of good food in his kit years, Vivi thinks she did alright! (Extra fun note, Vivienne is based on Fergus's design in the pilot!)

Of course, even if the family had a bit of a fight, they never really leave each other alone. Aidan and his wife would come to visit when they could. Aidan was intent on making his nephew appreciate his wild heritage, and maybe try to turn his life around, unlike his mother. Aunt Keeley is just a soft, go with the flow fox who tried to make peace more than anything, and Findlay is very chatty, though he mostly speaks Gaelic, like most of the family can . (Fergus only knows bits and pieces as his mum raised him in England. Findlay is also still learning English so communication can be tough.) Findlay is also very good at hunting, which can be awkward in London, as Fergus is friends with plenty of the 'Prey' around. (Findlay also has siblings, but I'm too tired to think of them now.)

AND FINALLY Aunt Muriel. Eldest of the three. She moved to a nature preserve in Ireland after her leg was injured. She's a 'Species Representative' who teaches other creatures about Foxes and how they live. Aunt Muriel is rather flat and unenthusiastic. She never wanted kid or to get married. She just dose as she pleases without hurting anyone and expects the same as everyone else. She also has a very sharp wit and tongue to match. Aidan and Vivienne both keep their fighting to a minimum around her, as Muriel tends to put them in their place easily enough.

Oh and Aunt Muriel is literally just Sister Michael from 'Dairy Girls' if you want to see what she's like.

Now these names aren't set in stone yet. I was hoping to find some more traditional Irish names but I'm very tired, so feel free to suggest some! (Also sorry for any spelling errors. Its very late at night/ early in the morning here.)

[brian-in-finance]

Diana Gabaldon spoke at the University of Glasgow's Outlander conference. Photo: Martin Shields

Diana Gabaldon recalls how first Outlander book ‘almost cancelled’

Best-selling Outlander author Diana Gabaldon has created nine beloved books and a seven-season TV series - but the franchise almost didn't happen.

The American writer told fans in Glasgow her first novel was almost cancelled because publishers could not decide what to do with it.

It took more than a year to go on sale as a debate raged about where it would sit on bookshop shelves.

The series has boosted Scottish tourism with fans flocking to Scotland to visit the book and TV programme's locations.

The author spoke at the word's first international academic Outlander conference at the University of Glasgow, which has been the backdrop for several scenes in the Starz TV series.

Expert scholars and Outlander fans have come together for events in the city, exploring themes such as Jacobite history, screen production, Scottish tourism, Gaelic and Scots, costume design, fandom, main character Claire Fraser's medicine, and witchcraft.

Ms Gabaldon - originally an academic herself - was awarded an honorary doctorate by the university in June last year.

The drama series stars Catriona Balfe and Sam Heughan as Claire and Jamie Fraser. Photo: Starz

Speaking about her first book, she said: "It took the publishers 18 months to figure out what to do with it. I learned later that they came very close to cancelling the contract and giving me back the book because they couldn't decide how to sell it.

"This was before Amazon where a book can be classified as several things at once and people can pick off the web what they want, and they still get the same book.

"Back in the day it was only bookstores, you had to put a book on a certain shelf, the shelf had to have a label and the book also had to have that label."

She said the decision to sell it as a romance came as a shock.

"My agent finally called me up and said they had decided to publish it but sell it as a romance. I said, 'What?' that isn't what I wrote.

"He pointed out that a best seller in fantasy fiction was 50,000 copies in paperback while in romance it is 500,000 copies. So we sold it as romance."

'Too weird'

She said that the success of the books was down to readers' recommendations.

"My first editor said to me early on these have to be word of mouths books because they are too weird to describe, which is totally true and that is also true about the word of mouth.

"So that being the case it made total sense to expose the book to 500,000 people in the romance category who will go out and tell their friends and the word will spread.

"So we did that and that is exactly what happened."

The Outlander series is currently nine books, with the author working on the tenth - and believed to be the final - book.

It follows the story of a post-World War Two nurse visiting Scotland who accidentally time travels to the Jacobite era.

Roger (Richard Rankin) and Brianna (Sophie Skelton) are main characters in the show. Photo: Aimee Spinks

It has now become one of the bestselling book series of all time and spawned the popular TV series, currently in its seventh season.

Ms Gabaldon's talk was entitled, '"Why Scotland? Why Not Mexico?" Genes, Borders, Culture and Fiction: Why They Matter and When They Don't'.

In it, she explained why she picked Scotland as the location of Outlander.

She said: "What I learned from my research and contact with Scots is that Scots are, and historically were, very literate. They wrote down things. They also have a very strong oral culture, they told their stories.

"They also have a lot of history available. Then there is the nature of Scottish history, it has a lot of heroes and heroines as well as conflict which is what you need for a good story."

The conference runs until Saturday and has seen fringe events including music concerts and battle re-enactments in the university's famous cloisters.

Transformative impact

Senior Lecturer in Gaelic at the University, Gillebride Macmillan, who has appeared in the programme, said it had been really important for the Gaelic language.

"It's so important for a minoritized language, such as Gaelic, to be seen on a world level, on a world stage, and Outlander gives Gaelic that opportunity.

"And I think it's been fantastic to hear Gaelic spoken by the actors and in the books, and also the use of Gaelic music, Gaelic song. I've been very lucky myself to be a part of that and I think it's been an incredibly positive thing for the language.

"Which I think has been born out by things such as, one and a half million people learning Gaelic in Duolingo. Obviously, many people are learning Gaelic for many different reasons, but Outlander has been one of the major factors for that."

Prof Willy Maley, professor of Renaissance studies (English Literature), at the university, said: "Diana Gabaldon's Outlander series has had a transformative impact on Scottish culture, generating global interest in the history, languages and landscapes of Scotland.

"Vivid and visceral, Outlander is an otherworldly but never unworldly phenomenon that takes a time-travelling nurse-turned-doctor and propels her from 1946 to 1743, two worlds of war that collide in an elaborate and painstaking reconstruction that make the series much more than historical fiction and more an innovative and pioneering rethinking of how we excavate and examine the narratives of the past.

"Outlander has also been a brilliant boost for the Scottish film industry."

BBC News

Gifs: @scotsmanandsassenach S01E03 The Way Out, Gillebride Macmillan as Gwyllyn the bard

Remember… I think it's been fantastic to hear Gaelic spoken by the actors and in the books, and also the use of Gaelic music, Gaelic song. I've been very lucky myself to be a part of that and I think it's been an incredibly positive thing for the language. — Gillebride Macmillan

[winniethewife]

Eclipsing Love

(Marc Spector x Mafia!OC)

Last chapter ~ Next chapter

Chapter 4: Darkest days

Warning: Death of a character.

Words: 1220

A week later the first part of her plan came into fruition. Charlotte's father was to visit the bar that day and they were going to put on a show of Charlotte wanting to come back to the Family. Her new lover, Marc, was the one that convinced her to go back to the family. They were sitting at the bar, Charlotte was behind the bar Cleaning things up from the busy night before and Marc was watching her with a smile on his face. She was wearing black jeans and a backless shirt that shows off some fresh love marks on her back along with her tattoo of a Serval wild cat.

Marc sat at the bar, watching Charlotte as she worked. He couldn't take his eyes off of her as she cleaned up the mess from the night prior; she was amazing and it was easy to forget that not that long ago, she was working for a murderous organization. Marc's thoughts were interrupted when the door to the bar swung open, revealing Charlotte's father in a nice suit— he looked the part of Mafia boss for sure. Charlotte Turns and puts on a big smile that looks off to him, after getting to know her facial expressions well over the last week she never smiled big of it was genuine.

“Oh Daddy! I'm so glad you're here.” She says in a very well performed voice of a good daughter. It was so sweet it almost made Marc sick. Charlotte pours her father a glass of some top shelf liquor and hands it to him as the man sits at the bar. “Daddy I want you to meet my Boyfriend Marc, he's the one who convinced me to call you...”

Marc looked at Charlotte with wide eyes as she put on a performance for her father, as she transformed into this completely different person. He watched as she smiled, poured her father a glass of liquor, and then turned back to Marc with an expression that told him exactly what was happening.Marc didn't miss a beat.

"Pleasure to meet you... Mr. Walker." He said, as he reached out to shake Charlotte's father's hand. Marc was playing along with Charlotte's plan. Charlotte’s father shook his hand with a smile on his face. It's good to see someone can talk sense into my daughter. Charlotte’s father turns to her and says something to Charlotte in a language he didn't recognize. She responded and they spoke like that for a short time. As Marc sat with it for a minute he figured out they were speaking Gaelic, the ancient language of the Irish. He wasn't surprised to see Charlotte and her father continue their conversation in Gaelic; she was Irish, after all, the language was probably something she'd known since she was a child. He waited to see what would happen next, ready for anything, although there was a small part of him that was curious of their exchange. Charlotte's father then says something solemnly and Marc watches as all the color drains from her face.

 “No. No. No. No. You're lying.” She says in English. As she says this her father takes her hand in his.

“I'm sorry Charlotte. I wish I had better news. The funeral is in England in a few days. You and Marc are more than welcome to attend of course. Her father replied quietly with an amount of sadness in his voice that surprised Marc. He looked at Charlotte as she spoke with her father, his expression becoming more solemn with each word she spoke. It was clear that this death meant a lot to her in a way he wasn't yet aware of. When Charlotte's father mentioned the funeral, something hit Marc pretty hard.

"England? Who? I mean... who's.... whose funeral?" He asked, as a worried look fell along his face. That wasn't supposed to be a part of the plan.

 “Isabella's...”Charlotte whispers. Her eyes filled with tears. Her Daughter was dead. Charlotte’s father hung his head and he looked guilty He spoke up.

“There was an accident, Isabella was playing with some friends after school and... There was a drunk driver...”his voice trailed off.

Marc stands up and walks behind the bar pulling her in close. He’s trying keeping himself cool despite being filled with anger. Why now? Why did Charlotte have to deal with another loss? He felt terrible about this, but he had to be the one in control for Charlotte's sake.

"We'll be there... right?" He asked slowly, his voice quiet now. Charlotte nodded and she leans on the bar as she holds her head in her hands and starts to sob. Everything she had fought for. Her last connection with her dead wife. It is hell on earth now. She can't believe it...does any of it matter anymore? She feels like her knees are going to give out. She feels like she's dying. While her father was right there, watching in silence, like he didn't feel comfortable with them showing such raw emotions.

He knew that Charlotte was going through a horrible tragedy at this moment— and he wouldn't be upset if she went off the edge once again. She'd just lost her daughter, an unimaginable pain to him.

"Shh... it'll be alright, Charlotte..." He tried to say softly, despite how hard it was for him to console her. She turns to him and burrows her face in his chest as she sobs. She was glad Marc was there. She couldn't even think straight. She pulls at his shirt as she cries. Her father wipes his own tears and speaks in Gaelic again and Charlotte turns to him slightly responding to him again. Her voice is venomous. Marc doesn't know what they're saying but Charlotte is obviously angry at her Father for keeping her daughter away from her. Now there was no way to take that back. Marc wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. She deserved love at a time like this, and he was going to give it to her. He tried to quiet her, gently running his fingers through her hair.

Her father wrote down some information on a napkin and pulled a small folder from his briefcase and left them on the bar. He stood up and nodded to Marc before quietly leaving. Charlotte is still hiding her face in Marc's chest as she cries silently at this point. The grief is so extreme she’s feeling like she's having to actively remind herself to breathe. Marc was so focused on Charlotte, watching her cry quietly and just being there for her, that he barely even noticed when her Father had put some things on the bar. The moment he turned his head for a second to look at the file, he had to fight back a laugh her Father had obviously left information on how to get to the funeral. The folder had all the information on the funeral and plane tickets to England. He had covered every expense for them to come. They were to leave in two days. He looked back down to Charlotte once again, still stroking her hair.

"We'll go to London for this funeral," He said, kissing her forehead and running his fingers through her hair once again.

Masterlist

Tag: @ominoose

[ohwynne]

TIMING: Current PARTIES: Nora @honeysmokedham and Wynne @ohwynne LOCATION: Saol Eile SUMMARY: Wynne has arrived at the aos sí, where they immediately got separated from Elias. Luckily Nora is there! CONTENT WARNINGS: Self harm (ritualistic), abuse mentions (cult variety)

Saol Eile was great. Apart from the training that involved having to slice down her arms, the scabs of which had recently started arriving causing an ever-present itch to haunt her every waking moment. The rest of her time had been spent walking with Declan,  eating with Regan, and studying Banshee lore. It was a surprisingly welcomed vacation. From the way Regan talked about her time here, Regan was not having a relaxed and fun time like Nora - No, not Nora. Hamstring. Regan would come back later than Hamstring, tense and unwilling to talk. But Hamstring didn't think too deeply about that. Regan was like that in her own cabin back in Wicked's Rest when Hamstring had broken in. She'd started to suspect it was just a personality flaw. 

Hamstring was walking down the uniform white streets, a warmness filling her as she thought about a recent conversation when something caught her eye. A familiar splay of brown curls. It drew her from her introspection and into the present around her. "Wynne?" Hamstring stopped in her tracks, boot scuffing against the stone path. "What are you doing here?" Hamstring wasn't displeased to see her friend here. "Does Emilio know you're here?" Emilio was already pissed about Hamstring being here, she couldn't wait to find out how he was doing with both of them here. "What about Teddy?" Hamstring looked over her shoulder, to the left, and the right, before grabbing Wynne's arm and dragging them to a more hidden location. "Welcome to Saol Eile. Regan is going to be so pissed you're here." 

—

They weren’t sure what they had expected from Saol Eile, but it wasn’t quite this. The entire place was so vastly different from the other towns Wynne and Elias had seen, nor did it look like their old commune. They’d imagined it to look like a mix of the two, a combination of their former home and the country they’d been crossing to try and find Regan. But it didn’t matter. They’d made it. Elias and them had managed to find the commune. And though they had gotten separated, though their heart kept climbing up in their chest at every sight of wings on fae and black eyes — they were determined. To find Regan, Nora and Elias, preferably all three in one go and not become the sacrifice Siobhan had mistaken them for once.

But it wasn’t easy to find them. People kept approaching them, speaking Gaelic — to which Wynne responded by speaking in Welsh. This seemed to go over better than their American accent, after all, even if most didn’t understand them. Sometimes they just talked about bones (an easy enough topic) and sometimes they said they were a cousin of someone and sometimes they just blinked in admiration and that too, seemed to go over okay. Even if one or two banshees had said that sacrifice would look great on them. 

The conversations were not important though, unless they were brave enough to ask after Regan. Wynne hoped for a miracle, for a happy little accident — like the dead rabbit that had made them meet Regan in the first place. And they got it, their coincidence, in the form of Nora speaking their name. “N–” They swallowed her name, remembering about her preference to not be called it in public. “Hi! Hi. Oh, I found — Emilio? Yes, he – he helped, he wants to help y– Dr Kavanagh too.” They were stumbling over their words, overwhelmed at the sight of Nora, here. Once the two of them were settled in a corner where two small houses met, Wynne pulled the other into a quick hug. “They both know. They – we — is she okay? Regan? Do you know where she is? Someone said she’s a baby to them. I don’t — they all have wings, does she have wings? I came with someone else, but they pulled him away from me. They — Nora, this place is like a different planet! I’m so glad I found you. Are you okay?”

Wynne was a slew of nervous words accompanied by the innate fear that clung to every human that lived here. A fear that Hamstring hadn’t taken much stock in. Humans were fearful creatures, but as Wynne talked, their nervousness seeping into each aspect of the conversation, Hamstring tilted her head to the side. Wynne was one of the bravest people Hamstring knew. What were they doing with fear? Their greeting was a jumble of half finished words and winding sentences. That was all Hamstring seemed to get around here. From Regan and now Wynne. What was it that kept everyone scared? Hamstring was having the time of her life training to be a banshee, taking in the new sights, living a life that belonged to someone else. She was excited to go home, sure, but the time she had spent here had been interesting. And then there was the time she’d spent with Declan which had been, well, better not to think about that too much right now. 

“I’m Hamstring here.” Hamstring had heard the start of the N on their greeting. “It’s my banshee name.” Did Wynne know this was a banshee town? The secretness of the supernatural was something that evaded Hamstring even to this day. Also she had promised to not discuss her training, but could she say she was training at all? Better to not risk it. “I’m a banshee now. A before banshee.” What made a banshee a before banshee into a real banshee was something that flitted just out of Hamstring’s reach. A conversation, she was sure, that changed when she entered the room. All she knew was Regan advised her over and over again to be wary of the other banshees, to lie to them about who she spent her time with, and to not get close to anyone. But Hamstring had known Regan back in the days of Wicked’s Rest and it seemed like that was just how Regan chose to live her life. Refusing to get to know anyone, attempting to stay aloof and disinterested. Regan was silly like that. If she wasn’t silly, they would still be in Wicked’s Rest, surrounded by people who weren’t trying to control their lives. 

“Regan is fine. I think. I know she doesn’t want to be here, I think she’ll be ready to go home soon. She keeps telling me she’ll get me out of this, but I think she knows I’m not leaving without her.” The hug was unexpected, but not unwelcome. Hamstring patted her friend on the back, still awkward when it came to physical affection. “They consider her a baby because she’s a disappointment among banshees.” That was something Hamstring was able to work out, despite the conversations being held in Gaelic. The universal look and tone of disappointment was one she would recognize anywhere. “That’s why her grandma wanted her back here, to be not a baby. Yes she has wings. They’re sick. Wouldn’t it be cool if we had wings? I’ll probably get mine when I become a banshee.” Hamstring took a breath, trying to remember everything Wynne had said. “Who did you come with? I can take you to Regan, I’m staying in the same house as her.” 

There was something so bittersweet about being here, about having succeeded to get into the aos sí without major or minor injury and finding Nora. There was a rush that had come with it and Wynne had found themself infected with Elias’ spirit. But then they’d ended up by themself and that endless dread that had made a house of their body over a decade ago had taken over. They were where they were supposed to be, but the people spoke a different language and reminded them of the other suspected banshee they knew and they were afraid. Of being chastised for what they had done at their own commune, of being sniffed out as having lived past what fate had mandated. 

And seeing Nora? It was good, it was great, it had been met with a spontaneous hug that they’d probably overthink later. But it was also bad, because there were scabs on her arms and she was talking about things that made no sense. “Hamstring,” Wynne repeated, “Okay. I have been telling people my name is Alys, I don’t even know why.” Maybe there was something Emilio had said about that, they didn’t remember now. “I … you … But No-hamstring, you’re a … something else.” They lowered their voice and looked very serious. “I don’t think banshees can turn into bears.”

At the mention of Regan they straightened a little. “I still don’t — I think she should have never come.” They looked around. “This place is strange. They like sacrifice even more than at home.” And Wynne still remembered how that had ended. Spilled guts, a demon fight, a dead brother. Maybe this place wasn’t built like that, though, but luck often wasn’t in their favor like that. They looked back at Nora. “They are all very daft if they think that she is a disappointment. She’s one of the smartest people I know, and also very mature. Not at all a baby. You know, she gave me so much advice and so much help with things at home and I wish she’d follow it, because it was good advice. And then she wouldn’t be here.” They were rambling again. “Have you met her grandma? Is she … what’s she like?” Wynne shook their head, not sure if they were disagreeing with the notion of Nora growing wings or just hoping to scramble their thoughts. “I came with Elias. Do you know him? I lost him. I don’t … I hope he’s okay. There are not many men here.” They fiddled with one of the bones in their pocket. “I would like that. Also, what’s … why are you hurt?”

“Alys? Sick name. Are you pretending to be a before banshee as well?” Wynne didn’t seem to like the idea that Hamstring was a before banshee here. Sure, in the back of Hamstring’s mind she knew that she was a bugbear. But there was something nice about being part of a community. Cliodhna often praised her. Regan’s grandma was not the monster Regan had led Hamstring to believe. Everyday Hamstring received affirmations from her, that she would claim her birthright and prove her birth parents were fools to abandon her. It felt like family. And then there was Declan. Regan was constantly warning Hamstring away from him, but Regan… Well, Hamstring didn’t know Regan’s problem, apart from being obviously unhappy here. Part of her thought that Regan was jealous of how well Hamstring was excelling here, in a way that she had never. “I don’t see any rules that say that.” Was all Hamstring responded, obstinate as ever.

“Did your home also collect bones? I’ve seen them throwing a party over an elk carcass.” Hamstring paused for a moment, taking in the positive things Wynne had to say about Regan. “Yeah, she’s smart. I think they just hold her to a higher standard. It’s all weird here. What you are in the outside world doesn’t matter. The only thing they care about is how good of a banshee you are.” Hamstring was a born banshee, she’d found. Lack of emotion was considered a positive trait in banshees. So was ability with knives. The bone thing was a little weird, but she wasn’t going to judge people for their hobbies. “She gave you advice?” Hamstring turned that over, back in Wicked’s Rest the only thing Regan had told Nora was she wasn’t a bear because it wasn’t possible to be a bear. Then that she would find other bears. But before she found other bears, she went to Ireland. There was also that time Regan told Nora she was going to die, and Nora believed it because she turned into a crystal monster. None of that was helpful. “That was nice of her.”

“Cliodhna is nice.” Hamstring answered with a shrug. “She welcomed me into her home, she gave me a knife. She set me up with a guide so I wouldn’t get lost.” Hamstring shrugged again. “Oh shit? Elias actually came? I mean, I didn’t think he was brave enough.” Hamstring had been goading him online, about how he was a bad friend for letting Regan go, then suddenly asking to be told of any developments so he could help. “Good for him. He’ll be fine. I’ll keep an eye out for him, and send him towards you if I see him. Where are you staying?” Since Wynne indicated they would like to know where Regan was, Hamstring tilted her head for Wynne to follow and started leading the way. “It’s because of t-” The words choked in her mouth, the remembrance of a promise stopping her. “Accidents happen, you know?” Hamstring swallowed back the previous explanation, hoping the lie would be enough. “No big deal.” 

“I’m trying. I guess. Dr Kavanagh thought I was one, when we met. But I’m trying not to speak to too many people. That’s probably for the best. Right?” Wynne dreaded coming across someone and them sniffing their fate-abandoning ways. Even if Regan had said that their fate hadn’t been to die, they still weren’t sure if it was true. Nora was speaking about rules and they frowned. “I don’t think – sometimes rules aren’t everywhere to read. Maybe there are unspoken ones. I just —” They shrugged. “What if they find out that you’re not that?” They would hurt her, wouldn’t they? They would hurt all of them. They had to leave.

“Uh, yes. We saved the ones from animals we sacrificed. Small ones we sewed into things. Rabbit phalanges for good luck, those kinds of things.” But they wouldn’t work now. Maybe they had never worked. Wynne grit their teeth at the notion that the outside world didn’t matter, the notion familiar. “That’s not good. It matters. What happens outside of here. What she did, there. I don’t think these are good people, No-Hamstring.” The frown on their face was etched on now, hard to erase. Maybe they’d come home permanently frowning. “Yes. She came to my old home with me. She helped me with the demon. She told me I can find a different duty.” They seemed bitterly amused. “I guess this is it.” 

Nora said Cliodhna was nice and Wynne wasn’t sure how true that could be. They would like to think that Regan’s grandmother was nice, because that would be a good thing for Regan, but they figured it was more complicated than that. “Sometimes nice people aren’t good,” they concluded. “I am glad she hasn’t hurt you.” Yet, yet, yet, they thought. The frown continued to form on their face. “Will he? I don’t know — I don’t see a lot of men here. I don’t want him to get in trouble.” They started following Nora, eyes wide and focused on their surroundings. “I’m not sure where I’m staying. I’m not intending on staying. We should go as soon as possible.” They ignored their important surroundings now, staring at Nora. “Did someone hurt you? I know — I know you’re brave and you –” They remembered punching Nora, how it had affected her in such an atypical way. Was this like this? Or was this like when they’d sliced open their thumb and smeared blood on the altar at home? Did it matter? A cut was a cut was a cut. They didn’t want to see any mar Nora’s skin. “Be more careful.”

"Maybe," Hamstring let the world trail off. She wasn't known for an excess of small talk. Most of her time was spent slinking around the shadows, exploring and feeding off what residual fear she could get close to. It was hard to live without a full meal. Hunger for fear gnawed at her. It left her feeling shaky, snappy and on edge. Wasting away. If she spent enough time sulking around, searching for Saol Eile's flakiest of humans, it was almost the same as scaring someone. For a moment a thought piqued her interest. What if she tracked down Elias and scared him. He already knew she was scary. That could be a tasty opportunity for her. She'd keep that in the back pocket. "Rules are made to be broken, anyway. Alys, it's chill. They aren't going to find out." 

The identical white buildings were a maze. Each white washed building was identical to its neighbors, perhaps a different bone would decorate the doorstep, or window sills, but everything on the stone path was made equal. In a way it was reminiscent of walking the forests around Wicked's Rest. It was easy to get drawn into the beauty of the place, get lost on a winding path and find yourself dead to a monster. Something Hamstring had never feared there and wouldn't fear here. 

"Oh yeah, they blow up animals here all the time then use the bones." It wasn't uncommon to walk by a banshee, hear the sharp intake of breath, followed by an ear piercing shriek, and ended in silence only filled with the red mist of animal exploding coating the air. Or if they are an unusually expressive banshee, mirthful laughter. "I know what happened outside of here mattered, but it doesn't to them. In here is the only thing that matters. What Regan did out there matters to me. That's why I'm here. To bring her home." Or at least, that's what she kept telling Regan every day before slipping away to her own adventures. "She was right. You can find a different duty. Is that why you're here? Out of duty?"

"She couldn't hurt me, even if she wanted to." Hamstring lowered her voice. "We both know I'm a monster. I'm playing my role here, the pre-banshee, but I will always be a monster." And it was fun to pretend she wasn't while here. While being accepted here. "I am the wolf in sheep's clothing here, Wy-Alys. It's fine. You've been talking to Emilio too much, he's telling you to worry for no reason. I've got this handled." Perhaps this was the saddest statement Hamstring could make, because she truly believed what she was saying. "No one hurt me. I can't talk about it, because-" Her words cut off as she realized the promise to not talk about banshee training might be part of the training. "It's complicated, we'll talk about it later." 

Nora was their friend — they were certain of that fact. There had been certain moments in their relationship that had cemented that, like when Wynne had punched her or when they had shared in their affection for Emilio. There had been the hospital, where Nora had said it had been dumb, that they’d been expected to die. They were friends, but that didn’t mean that Wynne always knew what Nora was about. She was so differently wired from them, despite their similarities, and it frustrated them. They couldn’t chill. They couldn’t break rules. “But what if they do? They — they will! If you stay too long. And they are dangerous, Normstring. They will hurt you.” And Nora wouldn’t care, which they wouldn’t comprehend. 

They battled their frustration with their awe and fear, all the emotions crashing over them as they witnessed the fae community around them. It looked quaint, it looked like home if you looked past the architectural differences. There were impressive bones displayed in windowsills and when they saw a skinned rabbit they almost stopped in their tracks. 

But their lack of understanding returned when Nora spoke of animals being blown up with an air of casualness that was foreign to them. Wynne had never sounded so cool and relaxed about anything, let alone death. “Blow them … up? With their screams?” They shivered at the thought. They had killed animals before, though had always done so with a quiet reverence for their life. “I know. It’s – I think that’s, you know, what they did back at home. With me. They made the outside world sound bad and scary and like it didn’t matter. And because of that we stayed. You know? And then I went out, and it wasn’t all that bad.” They were quiet for a moment, the realization dawning on them. Wynne shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. I just want to help my friends like they helped me. You, Regan. She helped me with my family. I should do the same for her.”

And back was the frown, deeper and deeper than before. “You are not above being hurt,” they stated. “You are not immune to injury or pain.” It was not a nice statement to make, but Nora was sounding so lackadaisical that it seemed like it had to be made. “There are a lot of people here, and just one you. I — I am worried! You should be worried. You don’t even – you sneaked into the country, Nora!” Wynne clamped their jaws shut as they realized how loud they’d been speaking, how they’d said her name. “I’m sorry.” They balled their fists, shoved them in the pockets of their skirt. “Fine. Just – don’t – just think.”

Some similarities weaved themselves around Wynne and Nora, an intricate textile of parallels. Destined to be similar but never the same. Both were raised with the understanding that their purpose wasn't one of their choosing. Wynne was raised to die for the cult, a promise to a demon that they loved him. Nora was raised as a tool to gain public affection, a marketing strategy to make a one percent family feel relatable to the masses. Both of them had been told this was their past, present and future. Their personal preferences were never taken into account. Both of them ran away to forge a fate of their choosing. What Hamstring saw now, was Wynne learned self-preservation. It made her proud. Wynne was fighting for themselves and those they loved. That was what Hamstring had been preaching for a while now, however, self-preservation sat out of reach for her. Her body felt disjointed, a tool but not fully herself. When Wynne had punched her, pain had radiated through her body, but there was no internal mechanism that jumped into place that told her to defend herself. There was no fear that it might happen again. It had been a shock to her system, and nothing more. 

That was how Hamstring managed to be chill about Ireland. If a banshee screamed at her, as Regan had already done twice, it would hurt but it wouldn't be the end of the world. Hamstring did not fear being thrown into a tree, wall, ceiling, or whatever other object she could be thrown into. Because the pain would be fleeting, Hamstring would still be hamstring, and everything would work out. Fear, as ever, was only an emotion she knew about through tasting it in the air. "What happens will happen. Until then, it's chill." It was accompanied by a half-shrug. At this point, Hamstring had survived more than she could imagine. Two hunters, the mines, and family disappointment, all stood behind her and she stood here. It would be fine. 

Hamstring nodded along as Wynne described the tools the cult had used to control them, comparing them with what Hamstring had said about Saol Eile. "Be sure to tell Regan that. She might listen to you. I hope she listens to you." There was a piece of glass between Hamstring and Regan, they could see each other speaking, they could gesticulate at each other, but the words never met each other. A continued misunderstanding that had no end in sight. Recently, Hamstring was secretly glad about it. Because that misunderstanding meant she got to keep going to the waterfall, splashing in the water, laughter, and smiles. Moments that would end when she left. 

"I'm not above being hurt." Hamstring agreed, pulling herself from her thoughts and stopping before a whitewashed house that matched every other house on the row. This was it. The final destination. "But I am still the scariest thing here. I am a wolf in sheep's clothing that they are not ready for. The advantage of surprise or something." Hamstring leaned against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. "One against them all is nothing." Until a year ago, her world had always been one against them all. "Cliodhna shouldn't be home right now if you want to go in. I'd follow you, but Regan gets pissed at the sight of me. Your odds are better without me. If she's not here she's at the medical center." Hamstring made sure to point out the direction. "Good luck." 

They wished they were a banshee, only so they could scream unwarranted. Wynne was usually better at ignoring their frustration, but this wasn’t a usual situation. They had flown in a plane, had traveled a foreign country and stared at empty, endless hills until they’d heard a scream and Saol Eile had revealed itself. They were exhausted, they were scared and worried. They were a bit angry, even. And Nora said it was chill, which was a word they would never use, but especially not in this kind of situation.

Maybe it was good, to not always see bears on the road, to be chill until trouble arrived, but it wasn’t a way they were able to think. In that respect they maybe were like Emilio – always ready to assume the worst when things started closing in. And this situation warranted pessimism, didn’t it? This was a bad place with cruel people. It was best to expect the worst, they figured, not to chill. “Is it? I don’t — I don’t think it is. Chill. I don’t think it is chill at all.” 

They had expected that Nora wouldn’t want to go, that she’d be stubborn and resistant, but that didn’t mean Wynne liked it. They just wanted to collect their people and go. To get in and get out, the way they had back at Moosehead, and not spend a minute more in a place filled with dangerous women than necessary. Women who could blow someone up with a scream and who kept the outside world at bay. “I will try. I hope she listens too.” They weren’t awfully convincing, though, were they? At least Wynne thought they weren’t, considering that chronic tremble in their voice and step. 

Nora called herself the scariest thing there and they didn’t have it in them to tell her that she was wrong. But to Wynne unknown factors and threats would always be scarier than what Nora was, which was a good monster who could make scary things happen but was also just Nora. “Well,” they said. “You should — it’s not just one, because I’m also here now. And Elias, if he’s still –” They swallowed. “Okay.” They looked at the house, eyes wide, and then followed Nora’s finger to the direction of the medical center. “I’ll find you again, okay? And just … get your stuff. We should leave soon.” They tried to sound certain of themself. They were leaving, full stop. They hesitated for a moment, then reached for another quick hug. “Be careful. Hamstring.” They looked Nora up and down and moved into the house, hoping that their reunion with Regan would follow soon after this initial one.

[aceofwhump]

I'm rereading ABOSAA and I completely forgot this even happened but I love it:

He could not bear to think of it, save in the most fleeting way, but knew he could never forget the slightest thing about it. His throat closed suddenly again. Brianna looked searchingly into his face, saw his hand touch the ragged rope scar on his throat. “Can you breathe?” she said anxiously. He shook his head, but it wasn’t true, he was breathing, somehow, though it felt as though his throat had been crushed in some huge hand, larynx and windpipe mangled into a bloody mass. He flapped a hand to indicate that he would be all right, much as he doubted it himself. She came round behind him, pulled his hand from his throat, and laid her own fingers lightly over the scar. “It’ll be all right,” she said quietly. “Just breathe. Don’t think. Just breathe.”

Gosh I love Roger so much (f the haters) 😭. I wish we got to see more of his recovery in the show.

YAAAAS!!! YES YES YES YES YES YES!!!!!! Oh my god that passage is so good!! I loved that part so much!! Him triggered into a panic attack and Bree comforting him through it. God it's so good. Diana's whump writing is really A+.

Okay heads up because I'm about to write a book as a response, I'm sorry not sorry lol.

I love Roger so so much and every scene in the show is a gift but god yes I wish more was shown too!!! Especially this kind of stuff!! Cause that scene in ABOSAA is just so good.

There's a lot about how the show translated book Roger into screen Roger that infuriates me (NOT ONE MENTION OF "À SMEÒRAICH"!? SERIOUSLY!?) but nearly completely skipping and overlooking the trauma and recovery Roger goes through after being hanged is infuriating. I HATE IT. I understand that it'd be weird and difficult to have Rik just not speak (or speak in a way that'd be damaging to his vocal chords) for several episodes but personally I think it would have been INCREDIBLE and I think it'd have made an excellent acting challenge for Rik. He did so well in 5x08 with no dialogue. Like his expressions and body language acting were so good and he was able to say so much with zero dialogue. He could have done that for longer and been amazing. And they had him go back to speaking with no problem and there's no scar or gravelly voice when he does start speaking again outside of 5x08. I mean, 5x08 is the only episode that is forgiven because it's the only episode to have any aftereffects of his hanging. Although I will admit I did like hearing Roger sing more because Richard's voice is beautiful but he should not have been able to go back to singing like he had before. It was frustrating!

I hate how the show glosses over it all. Thinking about the books, we didn't see when Claire, Jamie, and Bree found him hanging, cut him down and performed a tracheotomy right there. I mean I guess we did but was all smushed together in one very quick silent film style scene so the gravity of the situation was glossed over. It was an interesting way to show his flashbacks and I approved of that but god we should have seen the scene in full to really understand what happened to him. We didn't get to hear Jamie tell him "You are alive. You are whole. All is well.". Yeah it was kinda included in the silent film scene but image if we could have HEARD him say it. If it had been given focus/attention. We didn't see anything of how Bree cared for him afterwards, sitting next to him unconscious in bed with a tube in his neck to breathe, singing to him, speaking to him in Gaelic. We didn't see Jamie's anger at the grievous harm done to his son-in-law or hear him actually say the word "son" further cementing how Jamie views Roger as his family and that he actually does care about him. We didn't see how angry and worried for Roger Jamie actually was. We didn't see Claire lay a sleeping Jemmy on an unconscious Roger and Roger instinctively reach up to cradle his baby to him. We didn't see Roger slowly recovering, a tube in his throat in order to breathe at all. We didn't see the scene when Roger, still unable to speak, tries to tell Jamie who was responsible for him being hanged through a series of writing and charades because his fingers are broken and his throat was crushed. We only got ONE episode of his depression and how the trauma of being hanged really affected him. ONE EPISODE. Then all was fine.

And Roger suffers physically and mentally because of the hanging for a long time and never truly recovers from it. He's able to speak again but his voice becomes more gravelly and he avoids speaking in front of large groups for quite a while because he's self conscious of it and it actually hurts him to speak. He's never able to sing like he used to again and it took a long time for him to even try singing at all and even longer to sing in front of others. For a while he'd only sing for Jemmy. And his singing is such a vital part of his identity it really throws his sense of self upside down and he becomes so lost. On top of all that he's suffering from PTSD as well. He has nightmares of the hanging and dreams of being able to sing only to wake up to the reality where he can't anymore. He has panic attacks and flashbacks. I mean even the rest of the part of what you shared is just as good:

"Her fingers were cold and her hands smelled of dirt. There was water in his eyes. He blinked, wanting to see the room, the hearth and candle and dishes and loom, to convince himself of where he was. A drop of warm moisture rolled down his cheek. He tried to tell her that it was all right, he wasn’t crying, but she merely pressed closer, holding him across the chest with one arm, the other hand still cool on the painful lump in his throat. Here breasts were soft against his back, and he could fee, rather than hear, her humming, the small tuneless noise she made when she was anxious, or concentrating very hard. Finally the spasm began to ease, and the feel of choking left him. His chest swelled with the unbelievable relief of a free breath, and she let go."

Then there's the actually physical recovery. The rope leaves a jagged scar on throat. His fingers were broken from prying at the rope around his neck. He had a tube in his throat from the surgery Claire performed on him to save his life.

Some of my favorite book scenes from The Fiery Cross and A Breathe of Snow and Ashes were either omitted from the show completely or downplayed and it infuriates me.

[hummingbird-of-light]

Against All Odds

Part 825

McCoy

McCoy stared at Scotty, trying to keep his eyes from drifting down his fiancé’s bare chest. Before Harriet’s he had pictured this; them together, undressing each other, hard kisses in the shower as they scrubbed the grimy feeling of Ronan’s house away.

But Scotty was mad now. And he was right. McCoy didn’t know when to shut his damn mouth.

“I- it- I couldn’t let her—”

“It wasn’t your place to!” Scotty said, looking away from him. He muttered something in Gaelic under his breath. “Everything was going well for once.”

“Scotty… I’m—” McCoy took a tentative step forward and lifted his hand to touch Scotty’s arm.

Scotty moved out of his reach, and looked back up, hurt in his eyes.

“No Leonard,” he said quietly, but firmly. He gave a gentle shake of his head. “Not now.”

“Fine,” McCoy bit out, harder than he meant. “Fine.” He turned and exited the bathroom. His feet took him to Scotty’s room.

Inside the room he closed the door and stripped out of his own clothes. He hadn’t touched anything at Ronan’s house, but the smell lingered on his clothes. He’d freshen up after Scotty finished.

Scotty.

He’d be done with his shower and back in his room to dress soon enough. His eyes had shown his hurt and anger. McCoy hated it. He stood again and left the room. Scotty should have it to himself to think.

But where should he go then? He also felt a need to be alone. He could go to the back garden, but eventually someone would come out and want to know what was going on. As McCoy headed down the stairs he thought of a place he could be alone.

Careful to be quiet as he walked, he slipped through the door to the basement. Granddad wouldn’t mind, he was sure. He wouldn’t touch anything after all. He just wanted to be somewhere out of the way until Scotty was ready to be around him again.

He looked around. The basement was quite sparse compared to when he had been in it the previous summer. Many of Granddad’s tools sat on some hastily made shelves. Most of anything that survived the fire had been in the basement. A stool stood near a small table, but McCoy walked across the room and settled on the floor, back against the wall.

He dropped his head across his arms that were resting on his knees. When would he ever learn? His chest tightened as he held back a sob. How long would Scotty be mad? McCoy hadn’t meant to hurt him, he just couldn’t stand someone else being rude to his fiancé. And from the way Harriet had said it, it hadn’t been her first time talking that way to her nephew.

Anger coiled in McCoy’s stomach. Did she talk to her own children like that as well? His thoughts began to race as he went back through everything that had happened.

He didn’t know how long he had been in the basement by himself when a voice startled him.

“Aye lad, let’s go.”

McCoy looked up to see Granddad looking down at him from the stairs. The look on the older man’s face left no room for questions. McCoy pushed himself up and dusted himself off.

“Spock told me all that happened,” Granddad said as McCoy walked towards him.

“I didn’t mean to hurt Scotty,” McCoy said quietly. “I just wanted to defend him.”

McCoy followed Alasdair up the stairs, through the door and towards the front door.

“What— where are we—”

“To fix this,” Granddad said firmly. He pointed to the passenger seat of the car. “Get in.”

“But- Spock—”

“He knows,” Granddad said. “He agrees.”

McCoy’s shoulders slumped, but he did as Granddad said.

Part 826

Scotty

Hot water was running down his body, washing away the tears that were streaming down his cheeks. He sobbed heavily, shoulders trembling.

Why did it always have to go wrong? Why couldn't they just have their peace? It wasn't fair!

The more he thought about it, the more he hated himself for how he had talked to Leonard. His fiancé had finally spoken out just how Scotty and everyone else felt about Harriet. Could he really blame him for it?

To Leonard it was only natural to speak his mind. He was protective and didn't like it when the people he loved got hurt. He wanted to do everything in his power to defend these people.

If only Scotty hadn't let it come to it. If only he had gone alone.

He hated her. Scotty hated Aunt Harriet with all his heart. She had hurt so many people he loved. His father, his mother, his grandfather. Yet still, he had never managed to stand up against her.

Maybe because he pitied her somehow. After Scotty's grandmother had died, Harriet had started to drink. That way she had lost her husband and the kids. She had lost everything.

Granddad and the rest of the family had often tried to help her, but she had pushed them all away. She still blamed everyone for her mother's death, said that the others hadn't done enough to save her.

She was actually a really sad person.

When Scotty got out of the shower and grabbed a towel, there was a knock at the door. He quickly wrapped the towel around his lower body and headed over to the door to unlock it.

"Len?"

His voice was quite hopeful, but it wasn't his love standing in front of the door. It was his brother.

"Monty," he said with a sad look on his face. He had probably heard about what had happened from Spock.

They stared at each other for a moment before Robbie held up the pile of clothing he had brought with him.

"Take some clothes on and we talk at my room?"

Scotty looked at the clothes, then grabbed them, giving his brother a thankful nod.

"Aye. I'll be with ye in a minute."

Scotty sat down next to Robbie on the boy's bed. They stayed silent for a while until the younger Scott brother let out a heavy sigh.

"Wanna tell me how ye feel?"

The older brother shrugged.

"Don't know. Horrible? Awful? Like an idiot?"

He buried his face in his hands and felt Robbie's arm wrapping around his shoulder, pulling him closer.

"Was it really that bad?" the lad carefully asked and Scotty's hands dropped back into his lap.

"Aye, it was! The visit went horrible and then Len and I fought and... I feel so, so stupid."

More tears started to form in his eyes again and he quickly blinked them away.

"I have to apologize to him," Scotty whispered, already about to stand up, but Robbie held him back.

"That's not possible right now," he explained and Scotty's brows furrowed in confusion as he frowned.

"What? Why?"

Robbie let out another sigh, then gave his big brother a weak smile.

"Granddad took Leonard with him. They're going to see Aunt Harriet again."

Scotty's eyes widened in shock. He slowly shook his head in disbelief.

"They... what?"

Why hadn't they told him about it? They should have talked to him!

"Don't worry, a bhràthair. They'll get it sorted out. Trust me."

Scotty could only hope that Robbie was right.

[leftoverenvy]

Tastes Like Sugar (ch. 14)

Summary: India Mae, or Indi, is a music major, struggling to pay bills, tuition, work, and make good grades.  Emily Prentiss is a BAU profiler, as well as a DC socialite thanks to her huge family fortune.  The two enter into a mutually beneficial arrangement: Emily will pay for Indi's school if Indi accompanies Emily to her social functions for a few months, posing as her girlfriend.  As weeks go by, the lines between their arrangement and their true feelings start to blur.  But money can't buy love, right?

Pairing: India Mae Banks x Emily Prentiss; OC x Emily Prentiss

Warnings: eventual smut; sugar baby relationships; age gap (16 years - but all over 18)

Word Count: 3.1k

Read on Wattpad | Ao3 | Previous Chapters

Taglist: @ssa-sapphic 🧸; @5raysofsunshine 🌮; @reidselle 🦭; @milfprotector 🐝💚; @gaelic-symphony 🎻 ; @scargarcia-magshotchner 💜; @sadgirlml 🌻💌; @hotchs-bitch ; @multiverse-mxdness ; @spencersendgame

Chapter 14 - Redrawing Boundaries

A/n: Watch out for POV shifting in this chapter!

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India Mae's POV: I was rushing in the door, my backpack falling off my shoulder, keys slipping out of my grasp.  To add insult to injury, my phone started ringing.  I kicked the backdoor closed with my foot, slamming it a bit too hard.  I winced and thanked god Emily wasn't home to see that.

Before even checking the caller ID, I answered with a breathless, "Hello?"

"Hi!  Remember me?  Just your best friend who you never see anymore because you moved out to be with your sugar momma.  Remember her?  Speaking of, you sounded breathless.  What are you doing?" I could hear the smirk in her voice.  I laughed, letting all my stuff fall out of my arms to the floor.

"Hi Penelope.  Yes, I remember you.  Don't be dramatic."

"Well I miss you," she huffed.  "And I'm kidnapping you for a drink soon."

"I'm sorry, Pen.  I've been a horrible friend.  I miss you so much, too."  I looked at the time. "Kidnap me tonight.  Let's go out tonight."

"Yes!  Meet there?"

"Sure, what time?"  I mentally calculated how long it would take me to drive into the city.

"No wait!" she interrupted herself.  "Come here now?  And we can get ready together like old times?"  I smiled widely.  That sounded so fun.

"Yes!" I agreed enthusiastically.  "Let me pack up a bag and I'll meet you at your apartment."  I paused.  Her apartment.  When had I started viewing Emily's home as my home?

We quickly said goodbye and I immediately texted Emily.

Indi🥰: Going out for a drink with Penelope tonight. Are you okay to get dinner on your own?

Em💘💗: You know, I did just fine on my own for 38 years…I think I can manage dinner for one night.

Indi🥰: You sure? I wouldn't want to be responsible for you burning your house down…

Em💘💗: Cute, India. Careful or that mouth will get you in trouble.

My stomach flipped.  I had the inexplicable urge to find out just how much trouble I could get in.  Should I push this?  Even though I had asked what we were doing, what our kisses meant, we still hadn't satisfactorily defined what this was.  We had both admitted we had feelings for each other, but what did that mean?  Were we dating?  Were we committed?  Exclusive?  I decided since I wouldn't be home tonight, I could stand to push our amorphous, shifting boundaries.

Indi🥰: How much?

Em💘💗: India Mae…

Indi🥰: Not the full name! Indi🥰: 😇😇😇

Em💘💗: Your halo is not as shiny as you might think, angel. Have fun tonight. 😘

Indi🥰: Thank you babe! Don't wait up for me 💗

I was mildly disappointed Emily cut us off so short.  Maybe I had misread the situation and she didn't want to flirt like that.  It was all so confusing.  All the more reason to go get drunk with Penelope tonight.  I quickly darted upstairs, grabbed a few outfit choices appropriate for the club, my makeup, and some shoes.  I flew down the stairs.  I hadn't been this excited to go out in a while.  Usually, Penelope had to drag me out kicking and screaming, but I missed her, and tonight was just what I needed.

______________________________

The prospect of Penelope coming over was exciting.  Getting so busy with school and so lost in Emily had shifted my attention.  But I missed her dearly.  When I knocked, she burst open the door already squealing.  "Indi!  I missed you so much.  Do NOT go this long without hanging out with me again.  I mean it."

"I promise.  And I really am sorry."  She pulled me in a tight embrace.  "Ease up, Pen.  You're going to suffocate me."

"Sorry!  I'm just so excited for tonight.  I made Penny Punch in honor of tonight."  She waggled her eyebrows.  I groaned internally – Penny Punch usually destroyed me.

Penelope and I bounced around her bathroom, mascara wands and curling irons in our hands.  We screamed lyrics to each other, hyping ourselves up for tonight.  We may have pregamed a little too well.  The Penny Punch lived up to its name tonight, packing a punch like nothing else.

"Quick, Indi!  Let me curl this last section of your hair.  The uber is going to be here so soon."

"We should have started with hair, Pen.  I don't know if I trust you with a hot instrument near my head," I teased.

"Puh-lease!" she objected.  "I am fine to do your hair."

"Famous last words…" I muttered.

"I promise.  It's almost done anyway," she dismissed.  "Just a few more pieces in the back.  I'm just touching up your natural curls."  Her phone dinged.  "Ah!  We have to go!  Let's skedaddle." She quickly unplugged the curling iron, grabbed her lipstick, and we rushed out of the bathroom and downstairs.

The Uber driver undoubtedly knew we were sloshed.  She was such a good sport about turning the music up and letting us be fools in the backseat.  As soon as we buckled in, the night of dancing had started.  Before I slid out of the backseat, I handed her a $5 bill as a thank you for letting us be so loud and rowdy.

We immediately grabbed a drink at the bar and headed out to the dance floor.  It felt just like old times.  Though I loved being with Emily, I hadn't realized how much I had missed Penny.  We bopped around at first and then started grinding together jokingly when our favorite song came on.  I threw my head back and laughed at how ridiculous we were being.

"Well well well!"  I heard a male's voice boom over the music.  "Miss India Mae."  I turned around shocked to hear someone use my full name.

Oh!  It was Em's coworker…the bald, black one.  "Hi, uh…Sorry I don't remember your name."

"Derek."  Right.  He still intimidated me.  Emily assured me he was a respectable guy, but I still had my guard up.  Anyone who called me Sugar Lips merited a bit of caution.

"Hi Derek.  Nice to see you again.  This is my best friend, Penelope," I said dragging her forward.

"OH!  I thought you were stepping out on Prentiss," he half joked.  My eyes widened.  I hadn't even thought about what dancing like that with Penelope had looked like.

"I would never!  We're just having a girls' night."

"Is Prentiss here?" he asked looking around.  I chuckled at the thought of Emily being in a club like this.  She would absolutely hate it.

"God no!  Can you imagine?"  He laughed with me. 

"No, I cannot."  He turned towards Penelope.  "And what do we have here?  Sexy mama," he said picking up her hand and kissing her on the back of the hand.  I almost threw up.  Surely this wouldn't work.  But then I heard Penelope giggle.

"Penelope Garcia.  Nice to meet you."  She looked at me and jerked her head towards the bar.  I was a good wing woman; I would make myself scarce.

"I'm gonna get a drink!"  I nearly sprinted away from them.  I had a feeling they were going to be uncomfortably disgusting.  I grabbed another drink and found a table in the corner.  I pulled out my phone to text Emily and saw I already had several texts from her.

Em💘💗: Hope you're having fun tonight. Please be safe. Em💘💗: Call me if you need a ride anywhere. I don't care how late it is. Do NOT drive. Or take a cab. Em💘💗: Please let me know when you settle for the night so I know you're safe. ❤️

I was just about to hit send on my response when Penelope bounded over to the table.  "God!  That mocha chocolate thunder is simply a delight.  I need a taste of that."

"God!  Gross, Pen.  Boundaries!" I complained.

"How's this for boundaries?  I invited him over tonight, I hope that's cool.  I thought maybe you'd stay over, but…" I cringed.  There was absolutely NO way I would be staying in my old room tonight.  The room that shared a wall with Penelope's.

"Thanks for the heads up.  I think I'll take an Uber back to Em's," I said stiffly.

"You're still uptight about sex," she pointed out.  "Which means you aren't having it.  You've been there a month, and you mean to tell me you aren't having sex?!  Why?" she demanded to know. 

"It's complicated, Pen.  You know that isn't why I'm there."  For some reason, I felt the need to keep our recent kisses to myself.  They felt so personal, so sacred.  I wanted them to just be ours for a little bit longer.  "It's just…what we agreed on earlier.  Nothing's changed."  That last part came out mournfully because it was partly true.  I desperately wanted to be her girl, and she was moving so slowly.  I idly wondered if I could get her attention and move things along myself.

"Ready to go?  I paid your tab," Derek said walking up to the table.  Penelope's face split in a huge grin.

"You okay if I go?" she asked turning to me.

"Yes, yes!  Get out of here.  Have fun," I said with a soft smile. 

I walked over to the bar and paid my own tab.  I was thankful for Emily and the black credit card I now had courtesy of her.  A few months ago, I would have had a panic attack at my $55 bar tab.  Instead, I signed the receipt without batting an eye, and I left a generous tip.  It took me way longer than it should have to sign though.  Things were far more difficult when you were seeing double.

If I thought signing the receipt was difficult, ordering an Uber was nearly impossible.  I had to ask the bartender for help.  She was so sweet and promptly put the order in.  "You sure you want to Uber here?  It's so far away.  It says it will cost $63."

"I gotta get home.  It's no big deal."  Who was I?  No big deal dropping over $100 in one night?  But soon, I was off in the Uber, excited to get home to Emily.

______________________________

Emily's POV: I clicked the TV off.  I hadn't been watching it anyway, too lost in my thoughts.  Indi hadn't texted me where she was going, just that she was going out with Penelope.  Even worse, she hadn't texted me back even though it said she had read the messages.  I was trying my hardest not to be an overbearing control freak.  I was thankful she had texted me this time at all.  And I didn't want to discourage her communicating by getting unnecessarily angry again.  Thanks to years of mandated therapy, I could identify that my anger now was actually rooted in worry for her.

I couldn't help but fret about her being out alone.  She was tiny.  And way too hot for her own good.  I stood up from the couch, ready to call it a night.  I had tried to stay up even though she had told me not to.  I needed to know that she made it home safely.

When my foot hit the first step, I heard a thump against the front door, a muffled giggle, and the scratch of the key trying to be inserted in the lock.  The door swung open with a loud bang against the wall.  Clumsily bursting through the door, she giggled again.  "SHH!" she said to the door, her finger over her lips.  She yanked her key out roughly and slammed the door closed.

"My my, Miss Banks.  Someone's had a good night."  She said she was going out for a drink.  And then I got a look at her.  My gaze travelled up and down her form multiple times.  She was wearing a tight, black tank top, black, high-waisted shorts, and black tights.  And to top it off, she had on black, thigh-high leather boots.  She looked sexy as hell – like my every wet dream.  I could devour her on the spot she looked so good.  But she was drunk.

"Great night," she corrected.  "But I accidmaly got jrunkk."  There was the slurred speech.  It was actually quite endearing.

"Yes, I can see that."

She leaned against the door and tugged on her boots.  They weren't budging.  She tugged harder and her whole body started to follow.  I rushed to grab her before she could face plant.  "Shoompf ate my foot," she grumbled.

"Let me help you, baby."  I unzipped her boots down nearly the entire length of her leg.  I tried not to let myself get distracted by the fact that I was kneeling in front of her, close to her delicious thighs.  She started to slump again, and I caught her, standing up quickly to support her weight.

I pulled her towards the stairs, her legs not helping me much.  "Come on, love.  Let's get to bed."

"We can't gotobed."  And she was talking a mile a minute, babbling about god knows what.  Only about a third of her words were intelligible.  I tried my best to decipher Drunk Indi-ese, but as this was my first experience with drunk Indi, I was hopeless.  But when we made it to the top of the stairs, I could have sworn I heard her say, "and Uber man spent ride over trynagetmuhnumbaber."  Rage consumed me.  She was mine.

"You should have called me, Indi!  You shouldn't have to Uber home."  That also would have prevented me from going crazy worrying about her.  But I couldn't stop all the bad scenarios from flooding my mind.  Just last year we'd had a case about a ride share driver in college towns using his work as a rouse to kidnap women – drunk out of their minds after a night at the bars – to rape and torture them.  Thinking about that happening to Indi was unbearable.

"S'not a big deal, Emm."  She was so dismissive, and it only served to flame my anger.

"It is to me," I said sharply.  "Something could have happened to you.  You were completely alone, and you're incredibly intoxicated.  How could you be so irresponsible?  You should have called me."  Rationally, I understood it was pointless to argue with a drunk person.  I wasn't even sure she would remember this in the morning.

"Mm home, aren't I?  Nofing happnd."  I shuffled her into her room.

"I'd be most displeased if something were to happen to you.  I need you in one piece."  I kissed her on the forehead.

"I dint wanna bothrr you.  You nevsleep 'nough."  The fact that she was concerned about that, even completely obliterated, made my heart ache.  She was so good, so pure.  She was always thinking of me and taking care of me.  I was happy to take care of her now.  Plus, she really was so stinkin' adorable drunk.  I pushed her towards her bed.

"Em!" she protested much too loudly in her silent bedroom.  "I can't sleep in this."  And then she started tugging on her clothes.  Dear god help me.  Before I could stop her, her shirt was over her head.  Her black, lace bra was doing wonders for her chest.  I tried my hardest to be respectful, but dear lord she was sexy.  I grabbed her shoulders and forced her to sit on the edge of her bed.  Turning my back on a shirtless India, I ran to her closet to find her some pajamas, anything to cover her up before I lost my mind.

I frantically pulled open drawers looking for a t-shirt and her favorite sleep shorts.  I heard her shuffling feet and cute giggle behind me.  I looked over my shoulder to find that she had divested herself of her shorts, as well.  My breath caught in my throat at her standing there in nothing but black lingerie and fishnets.  She would kill me by the end of the night; I was certain of it.  I grabbed the first shirt my eyes landed on next and shoved it at her.  "Baby, please.  Here." 

It took some more wrangling, and loads more giggles, but I finally got Indi dressed.  She reached behind her, eyes not daring to leave mine, a glint in them I couldn't identify.  And next thing I knew, she was holding up her bra, waving it around to show me she had taken it off.  I groaned.  Drunk India had far fewer inhibitions and it made it very difficult to be respectful.  She dropped her bra on the floor and threw her arms around my neck, launching herself into me.  My arms encircled her waist to stabilize us.  And then they tightened because I needed her closer.  Her lips attacked mine frantically.

I moaned into her kiss.  Even tainted by the sharp taste of alcohol, there was nothing sweeter than her lips.  I slowed her down and pulled back.  "Let's get you to bed, sweetheart."  Her stained, crimson lips fell into a pout.  I was reminded of her teasing earlier.  Yes her mouth could get her into quite a bit of trouble.

I finally got her into bed.  I pulled the covers up over her, tucking her in.  I couldn't help myself, and I pressed another kiss to her forehead.  "Goodnight, angel."  Her eyes were half-closed, her body already relaxing.  I pulled back slowly, not wanting to wake her back up.

"Stay…" she mumbled.

I tried to ignore it.  I desperately wanted to stay, to hold her in my arms all night.  I had been dreaming of it for nearly two months now.  Everything felt right, complete, when she was in my arms.  To have that all night was unimaginable.  I backed up slowly, my eyes never leaving her precious, peaceful face.  Her hand clung to my shirt loosely, her brow furrowing.  "Em, stay," she repeated.  Her hand feebly tugged me back towards her.

But it might as well have been a steel grip for the hold she had on me.  There wasn't anything I wouldn't give her.  I slipped into her bed and settled the covers around us.  She snuggled into my side, her head on my chest.  I smiled softly, happiness and love cocooning us. 

Conflicting thoughts warred in my mind.  This was the first night sleeping together.  It felt wrong that India wasn't conscious for this decision.  But I was much too selfish to leave.  Because having her in my arms was incomparable to anything else.  She was the most important thing in my life, and I would protect her heart at all costs.  I hugged her tighter and pressed my lips softly to her forehead.  "Goodnight, baby."

_ _ _

Continue to next chapter

[liron-ao3]

It's not that Dean doesn't like Castiel. It is more of an I-swear-on-my-mother's-grave-I'll-kill-him kinda relationship. Because the thing is, Castiel set up Dean's little brother Sam and his stepsister Rowena and it isn't that Dean could say it out loud, but he is worried. To say the least.

Rowena has a power over Sam that makes Dean's stomach flip. She conjures sappy smiles on Sam's face and makes him follow her like a love-drunk puppy. She's a witch, Dean is convinced, but he tries hard not to mention that in Sammy's orbit. He heard the whole that's-a-misogynistic-term speech when Sam was dating that Ruby chick and Dean knows that his brother would only cling closer to the Scot if he knew that Dean thinks that his fiancée is straight from hell.

So Dean grits his teeth, swallows his tongue, and plays nice around her, even going as far as agreeing to be his brother's best man. He will still be there when Sam comes running with his heart broken and with his tail between his legs.

Castiel, on the other hand? That man he can hate in abundance. Not that he has ever met him, but honestly, he has to be Lucifer himself if he thinks their siblings to be a good match.

Dean can picture him vividly—a leer on his face, sweet-talking people into feeling safe and then smiting them with the snap of his fingers. That man has to be evil incarnate and Dean won't pussyfoot around him. No way!

***

"Play nice," Bobby grumbles when they enter the venue for the rehearsal dinner.

"I am nice," Dean hisses back.

"Sure you are," his surrogate father says and makes a beeline for Ellen and Jo on the other side of the room.

Dean shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and scans the room for the man he is sure he will recognise immediately. But no one really sticks out from the crowd that is well-dressed and mostly speaking in different kinds of British accents. Family of the bride, obviously.

Dean feels a little underdressed until he spots a man in an ill-fitting suit, draped into a trenchcoat. He is standing next to a redheaded, slim woman, who Dean would probably try to get on the backseat of his Impala if he wasn't set on finding that Castiel guy, sweet talk him today and wreck him tomorrow. Unless Sam does the wise thing and cancels the wedding, which seems less and less likely by the minute. Rowena's spell seems to become stronger day by day. Dean hardly recognises his ever-worrying, self-loathing brother anymore, with all the grinning that goes on on his face.

Maybe Dean is an asshole, but he has pulled Sam from the edge too many times to count. This is too good to be true. Happiness doesn't find a Winchester. Not in his experience.

Dean walks to the other side from where the redhead smiled over to him. Maybe she can point him to the object of his hate. She tilts her head to the side when he comes closer.

"You must be Dean," she says, stretching out her hand. Dean is taken aback by her knowledge.

"How did you…?"

She shrugs. "I know nearly everyone in this room. And the only two men Sam ever mentioned were his brother and Bobby who I assume is the fella over there."

Dean looks in the direction she is nodding to. "Yeah. Sam always had more female friends."

"I think that's what Rowena likes about him. He's sensible."

Dean huffs. "Yeah, I bet she likes that he's soft for her."

"He makes her very happy," the man says and his voice does things to Dean's insides he doesn't want to nurse right now. He needs to focus on his anger. Arousal isn't helpful.

"If you say so," Dean grunts.

Anna furrows her brow. "Are you okay, Dean?" she asks concerned.

"Yeah, just not really convinced about this whole wedding business. Don't you think it's too fast?"

The man tilts his head to the side and Dean starts seeing the family resemblance. "I think that they complement each other very well. I would have expected Sam's best man to see that, too."

Dean can't really argue with that. "I don't know her well enough to judge. I just know that my brother is a different person now."

"And you don't like that?" the woman asks. Hell, Dean doesn't even know their names and spills all the beans, probably making an ass of himself.

"He's my brother. I know him better than anyone and this—" He gestures in the engaged couple's direction. "This isn't the man I raised."

Two pairs of eyes move to the tall men and back to Dean.

"You mean a happy man?" the woman asks.

"No. I mean…" Dean should have kept his mouth shut. They don't know Sam, his dark thoughts, the forced smiles, the brave face. Dean knows it all or at least well enough to know that the chuckling man on the other side of the room is a stranger to him. Okay, maybe Dean is a bit overdramatic. He knows Sam laughing, pulling pranks. But life had been shitty to both of them and the only people they could always rely on were the two of them.

Yes, their circles have widened over time, with Jody and the girls, Charlie and Dorothy. Still, happiness isn't really part of their lives. They might get glimpses of it, but…

"You mean what? That our sister isn't good enough for your big shot lawyer brother?" the man asks.

Dean freezes. He sometimes forgets that Sam isn't little Sammy anymore. That he's one step away from leaving his old life behind, and with it his big brother, probably.

Dean scans the people in the room, mainly the bride's family and he swallows hard. Yes, he's the odd one out. He only owns a single suit, so he couldn't wear it tonight. Is it that? Is he jealous? Or anxious to lose Sam?

He looks back at the bride and groom. Sam presses a kiss into Rowena's hair. From afar, they are a cute couple with the difference in height and the unconventional age gap.

Dean bites the inside of his cheek and tries to unclench his fists. It isn't working.

"She's way out of his league," he hears himself say, not knowing where this is even coming from.

"That's what you said, Anna, the first time you met Sam," the man chuckles.

Anna? Oh, that's the future sister-in-law Sam raved about and Dean thinks he wants to set him up with. Well, that probably flew out of the window a minute ago.

"I didn't, Castiel. I said I was surprised that she went for someone younger. That's all."

Dean's eyes shoot up. That's the man? The man, who he built up as the bogeyman who would get familiar with his fist? A fucking baby in a trenchcoat?

The whole house of cards that Dean has built up over weeks is threatening to collapse. Dean's throat tightens and he pops a button on his polo shirt, but to no avail. He meets Castiel's eyes for a moment, the other man squinting at him as if he could look deep into his soul.

"Are you okay, Dean?" he asks and sounds concerned.

"Yeah. Just need some air," Dean all but spits and heads for the door.

He props himself up on the roof terrace's balustrade and tries to sort through all his contradicting feelings. He hates it. It's all him. His fear to be left behind, for the only constant in his life to leave, like everybody else who has ever meant something to him. He's jealous and the realisation hits him hard.

Yes, he doesn't know Rowena, but Sam does. Well enough to want to marry her. Sam, who thought he was too toxic for a real relationship. Dean always told him that this was bullshit. And now that his little brother is finally listening, Dean acts like a jaundiced ex? Fuck!

"There you are," a too-familiar voice comes from behind. "I thought you left me hanging, man."

Dean chuckles. "I have to lead the bride to the altar, right?" He ruffles Sam's hair. His brother glares at him, but without heat.

"Wanna come in? I'd like to introduce you to Rowena's best man."

"Who's that?"

"Castiel."

Dean's eyes sink to the floor. Of course, he is. "Already met him."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you already snubbed him."

"Nah. I wouldn't embarrass you in front of your new family." It's enough that Dean embarrassed himself.

"Most of them are kind people," Sam says carefully. "And after tomorrow, Rowena is your family, too."

Dean works his jaw. It's a bit difficult to look at Sam, now that he realised that he's never given his fiancée a real chance.

"You'll be here in California, and I'll be back in Kansas. We'll be lucky if we see each other on Christmas."

Sam squeezes his shoulder. "You could move here, Dean."

The older brother shakes his head. "I don't belong here, Sammy." Another squeeze. "And I can't afford to take off so much to drive over." And soon you'll be too busy to fly back to where everything feels small and like past, he adds in his head. He puts on a smile nonetheless.

"Samuel?" Rowena calls from the entrance. "Dinner starts in five."

Sam smiles over to his future bride. "I just need a minute, mo ghràdh."

"Mo what?"

"It's Scottish Gaelic for 'my love'."

Dean raises an eyebrow and chuckles. "You really got it bad, huh?"

"I wouldn't marry her if I didn't."

Dean pats his back. "I'm happy for you man." He's surprised that he means it.

***

Dinner goes fine and Dean has a nice conversation with Anna, who is seated next to him. Luckily, she's not of the resentful kind. Still, Dean is feeling out of place. Their found family is so much smaller than Rowena's real one with all the siblings and cousins from both sides of the pond. And this is only the rehearsal.

As soon as dinner is done, Dean excuses himself and flees to the hotel. A real one that Sam was kind enough to pay. It makes Dean feel only smaller and not good enough.

He takes a shower and walks out on the balcony, just a towel slung around his waist. He can hear the waves hitting the beach nearby and seabirds screeching. He gets why Sam moved here, why he won't come back. It still stings.

Dean did everything in his power to get him so far and he can't bring himself to regret it. But he's still angry. Maybe he is anger, plain and simple. He's been angry since his mother died and his father gave a shit about giving his sons a home. This anger will probably never go away. It's good that Sam found happiness, Dean muses. At least one of them should.

There's movement on the balcony next door and despite the separation wall, Dean can see the trenchcoat clad arms propped up on the railing. What are the odds?

"Castiel?"

There is a long pause and then comes, "Dean?" This gravelly voice doesn't fail to move him. If Dean didn't decide to scratch the term 'witch' for his future sister-in-law, he would wonder if her stepbrother might be a witcher, too.

"Yeah. Not into parties?"

There is another pause, probably filled with a head shake Dean can't see. "I don't like crowds of people. And my family is, well, my family. I love them, but it's complicated."

"I get it," Dean says, although he probably doesn't.

"You seem to have cooled down a little," Castiel states matter-of-factly.

"Was it so obvious?"

Castiel laughs and the sound vibrates into Dean's heart, churning it in delicious ways. "You looked as if you were out to kill someone."

Dean chuckles. "I kinda was."

"Why? And who?"

Dean swallows hard. What he would give for a beer right now, but he had way too much of that red wine already. Maybe that's why he answers, "You." There is a long moment of surprise that Castiel doesn't seem inclined to break, so Dean adds, "I built up this story in my head that Rowena bewitched Sam and you were at fault because you brought them together."

"And now?"

Dean shrugs his shoulders. "I only want Sammy to be happy."

Castiel hums on the other side of the separation. "Why are you sounding so sad then?"

A flare of anger rises in Dean's chest. The man doesn't know him. What gives him the right to state something like this?

"Blow me, Cass!" he grinds out. That guy is getting under his skin. Why, he doesn't know. Maybe because he's right.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

The retort comes quick like a shot and Dean is struck speechless for a way too long moment. Castiel starts chuckling.

"You're an asshole!" Dean grumbles.

"An asshole who gives good head, though," Castiel says smugly.

Dean groans. No, he won't think of these sinful lips wrapped around his cock. No way, José.

"Is that an offer?" his mouth asks without his consent.

"I'm not a one-off kind of guy, Dean."

Dean wishes he wouldn't have to lie if he said he wasn't either. Is there an expiration date for that stamp if you haven't got laid for more than a year? Probably not.

The silence stretches into an eternity until Castiel quietly says, "Good night," leaving Dean alone in the pale moonlight.

***

Rowena looks beautiful and Sam smart. Dean manages to get through the whole wedding ceremony and his best man speech without a single glimmer of jealousy. Bobby looks at him approvingly and Ellen whispers into his ear that his mum would have been so proud of him.

Still, Dean finds himself on the balcony once again. His thoughts need space to swirl around him. There's a lot to process on this fine day—his brotherly/parent-like love, his own loneliness in a room full of people, the strange stares that Castiel and he have been sharing the whole day…

He presses the palms of his hands against his eyes, hoping to force back the sting of tears building up in them. A warm hand lands on his shoulder, startling him. "You've done well."

Dean chuckles without mirth. "Can't remember when anyone said something like this about me." He bites his lip, hard. Why did he say that? To a complete stranger nonetheless. Castiel doesn't comment on it, though, and Dean sighs in relief.

The music coming from the party changes to something slow and Castiel asks, "May I have the next dance?"

Dean turns his head and stares at the outstretched hand for a very long moment. He has never danced with a man before. Not without a beer bottle in his hand and for sure not a slow dance. But he feels a pull to this man, who he hated with all his guts just a day ago. A man with kind eyes, a shy smile, and a patience Dean isn't used to.

He takes the offered hand and Castiel's smile grows wider, just like Dean's heart. Castiel pulls him slowly into his arms, lets him settle against him, and rewards Dean's head leant against his own with a gentle brush over his back.

Dean shivers at the tender touch and bites the inside of his cheek in a last attempt to keep back the tears welling up in his eyes.

"It's okay," Castiel says. "Let go. No one will see it."

And Dean does. In the arms of a stranger under the Californian moon. He doesn't shake off the tender hand carding through his hair, or the strong arms holding him upwards. He lets out the sobs he's been holding and allows Castiel to brush away his tears before their lips meet in a gentle kiss. He smiles at Castiel bashfully afterwards.

"It's okay," Castiel repeats.

Dean chuckles. "Is it? Crying like a baby in a stranger's arms?"

"Crying like the big brother, who raised a wonderful man and has to let him go to live his own life. Crying like a lonely man, who hasn't been touched intimately for ages."

Dean furrows his brow. "How?"

Castiel smiles at him with so much warmth that Dean feels like welling up again.

"Sam loves you. He talks about you all the time. It felt like I knew you before we even met. And the rest? Let's say, kindred souls recognise each other."

Dean huffs a laugh. "You're good, man."

Castiel smirks at him. "And you're a good man, Dean Winchester," he says and leans in for another kiss.

Maybe, Dean muses, Castiel is magical after all.

[isingletonmajortwo2022]

Welsh Folklore and Mythology

As my focus is on Welsh folklore and mythology, I feel it would be beneficial if I used my own experiences growing up in Wales as a source. I've also asked my mum and grandfather about their experiences growing up in Wales.

Stories like those of Santes Dwynwen and the tale of Gelert, and stories from the Mabinogion were told to me as a child. They were often read to me as bedtime stories in English and Welsh. Some of my first connections with the Welsh language outside of my Mam were these folktales, and they were an essential part of how I learnt Welsh as I came from a predominantly English speaking home.

Many of my most vivid memories from childhood are visiting different castles and historical places with my dad - who's a bit of a history buff. We would often walk up to Barclodiad y Gawres, a neolithic burial chamber on the cliffs near Porth Trecastell, only 2 miles away from the tiny village I grew up in. In Wales, but especially on Ynys Mon, there are a lot of Neolithic monuments and standing stones - often in random fields with a public access footpath in - we spent a lot of time climbing over bramble covered stiles to go and admire these sites. My parents also listened to a lot of folk music - predominantly Gaelic and northern English folk music, which often tells stories about places and people so storytelling in many different forms was a large part of my childhood.

Growing up in Wales, there were also lots of cultural practices that I picked up from my mum - for example, on New Year's Day, the first person who enters your home has to bring a piece of coal and a piece of food (we usually used mince pies) with them. Its a blessing for the home. it's usually done to ensure that those within the home will have enough warmth and food for the year. (This was usually my dad because he always took late shifts on New Year's.)

I also asked my Mam about her experiences growing up in Wales. https://drive.google.com/file/d/1Aubv_hhzx6P1oPQTMe2M01sGE4MhXuDV/view?usp=sharing

I didn't manage to get all of our conversations because I had a couple of problems recording audio. My Mam talked about how growing up in Wales was a little different because of the mix of languages and growing up speaking Welsh. She also said how her schools, like my own, encouraged speaking Welsh and learning about Welsh history and folktales. She talked about her love of hymns in Welsh and how her experiences going to a Church of Wales Chaple was different. She also said a little about how isolated her village was; my Mam grew up in Sychdyn, a village not far from Wrecsam and how it was normal to travel far to get to the nearest city. And how nearly the entire village went to Liverpool to see a panto one Christmas because it was a big deal to go and see something like that in a big theatre.

I also looked through the Nation Library of Wales Archives, as they have digitised a large portion of their material. I found it a valuable resource to see drawings and paintings about The Mabinogion and other welsh folktales and mythology.

https://www.llyfrgell.cymru/casgliadau/dysgwch-fwy/archifau

Sources: Llyfrgell Cymru Christopher Williams (1873 - 1934) - Ceridwen (unknown) Branwen (unknown) Sir John Everett Millais (1829 -1896) - The Head of Bran (unknown) Albert Herter - Pryderi and Rhiannon's Imprisonment (unknown) The Boy's Mabinogion (1881): Peredur and the Maiden - illustrated by Albert Fredricks The Mabinogion (1840) - Illustrated by Alan Lee 1988

[faofinn]

No. 30 - DIGGING YOUR GRAVE

@whumptober2021

@whumptober-archive

major character death | left for dead | ghosts

Blood. There was blood everywhere. Fao had never seen so much in his whole life. It covered his gloved hands, soaked into his combats, blurring the desert khaki.

The smell of it haunted him, filled his nose and choked him. The coppery, metallic scent. It had never bothered him, but it did now. He looked up at her, and the blood was matted into her blonde hair, staining the precious gold a dark crimson.

He fought to save her, speaking in soothing Gaelic to the woman he loved as he barked orders to the men and women around him.

She stirred, green eyes flickering open.

“F-Fao… A-am I gonna b-be okay?”

It broke his heart, to see her scared. Alex was never scared.

“Yeah sweetie, you're gonna be just fine. You're gonna go home and we're gonna buy that big house you always wanted and I'm gonna marry you. Promise. I'll let you pick the ring yourself."

There was nothing he could do, as her eyes shut and her heartbeat stuttered and faded to asystole. He cried out, then, starting CPR even though he knew she was a lost cause.

“Let her go, Fao.” Someone called, though Fao didn’t know who. He couldn’t let go, couldn’t watch her fade away.

“No! I can't!” He cried. He didn't even know how long it had been. He kept up with the CPR, struggling. His shoulders ached and his hair was in his face- he needed a haircut. He wiped his bloody hands on his trousers and tried again. He kept going, though Alex’s lips were parted and chapped and there was a trickle of crimson over the dry chapped skin.

He felt strong arms on his shoulders, pulling him away from her. He fought it, but they dragged him away. He fought and he cried and he clawed at them, but still they dragged him away.

They let him into his tent, and left him crying on his camp bed, covered in his girlfriend’s blood. He staggered to the showers, stripped off his combats and stood under the lukewarm water, trying to scrub the blood off. He was crying, sobbing as he tried to get it all off. It clung to him, the smell still choking him. He gagged and then was sick, doubled over under the water. When he was done, he shut off the water, changed into something to sleep in and curled up on his camp bed. His commanding officer came in after a while, and told him that he was on leave effective immediately. They’d send him home as soon as they could, so he could make arrangements for her funeral.

He said he’d deliver the news to Alex’s parents himself. It had to be him, in person.

He couldn't sleep, after that. Whichever way he laid just felt wrong, so in the end he gave up. He dressed, padded outside, and sat staring up at the stars with a cigarette.

He knew he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there for, long enough that the cold seeped into his bones. He’d forgotten how cold the desert got at night.

Eventually he found his phone, and managed to get his fingers to cooperate enough to call Sheila.

He held his breath as the phone rang, waiting for her to pick up. He knew it was late for them too, she’d likely be asleep. But he needed his mum. He needed her now more than ever.

Sheila answered, half asleep but panicking as she saw it was Fao. "Hello?"

“Mumaí…”

She sat up immediately, something in his tone sending dread through her. "What's happened, sweetheart? I'm here."

He was quiet for a minute, trying to find the words to tell her. She was just as much Sheila’s daughter as she was Fao’s other half. He sniffed, taking a deep breath.

“It’s ‘Lex.”

She let out a quiet gasp. "Fao."

“She’s…”

He didn't have to say it. She could already tell. "I'm so sorry, Fao."

His voice cracked. “She’s gone.”

"Oh, sweetheart."

He couldn't help but start to cry again, sobs wracking his body. “She's gone, Mumaí. Gone.”

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She was stuck, and gently shook Fred awake. "I'm right here."

“‘m comin’ home.” He said softly. “Soon.”

"Of course, you've got to. We'll be here, you can stay with us."

Fred squinted at her. "What's wrong?"

"Alex."

“Need to… Need to tell her parents.” He managed to get out.

"Do you want to call them now?"

“No. Gonna… Gonna go see them. ‘ave to tell them in person.”

"Of course."

He took a shaky breath, trying to pull himself together. “I miss her already.”

Sheila curled into Fred. "I know."

“I don't know how to…”

"Just hold on. For us. For Alex. She'd want you to."

“Be home soon.” He said, and paused. “Zeus!” Alex's dog would be so confused.

"He'll have you. You'll be okay. You both will."

He stayed on the phone with her for a long time, mostly just sat sniffling in silence. But it was nice to know she was there, to hear her soothing him every so often.

Soon they sorted getting him back to England, and the plane journey home was agony. Even more so, knowing Alex's body was in the hold beneath him.

He spent the whole trip curled up in his seat, trying to read but instead just staring blankly at his book. Once they landed, he dragged himself through the airport and into the coach that would take him home. To the flat he'd shared with Alex. Her stuff was everywhere, strewn across the bedroom haphazardly, as they'd packed to go away.

Unbidden, he started to cry.

He sat on the edge of the bed and sobbed. After a while, he couldn’t cry anymore, and he got up, sniffling as he tidied all of Alex’s things. Once he was done, he had a shower, smoked a cigarette and went to bed. He didn’t want to move, but he owed it to Rob, and to Helen.

It was painful to tell them, but it needed to be done. He felt better for saying it, too. Glad knowing it had been him to break the news to them, not some faceless officer they didn’t know. And they comforted him too. Helen hugged him and told him he’d always be a part of their family.

Back at home, he stripped off his dress uniform, pulled on some pyjamas and crawled into bed. He didn't move for a week, save to go to the bathroom and to eat. Not that he ate much. Plain slices of bread, mostly. He smoked in bed, too, even though he knew he shouldn't. Without her, there was no meaning to his life. It was an echo of those days after Finn’s accident, the complete loss of everything. The numbness, the apathy. It was like nothing in the world existed.

Sheila had tried to call in on him every day, but she was pushed away. Fred, too, was ignored, and Finn had been in no fit state to leave the house. Fred eventually convinced Sheila to give their eldest some space, but only after Fao had promised that he wouldn’t do anything stupid. They trusted him, and knew he had to grieve, one way or another. There was no right or wrong way, and Sheila wasn’t going to force him.

After a painful week, Fao heard a key in his door, then the creak of the hinges as it opened.

“Fao?” Came a voice, calling out into the dark flat. It was Tom, he thought. He rolled onto his front, not in the mood to talk to them. He heard his bedroom door open, but he still didn’t move. That was when he felt a warm hand on his shoulder, and he finally rolled over onto his back.

“Fuck off.”

“Fao.” That wasn’t Tom. It was Jake. He blinked open his eyes, and they were all there. Connor, Matt, Jake and Tom. The whole squad, except for Alex.

“We thought you’d need a hand. Sheila said she’d not heard from you in too long. We’re here, and we want to plan the funeral. With you.” Connor said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, so go and have a shower, and we’ll make you tea, then we’re going to sort this. All of us.” Matt told him, pulling the duvet back.

Fao didn’t have a choice. He dragged himself out of bed and into the shower, hissing as the hot water ran over the raised red scabs covering his forearms and thighs. He felt mildly better after he’d showered, and all of them headed to meet. Alex’s parents, Sheila too (Fred was at home, and whilst Sheila didn’t tell him why, Fao knew it was because of Finn), Alex’s brother, the rest of the squad.

They planned the funeral, piece by painful piece, and before Fao knew it, the day loomed.

The day before, he’d had his hair cut, and that morning he showered and shaved before pulling on his dress uniform, determined to make sure everything was perfect. The five of them in the squad, and Alex’s brother - an officer in the Air Force, carried the coffin into the church. They’d elected to keep it quite small, with only a few friends and close family. The coffin felt infinitely heavy. He couldn't stop the tears that rolled down his cheeks as he strode down the aisle of the little church, silently crying. He could hear the rest of his squad and Mark too, sniffing to themselves as they set the coffin down, saluted and then turned away, taking their seats. Fao sat with the family, surrounded by people he knew so well.

He surprised himself by getting through the eulogy he’d written, his voice only cracking and faltering on him once. He was glad he managed, glad he was able to give his girlfriend the send off she deserved.

He went back to Fred and Sheila’s afterwards, Fred bundling him in the car and saying something about it being too late to drive back to Birmingham. Zeus was already staying with them for now, an extra couple of days wouldn’t make any difference at all. They knew he needed his space, they had to at least try and trust him. The current state of Finn’s physical and mental health wouldn’t make things any easier, but they could have one night.

He sat on the back step of the house and smoked, lost track of how many he’d had. He needed the isolation, the distance from the rest of the family. It was well and truly dark, but as he sat out back he saw a fox trot through the garden, looking skinny but unafraid. It made him smile, despite everything, and he thought perhaps there was a piece of Alex still looking out for him. Looking out for all of them.

[inky-duchess]

History Bites: Bad Ass Moments (Women)

In History Bites, I pick the best moments of history and the antics historical figures in order to give you inspiration for your WIP. Think of History Bites like prompts, only juicer and 90% accurate (results may vary).

Today, we will discuss the bad ass moments of history (women). This post may have a part two. Let's get to it.

Arsinoë IV was the younger sister of Cleopatra. During the civil war between her elder sister and brother who were meant to be jointly ruling, Caesar besieged Alexandria on behalf of Cleopatra, taking the royal family hostage within the palace. In the confusion after the Library of Alexandria was accidentally burned down (I mean Caesar, I love you but you're fucking dick for burning the library), Arsinoë escaped the palace and took command of the Egyptian army. Under her control, the army enjoyed success even trapping Caesar as he tried to take the Lighthouse of Alexandria. This was an important symbol to the city as well as a masterful weapon, whoever controlled the Lighthouse controlled the harbour. To escape, Caesar had to swim across the bay throwing off his great purple cloak and fine armour, holding up his important papers as he limped back to dry land, defeated by a 15-18 year old girl.

Katherine of Aragon handed Scotland its biggest defeat in history. She led troops at Flodden, winning a battle where the Scottish King died. When she wrote to Henry as well as sending him the Scottish king's coat and banners, she mentioned that she had wanted to send the body of the king but the nobles were being pussies and said no. It may have been the shadiest letter of all the Tudor period.

Artemisia Gentileschi was one of art and history's all time bad asses. She was a skilled painter at a time when women were not permitted to attend art schools. She surpassed her father's own works and some of his other students. At 18, she was raped by another artist. In a time far behind today's understanding of rape and justice, Artemisia took a great risk in publicly accusing her rapist. She underwent numerous tortures so the judges could be sure she was telling the truth. The rapist was convicted (a major win). Artemisia went on to become one of the Baroque period's most powerful painters.

Marguerite de Bressieux was a 15th century noblewoman in France. When her father's castle fell to the armies of the Prince of Orange, Marguerite and the other women of the castle were all sexually assaulted. As the French army passed through the devastated lands, they came by a group of twelve knights armoured and mounted, bearing a black banner with an orange pierced by a spear. The commander revealed their face... it was Marguerite. She asked to join the French King's forces and he allowed her though he was quite taken aback. At the Battle of Autun, each of the female knights and Marguerite hunted down the Prince of Orange's men, unmasking their faces before they killed their rapists so they would know just had come.

Harriet Tubman was an American slave who ran the Underground Railway, ferrying slaves off to freedom. After escaping herself, Harriet refused to leave others behind. Known as Moses, Harriet risked life and limb to free slaves from the plantations. During the Civil War, she worked for the Union first as a cook then as scout and spy. Over her life, Tubman released over 300 slaves.

Countess Constance Markievicz was the first woman to be elected to a British Parliament ... while imprisoned for her art in the numerous acts of rebellion in the last years of English rule. Markievicz was one of the figureheads for Irish freedom, even acting as a sniper during the 1916 Easter Rising. When the rising was over, she was imprisoned but not executed (being a woman and a high status woman) which made her angry. She believed that the fight for Irish freedom was not just a male one. Her advice to women and girls of the time was "Dress suitably in short skirts and strong boots, leave your jewels in the bank, and buy a revolver"

Grace/Grainne O'Malley, the Pirate Queen of Ireland was one of the Lords of the West of Ireland. On her father's death, she inherited his lands and fleets as his heir, turning her into one of the most powerful lords of the west. She fought in the Nine Years War, becoming a thorn in the side of the "Governor" Richard Bingham. When her sons and half brother were captured and threatened, Grainne turned her sails to London to speak with Elizabeth I. Grainne did not bow to Elizabeth and began hammering out the terms of a peace. Bingham was fired, her sons and brother were released on the terms that Grainne would stop supporting Gaelic uprisings. Grainne didn't.

Jeanne de Clisson or the Lioness of Brittany, was a 14th century noblewoman. Her husband was imprisoned by the French King who suspected him of being a spy who had lost a battle on purpose. He was executed. Jeanne went immediately to the fort her husband had commanded. The garrison let her in. Jeanne's army took the fort. By the time the French King heard, Jeanne was gone. After a treacherous crossing over the Channel where she lost at least one child, Jeanne resurfaced in England. The English king granted her three ships which she used to wage war on France in revenge.

Ching Shih was a Chinese pirate queen, formerly a prostitute. When her husband died, she took over his fleet of ships. Ching Shih went about on tightening the reigns on her sailors. They could not rape captives, if they did they were beheaded. If they wanted to have one of the women, a sailor had to marry her and treat her right. To disobey a superior twice was death. As she got the fleet into shipshape, Ching Shih began her reign of the seas amassing millions. The government fought her a few times but soon gave up their war, paying Ching Shih to go away. She retired as a respected millionaire.

Osh-Tisch or "Finds Them and Kills Them” was a Native American warrior. She had been born male but chose to live as a woman also known as a baté, a person which two souls in their body. Osh-Tisch took up arms along with the other batés when her tribe went to war with the Lakota, winning the war. As missionaries came to to stick their noses in where they weren't wanted, Osh-Tisch and the other batés were subject to horrific abuse. Batés were forced to dress and act as their assigned gender by the dickheaded missionaries. Osh-Tisch disregarded the missionaries and continued to work with batés across America in order to support one another.

Harriet Tubman escaped from slavery in the years preceding the Civil War. Harriet refused to leave others behind and returned about nineteen times to volatile south to rescue slaves, under the name Moses. During the war, Harriet served as cook, nurse and spy for the Union. Harriet saved over 300 slaves.

Matilda, Lady of the English once escaped a besieged castle. How did she do this? She walked out of the gates and left. She was wearing a white cloak which camouflaged her against the snow. She walked eight miles in the snow to continue her fight for the crown.

Cleopatra VII (that Cleopatra) was once summoned to Tarsos go meet the new Governor of the Eastern Provinces of the Roman Empire, Mark Antony who wanted to borrow some money. They negotiated back and forth on who should come to who. Cleopatra refused to go... but then showed up in Tarsos on luxurious barge. While feasting with Antony at his expense, Cleopatra claimed that she could host the more expensive meal. She dropped a pearl earring into her wine, where it dissolved and downed it like a queen.

Caterina Sforza was an Italian noble woman in the Renaissance period and you could literally not find a bigger bad ass. She rode at the head of an army to occupy the great fortress of the Castel San Angelo in the name of her husband, while being seven months pregnant. At the siege of Ravaldino, Caterina and her children were prisoners of the treacherous Orsis family who had killed her husband. Caterina persuaded the commanders to let her enter the city to negotiate the surrender of the castle. One inside, she climbed the battles and cussed out the besiegers. Utterly stunned, one commander threatened to kill her children but Caterina lifted her skirts and flashed them, claiming she could make more. OK, that may be a rumour. She may have touched her belly or claimed to be already pregnant but still it was a moment. It ended up buying her enough time for more forces to come and beat the army outside.

Catherine the Great born a minor German Princess overthrew her husband Peter III in a successful military coup. A few days before the original coup was going to commence, a co-conspirator let slip to another guard that it was happening. The man was arrested. When the news got to her, Catherine left the palace via carriage commandeering horses along the way. She went to the barracks of the Ismailovsky regiment dressed in burrowed military uniform and made an impassioned plea to the soldiers to earn their support which they gave her. She was crowned sole ruler of Russia and forced her husband to sign his crown away.

Khutulun, the great-grandaughter of Genghis Khan was badass from the beginning. She was the only girl in a family of boys and grew up to be the fiercest. Khutulun was a highly sought after bride. She didn't hate men but felt she shouldn't be married to somebody unequal to her. Every man who sought to wed her had to wrestle her or pay ten horses. She had ten thousand horses by the time she died.

Boudicca was the Queen of the Iceni, a Celtic tribe in England. Her husband, an ally of the Romans, left half his kingdom to Rome and the other half to his daughters. When he died, Rome took it all. When Boudicca spoke out against it, she was flogged and her daughters were raped. Boudicca decided that it was time for the Romans to fuck off and die. Raising a massive host, Boudicca burned three major Roman settlements down Londinium (London), Verulamium (St. Albans) and Camulodunum (Colchester). She was the greatest threat the Rome since...

Amanirenas, Queen of Kush was an African Queen who fought the Romans. Kush lay south to the new conquered Egypt, which meant it was next on Rome's agenda. Kush moved first. Though one-eyed, she was an able warrior who survived at least a dozen battles. Though the Romans burned the capital and took slaves, Amanirenas still fought on bringing Rome to its knees. Rome and Kush signed a peace treaty, preventing Rome from crossing the border ever again. Amanirenas's badass moment came thousands of years after when archeologists were digging up the tombs. Found under her the foot of statue, was the head of the Emperor Augustus.

[coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe]

January 3rd or One's Beginning is another's end (Daughters of Darkness)

This passage contains potentially: Explicit Language, Depictions of Violence (including mentions of blood), Smoking, Slang and maybe some bad translations.

Summary: An introduction to the world of the Daughters of Darkness, through the eyes of series protagonist Kirby 'Gluttony' Lucifarian. The first day and night, from her perspective, of them working for the WWF.

Kirby's POV:

Tuesday. The first day of being 'on the job', Tuesday the third of January 1984. Damien got us into the WWF. … Damien, managed to get us into the quickest rising wrestling promotion, popularity wise. To be honest with you, Damien's given us free reign to get to know people, for now. I don't know anyone here. I've heard of people here, such as the most famous giant in the world, and … Hogan.

I'm not here because I earned it, I'm here because I'm a necessity for the team. That's how I view it. That's how I've always viewed it. Vickie needed someone to make fun of and, well, I'm the easiest choice. Then, in the midst of a darker path of thought becoming clearer in my mind...

WHAM

Both me and the figure I waltzed into thudded to the floor, "Oh, my good lord. I'm so sorry are you o..."

I looked at the figure before me, taking in how much trouble I had created in the last three seconds.

Taller than myself.

Head covered by a wild afro.

Around double my weight.

André.

André the giant.

Flat on his arse … because of me.

Oh … Shit.

"Are you alright, Mademoiselle…"

I could tell he was searching for a name but didn't know it. Too frightened to even speak I glanced away. I noticed his shadow move.

"Mademoiselle?"

His footsteps came closer, he sounded … worried, as if he didn't want me to get fired for this.

"Mademoiselle?"

He picked me up, not off the ground, but so I could stand. I whispered out a small 'thank you', or rather 'merci'. His hands still on my shoulders, he smiled sweetly and nodded, as if to beckon forth more words from me.

"I'm Kirby, or rather, Gluttony. I'm new around here."

André grinned, putting his arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer before stopping upon seeing how much taller than every other woman in the company I am.

"Are you, uh …" he searched for the words

"A giant, yes, technically a giantess."

I feel I should summarise the next hour or so, but, André took me on a tour of the backstage area and we talked, about everything. Within an hour I had gained a new friend, a genuine friend, someone who didn't care about my height or looks. I know the only reason he didn't care is because he knows what it's like to be stared at just because you aren't 'normal'.

By the time André's tour had ended it was time for Vickie and Damien's interview with Mean Gene, which I was to attend. I said a goodbye to André and rushed off to perform my usual role.

The Enforcer, or rather, the intimidation device, that's my role in this group, to scare people, that's all I do. Before joining the group I was part of another group back in England, The Celtic Warriors, I was part of a championship winning tag team. Now what am I, a damned intimidation device, a human scare tactic.

The Interview:

Gene's first question for us, actually, Damien and Vickie (whilst I stood behind them and looked 'menacing'), was 'How are you doing so far?'

Damien began, "You know something, Gene, my girls have yet to have a match, but we are doing absolutely fine. In shape, ready to rock, ready to roll. Gene, every one of the Daughters of Darkness are doing fine."

Vickie followed suit, "Just look at us," She gestured to me and then herself, "Don't we look marvellous, Gene."

Gene smirked, "You could say that again, miss?"

"Pride, though you can call me Vickie."

Damien glared at the smaller man, almost as if he was daring him to try and flirt with her.

Gene readjusted and focused in on the prospect of new women in the WWF and the possibility of more matches. "Uh hum, yes, now how soon do you girls think you'll be seeing a match on the cards?"

"Soon, Gene, Soon." Vickie stated, ending the interview by walking off.

The first night after 'work' was surprisingly normal, Damien and Vickie went off in their rental car, taking Holly and Eli with them whilst the rest of us stood around backstage for a while.

Billie brought a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of her purse, lighting one up and walking over to me, sitting down on a box placed near by and blowing the smoke away from me she spoke up.

"What's up with you, Tall-ass."

"Thinking."

"Dangerous pastime hermana."

"I know, hermana"

"You collect phrases, don' cha?"

"They may come in handy, Billie, one day."

"You going to the gym tomorrow?"

"Of course. Gotta train. Gotta … gotta settle in somehow, right?"

"Right, mi hermana, I'll see you around, alright?"

"See ya, Billie."

She waved back at me as she walked away.

Billie was the only person who knew that I 'collected' those little phrases that seem like nothing until spoken. Language isn't my strongest aspect, more often than not I'm silent and I try to avoid other peo-

"Hey! watch where you're walking man!" I yelped out, shocked back into the present moment. Instantly regret flooded my mind as I realised who had barged past me to get out of the building.

Big John Studd.

One of the most disrespectful 'giants' in the world of wrestling. famous for being the one man who pisses André off more than anyone else, including the Iron Sheik.

He sneered back a quick, "Who gives a fuck." and continued to stroll away.

That … that fuckwit. Who does he think he is. I felt a gentle hand place itself on my shoulder. I turned, expecting to see Eli or P.G, I was face to, well, chin with André.

"Forget about him," He started, with that same sweet, friendly smile from earlier, "Damien said you may need a ride back to the hotel. I don't recommend you walk back now, too dark out for a young lady such as yourself."

The way his R sounds turned into faint W's and he missed off or faintly implied H's was calming. Almost in the same way that hearing a parents voice would calm a child after a nightmare.

"Oh, uh, it's okay André, I was going to get a taxi."

He nodded in response, somehow both downhearted and curious, as if he knew that I was either lying to him or if I did get a taxi, the immense pain my back would be in the following day. André sauntered off, leaving me, once again by myself.

I don't mind being alone, in fact most of my life I have been alone, always the outcast, it was only when I got into wrestling that it started to change.

I picked up my bag and started walking, buttoning up my shirt up to the top of my chest, my near-neon orange shirt covering down to my mid-forearm, hiding any noticeable tattoos, except the one on my wrist, when I turned eighteen, I got a small, runic 'R' on my right wrist, in remembrance of my uncle Rory, the tallest of my dad's brothers.

It took about an hour to get to the hotel, an hour of walking through a city I'm not familiar with, when I eventually got to the hotel I went straight to my room and locked myself in. All alone, I could practice or train if I wanted, so I did.

I took off my black shirt, shoes and belt and I stood in the middle of the hotel room and practiced punching, then I switched to doing my warmups and working out, push-ups, planks, squats. By the time I finished it must've been around midnight, maybe one or two am. I got some sleep, waking up at six, getting changed into some fresh workout gear and headed straight to the gym.

You meet all sorts of characters at a gym, or so I've been told. Back in England I would go to my parents house and use our home-made gym to work out. Not an option that I have anymore, however, the moment I got into the gym, I felt like I was in a whole new world, as if I was just getting into the business all over again. I scanned for any faces that I knew, Mr Fuji, Tonga Kid, Sgt Slaughter, Don Muraco, Lou Albano, Iron Sheik, Freddie Blassie, Tito Santana, Jimmy Snuka, Bob Backlund, Gene and Pat, David Schultz, and … who is that?

I walked over to David and this mystery guy, nodding at David and heading to the heavy bag next to them.

"Mornin' Gluttony, André's been talkin' about ya."

"Oh really, Mr Schultz?" I tried to keep my breath noises to a minimum as I continued to hit the bag.

The mystery guy snickered, quickly shutting up after Schultz glared at him.

"C'mon girl, you know you can call me David. An' yeah," He stopped punching and instead leaned on the heavy bag in front of him, forcing the other guy to hold it still "Giant's been talking about him havin' a new friend and how much he likes ya."

"He's a good man, it's good to have friends in new places. Who's your pal, David?"

He smiled and slung his arm around the shorter man, "This here, this is Roddy Piper. He's like you."

I tilted my head slightly to try and make him explain further.

"You are Scottish, right?"

"I'm a quarter Scottish. Anyway, Piper, Do you speak Gaelic?"

"Uh, no, I can play the bagpipes however." his eyes lit up slightly, a sort of mad fire behind a haze of brown or maybe dark blue.

"Well, I'll see you around I guess, I've gotta warm up for later though."

I tried to block the two men out and focus on my own workout but Piper seemed to stick around a lot longer than David. He was still there when my workout ended.

"What do you want?"

"You're a quarter Scottish, you're also a giant. How do you fight? Show me." He seemed to get more energetic the more he talked.

"Right now?"

He nodded, "Right now, c'mon."

He led me to a ring that some other wrestlers were using to brush up their skills.

From the looks of the ring, it was actually used for boxing.

Roddy entered the ring the same way as most six-foot-two guys did, through the top and middle ropes. I tested the ropes, and seeing that they had just enough slack, used them to jump over the top rope.

"I've never seen a girl do that before."

"Mistake number one, I'm a woman, not a girl. Mistake number two, you expected a giant to be normal."

He scoffed out a laugh and got ready to lock up.

We locked up and Piper hit me with a knee to the stomach.

I got him back with an Irish whip into the corner, accidentally winding him by being too stiff.

"You're gonna pay for that, lass." He snarled out, already getting pissed off.

I sized him up, trying to see how high I would have to get myself in order to dropkick him to the mat.

Piper tried to hit me with a running high knee strike but I countered with a dropkick, taking us both down to the mat and slamming my face into the mat.

The mat was a lot harder than I was used to, it felt like I had rammed my head straight into a cinderblock, I started breathing heavier than before.

I rolled over and put my arms up, making an 'X' with my forearms. Piper stopped and walked over.

"You alright?"

I shook my head.

He knelt down and pulled me up into a sitting position.

I hesitated, knowing I had to take my mask off to see what was wrong but truly not wanting to. Piper managed to unbuckle the straps of my mask and winced as he saw what was underneath. My mind went slightly mad not knowing if he was wincing at the injury I had caused myself or the fact that, compared to the rest of the D.O.D, I'm truly the worst looking, beauty-wise, that is.

Hitting my mouth so hard on the canvas of the mat below us, I had managed to hit my mask in a way that the bottom edge, which curved under my chin, cut into my flesh and made me bleed.

I put my hand up to the cut and Piper quickly held my arm by the wrist and shook his head, "Don't you dare."

By the time I received medical aid, which consisted of cleaning the cut and putting a band-aid on it, Piper had given me back my mask and asked if he could work out with me sometime. Knowing that he was currently on a different show, I said sure and we had split ways.

END OF ONE'S BEGINNING IS ANOTHER'S END / JANUARY 3RD

[let-the-dream-begin]

A Place to Belong Chapter 19: The Face of Fear

Chapter 18

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Claire woke up the sound of a little grunt, and her lips instinctively curled into a smile.

My baby girl is a month old today.

For the first time since she’d gone into labor, Claire felt fully rested, she felt at peace. The previous two days, she’d remained confined to her room, but she’d walked around by herself, reveling in the feeling of her strength returning. She’d of course not walked around with Brianna unless someone else was with her, just in case. But she was confident now that she wouldn’t waste away; both she and her child had survived this birth and were all the stronger for it.

Claire lazily rolled over to face the cot, her smile widening when she caught sight of little fists waving in the air. Brianna was awake, but she was not crying; she was content. Claire briefly wondered how long she’d been awake, how long she’d kept quiet to allow her mother to sleep. Such a considerate daughter she had.

Slowly, carefully, Claire pulled back the covers and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Taking her time, as she’d grown accustomed to, adjusting for feelings of dizziness or lightheadedness, she made her way over to the cot. By the time she reached it, her cheeks were sore from how wide her grin had become. She thought she would explode with love when she could finally see her darling face.

“There she is,” Claire breathed. “There’s my little birthday girl!”

She took care to be quiet; Fergus was still asleep in the bed. She reached in and scooped her into her arms, gasping and giggling at the adorable little noises Brianna made as she did so.

“Hello angel, yes, hello.” She knew she sounded like a fool, she knew she always did when it came to speaking with her daughter. She couldn’t help it.

Much to Claire’s relief, she did not feel dizzy, her arms did not feel heavy with her daughter’s weight. Perhaps today would be the first day of true normalcy for them as mother and daughter.

“How is my wee girl? Hm?” Her arms were swinging, her little mouth flapping noiselessly, her eyes darting about. “So excited today! I’ll bet you know it’s your birthday, don’t you?” She rubbed her little fists over her face, and Claire laughed again. “My beautiful girl.” She raised her to her face and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Mummy loves you, do you know that?” She nuzzled her with her nose, and Brianna responded by latching her hands into Claire’s unruly curls, eliciting more laughter from her.

“Maman.”

Claire looked up to see Fergus awake, sitting up in bed.

“You are holding her by yourself.”

“I am,” Claire said, beaming at him. “And I feel just fine.”

“Are you sure?” He got out of bed and crossed the room to stand beside her. “Would you like me to help you sit?”

“Fergus is being a worry-wart,” Claire said to Brianna in that silly baby voice. “Your brother is fussing over me like I’m the baby.”

“Maman…” Fergus rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Mummy is being stubborn, ma petit,” Fergus said to Brianna in retaliation.

“If it would make you feel better if I sat,” Claire said, deliberately side-stepping him to sit herself in the chair without his help. “Then sit I shall.”

“I’ll fetch breakfast?” Fergus asked.

“Thank you, darling.”

Claire smiled at Brianna as Fergus dashed off. Perhaps in a few more days she’d be able to make the journey down the stairs to join her family for meals again. Fergus returned and they ate together, and Brianna nursed, and Fergus offered to burp her and change her.

Claire had turned the chair away from the hearth to face the rest of the room so that she could watch her children together. She marveled at how gentle the boy was, how unabashedly he cooed at her, how devoted he was. And Brianna seemed quite content with him, like she knew she belonged with him. They were already like two peas in a pod.

Claire knew that Fergus had chores to do, but she couldn’t bring herself to interrupt him. Selfishly, she didn't want this moment to end. She could have sat there forever, watching her son bounce her daughter around the room, singing in French. Brianna was cooing eagerly in response, waving her arms. They were perfection itself, the son of her heart and the daughter of her blood. She wished in that moment that she could freeze time, stop Fergus from growing into the man he was already on his way to becoming, stop Brianna from getting any bigger. But of course, she couldn’t, and if truly given the choice, she wouldn’t. Watching Fergus grow had been one of her life’s greatest joys, and surely watching Brianna grow would be as well.

Maybe she would just…slow time if she could. Not stop it altogether, just…slow it down.

“She seems to like French, don’t you think?” Claire said.

“Oui, Maman,” Fergus beamed. “I will teach her when she is older!”

“That’s a fine idea,” Claire said. “I’ll have a trilingual baby: English, French, and Gaelic. Imagine that. She’ll be smarter than me in no time.”

Fergus laughed, and then he paused. “What is it, ma petit?” He stopped bouncing her and looked at her carefully. “She is trying to tell me something,” he said playfully. “She is looking at the window! What do you see out there?” Fergus attempted to follow her gaze.

Claire’s brow furrowed. It looked as if she was trying to break free of her swaddle; her left side almost looked like it was twitching.

“Fergus, bring her here.” He obeyed, still smiling at her. Claire took her in her arms, and her heart dropped into her stomach. Her eyes were rolled to one side, stuck there. She rapidly undid the swaddle and saw that her left arm and leg were jerking. “Oh, God!”

“What is wrong?” Fergus said, panicked.

“Fergus, tell me the time, down to the second.”

“Oui, Maman.” Though bewildered, the boy scrambled to do as she said, checking the clock on the wall. Claire dropped to her knees and placed Brianna on the floor.

“Nine-seventeen and…forty-two seconds.”

“Remember that.”

“I will.”

Claire completely removed the swaddle and the clothes underneath, stripping her to only her diaper. She was rigid as a board. “It’s alright, darling…” Claire’s heart was pounding. “Mummy is here, it’s alright…”

Claire repositioned her blankets and clothes to surround her head and turned her on her side. She held her up by cupping her back, not daring to touch her anywhere else so as to not restrain her in any way.

“What is wrong with her?”

“She’s having a seizure.” Claire’s voice caught in her throat, and her vision blurred with tears. “Go to my medicines and herbs and bring me chamomile. Hurry!”

Without even verbally responding, Fergus scrambled out of the room to do so.

Seizures typically stopped after about thirty seconds; surely it had been that long already. There was no way to tell without physically looking at the time. It seemed to Claire that she had been in this state of panicked shock for hours now, even if it was only a few seconds.

“You’re going to be alright, Brianna. It’s alright, darling. My sweet girl…”

“What’s happened?” Jenny’s voice entered the room.

“Brew the chamomile into the water. Quickly.” Jenny took the herbs from Fergus and threw them into the water bowl on the nightstand, poured water from the pitcher, and began mixing them rapidly. “Fergus, how many seconds have passed since you last checked?”

“Ah…fifty, about.”

Claire felt sick to her stomach. Longer than thirty seconds…

“What’s got a hold of her? The Devil himself?” Jenny crossed herself instinctively.

“No, no…it’s called a seizure…it will stop soon…it has to…” Jenny put the bowl of lukewarm chamomile tea on the floor beside Claire. Claire dipped a finger in with the hand that wasn’t holding her back. “Here you go…” She put the finger in Brianna’s mouth, and then repeated this action over and over. She could not fully drink and swallow the mixture, but perhaps gradually mixing the herb with her saliva would help.

“What’s that fer?” Jenny asked, standing back, watching fretfully.

“The chamomile will act as a sedative to calm her muscles,” Claire said. “Come on, darling…please…” Claire really started to panic now. “Fergus?”

“Ninety-one seconds.”

A terrified sob escaped her lips. “Brianna, please!” She started using two fingers to shovel the chamomile into her little mouth. “Oh, God…Oh, God…”

Finally, as if God was answering her calling to him, Claire felt Brianna’s muscles begin to relax. Suddenly, a small amount of white and clear fluid ejected from Brianna’s mouth, immediately followed by loud shrieks. Claire cried out in relief and immediately scooped her into her arms, pressing her tiny frame into her chest.

“Thank God!” Tears flowed freely down her cheeks. “It’s over…it’s alright, it’s over…”

Jenny crossed herself again.

“It’s alright, love, it’s alright…” Brianna wailed in her ear, and Claire had never been more grateful to hear the sound. Jenny quickly approached with a clean blanket and draped it over Brianna. Claire shakily wrapped it around her the best she could without moving her. “It’s over…It’s over…” She repeated, almost more to herself than to Brianna, Jenny, or Fergus.

“Come on, sister,” Jenny said gently, helping her off the floor. “Ye look like ye could drop.” She helped her stumble into the chair by the fireplace. Brianna carried on for several minutes, Claire rocking her back and forth, whispering to her all the while. After what seemed like an eternity, she finally quieted, falling asleep on her mother’s shoulder.

Even after she was quiet, Claire did not stop rocking her, did not stop whispering. She kept her hand on her back, desperate to be sure she could still feel her breathing. It seemed to be regular now.

“Claire?” Jenny said gently. Claire noticed for the first time that Jenny had been kneeling by her side all the while. Dazed, she forced herself to meet Jenny’s gaze. “Will she be alright?”

“I…I think so…” Claire stammered.

“What made this happen?”

“You said she wasn’t breathing right away after she was delivered…” Claire began, and Jenny nodded. “I thought we’d been lucky, that there wouldn’t be any complications from it…” She took a shuddery breath, swallowing more tears. “But sometimes if the baby can’t get enough air, especially after such a long, difficult birth…it can lead to difficulties later on. Seizures being one of them.”

“Will it happen again?”

“It could…” Claire finally stopped rocking, though she continued to rub Brianna’s back, listening carefully to her breathing. “I’ve…I’ve seen it happen to men before, on the battlefield, after loss of blood, lack of oxygen to the brain from a head injury. But I’ve never…I’ve never seen it happen to a baby. I hadn’t even thought…”

Jenny comfortingly squeezed Claire’s shoulder. “Ye couldnae seen it coming.”

“I know…I just…” Claire’s voice broke again, almost like a pitiful squeak. “I felt so helpless…watching her like that…” She began sobbing. “I’ve never been so terrified in my life, and so helpless to do anything about it…”

“Hush now…” Jenny rose to her knees and wrapped her arms around Claire’s shuddering frame, minding Brianna as she did so. “It’s alright, mo ghràidh, it’s alright…dinna cry…”

Claire could not stop the what ifs racing through her mind. It had been a nearly two minute seizure. Neonatal seizures were incredibly dangerous to the child’s development. If it hadn’t stopped when it did she could have been without oxygen to the brain for an indeterminable amount of time, causing permanent damage. She might never have walked, or talked, or eaten a meal on her own…It was too much.

But the fact remained that that was not what had happened. It stopped, her breathing was regular, she was alright.

But what if it happened again?

Claire had done everything she could; she freed her of any restraints, kept her on her side, protected her head, relaxed her muscles, and yet it still lasted longer than was typically safe. What if next time the chamomile didn't work?

And what of the rest of her life? Most infants grew out of seizures, but in Brianna’s case, the lack of oxygen during her birth could have lasting effects. There could even be other effects. Why hadn't Claire seen this coming? Why hadn’t she thought to assess her for any damage that was not easily picked up on? She’d been too relieved that she was alive at all to even think of the possibility of something being wrong.

If she was in 1945, she would have taken her to a specialist, full well knowing that her medical judgement would be far too clouded by motherly concern. But in 1746 Scotland, any doctor that came to study her, even doctors with legitimate degrees, would likely think she was possessed by the Devil, as had been Jenny’s instinct to believe. Seizures were thought of as demonic possessions for centuries. They’d have to travel far and wide to find a doctor lacking in said superstition.

God…What am I to do?

“Are ye with me, sister?” Jenny’s voice snapped Claire out of her reverie. Claire willed her eyes to focus on Jenny’s face. “Let’s get her dressed and properly swaddled, hm?”

Still dazed, Claire nodded absently, allowing Jenny to help her out of the chair. Claire laid her on the bed, checked her pulse and breathing. Normal. Jenny gave her a clean diaper, which she needed, and clean clothes. Once she was changed, dressed, and swaddled, Claire took her back into her arms and pressed a reverent kiss to her cheek.

“Maman?”

Claire looked up, and her heart broke anew. She’d forgotten the poor boy had been standing there all along. “Fergus…I’m…I’m so sorry you had to see all of that.”

“Was it my fault?” he said. “I was holding her…did I…”

“No, Fergus, no…” Claire sighed sadly. “Come here, darling.” She sat on the bed, inviting him to sit beside her. “These things are beyond our control. They just…happen. Something happens inside the body that triggers it. It has nothing to do with you, or me, or anybody.”

A single tear trickled down his cheek. Claire freed one of her hands from holding Brianna and cupped his cheek, swiping the tear away with her thumb. “It’s alright. She’s alright now.” Fergus nodded.

“May I…may I please hold her? Just for a little?”

“Of course, darling.” Claire carefully handed her to him, and he held her close, tighter than she’d ever seen him hold her. Claire took his face in her hands and kissed his forehead. “She feels so safe when you hold her,” Claire said assuringly. “See?”

Fergus nodded, though he was still silently crying.

“She’s going to be alright,” Claire insisted, and she wasn’t sure if it was for Fergus’s benefit or her own. “I promise.” He nodded again.

After a considerably long silence, Jenny cleared her throat. “Would ye mind helping me wi’ the mending, Claire?” Claire stared at her blankly. “Ye’ll drive yerself mad if ye do nothing but stare at her every second for the rest of yer life. Ye ken?”

Claire sighed. “You’re right.”

“I’ll bring the basket up here, ye can lay her right next to us on the bed while we work. How’s that sound?” Claire nodded. “You too, lad. Milord could use yer help in the stable.”

“But — ”

“No buts. Off ye go.”

“We promise we’ll come get you right away if Brianna needs you. Isn’t that right, Jenny?” Claire looked at her expectantly.

“Aye, that’s right. We promise.”

Claire smiled at him. “You were very brave, Fergus. It was very important that I knew how long it lasted, and you were wonderful at keeping track. Thank you for helping.”

“Of course, Maman, anything for you and ma petit.” Fergus reluctantly relinquished Brianna to Claire and started to leave the room to join Ian outside, but he rushed back to press a kiss to Claire’s cheek.

“Je t'aime, Maman.”

Claire’s heart swelled more than she could possibly imagine. “Je t'aime, mon fils,” she whispered, briefly cupping his cheek before he left the room.

Claire looked up to see Jenny smiling at her.

“What?”

“Yer a fine mother, Claire Fraser,” she said. “To both of yer bairns.”

Claire smiled tearfully. “I don’t feel like it some days. Today being one.”

“Well ye are,” Jenny insisted. “Finest I could have asked fer my brother’s children.”

Claire gave a sad laugh in spite of the tear that escaped down her cheek.

“No more crying today, sister.” Jenny began her brisk exit of the room. “Can’t have ye soiling the clean clothes ye’ll be mending.”

With another chuckle, Claire cradled Brianna close, kissing her head, vowing to live up to what Jenny had said.

[renee-writer]

Songs of An Outlander Chapter 3 Trouble!

“So lad,” Jamie had watched until they were out of sight before heading back in,” Do you wish for a song or are you hungry?” He just looks up at him with his beautiful brown eyes. Jamie tries to think of the song Claire was singing the other day, something about bears, was it?

He clears his throat and, in an off key tuneless voice starts. “Look for the bear necessities. The simple.” The bairn places his wee hands on Jamie’s face and squeezes, stopping the song in mid note. Jamie laughs. “I ken lad. It isna the same. Food then? We shall find Miss Anna and see if she has time to feed you. Then it is off to Lady Mackenzie as I must work.” At his puckered face, Jamie adds,” No worries lad, I will come back for you.”

It takes two days to reach the fort. Claire is bone weary and missing her son, and Jamie if she is being honest. Murtagh helps her down. “Be verra careful here Mistress.”

“I will. I wish to return to Fergus.”

Sir Graham come out, bowed low, and escorted then inside.

Jamie carries Fergus into the kitchen where he finds Mrs. Fitz and her granddaughter among the other kitchen workers. Ignoring Leery, he turns to Mrs. Fitz.

“Do you ken where Anna Mackenzie is? The lad here needs a feed.”

“Oh aye. She is in the Great Room with some other lasses. They are sewing.”

“Thank you.”

“I can take him to her for you Jamie.”

“No thank you Leery. I've him.” He turns and hurries out leaving a furious Leery behind.

“That Sassanech witch stole his heart and now her bastard has stolen his attention. It is not to be born!”

Claire is hurried to Lt. Grey. “He is bad off mistress. I am so glad you were able to come.”

She finds her patient, cold, clammy, and with quite an edematous leg. It is swelled to twice it's normal size. Signs of a bad infection are also present.

“This is no bite wound. I can feel the bullet under the skin.”

Jamie finds Anna and asks her if she has time to feed the lad. “Aye. Give him here. Such a fine brawl laddie he is.”

“Aye. I will return to take him to Lady Mackenzie presently.”

“That will do just fine.”

He has decided to move temporary into the surgery, so as not to disrupt the lad. So, as he has his breakfast, Jamie moves his things into there. He then returns to get him. He takes him to the Lady Mackenzie.

“You sure you dinna mind doing this?”

“Ach, not at all. Tis' pleasant to have a wee one about again and Hamish adores him.”

“Mrs. Fitz has a bottle for him and the fine ground porridge. He can take it from a spoon. Anna has just feed him so he should be fine for a bit. Ahh.”

“Go Jamie. I swear he will be just fine.” He nods, kisses the baby's head, thanks her again, and hurries out.

She has to work the bullet out so she doses him wit. Ludlum. She request boiling water. Dipping a clean cloth in it, she cleans his skin before dipping her scalpel into the boiling water. She cleans the pus out and gently pushes the bullet up and out. She cleans the wound completely out and then closes it. He is still very sick but will get better now.

Jamie misses Claire and wee Fergus. Badly. The work day, usually enjoyable, drags on. He tries to recall the song she was first singing. Something about rainbows. “Once upon a dream.” He whispers under his breath. He isn’t paying attention and hits his thumb with the hammer. “Iffrin!” That is said a bit louder.

“Who are you?” her patient asks. He was just waking up.

“Claire, the healer from Castle Leoch. I removed a bullet from your leg. You will get better now.”

“Thank you. But why is an English woman a healer at a Scottish castle.”

“It is a long story. I will tell you later.”

“No, you will tell us now.” A familiar voice says. Her skin breaks out in goosebumps as she turns around.

Jamie hurries to the kitchen to get Fergus' bottle before heading to him. He sees Leery being drug away by two castle guards.

“What?” he turns to a sobbing Mrs. Fitz.

“I~ I am so sorry Jamie. I ne' ken'd.” He stands and stares at her, waiting. “She tried to harm the wee bairn. Placed something in his porridge. Ye ken how Claire has me make up a fine powered type for him? Well I had mixed it up. Was going to send Lori up with it. Leery offered. I should have ne'..”

“Fergus! The lad~ is he alright?” He wanted to shake her but knows she is very upset. He restrains himself.

“Oh aye. He is a smart one. He ken'd. Wouldn’t take a bite. So Herself, she smelled it. Smelled almonds. Pushed it to the side and sent for Himself, myself and Leery. She confessed to~ having tried to poison him!” She breaks into tears again as Jamie sprints out.

“Lt. Randall.” She manages to stand on weak knees. He nods before coming up to kiss Lt. Grey on the lips.

“Thank you for seeing to his leg.” She simply nods as bile raises up. She recalls their first meeting and the almost rape in the forest. If Murtagh hadn't. “Now, answer my lovers question. What is an English lass doing working as a healer in Castle Leoch.

He runs breathlessly into Herself's chamber. He skids to a stop at the sight of him seating on the floor, laughing as Hamish tickles him with a feather.

“Jamie, he is just fine, as you can see “

“Aye. Thank you for~ I canna believe she..”

“Sit lad. Take a breath. Hamish, give the bairn to Jamie.” Once he has Fergus in his arms, he is able to finally draw a deep breath.

“Tell me all.”

“I ken'd ye and Claire's warning about keeping the lad away from Leery. She wants ye, ye ken?”

“Aye, but not I, her. She tried to kiss me once but I pushed her away.” He holds the lad close and carefully rocks him.

“She has said you gave in,” he starts to respond but she holds up her hand,” No one believes her. We see how ye look at his mam.” Jamie blushes.

“Today. What happened today?”

“Aye. Seems she sprinkled some ground almonds, cyanide, in his porridge. If he would have taken even one bite..”

“Holy God!”

“But he didn't. A smart lad he is. Leery will not be back. We have overlooked a lot for the sake of Mrs. Fitz. We will not overlook this. She is locked away and will remain so.”

“Good.”

“Take the lad back to his room. He really is alright.”

“Thank you. There really are no words.”

“Also kindly explain how you have an infant son. You had no sign of pregnancy when I first rang into you.”

Claire frantically thinks. If she was to say that he was an orphan, this evil man might take him away from her. She recalls Frank's words about interrogations, to stick as close as possible to the truth.

“He was but a newborn at our first meeting sir. My husband had died. My maid had the baby. We meet up again after our ‘ meeting'. The good Laird of Castle Leoch has put us up until I can get back to England. We can.”

“I do not believe you madam. Until you tell me the truth you will remain my guest.” He had her taken away and locked in a room beside the one Murtagh was locked in. Now what?

“So, my smart lad outsmarted the Leery witch. Thank God you did.” He has bathed him, feed him his bottle, dressed him in his night shirt. He now holds him on his bent knee and speaks to him in Gaelic. “So, what will it be. A tale of the water horse or the silkies?” The lad grins at the end. “Silkies it is. “ He tells him of the creatures that are said to take on human traits. “They say my own da was one. That after my mam died he slipped back into the sea. But, can you keep a secret? He is really in Paris with my cousin Jarrod. He needed some time, you see.” He finds him asleep and lifts him to his chest. He lays across Claire’s bed and they both sleep, surrounded by her scent, unaware of the danger she is in.