#oh you have immense amounts of guilt for destroying your people when you were trying to save them?

[shift-shaping]

The what now

lmaaoo

it's an al-an x robin fic. there's uh. tentacles. and some dubcon stuff. but it was really good.

[nohaijiachi]

Please don't hesitate to share all your angsty ideas about forgotten Morgott lore, in fact is there any other way to prove your love of a fictionnal character than to shove them through intense amount of emotionnal pain?

Oh boy anon, you shouldn't prompt me like this 👀💦 (ok this got loooooong so I’m putting a cut here to avoid the wall of text on your dashboards, musings about the feral!Morgott AU under heeeere)

I like to imagine that in this version of the story Morgott refused to leave their prison even when they had the chance to do so, too blinded by his faith in the Tree and his self-hatred to even consider the idea. He was so sure one day he'd be properly freed if only he kept believing, and the bros had a really ugly fight about it, with an infuriated Mohg ending up leaving the sewers right after said fight, and telling himself he didn't care if he left Morgott alone, whatever, the idiot made his own bed and now he got to lie in it. (spoilers: he cares. Immensely.) Cue time passing, with Morgott just waiting and waiting and waiting, and his sanity slipping away piece by piece with each long year of solitude going by. He told himself he was fine with being alone; after all he'd already been alone for a time, by the point the two of them fought, what with Mohg getting increasingly more preoccupied with his new master to spend much time with his twin. But even if the distance had been increasing between them, Mohg had been there, and Morgott couldn't have possibly expected just how truly alone he'd be once Mohg left, and how the complete solitude slowly but surely eroded his sanity and grasp on reality. Meanwhile Mohg is out there exploring the world, meeting people, getting grandiose ideas in his mind and then proceeding to start recruiting subjects and allies to see said ideas become reality. But even with how busy he is he still keeps an ear on the ground, so to speak, to possibly grasp any news about his brother. He is convinced Morgott would sooner rather than later have also left the sewers, so surely it’d only be a matter of time before Mohg would hear rumors about a peculiar Omen such as his twin, right? But rumors do not come. Time passes, things change, and Mohg is yet to catch a glimpse of Morgott, hear anything at all about his whereabouts, and he starts to get worried. He decides a visit to the wretched place is in order, just to ensure himself Morgott is not still down there, rotting away... (he couldn’t possibly be, right? Right?) But well, we all know what’s going to happen. I think in this version of the story Mohg’s grandiose vision of a land ruled by his glorious dynasty never quite managed to take off, because the moment he finally stumbles into Morgott, at this point reduced to a shell of his former self only moved by basic survival instincts, he’d probably experience a grief and a guilt so strong it’d all but immediately destroy any of the almost child-like dreams of powers and authority that Mohg harbored up to that point. He’d probably lose any passion for those lofty goals that now feel like a pale, distant dream that he once dreamt in what was a different life, by a different him. Seeing what Morgott has become, and knowing it is his fault that his beloved brother is now but a shadow of who he once was, it’s a heavy weight he now has to carry, all the while trying to remedy to what he’s done in any way he can, trying to care for Morgott the way he should’ve done before his twin was lost to solitude and madness...

(It’s not his fault any more than Morgott’s own. They were both too stubborn and stupid to get through to each other, and this is the result. Doesn’t mean Mohg wouldn’t completely, blindly blame himself for it all, and let himself get eaten by guilt, all dreams abandoned... Perhaps in this version of the story he never quite got to the point of kidnapping Miquella, which would definitely hold some interesting ramifications for the future of the Lands Between lfdjfsj) But is Morgott entirely lost? -Perhaps part of him still exist. Dregs of who he once was, still hanging on somewhere in his mind, enough to make him somewhat recognize Mohg... Who knows, he might not be completely hopeless, yet :^) And our tarnished better keep out of the sewers and leave him alone, if we want to let him have at least a little chance of regaining his sense of self. Oh no, can you imagine how this would play out in-game? We’d probably fight Mohg first, and he’d be desperate to keep anybody out of the sewers and away from his brother. He’d die in anguish by our hands, knowing he failed and it’s only a matter of time before we also kill Morgott. Oh, man, I am making myself sad now lsfdlkjfsdlj. I never modded anything in my life but I’m almost tempted to try and dip my toe in the wonderful world of game mods to see if I can do this storyline myself lmaoooo (it’s not gonna happen, let’s be realistic, that’d be an inordinate amount of work for anyone experienced, let alone a scrub noob like me sigh) So yes, anon, here we are, bathing our fav Omen twins in as much emotional pain as possible. It’s what we do best, and what we love doing uheuheuyhueheuh

[sxveme-2]

blueberry pancakes // bucky barnes

MASTERLIST

Description: A single mother. Juggling being a mom, a full time pediatrician, and a difficult ex who believed now would be the best time to finally be a father. A soldier ripped out of time. Ex-assassin turned superhero. Learning how to balance a new domestic life with handling demons of his past, while facing the trials of the future. a love story began over something as simple as chocolate chip pancakes with hidden blueberries.

Disclaimer: I do not own any original Marvel characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else

Status: Edited

Note: Takes place after endgame. I have elected to ignore Tony's death and Steve's leaving. Did not happen. Quick Reminder! My works are only published here, AO3 and on Wattpad, thank you.

Chapter Five: The One with the Burnt Pancakes

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 2516

    Coming out of a divorce unscathed was more uncommon than its counterpart. Typically, a bit of baggage attaches itself to one or both parties. No matter whether or not divorce rates are through the roof in today's modern era, it still hurt more than words could describe. Especially when it's due to an affair. It creates this sense of unworthiness, and as though you weren't good enough. And when the pair has a child, it makes it ten times more difficult. Knowing that you'll have to break it to the child that their parents will no longer be together, and that they will most likely spend more time with one in comparison to the other.

But, when your child already has a bit of distaste towards your partner, it can make the blow a little softer. Sure, every mother wants their child to have a relationship with their father, other mom, etc. Whatever the situation is, parents, want that. They want to be able to see their child's face when they see their ex-spouse, but sometimes, there's nothing you can do about it. Especially when your ex never put in the effort, to begin with.

Above all, your perception of love changes. and that's exactly what happened to Lily. She lost all belief in herself and didn't believe she could ever find someone who would love her, along with the baggage that she carried alongside her. And that broken heart that she has yet to mend, and honestly, she wasn't sure if she'd ever find someone who could help. To cup warm hands around the two halves and hold them together until they combined once again.

Other things she deemed impossible, was her sitting in a kitchen with the avengers. Earth’s mightiest heroes. The people that destroyed an entire army. travelled to space. Some even having been ripped out of time and thrown into different roles and periods. These people had stories people couldn't even dream of, lived lives people only wished to be able to experience. And here sat Lily, a single mother of an 11-year-old boy, who lived in a domestic area, and worked as a pediatrician. She was minuscule in comparison to the Gods and soldiers that sat around her.

"So, is Hunter’s father around?" a soft voice asked, an accent dripping from the words. It had pulled Lily out of her thoughts of astonishment, as she tried to wrap her head around what was currently happening.

"Hm? Oh, no," Lily spoke, her voice as soft as the gentle ripple of a pond, while she sipped the coffee they had given her. Glancing up, a few of the superheroes looked at her with inquisitive eyes, wondering where he may be, or if he even was to be anymore, "We uh, we divorced four years ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that," the girl continued. Lily had placed her as Scarlet Witch, or Wanda Maximoff. Hunter adored her. He ranted and raved about how cool her abilities were and how she could probably take down an entire army by herself if she wanted to, "He's cute. I've always wanted kids."

Lily nodded along as the conversation continued around her. She stayed as silent as a sleeping lamb, her green eyes glancing around as she tapped her fingers against her coffee mug. She wasn't sure what they wanted her to say. It had been proven time and time again that Lily was the farthest from a talker. Deep inside of her mind, the little voice of self-doubt had convinced her that no one cared about what she had to say. That the only reason people even spoke to her, to begin with, was because it was polite. But she's also been told that the world around her found that shy demeanour endearing, and mysterious. As if she held secrets behind those sealed lips when in reality, Lily was scared that if she spoke, she'd create secrets. Letting the world in on the pain she hid, that she kept locked away in a vault deep within her mind. protecting herself from being destroyed again.

"...So if you ever need a babysitter," Wanda’s voice sang again, yanking Lily away from her deeper thoughts once again, as though the two were tethered. the young blonde's attention perked up as the young girl continued speaking, "I'm your girl."

Was the Scarlet Witch, offering to babysit Lily's eleven-year-old? As in, seriously? Like to pick him up or come down from upstate New York to deliberately take care of him? If it weren't for the fact Lily rarely left the house, and if she did, it was with Hunter, she may have considered the idea. But Lily wasn't one to go out. The noise that came along with the idea of partying or going out on the town always got Lily's heart beating at a much too fast pace. If she was going out, it was to gen's cafe, or with three glasses of wine down and a whole bottle to go. The world was loud and intimidating, and could easily crush Lily's fragile heart and mind with a simple touch. And where would that lead her? Nowhere good, that's where.

"Oh that's sweet, but I don't typically go out, and when I do, he comes with," Lily stated, lips forming a tight smile as she ran her finger along the circular hole atop her mug.

"Really? A girl that's as beautiful as you must get tons of guys and go out on dates. and I see no ring on that finger," the infamous Tony Stark teased while shifting his weight to look at the blonde, "unless there's already a lucky fella."

A laugh of almost disbelief escaped through Lily's full lips as if the idea of Tony Stark calling her beautiful was too good to be true, "Oh no. my best friend tries but I don't date. Already have my hands full with work and Hunter."

"Where do you work?" Steve's voice now chimed in, pushing off the counter he leaned on as Bucky worked away, staying silent. He hadn't spoken a word to Lily since Steve walked her through the threshold of the kitchen, merely a gruff hi before returning to the feverish work he was doing on the pancakes. It was as though he was trying to make them perfect.

"I'm a pediatrician at Mount Sinai Kravis Children's Hospital down in Manhattan," Lily answered, her eyes averting from looking at any of the intimidating people around her. Why were they so interested in her? Why did they seriously care so much about her personal life? She just brought Hunter here for a tour, not an interrogation...was this what people did? Like...they wanted to learn more about her? It didn't make sense, she was pretty basic. There was nothing special to her, Lily thought.

"Oh, that's awesome. I have a few-"

"SHIT!"

The large outburst caused everybody to immediately turn their attention to where it came from. Behind the counter, Bucky was waving smoke away from his face that seemed to be billowing from the pan on the stove. He burnt the pancakes. Lily felt a small smile tug at the corners of her lips as she watched him throw a towel at the counter, his face turning a crisp shade of red, like a cherry. The moment his eyes landed on her though, his entire body lit up in a hue of pink it seemed. He grew flustered, biting down on this ever so soft lips he had. Lily was only human, she couldn't help but avert her eyes down to the thin layer of skin. And as if on cue, Wanda let her voice ring through the kitchen.

"Damn it, Barnes! I told you not to cook, and you decide to challenge your abilities in front of our guest?" The ginger exclaimed while standing from her chair, going to help the built man clean his mess.

A few of the others in the room whined, and Lily guessed they had been waiting for a bit to eat. She felt a twang of guilt deep within her, as though it was her fault. But it really wasn't, she wasn't the one making the pancakes. no, she was merely answering the personal questions they all seemed to have for her, as well as constantly glancing at the hall or behind her to see if Hunter was on his way back. Instead, he was now outside with Sam, looking at all of the different artifacts and things that weren't able to be kept inside of the compound.

"You much of a chef, Lily?" James Rhodes (Warmachine, she reminded herself), asked. No matter the amount of mental effort it took, Lily couldn't help but allow the tinge of rose to decorate her full cheeks. They seemed to want to get to know her, and she felt almost...accepted? No, maybe more so welcomed, by these beings of immense power and ability. She allowed her shoulders to relax, and her grip on her mug lessened.

"Nothing impressive, but I do know my way around a kitchen," she responded, tilting her head to the side, causing her blonde locks to dance across her shoulder, "Most nights, I try to make homemade meals for Hunt and I. It's important for a child's development." she finished but noticed how all of their eyes were glued to her. Raising her left eyebrow ever so gently, she let a giggle escape from her throat, "but sometimes I give in and order pizza."

"You should help Bucky out, he's never been the best cook. Got used to boiling everything in the forties, so he makes a mean hot dog," Steve teased, sauntering over in all of his Captain America excellence, "Anything else? Completely lost on him."

"It's a good skill to have. But difficult to master, I suppose." Lily shrugged, crossing her legs over one another as she rested her elbow on the glass table, cupping her chin as she sipped the hot liquid in her cup. She couldn't seem, however, to take her eyes off of the culprit of the burnt pancake smell. The way the muscles in his neck rippled whenever he clenched his jaw. How his metal arm glinted as a small stream of light entered through a window, creating a bright reflection. How his scruff along his chiselled chin seemed to be a bit overgrown underneath.

Her mind began to wander momentarily, a gentle and soft vision dancing itself into her brain. Him sitting on a chair in her bathroom, Lily sitting comfortably on his lap, facing him. His eyes sleepy and his hair unkempt. Her skilled and nimble hand resting on the side of his face as she trimmed underneath his jaw, getting those areas he seemed to miss. His lips parted as he seemed to slowly drift off again, as though Lily's gentle hands were willing him to...

A hand waving in front of her face snatched Lily out of her odd fantasy land. She cleared her throat and looked around her, eyebrows knitting together in confusion, as though she had been paying attention to the whole conversation she just missed. Holding her lips inside of her mouth, Lily shifted once again in her seat, attempting to play it cool as the blush that had formed on her cheeks seemed to grow rapidly.

"Sorry, could you repeat what you said?" she asked, her voice weak as her eyes shifted to look at the man behind the counter once again. She couldn't help it...he was beautiful.

"I said you should help Buck out making the pancakes. Most of us haven't eaten, and if you're as good as you say, maybe you can help." Steve grinned, a knowing glint in his sky blue eyes. The way he looked at Lily, as though he could see inside of her head, sent a shiver down her spine. The idea of anyone knowing where her mind just wandered was basically mortifying for her. Being such a conservative person, the idea of that getting out? Yeah, no.

"Oh no I shouldn't...I'm positive he's capable of making pancakes." Lily chuckled, her voice cracking halfway through. This caught everyone's interest, and Lily had to hide her face with her mug as the dark liquid slid its way down her throat.

"He isn't. We don't normally let him in the kitchen. C'mon Lily, show us whatcha got." Steve continued to pry, leaning back in his chair as the others encouraged the entire idea.

Lily's head turned back to where Bucky stood, an almost pleading yet bashful look gracing his perfectly sculpted features. Just the way his eyes seemed to call out for her, was enough to allow the eldest Osborne to give in to the peer pressure of her new acquaintances. That was something Lily believed to be impossible, being friends with these heroes. These people that laid their life on the ground multiple times, saving her and her son by protecting the world around them. She was in debt to this group, everybody was. They've kept them protected for countless years. But how would one even begin to thank them?

"Okay okay, I'll do it," Lily mumbled, finishing her drink before pushing herself out of the chair that probably cost the same amount as her dog. She pulled a hair tie from her wrist and securing the blonde locks at the nape of her neck as she gracefully floated towards the kitchen. Glancing around, she couldn't help but let out a laugh at how expensive the items around her were. Sure, she didn't live in a house with run-down appliances, but these were top-of-the-line, high-end, see-on Food Channel things. A far reach from Lily's budget, "Well, first of all, Bucky, you need to turn on the fan."

After preparing everything to ensure not only safety but also to optimize space and time, Lily turned towards the man she had just moments ago daydreamed of. For a moment, she found herself lost in those steel-blue eyes he had. As though he had captured the moon and made them his own, adding a tinge of the blue from the sky above. How with every flicker across her face, a story was told. The pain and suffering he had endured etched into the dips and creases of his face, especially around those beautiful orbs. A part of her wished that the other members of the group were gone and that she could grip the sides of his face and kiss those lips he kept licking. His tongue darting out to wet them, creating a slight chapped ring around the pink layer of skin.

"Hey if you two are done gazing into the eyes of each other and looking like Hollister models, the rest of us are hungry." Starks’s voice rang, snapping Lily out of the trance the ex-soldier had put her under for a few seconds.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, coke can," Bucky muttered while turning his gaze away from Lily's and focused on washing the blueberries, "I'm just cleaning fruit."

[packsbeforesnacks]

Drumming Song || Salva & Winn (feat. Noah)

TIMING: Saturday, May 9th, 2020, after The One Where They Become a Pack LOCATION: Winn’s Cabin in the Outskirts PARTIES: @drunk-and-howling, @packsbeforesnacks, & @noah-kalani SUMMARY: After the ‘Pack’ Meeting, Winn sees a side of himself that he hasn’t before. WARNING: Emotional manipulation, violence.

Winn waited in the woods with Denny for a while, mind still turning over his anger. He was, truly, a lover, not a fighter. It wasn’t like him to fly off at the handle because of some guy. There was guilt, too, in the pit of his gut, for talkin’ about the Hunter like he, what, enjoyed killing the fucker? It fucked up his life. Salva. It all came back to him. So, maybe Winn was hiding, a little bit. Waiting for the others to go home, to explain things to Noah before drivin’ the other man home. He knew it was against the bro-code to drop your tragic, manslaughter-filled past on your bro, unprompted. Denny nosed his hand from where he was sitting on the forest floor, head in his hands, a clear “Dad, let’s go back inside.” He walked back to the house, perfectly calm. Well, until he saw Salva. The dick was smoking like it was his last cig, and, what, fucking with his sunflowers? “Hey, asshole,” he called, as Denny ran immediately for the cellar, where Winn assumed Noah was stationed, away from the crazy. “Why the shit are you still here?” He was chill, weirdly, but he could feel the wolf growling, as if anticipating… something. What, Winn didn’t know.

While he was alone and relishing the silence, Salva decided to busy himself in sniffing around Winn's property, succumbing to canine curiosity. The meeting went... well enough, considering the vastly different personalities of all the wolves involved, and he wasn't sure about all the hunter relationship shit going on, but he'd have to work on that after Gotch was taken care of. Suddenly, that aromatic scent came drifting back, and Salva's poking around was interrupted by none other than the homeowner himself. He took another long drag of his cigarette and kept it in as he turned to address Winn. As he breathed out, he noticed that although his expression and demeanor were relatively relaxed, he watched Winn with a critical eye, and never broke eye contact. "No reason... just admiring the landscaping. Great venue, I love what you've done with the place." Sarcasm. Salva began approaching Winn, moving silently over the leaf litter like the prowling predator he was. "What did you think of that meeting? You seemed to be having a rough time... Next time I'll be sure to bring a whiteboard for you." His tone was cold.

“Told you,” Winn started, a smirk on his face, “I already have the whiteboard. All kinds of things you can draw on it, man. A ‘Get Off My Damn Property’ sign, for example, for when a local asshole just won’t quit.” He stretched, still relatively at ease. “Why don’t you just go home, bro? I’m sure the cave is missin’ you.” Winn winked, leaning down to pick up a stray piece of trash that had blown out of the car when he’d brought Noah here. “So…” Winn drawled, hamming up the ‘oh shucks, gosh mister’ attitude he reserved for folks he didn’t trust, a category which Salva slotted squarely into. “Seems like you’re not much of a people-person. No offense, my dude, but I can’t imagine you havin’ much of an altruistic streak. Why help us — Luke — out? Or is just another kill for your diary? May 10th, 2020, plotted a murder with my homies.” He took a step towards Salva, still loose, still easy. Maybe it wasn’t this guy, after all. Maybe it was just lingering Moon juice, runnin’ and thrummin’ through his veins.

It was all Salva could do to stop himself from growling at Winn… he just kept going and going, each insult more obnoxious than the last, until the older wolf was finally ready to just attack this guy and call it a night. But Salva knew he couldn't do that — he couldn't preach about wolf unity and then trounce one of them on his own lawn. But with every step that brought Winn closer, Salva's muscles tensed, and he prepared for anything. "If you want my advice, get on your knees and start thanking me for helping you and yours," he bit back. "And while you're down there, lick my boots, you punkass mutt."

Winn scoffed, taking another step forward. He wasn’t above trouncin’ this asshole and kickin’ him out the old-fashioned way, but… he couldn’t do that to Luke, to Miles. There was a ring of truth to Salva’s words. His information was valuable. But even so… “If you wanted me on my knees, Alpha,” Winn said, voice high, dripping with mock-reverence, “You should’ve just asked.” There was a growl to his voice, he knew, despite the amount of fake sugar. If there was anything he hated more than a big ego, Winn had yet to find it. “I wouldn’t fuck up nothin’ for Luke, but, man, if I had my fuckin’ way—” And then it hit him like a truck, burning in his nose. Smoke, but not charcoal. Oily, black, feeding a fire in Winn that he didn’t know was there. “Actually,” he growled out, walking slowly towards the other man, not wanting to alert him. “Just might have somethin’ there, ‘bout the boot-lickin’.” And then he leapt at the other man, shoving him against his porch, a hair gripped in Salva’s hair. He pulled the man’s head to the side, snarling. “You’re fucking worthless, you know that? Wolves like you make me sick. You think you can just take,” the hand in Salva’s hair tightened, as Winn forced the other man to bare his neck, “whatever the fuck you want. I’m so tired of that bullshit.”

Salva braced himself just as Winn leapt at him, but he was a little taken aback by the raw weight and power of his musculature, and he allowed himself to be pinned. As his neck was bared, he was stricken with a unique fear, deep at his core… it was such a rush to be under another wolf's teeth, moments from death, and Salva couldn't do anything but growl through a flashing grin. "Oh man, I love this energy!" the older wolf grunted, and admittedly it was difficult to talk while Winn gripped him. But now, getting a good look at this violent streak, Salva couldn't help but wonder… "H-hey… Don't I know you from somewhere…?" He could easily push this wolf away, but something made him stop.

Winn could feel the change coming, could feel his teeth sharpen as he hovered over the other wolf’s neck, eager to sink them into the soft flesh there, eager to show the other man how a fuckin’ wolf handled a wannabe. He pulled back, long enough to yank the other man’s hair back, to meet Salva’s wild eyes with his own. “You’re fuckin’ kidding, right?” he said, voice quiet, even, and deadly. His hand went up, unbidden, to push against Salva’s chest, fingers, slowly turning to claws, itching to get a hand around the man’s throat, to steal the word away from his crooked mouth. “Like I would ever associate with you.” He raised a fist, drawing his hand back, his entire body coiled with barely suppressed rage, rage he couldn’t place, much less name. Why? He growled, from the back of his throat, from the deepest, darkest part of his heart, where the wolf paced its cage, eager to be let out.

Salva saw destruction in Winn's wild eyes, but he suddenly didn't fear anything… Even the vulnerability he felt couldn't amount to the feeling of hot blood running through his veins, and something in him even longed for Winn's claws. Salva just grinned wider. "You’re a good actor, but you look like a killer." Salva winced as Winn's grip tightened even further, and he braced himself against the wall. "What would your friends think…"

“Shut up,” Winn growled. He’d never met this man in his life, regretted immensely the displeasure of meeting him tonight. And yet, he didn’t pull away, fist wavering in the air. “It’s not— I’m not acting. And I don’t kill.” Winn listened, but the man’s heartbeat was steady. He really believed it. Winn’s nose twitched, the oil and smoke burning, burning, burning. No fucking way. He wasn’t a killer. He wasn’t. “What,” Winn said, growl coming out again as his rage rose and rose, “the fuck.” Fast as the wind, Winn’s hands went from where they’d been ready to fight, to destroy, to clenched tight in the other man’s shirt, lifting him up against the porch easily. “I don’t know who you are, or what you think you know about me. I don’t give a shit about your mind games. Fuck with me. But if you hurt any of them, I will hunt you down and make you wish that Gotch was after you. Do you understand me?” He pressed curled fits into the other man’s collarbone, trying to make it hurt.

"Ha." Salva snarled lowly, his voice tight with the pain he felt. The more his nerves screamed, the more high he felt from the violence, until he was sure he was close to either passing out. Winn's fists applied pressure to his neck and Salva's hands twisted into long, untrimmed claws, one of them finding their way into Winn's back to dig at the flesh there. "This is all very lovely, but don't dare mistake my intentions, mutt… I won't hesitate to claw that stupid face off…"

Noah had fully expected Winn to come back down of his own accord after the meeting was over. But when he didn’t, it set off alarm bells in Noah’s brain. Something was amiss. Climbing the stairs up and out, Noah followed the sounds of voices, his ears still a bit more sensitive than they usually were. What he found though left much to be desired. Because what he found was Winn pinning the other wolf (what was his name? Salvatore? Stevia?) to the front porch, his entire body practically oozing anger. And the other wolf, Salvia (Salvia! that was it), was just standing there egging him on, long claws already ready for the inevitable fight. Fucking. Hell. Pushing up his metaphorical sleeves, Noah walked up to the pair, clearing his throat loudly. He knew that they would have known he was there regardless, but he still wanted to make a statement. “So, I don't know what's happening here,” he started, dark brown eyes narrowing and his arms coming to cross in front of him. The last thing he wanted to do now was to get in the middle of two, full-grown, snarling wolves. But he would not stand by and let Winn allow his anger to get the best of him. Nor was he going to let the other dude draw anyone’s blood. “But both of you need to knock it the fuck off.” It was not a request, it was a command, especially as Noah locked eyes with one Winn Woods.

The change was near-instant as Noah’s scent filled Winn’s senses, calming him inexplicably even as Salva’s scent, the oil and the fire, lingered in his nose, stewing there. Noah’s eyes met his, and Winn nodded, a short, quick movement. He lowered the other wolf to the ground, cautious, and extracted himself, pulling the man’s claws out of the soft skin of his back firmly. No more fighting, not tonight. He refused to look at Salva, couldn’t even think about what the other man was saying. He pushed it from his mind. “Leave,” Winn said, all emotion drained from his voice. He had to keep it together, for… for Noah. Winn wouldn’t lose it in front of his friend; Winn wouldn’t prove Salva right, Winn wasn’t a monster. Not like Salva was. “Let’s go,” Winn said to Noah, quietly, as he “ran” with his tail between his legs back into his living room.

As Noah approached and Winn backed off, Salva seemed wholly unbothered. In fact, his expression was lighter than a feather, and he took a moment to roll his shoulders and pop his neck before following. "Good of you to join us, One-Sixteenth," he greeted, his tone rather chipper considering the heavy context. Obviously, he was addressing Noah — he'd scented him at the beginning of the meeting, and his practiced nose noticed his low-content blood. Maybe the wolf had a transfusion, or even a skin graft or a body part. Absolutely hilarious. "Don't worry, I'm leaving." Salva began to walk back to his car, but not before taking a long moment to pointedly brush off his dress shirt. As Winn and Noah went together into the house, he made sure to call out one last statement. "You know, we're all friends here. Us wolves have to stick together. If anyone were to jeopardize that... I'm just not sure what I would do." With that, the car door slammed behind him, and the older werewolf was sitting alone in his car, the thoughts of the evening filling every corner of his brain. Anyone standing outside could have heard a sudden clatter, almost like a fist punching out a radio, before the car’s tires screeched on the street and vanished into the night.

Denny was lying across the couch, oblivious to the fight going on outside of his home. Winn was shaking, he knew. But it wasn’t the transformation, no. This was fear, pure and simple. Terror, straight to his bones. Noah came through the door, and Winn immediately wanted to touch him, to lean into the other’s body and not think. “I—” he choked out. Because what if Noah was scared of him? What if he’d heard something that would make him want to leave Winn alone, to cut himself out of all of the drama and horror that was Winn’s life. “Can I touch you? Can I hug you?” He hung his head, unable to meet Noah’s eyes, afraid to let Noah see what lurked in his own, before whispering out a quiet, “Please.”

Noah just stood there, arms still crossed, watching as Winn slowly extricated himself from the other. Winn was being good, that was evident, but Salva was still quite a wild card. Hopefully, he heeded the “advice'' that had been given and actually took a hike. Walking back to the living room, Noah just, well, stood there too, eyes taking in Winn for what seemed like the hundredth time this week. Normally, Noah would have instantly gone to comfort, but there was something about the overwhelming amount of information that had been thrown at him this week that he just. He didn’t know what to do. He didn't want to deny Winn some comfort, but man was he just exhausted. “One hug. You can have one,” Noah said, holding up exactly one finger. “Then, you are driving me home. Silently. Because my brain is done processing emotionally heavy shit for the night.”

The wolf paced in Winn’s mind, worried it had done something to hurt Noah. Rationally speaking, Winn knew the situation outside had looked, well, bad. But he couldn’t explain it to Noah, and, from the sound of Noah’s voice, the younger man didn’t want an explanation. Not right now, anyway. Winn approached the other man, and hugged him tightly, breathing in Noah’s scent. (The meaner, uglier part of his mind thought maybe this would be their last hug. The kinder, brighter side stayed silent on the matter.) When he let go, he let his eyes drift downward again, staring at the hardwood with a frown. He... he wasn’t. Salva didn’t know him. He needed someone who did. A thought popped into his head as he grabbed his keys. But… no. He couldn’t do that. 

Winn walked to the car, silently, with Noah in tow, eyes scanning the yard for any sign of Salva. Nothing. Small victories. He drove in silence. He wanted to respect Noah’s boundaries, he did, but he had to say one thing, before the night was over — one thing to remind Noah that Winn wanted him around, and that Winn was worth keeping around. “Thank you,” Winn said as they pulled up to Noah’s house. “I wouldn’t have made it through that without you.” A pause, no response from Noah, other than the clicking of his seatbelt. “And… I’m sorry. Goodnight, Noah.” The younger man left the car, and Winn watched until Noah was safely inside. Then, Winn took a shuddering breath, leaning his head against the steering wheel. Stray tears built up and fell from the corners of his eyes, onto the leather of the wheel. For the first time in a long time, Winn felt truly alone. And here was nothing else to say but a soft, earnest, “Fuck.”

[swedishmrose-blog]

“Our people are starving.” Madeleine repeated. Her voice was firm even though the little Queen did not feel as steady as the vibrations from her vocal chords. Her eyes lifted to meet those of her husband’s. He was already a formidable man, experienced despite his youth. She studied his face, as if trying to decipher him. He was a complex puzzle, far more complex than his enemies gave him credit for. He was not simply a man of pure physical exertion. He had an intellectual mind, a hunger and a thirst for knowledge that Madeleine both admired and had come to loathe. He was too intelligent at times, a match for her in every way. Every piece she moved was met with an equally wise motion of his own. It was exhausting and thrilling at the same time. Yet when it came to their people, it was purely irritating. 

She had not been Queen for long, nor had he been King, and yet so much had rested firmly on her shoulders that she felt as though she’d aged ten years in two moons, and had known nothing beyond the crown. “Do you not care for our people, Valdemar?” She asked, her voice openly challenging him despite the presence of other gentlemen of rank, namely his majesty’s dear brother, and the Marshal of the Realm. It did not deter her. She was in the right, and she knew it. His pride be damned. She had not come to Sweden to watch another kingdom of innocent people be cast aside for a greedy monarchy. Before he could answer her, she spoke more, her voice soft and feminine despite the authority that rang in each word. Her confidence had grown immensely, which was ironically Valdemar’s own doing. He’d started to notice her now that she had power in her fingertips. He’d started to listen when she spoke. Yet on this matter they clashed as strongly as he clashed with any other courtier in his court. 

“Our people must eat. I know that your soldiers must also eat, but who supplies your lines, Valdemar? Who is it that replaces soldiers cut down by our enemies? Who maintains the kingdom whilst the soldiers go off to fight? And for what do they fight if we will not care for our own?” She demanded, “There must be a better system of rationing or this winter will destroy us. Your soldiers will fall, and there will only be scrawny children and worried mothers to take their places.” Her words were filled with genuine compassion for the people she’d come to call her own. Slowly, she had begun to see Sweden as home. It was different than Estonia, would always be different than Estonia, but she had been sent to the North to give her people their best chance. Food supplies had come along with the little princess, and Sweden had played it’s part, defending Estonian borders from mutual enemies. 

But she had made a fatal mistake in her compassion. She’d challenged the great King Valdemar, the youthful, prideful, arrogant, King Valdemar in front of his men. In front of his brother. She could feel the weight of their gaze, but more than that, she could feel the weight of his silence. He was thinking, she could see that on his face. And yet his eyes weren’t cold in the way she had anticipated. There was something else there, a spark of interest, perhaps. His voice was low and controlled, something she also hadn’t anticipated. So often she saw him wracked with ire, his voice loud and thunderous through ornate rooms, that to see him calm and deep in thought had her heart racing faster in her chest. She could handle his passionate displays of anger. She could handle his temper. But his quiet anger? His calculated thoughts? She had not yet figured out how to manage such. She swallowed back her nerves, waiting with bated breath for his response. 

When at last he spoke, she allowed herself to breathe as much as could be managed in the tight corset that held her ribs snugly. “We will use your dowry then, to feed the people, and what we have already rationed for the soldiers will remain in transit to the lines.” He answered. Madeleine would have preferred his vocal anger. She would have preferred it if he’d slapped her across the face and told her never to speak to him in such a way again. This was so much worse. His decision was wise, and yet it put her in a situation she had not anticipated. Her dowry was not large enough to supply all their people with the necessary amount of rations. Surely he knew that as well as she did, and by the smug smile that had settled across his brother’s lips, so did his men. It meant she either had to confess to such, and prove herself less valuable in the eyes of Valdemar and the men surrounding him, or it meant agreeing to his decision and having to do something to increase her dowry. It was wisdom and punishment wrapped into a neat package.

The Estonian wanted to be sick. She would not tell him that her dowry was entirely too lacking for such things. And yet, Estonia had sent her to Sweden as a beacon of hope, and to write to her father demanding more would surely place Estonia in a difficult position. Her country had been ravaged by war, by Swedish soldiers for years. Half the North had fallen to Swedish rule before the marriage agreement had been negotiated, and now she was meant to request the Estonian crown give more to Sweden? A quiet anger flowed through Madeleine’s veins as she swallowed her pride down, pushed away thoughts of what was good for Estonia. It didn’t matter anymore. She was not the Queen of Estonia. She was the Queen of Sweden, and the Swedish people needed to eat. 

“An excellent idea, min älskling.” Madeleine responded, forcing herself to keep any hint of anger from entering her voice. She bowed her head, fighting to keep the smile from her lips as well at the sight of his brother’s evident surprise. The Marshal was duly surprised by her decision as well, and saw to it that he would point out the lack of coin filling the coffers if the Queen would not do so herself. “Your majesty, surely we do not--” The Marshal began, but Valdemar silenced him with a single look, his eyes leaving his wife’s at last to meet that of the Marshal. “We will use the Queen’s sizable dowry. We’ve other matters to discuss that are not suitable to gentle ears.” He spoke, his eyes returning to his wife’s. Madeleine understood his subtle dismissal. Her welcome to the room was no longer in place, and yet he did not sound angry. Rather he sounded amused, impressed even. She was no longer the tiny, frightened Estonian princess who danced with ribbons and shrieked at stories of olde. She was growing into her crown at last. 

The parchment below Madeleine’s quill had become her enemy. Writing to her father had brought back her guilt. How could she possibly ask her father for more than he’d already given? He’d done everything to place Madeleine on the Swedish throne, to turn enemy into ally. He’d given a sizable dowry in the first place, albeit not sizable enough to feed Sweden through a winter as harsh as the one it was facing. He pained her deeply to request more from him, but she had no choice. She’d already taken to eating less herself, had endured just as everyone else had. She would not dine in luxury when children died in the snow. 

She swallowed the lump in her throat, hand reaching to wrap around the teacup. It’s warmth was welcome. She exhaled, her breath billowing in clouds despite the fire that was being continuously kept with. The winter was brutal. She wondered if God was punishing them for something, and yet what was their fault? What was their great sin? She pushed thoughts of sin aside, trying desperately to focus on the letter. Elisabet was sitting quietly in a chair nearby, her hands expertly working a needle to close a hole in the fur blankets that Madeleine longed to curl up in. She longed to rest, but there was work to be done. Rest would come once she had finished the letter. A sigh left her lips as she crumpled the parchment once more.

Elisabet’s eyes turned at the crinkling noise. “You might take a rest, majesty.” She spoke softly, with a fair amount of sympathy. Elisabet understood the Queen’s predicament. She was a wise woman, older than Madeleine by several years, and loyal to the position she’d found herself in. Madeleine’s eyes softened as she looked to her but she shook her head. “No, I must send this letter as quickly as possible. There is no sense waiting.” She insisted. Elisabet set the needle and furs aside, a warm smile settling on her lips as she rose from her seated position. She came to stand behind the little Queen, and carefully pulled the brunette curls back, her fingers smoothing over the locks in a soothing motion. “You’ll tire yourself needlessly, majesty. A short rest will clear your mind and allow you to write sensibly. Or perhaps you could share your thoughts with me and I could assist you in formulating them with the quill.” 

The offer was most welcome. Elisabet knew her too well. Madeleine leaned back, closing her eyes as Elisabet brushed through her hair. It was soothing. It reminded her all too much of her own mother. She missed her dearly. The raw ache at her lost was still felt by the Swedish monarch on more than rare occasions. All that she was could be credited to her dear mother. It was the Estonian Queen who had raised her only daughter with dignity and grace, with a sense of compassion, with a mind filled with wisdom. “I simply wish there were a way to benefit our people, without subjecting Estonia to further hardship. It pains me. I feel as though I am betraying her.” She confessed, trusting Elisabet to keep her confidence. 

“Oh Mada,” Elisabet breathed, her motions still meant to be soothing. Madeleine had long since given Elisabet permission to be informal with her when it was just the two of them in her private chambers. “Your heart is too large, my sweet Queen. Do not trouble yourself so. Your father is a wise and good man, he will be understanding.” She reassured. Madeleine knew Elisabet was right. That was what made it hurt more. Her father would not protest, he would not grow angry with her. His love was unconditional, and his patience saintly. He deserved a far better daughter than she. Yet she needed to rely on such now. She shifted, sitting straight once more. Elisabet’s hands fell resting on the back of the chair. “If you would like me to read over the letter when you are finished..?” She offered. Madeleine turned her head, offering a tiny smile. “Of course, you may retire for now. I shall send for you when I am finished.” She promised. 

Once Elisabet had left her chambers, Madeleine turned her focus to the parchment once more. The quill wrote smoothly against it, in Madeleine’s practiced and elegant script. When she was finished she signed her new name, the name afforded her as Queen of Sweden. So many titles had been bestowed upon her. She needed to prove that she deserved them. God had given her a crown for a reason, but she longed for the people to put their faith in her. She would do what it took for the good of Sweden, no matter the personal expense. Was that not the role of a monarch? Did not a monarch sacrifice for the good of the people? 

She did as promised once the letter was finished. Upon receiving Elisabet’s approval, she carefully pressed her seal into the wax. The letter would reach her father in due time. From that moment forward, it was in his hands. She passed the letter over to Elisabet before rising from her chair. Her bedclothes were already on, and she wanted nothing more than to wrap herself in the furs that had been mended. She stilled at the sound of the door opening, watching as Elisabet dropped into a curtsy. Her eyes fell to the only one who could come to her chambers at such an hour. She lowered herself as well for a moment before straightening once more. Elisabet quietly dismissed herself, leaving Madeleine alone with her husband.

“I’ve finished penning the letter, my love. The increase in my dowry shall arrive soon.” She promised. She couldn’t keep the pain from her voice completely, and she knew he noticed. He closed the distance between them, and her breath hitched just so. His hand moved to sweep the brown curls from her shoulder as the other settled against her hip. “Good.” The single word was the only answer she’d get from him. She did not protest as he guided her to the furs she’d longed to curl up in. 

As promised, the increase in her dowry had arrived swiftly after her letter had reached the Estonian King. Madeleine stood now, dressed in her finest outwear. Even so, she was still frozen to the bone. She did not complain for a moment as she reached for another sack. She did not need to personally give food to the people--there were many ways to see that they were fed, but Madeleine wanted to. It was in service to her people, service to God. It was no different in her eyes than giving alms to the poor. She passed the sack to the kindly woman who smiled to her. She could see years of work marring what could have been a beautiful face. It was her words that caught Madeleine off guard, however.

“May God bless you, Queen Madeleine!” The woman’s voice was filled with joy, with relief. Hope swelled in the Estonian’s heart. This was what would make it all worth it. Her father was wise, he would find a way to make sure his people did not suffer for the aid he’d given to Sweden. And she could delight in the comfort she was giving the people who bowed to her. The Queen smiled warmly, “And may his merciful love cloak you in warmth.” She responded before the woman could leave. Similar sentiments filled her ears and passed her lips as she offered food to those who needed it desperately. She would not cross all of Sweden to provide such food of course, but those near Tre Kronor would see their little Queen in person. They would see her compassion. And if she could help it, they would see it genuine as well. 

Madeleine was exhausted by time she took her leave, walking with Elisabet and her ladies close behind. “Excellency,” Madeleine began. “See to it that tea is given to each lady, and spettekaka.” She ordered, her voice filling with the joy she felt at seeing hope restored in little ways. Was that not what they should hold on to? The Swedish people were resilient. They had endured far worse and would continue to endure. It was in the very stones of Tre Kronor. The castle beat with a pulse, steady and strong. The winter was their salvation as much as it was their destruction. It was something she had come to love about her new home: the strength of the people forged in ice. There was none like her people. They were filled with a stubbornness to live that outlasted the harshest of winters and would continue to. Her people grasped to the single bud growing through the white. They held to the first sound of birds chirping. She was filled with the same hope that they felt from offering them what little she could. They deserved more, truly they did. Yet if she could offer them a tiny sliver of hope, then she would be grateful. 

She took her place in the women’s room, watching the steam of tea dance through the room as the hum of women’s voices filled her ears. She felt her shoulders relax. She had endured. She would continue to do so. Her people deserved a Queen focused on them. It was what pushed back thoughts of betrayal. She could not think of Estonia. She was not Estonian any longer. She was the shining light in the Swedish court. She was the soft voice, the sweet melody. She had to be. She had to contrast her husband’s harshness. She had to soothe wounds that he’d caused, and quiet dissent before it came after everything she loved and held dear. She had to be the quiet strength, hidden in plain sight. Valdemar could rage. He could make demands. He could show his power with strength and brute force. But Madeleine? She was proving herself valuable in other ways. The Little Queen’s eyes turned toward Malvina, a smile on her lips. “Tell us again, Lady Malvina, the story of the Viking Queen.” She insisted. It was a favorite, a tale of endurance in a similarly harsh year. The babble quieted as eyes turned to her lady-in-waiting. Malvina was an excellent storyteller, an entertainer in every fashion, and Madeleine appreciated that. The room was entranced by her within moments, allowing the Queen reprieve to her own private thoughts. 

She wasn’t surprised to hear the door open again. Madeleine stood by the window, her eyes looking down to the courtyard. She loved the layout of Tre Kronor, from her private chambers she could see far and wide. The mountains were beautiful, the frozen lakes seemed to shimmer in the moonlight. It was breathtaking, haunting even. But her thoughts were much farther away, in a little country nestled in fields of purple flowers. She did not turn to greet him as he crossed the room. She did not turn to greet him when his hand settled against her waist. He lowered his mouth to her ear, his breath warm, tickling her skin. “I have made you a Queen in their eyes.” He murmured. Despite her best attempts, he knew. He knew she was troubled. He knew she was torn. His words were enough to finally force her to look.

“And what about you, Valdemar? Am I a Queen in your eyes?” She asked, ignoring the redness of her own. She ignored how they had grown wet. She had endured her guilt, had prayed endlessly, and yet she needed it to be worth it. Her people were fed. They sang her praises in the street. Yet she found herself longing for Valdemar’s approval just as much. It was him she had challenged in the first place. It was him who had kept himself at arm’s length in so many ways. She watched him, waiting for his answer, dreading that it would not come. She caught the tiniest rise of his lips, and it made her soften. He lowered his mouth to hers, silencing her with his lips. She returned the kiss. It had, then. Or it had at least started to. 

She would be the good Queen. She would be at his side. Together they would build a dynasty. But if she could help it, she’d never again subject Estonia to pain for the benefit of Sweden. She had wrapped herself in the viking songs. She had crowned herself in winter roses. She had donned Scandinavian furs. But she would always be Estonian. She would always love the walls around Tallinn. A part of her would always be stuck in a field of purple wildflowers. 

[morganlegaye]

here’s some of my dark swan queen crap if any of you are bored or curious

also its like a chunk of the middle of the story but whateverrrr im sure ya’ll can figure out whats going on quickly enough lmao

Emma loved her. She had known even then that she loved her; she had probably loved her for a long time, but hadn’t been able to see it because they weren’t ‘supposed’ to be one another’s Happy Endings. And it was exhilarating and awful all at once to realize that, because she still loved Killian. Regina still loved Robin. They weren’t going to leave them, because that would be foolish; giving up their predestined happiness was foolish and yet they couldn’t stay away.

And they had tried after that.

Emma knew that she was being selfish though; springing this on Regina now. She had assumed herself a lost cause and after what she had done, she owed it to Killian to, well… not betray him by continuing to fuck Regina, for a start. But he couldn’t bear to look at her anymore, used loved in a past tense in a way that Emma knew would devastate her if she could truly feel it because she knew she didn’t deserve his love anyhow, and now all she wanted was to fix it and maybe become a good person again so she wouldn’t stop destroying everything that she touched. If she could just focus, if she could just get the Darkness out of them both then maybe it’d make up for the fact that she was in love with another person.

Maybe if she could save him, then it would wipe the slate clean and she’d be absolved of her guilt. It was a futile hope, but it was all that Emma had anymore.

But focusing meant being with Regina again, because that was the only way Emma was ever clear-headed. It was the only way her emotions felt real and not something she fabricated to try to convince herself that she was still human. Maybe she didn’t need her in a sexual way, but if Regina rewarded her with affection Emma knew it would go down that road anyhow. She couldn’t be touched by Regina now without wanting something more, without feeling something more. But how was it fair of her, to put Regina in this position again? Regina hated herself for what she was doing to Robin; Emma could see it in her eyes every time that she looked at him. Yet she still came to her, still conditioned her to obey her every command, still rewarded her with kisses and care and then gave Emma back her control so she could make love to her.

Because despite Emma having asked her to, as something about a sexually dominant Regina turned her on like nothing else did, Regina refused to control her in bed. She said they needed to keep that separate, because what they were doing was volatile and likely to come crashing down around them and Emma couldn’t lose that if it did. She still needed to be controlled. As the Dark One, she still needed that discipline, and it was too important to taint with whatever it was that they were now doing.

And God, Emma needed that right now. Needed her right now.

She had Rumple tied up downstairs and Merida tied to her damn car and everything inside of her was screaming that this was the right thing to do, that the ends justified the means, but she worried she might be being too rash and thoughtless about this in her desperation, and she couldn’t— she couldn’t screw this up. She needed to save him, because she already fucked him over one too many times before, and Emma refused to believe that, despite being the Dark One, that she was a bad person.

She did bad things, but she was… she was making up for them; she was evening the scales, because it was so much easier than making a choice that she feared either way would leave her devastated and heartbroken.

Emma knew she couldn’t lie here all day though; Regina seemed to be a lost cause, at least momentarily, and life had to go on. Merida would surely be conscious now; perhaps it was time to pay her a visit and get Gold’s training on the road. But before Emma could move more than an inch suddenly a large puff of purple smoke appeared in the middle of her living room, Regina in the center of it. Emma exhaled a long puff of air and brought her head back down heavily onto the couch cushions. Of course she’d choose now to show up, because why not?

“Are you incapable of ringing the doorbell?” Emma deadpanned, repeating the woman’s words from the previous day back at her. Her gaze was fixated firmly on the ceiling, not trusting herself to look at the other woman at the moment. She had been far too caught up in memories this morning, and Emma didn’t want them affecting the way she looked at Regina when the other woman had been all too clear that she did not wish to revisit what they previously had.

“I… honestly didn’t think that would work,” Regina responded, looking shocked beyond measure that it actually had. “Why is this place not warded?”

“It is,” Emma responded, counting each imperfection in the ceiling above her; cracks, indents, chips in the paint. It kept her grounded in a situation where she already felt so out of control. “Just not against you. Not while I’m home, anyhow.”

Regina’s eyebrow rose at that. “And do you allow Hook the same come and go policy as you apparently do me?” Her tone held an accusation, and when the blonde swallowed it cut like daggers in her throat.

Emma’s lips pursed into a thin line, and suddenly she sat up, swinging her legs off the couch to meet the ground with a heavy thud. No, was the answer to that question, but that had only been a recent development, and Emma did not consider it to be any of the other woman’s business. “What do you want, Regina?”

“I want to know why the hell you took Hook’s sword.”

Emma blinked at the unexpected question. “Excuse me?” That was in no way why she had thought Regina had come over; even actually taking her up on her offer seemed more likely to her than caring about anything to do with Killian. Regina hated him.

Emma used to wonder why. She doesn’t anymore.

“Don’t play coy. You took the pirate’s sword and I want to know why,” Regina reiterated, stepping closer to the other woman. She still kept a fair amount of distance though, either due to mistrust of herself or of Emma. Perhaps both. “Because apparently your head games aren’t just reserved for me anymore, and while you might be able to emotionally cripple your boyfriend enough to make him not realize the significance of your actions, some of us aren’t as utterly moronic as your questionable choice in bed partners.”

“Don’t talk about him like that,” Emma practically snarled, infuriated with the way Regina always tore into Killian. Jealous or not, she at least had the decency not to speak about Robin like that to her. That was beyond petty, and it made dark magic thrum threateningly on the surface because fuck her, but using her magic against Regina wasn’t something she was built for anymore.

Only five weeks, and she couldn’t even find the strength to go against her even when she was angry and free from the other woman’s control; free, at least, until Regina realized how much she truly had. Conditioning should not be that fast, obedience should not come that easily. Sometimes, Emma wondered if she had always craved this type of relationship with someone because she had always been a bit of a lost puppy in need of a home, or if she was just the most pathetic Dark One to ever exist.

Perhaps it was both.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did that offend you?” Regina shot back, sarcasm dripping from every word. ���Because correct me if I’m wrong, but it seemed as though you didn’t much care about him anymore when you practically molested me in my home. Or are you going to pretend that the pirate was not only aware, but approved of your actions last night? Because I’m fairly certain he might feel immensely betrayed by you if he knew. Should we call him and find out?”

Regina pulled out her phone then in a rather dramatic showing, actually threatening to do something so moronic that it made Emma actually worry for her sanity for a second there, and suddenly she was hit with a memory that was certainly not her own as a faceless man stood screaming at what Emma assumed was his wife about someone named… named…

Fuck, it didn’t matter.

“Like I care about other people’s marital issues,” Emma ground out furiously, hating this power. The man had been waving a phone around which was what probably brought it on, but seeing as it seemed to be about the most useless memory or premonition she has ever had, Emma’s patience with it was wearing thin. Especially because Regina had only stopped briefly to look at her like she was insane for her little outburst that seemed to come out of nowhere, before she started to—

Damnit. Actually dial.

Was she honestly serious about this? This was bordering on masochistic. Emma just wished she would realize it before she said something to someone that she couldn’t take back.

The blonde’s eyes flashed as she waved her hand, causing the cell phone to immediately disappear from Regina’s grasp. “Don’t fucking test me, Regina,” Emma spat, pointing at her in warning. Anger. it was strong; much stronger than any other emotion she had felt for a while. Then again, Regina did always know how to bring out the best in her. “You might think what I told you was a load of crap, but you forget that it’s me that holds your memories in my hands. If you screw me over, I’ll show Robin exactly what we used to do with one another; and believe me, my version won’t be quite as PG.”

But instead of looking wary of her threat, Regina merely scoffed. “You won’t, because if you wanted any of us to have our memories then you would have given them to us already. You’re hiding something, and until you feel it’s safe enough for us to remember, you wouldn’t dare give us anything that could help us make sense of your plan.”

Emma rolled her eyes at that. “Us fucking has nothing to do with my plan, unless you really believe yourself that important?” She laughed then, because it covered the next lie she was about to tell. “I can pick and choose what you, or even he would be able to remember, and then—”

“No,” Regina interrupted, taking another step towards her. There was a certainty in her eyes that made Emma vastly uncomfortable. “You can’t. Because if you could, you would have done so last night to back up your ludicrous claims. Unless, of course, they were all a lie to begin with? Either way though, you have nothing; and what’s more is that both of us know that.”

Emma immediately fell silent, anger and helplessness brewing behind her eyes, because Regina was right; she couldn’t do that. It was all or nothing, and right then Emma couldn’t give any of them all of their lost memories, even if it meant her not having something to hold over Regina in return.

She really did not enjoy Regina having the upper hand in this scenario.

Regina was starting to look far too smug for her liking, as clearly the blonde’s lack of retort indicated that she had been correct in her assumptions, and so Emma tried to stifle her pride for a moment in order to not make this situation even more messier than it already was. “Regina, please,” she pleaded softly, her gaze connecting with the former Queen’s. Begging her, because she didn’t want her secrets broadcast to those they would devastate. “Please, don’t tell him. I’ve already hurt him enough.”

And it was perhaps that, above anything else, that encouraged Regina to stand down. She stared at her, lips pursed into a thin line as she no doubt wondered if Emma was begging her not to tell him because she didn’t want some frivolous lie to hurt him, or because what she had said was really true.

“And yet you insist on continuing this ridiculous charade,” Regina responded, her voice soft yet firm; as though she hated speaking about this, but needed Emma to know that she didn’t approve. “How do you think it’s going to make him feel if he found out that you tried to manipulate me by—”

“I wasn’t trying to manipulate you,” Emma responded, her eyes growing hard as she stared the other woman down. “Believe me, Regina; if I was, I would have succeeded.” Actually that wasn’t a given, considering the last time she had tried she had failed, but Regina didn’t need to know that. “I was just trying to be honest with you—”

“I did not cheat on Robin!” Regina practically shouted, unable to accept the truth about herself. “And I’m beginning to not even care why you want me to believe I did, because we are through having this conversation; do you understand me? Now sit down, stop playing your ridiculous mind games, and tell me why the hell you took that sword!”

Emma immediately sat, the tone of voice that Regina was using all too familiar to her. The near-instantaneous reaction nearly caused the brunette’s eyebrows to practically shoot off her head, but they rose even higher when Emma couldn’t really stop herself from revealing, “I needed something that had touched Rumpelstiltskin as a man.”

Regina just stared at her, completely disbelieving about what she had just witnessed. Emma ground her teeth together, realizing that she had unintentionally set Regina up to have far too much power; all she had wanted to do was kneel at the woman’s feet and be treated like some sort of prized poodle or whatever because that was what calmed her, focused her, grounded her, but the problem was that that wasn’t all that they had done. Regina had conditioned her to obey demands with minimal resistance, and demanding that she tell her things was so terribly dangerous to her plans.

“Regina, don’t… please don’t take advantage of my trust in you right now,” Emma tried, because she knew Regina must realize by now what she could do. “If I wanted to reveal my plan to you I would. Please don’t force me.”

But Regina just stared at her like she couldn’t trust what was in front of her face. “You’re playing with me…” She looked so entirely suspicious of her motivations that Emma felt herself release an exasperated breath, because did she honestly think that the Dark One would obey her like this? Even for nothing but a manipulation, this stripped away too much pride.

“Just don’t,” Emma reiterated. “I’ll never forgive you if you do.”

[lunar-root]

“I don’t know how I expected a rape victim to act, but I didn’t expect her to be so funny. Or to be punk, in this kinda sexy bleached blonde but kind of too lazy to really care sort of way. Or to be so up front.

“I may be a lesbian because of what happened to me, I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter at this point.”

I guess, maybe in some way, I didn’t expect her to be so over it. Part of me, unconsciously, believed people who had been raped were irrecoverably broken, and she wasn’t. I had an ex boyfriend who said he thought rapists should be subjected to capital punishment, which I suppose is a more extreme articulation of that unconscious belief. Once a woman has been raped, she has been destroyed.

People aren’t destroyed through being raped though. They suffer immensely, but they are just as much themselves after the rape as before.

Another rape victim I dated was a butch woman who had just adopted a kitten that completely befuddled her. When I went back to her apartment, the kitten was everywhere attacking everything.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I’ve historically been more of a dog person.”

She was pretty open about her anger towards men, and her sexual orientation was difficult to quantify because her attractions included “any gender that’s not cis male.” Can’t say I blamed her. But, despite her anger, she was completely and fully her. Even if she drank too much, and even if she hated men, her fundamental essence was untouched.

How I think of women who have been raped contrasts greatly with how I think of men who have experienced non sexual violence. One of my male friends was standing outside a club when he was hit from behind. He fell down, and two guys came up and kicked the shit out of him before running away.

I think that event changed him in some ways. We used to do jiu jitsu together, but he had a particular drive that I think was borne of that experience. He’s very good, I think he teaches it now. Yet, when men get beat up, I don’t ever entertain the impression that some part of them may have been destroyed. (I actually think there may be an opposite problem, namely men not getting emotional support because we don’t take their trauma seriously. I’ll have to write about that later.) If a man’s behavior changes after an attack, we don’t use this as evidence to support an unconscious belief that he is broken. If you told someone that a man had learned jiu jitsu after being attacked, I think the vibe would be “well, that’s pretty reasonable.” If a bisexual woman decided to date only women after being raped, the vibe would be “oh, she’s broken.”

This belief in the “brokenness” of those have experienced sexual trauma is highly damaging. None of us want to be broken. I don’t want to be broken. And, at least for me personally, this belief in the uniquely destructive power of sexual trauma prevented me from honestly confronting some of my more difficult sexual experiences.

A few years ago, I was out getting drunk with a bunch of male friends, and one of them offered to let me crash at his place. He was someone I trusted, someone I’d been friends with for years. When we got back to his place, suddenly he was all over me, and he’d managed to get his fingers into my vagina before I was able to physically restrain him. I remember confusion, and then shock at realizing his fingers were inside of me. And, I remember how he wilted when I stopped him. He shrank with shame, and I felt so guilty. I spent the night, but I couldn’t sleep, and slipped out at 6am after giving him a kiss on the head.

Then, I brushed it off. I had years of therapy after that, and never brought it up because I didn’t think it was significant. Yet, there were a few differences. I didn’t like being touched anymore. I stopped dating men, and then stopped dating anyone. I lost all sexual desire, and have been single now for about a year and a half.

I also started meditating. “Crying” has been a big part of my meditation practice. Just, nameless, faceless crying with no discernible reason. I sat a meditation retreat for 7 days, and the first 5 days were spent crying. I was completely exhausted, and in discussions with my teacher I basically said “I can’t keep doing this” and she basically said “keep trying.” Then, sometime around the fifth day, I stopped crying. I had expected some sort of catharsis, or release, or knowledge or something, but it wasn’t like that. I just stopped. And, after that I felt better. Not totally better, not like, I don’t still cry sometimes. It was just like — this nameless sadness that seemed to have no bottom ran out, and where it had been there was nothing.

Shortly after my retreat, I was reading a Savage Love where a woman talked about a male friend of hers trying to finger her when he was drunk. Dan Savage told her she’d been the victim of sexual assault or attempted sexual assault. And, when I read that, I was like “how can she have been sexually assaulted? That’s exactly like what happened to me, but I wasn’t…” So, I looked up sexual assault. Apparently if someone touches your vagina against your will, that’s sexual assault.

I pondered over that. I read about what happened emotionally to people who had been sexually assaulted, and a lot of it fit with my experience. The blocking it out. The justifying. The guilt, the aversion to touch, and hyposexual desire. They were all common responses from people who had been sexually assaulted. And, when I read about that, I felt relief. These mysterious things that I had been feeling had a source. I also think that I was so lucky to have gone on those dates with those women, because I already had a deep understanding that people who have experienced sexual violence aren’t any less awesome or less complete than those who haven’t experienced it. Without that understanding, I think admitting to yourself that you have experienced sexual violence is harder, because you also have to think of yourself as “broken.”

I continued to wonder about why I had been so dismissive about how painful I found that experience, and at the heart of it was “it was just a more extreme version of how I always feel with men.” I came out as bisexual when I was around 12 years old (or “was outed” I should say) and ever since then, I have faced a lot of unwanted sexual attention. People accused me of just being bisexual “for attention” despite my own lack of agency around coming out, and despite the fact that they were the ones giving me all the attention. Boys asked me to kiss other girls, and initially I complied. I was 12. I didn’t know better. When I got to high school, I was regularly asked for threesomes before ever losing my virginity. Boys would sometimes grope my breasts, or put their hands up my skirt, or make loud public comments about my body.

Eventually, I learned to fight back. I remember one time, after being called flat chested, shouting back at the guy “we can’t all have tits as big as yours!” and watching him flush deeply. Additionally, I was on the wrestling team with a bunch of guys who respected me for my wholehearted commitment to the sport, and I think that helped. Having a bunch of big, jock friends made people less inclined to fuck with me. Still, between the ages of about 12–14, I had been bombarded with so much sexual harassment that I had normalized the feeling of it. I knew I didn’t like it, but it didn’t feel strange. It felt familiar.

In retrospect, I think I may have had an especially bad run because I am a bisexual woman. Bisexual women experience a disproportionately high amount of sexual violence compared to straight and lesbian women, and that innately makes sense to me. I was repeatedly singled out for sexual attention because I was bisexual and, as the only out bisexual woman in the grade, I was a single target for the many boys who were fascinated by female bisexuality.

Anyway, I had already normalized the sensation of sexually directed harassment before I was even a teenager. It’s very particular sensation, but hard to describe —for me, it’s almost like nausea mixed with sadness and shock. I cried the first few times I felt it, but it soon became so common that I started numbing myself to it. By the time I was in high school, I was already fairly numb.

So, when I started dating men for real, I was already primed to not complain when I felt this feeling. Sometimes, however, it was so bad it broke through my numbness. When I young, one of my early boyfriends pressured me for sex. We were lying in bed, and he kept asking over and over again. I can’t remember if I explicitly said yes, or if at some point I just stopped saying no, but he ended up mounting my un-responsive corpse and pounding me until he came.

“How was it?” he asked me.

“It hurt,” I said. Then, he became really sad.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he kept saying over and over. I said nothing, and just lay there, but resolved never to say yes when I didn’t want sex again. It was a horrible feeling, probably one of the most horrible things I’d ever felt at the time. I think something in me closed that day, and I could never be really open with him again.

The thing was, despite whatever lie he told me or told himself, he knew I didn’t want to have sex with him. He knew I didn’t usually lie there like a dead fish. He could tell when I was wincing in pain. When I told him I had been in pain afterwards, he showed no surprise. I had only articulated what he already knew but was pretending he didn’t. Yet, for a man to seek his own sexual gratification from my body while knowing, but not caring, that it was causing me pain seemed so normal by that point that it didn’t seem like a big deal. There’s a word for what happened to me that day (sexual coercion) which was useful for me to discover.

But, what was more useful was actually another Dan Savage letter (I totally ❤ you, Dan!) It was a letter from a guy blaming his girlfriend from backing out of an orgy after she had said she was ok, but was giving clear signs that she wasn’t.

Your girlfriend wasn’t okay that night, CIC, and you knew it. She was telling you what you wanted to hear, CIC, and you knew it. You should’ve called the whole thing off, CIC, and you know it.

The idea that, if someone knew I didn’t want to do something sexual that they shouldn’t do it, was completely alien to me, and yet made total sense. Would I continue with an activity if my partner clearly didn’t want me to?…”

[canaryatlaw]

So all in all, today was pretty good in a bunch of random little ways, which is cool. Alarm went off at 9:55, took the train to school. I sat next to the cutest baby on the train and he was looking at me the whole time just totally enthralled and it was so very cute so of course I was making faces at him for like half the train ride, haha. Got to school right on time for my 11:30 meeting with my field placement advisor, same one from last semester and my former LARC professor. Of course she's the perfect person for the job because she used to work in the office I work in and knows half the people that are there because of it, lol. We have to do the 3 meetings a semester as required, but at this point we've really talked through most of it so she was just asking me about what tasks they've been giving me and if I had any interesting cases, so I told her about the one I saw yesterday about the girl's whose arm was broken in four places from a "restraint" and of course she was horrified by the prospect and said it would probably be referred to special litigation for a suit against the residential facility, so that made me feel somewhat better about it. But yeah, it was a pleasant little meeting. After that I headed down to the PAD office to hang out and eat some lunch. My plan for this time was to bang out the rest of my LARC assignment, which I figured could take a while. I was debating with myself last night if I should wear or bring gym friendly clothes because Wednesday afternoons is one of my now designated "gym times," but I knew this was gonna take a while and then I had a haircut so I opted against it, but surprisingly the LARC assignment didn't take as long as I thought, pretty much just because I ran up against the word limit pretty quickly, and that's that. I know what I wrote is, objectively, good convincing legal writing, but I don't know if it follows the "formula" we're supposed to use for LARC which irritates me. I would probably put more work into it if it were actually be graded and not just a grade for handing it in, but even so it's not like I slacked off on it, I did put a solid amount of work in, so that's good. I was kind of annoyed I didn't have my gym clothes at that point, but in reality there was other stuff I needed to get done so it was probably good that I had a chance to do that. One of those things was getting the application done for the nonprofit in NYC I would like to intern at over the summer, which was interesting. They just wanted a cover letter, resume, unofficial transcript and writing sample, pretty basic, so I start writing my cover letter and I have to laugh because last year I was like struggling about what to put in a cover letter on applications, but now I literally have so much to say and talk about it was probably the longest cover letter in existence (it was almost the whole page) but I just had a lot to say and I think it was all good things to include. I just had to do the final touches on my resume, like update my GPA and changing my class rank from top 15% to top 10% (which, I have to say, was immensely gratifying). Unofficial transcript I can just get off online, so that's easy enough, so that just leaves the writing sample. They didn't give any parameters about length or anything on it, so I texted my dad and asked him if I should use one of my academic things I've written for LARC or if I should use the school memo I wrote over break, and he was like oh definitely the school memo so of course I went with that. It's like, 4 pages long, which is probably a bit long for a writing sample but I think it's all good. Of course since I was sharing it with a third party I was obligated to change the personal information, so I changed the name of the school to "Anchorage Christian School" because I figured Alaska would give them enough distance 😂 so that was good. It was just a debate between if they wanted like real world application versus the formulaic LARC stuff, and I think they would side on real world, so hopefully that'll work. It felt good to get all of that handled and turned in, since it's been in the back of my head as something I need to do for a while now. As I was getting ready to leave for my haircut, the PAD president came in and asked me if anyone has talked to me about the PAD mock trial team. One of the board members who's on the team sent out an email a few days ago basically as an SOS call that one of their members got injured and wouldn't be able to compete next month, so they needed an emergency replacement. Upon reading it I kind of had a feeling it was going to end up on my doorstep, just because of the experience I have and such, but I didn't do anything about it immediately because they practiced Tuesdays and Saturdays and I have class on Tuesdays, and that's generally a deal breaker, but it still managed to get back to me haha. The PAD president was apparently talking me up to them (he's on the school team) so I sent a tentative email saying I could maybe do it but couldn't do Tuesday practices, and then left for my haircut. As I was going down the stairs to the subway entrance there was a girl coming up and she's like "uh, you may not want to go down there, there's some guys fighting and it's not looking good" and sure enough I just hear two guys shouting at each other and random slamming into random things and such and I was like haha fuck no so I walked to the other end of the block to get in at that entrance cuz I ain't dealing with that shit. Sigh, Chicago. While on the train I got a phone call from last year's PAD president who's now one of their mock trial coaches, but since I was on the train I let it go to voicemail to deal with later. Got to ulta and saw my stylist, who immediately let spill that one of the girls in my class that she knows is pregnant, which I definitely didn't know haha but I'm sure I would find out soon enough. So that was interesting. But yeah, for the rest of it we just did our normal discussions, and we always have really good and satisfying discussions about things that I definitely enjoy. I had her do the same short cut I got in October when I was there last and then just got caught up with shit and let my hair get obscenely long and was driving me nuts so here I was again lol. Towards the end she was telling me that her cousin, who was a freshman in college, had attempted suicide a week before thanksgiving, and then had just attempted again two days ago, which is of course a very sad and difficult situation, and she wanted to hear my thoughts because she knows I'm somewhat of a mental health advocate (or at least I'd like to think I am. It's in my profile so it must be true, right?). Apparently he had been away at college, and after the first time didn't go back, but just started up again with the spring semester a few weeks ago, and he was like really insistent about going back to school which is totally understandable, the stress and the loneliness just kind of got to him, and he was saying things like "I don't want to die, I just don't know how to deal with these waves of depression." I started off by saying that no two people have the same mental health journey, and different people respond to treatment in different ways. I said he obviously needed to get into therapy that would teach him some coping skills for dealing with depressive episodes. He had been inpatient for a few days after the first one and is there again now, but I said if a longer-term inpatient program was available they might want to look into that, or at least some sort of group thing, hopefully among peers (though I imagine finding a group of teenage boys willing to participate in such a thing could definitely be a struggle). And yeah, he obviously wasn't ready to go back to school, and college can be a really big trigger for some people because it's such a life change and they just don't know how to deal with it. And of course I said try to avoid saying anything that would make him feel guilty because he's already overwhelmed with guilt, and to not treat him any different or like he's fragile, because that's not how anyone wants to be treated. She said she would tell her family what I said, so hopefully some of that could be helpful. I told her a little about my work with twloha at college and how so many have such a need for that sort of thing. He's out of school for now though, which is definitely a good move. I feel bad for his parents because I can imagine they're going through hell right now, to almost lose their son but decide to let him go back to school only for it to happen again, and now they're going to be terrified that they could pose him at any point, and I really can't imagine dealing with a child of yours being suicidal, like that has to be so so difficult for a parent, something I definitely didn't realize the extent of when I was younger, but I can see now that if I had killed myself, it would've completely destroyed and devastated my family and like....I'm just really glad I'm still here. Anyway. Left ulta and took the train back to school, heated up my food and headed to class for another session of crim pro. It's been an interesting class so far because the prof is very focused on like wanting to hear our opinions about issues in the criminal justice system and the specific questions she asks, which is cool, but like, means we don't always get into the cases and actual learning haha. Tonight we didn't actually start the cases until after the break when class was half over. She let us go at 8 though, so that was nice. Went home, and I was debating to watch Arrow or Frequency off my dvr, but I ended up being bad and staying up to watch both even though I have to be up at 7 am for work tomorrow. I watched Arrow first though, pretty much just because I was so curious to see what they were gonna do with Laurel/black siren, and it was....interesting. I didn't love it, but that's no surprise. There were some moments and some lines that were very good, but others just kind of fell flat for me. I kept getting stuck between wanting her to actually be willing to reform and become good again, but Oliver's like naive belief that he can make that happen makes me think it's not going to happen, lol, cuz he just makes it seem kind of unachievable, so I guess we'll see what happens there. I liked the Felicity not listening to Oliver just for kicks, haha, and I very much enjoyed the legal intricacies of the Diggle plot, and was quite satisfied with their conclusion there. I am definitely not a fan though of some random ass meta girl who has a sonic scream waltzing in there and just becoming the black canary because like......are you fucking kidding me? We're doing this again? Just stop, stop trying to replace Laurel and either do her justice or move on. You're just forcing comparison now, and there's a very slim chance you're going to beat your original work with Laurel. Like, just LET IT GO already. I do like that they kept the door open for more black siren, and I hope they take advantage of that because I want to see Katie Cassidy on my screen as much as possible. After that I went straight to Frequency, which of course was the season finale, and I was pretty happy with it! I knew they would have to pull something out after last week's conclusion, and I think they did an excellent job setting it up that everyone reasonably thought the deacon was the nightingale, but then were able to pull the rug out at the last minute in a way that's still actually entirely plausible, so I applaud them for not jumping the shark there. I was very entertained by the flipping back and forth and the world changing in the middle of a conversation so that you can't be talking to your mom about her patient because she just died but 20 years ago that is still playing out right now. Like, it's just so good. I felt bad for all the people that kind of became casualties, like Megan and Gordo's dad (poor Gordo, I know he didn't like his dad but no child deserves to have their father shot in front of them). And I knew her talking through the radio when the guy was there was gonna lead to him smashing it, lol, that was pretty predictable. The ending though, when she comes out of the garage and the house isn't lit up, holy shit I was ready to murder someone if they left us on a cliffhanger or just straight up killed her mom, because that would've been all kinds of awful and I really hate when shows legit don't wrap up a story just for the sake of having a cliffhanger. So I was happy to see the conclusion to that. They left it in a good place too that the story is finished, but they still left in the possibility for a second season (I don't think it's been renewed yet?) so I was glad to see that. And yeah, that was my day and I've officially rambled on for way too long here so I'm gonna end it now. Goodnight babes. Sleep well.