#somebody called her eyes horrid in another of my posts

[dramaticlacrosse10]

everybody meet my half-polish half-black british sweetheart natalia wesninski! call her nina or you die a terrible death,,, by gun

nyway no more cartoons because school

[hecohansen31]

To Kill A King

Ivar+Saxon Princess! Reader

The Scheming Genius:

“Just when I thought I was Running out of time The King stood trembling at my bedside”

“To Kill A King” by Hungry Lucy

(Masterlist) (Previous Chapter)

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

I know it’s been along time since I have last updated one of my series but... I have just been having a lot of problems with the newest chapters of this series, because basically... I do know the events I want to take, but not what I want to write, so I can’t help but feel like what I write is never enough.

So I just wanted to apologize if this is utter shit.

Also this is shorter than usual and I just want to say that this should have been longer but I just... I just felt like I had to post this and then add more, also because I know that all my chapters are just too long.

I do hope that even if it isn’t the best you’ll enjoy it!

As always: this series means so so much to me, so any feedback is more than welcome, everything starting from comments to reblogs, just LET ME NOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Feedback makes our fingers write faster and our heart beat faster!

Have a nice reading!

SUMMARY: The truth is out and the heart that you gave so freely is now broken and yet your strength never falters, conjuring a dangerous plan to be finally free. But is it truly what you want.

WORDS: 10, 9 K

WARNINGS: Arranged Marriage, Mention of Domestical Abuse and Rape, Violence (Strong Themes), Sexual Harassment, Slavery, Historically inaccurate, Blood and Period.

Your breath came harder and harder till it choked and you lost your rhythm.

Your legs failed under you and you were solely able to stop yourself from completely falling head first on the ground, pushing your legs towards the earth.

You did bruise them, but you didn’t care as you brought them in your unfocused stare.

They were dirtied and bloody.

Not solely because you had fallen down.

And the blood on them wasn’t solely yours.

Still you hadn’t much time to think, as you heard male-like steps, hard and heavy on the ground, breaking twigs under their boots.

And fear flooded your system as you reached out for a knife trying to search at your belt and then lower, on your thigh, where you remembered having strapped up a knife.

But now it wasn’t there.

And you realized that it was probably still in the body of the man you had stabbed.

That certainly didn’t ease any of your fear, but your body seemed to have set itself up on either a running away or fighting stance, hence the sense of guilt for having stabbed a man etched itself in the back of your mind as you tried to move away.

Your legs were still too weak and soon you were dragged against the cold soil again.

And there you stayed, your nails pushing themselves in the dirt, as you tried to push yourself flush against the ground, hoping that confusing yourself with the ground would help.

And you prayed with all your last beliefs that you would be spared.

Your lungs constricted and before you knew it you were choking on air.

‘Not again’ you prayed desperately, closing your eyes ‘… I don’t want to die’.

It was now day after the revelation of the previous night.

You had been accompanied by both Caryn and Lia back in your tent, the women trying to coo you in a comforting way, but you didn’t even notice it in your unresponsive state.

It was as if you had closed yourself completely from the world, in a way that left you only overthinking yourself constantly.

You felt stupid.

Which was an awful thing to feel for you, having always considered your intelligence your sole talent.

And to know that it had failed you this much, it only brought you to the realization that your father’s poisonous words were true.

‘You, stupid girl with no purpose’

They echoed, right as you saw the room in front of you deforming into something awful,: your room in the castle as figures appeared in front of you, Kathleen laying on the ground having been struck down, meanwhile Abigail knelt in front of her shaking her awake, as you pushed yourself in front of your father.

One last attempt to protect Kathleen.

But as his eyes met yours, they were daringly blue.

Ivar’s.

That was what brought you back from that horrid vision.

And then there was ruffling with your tent, as you turned to its door, finding thankfully that it was Caryn, her dark curls lightly exiting the tight hairstyle she had chosen for the day.

She looked so beautiful.

And it just reminded you of how truly cunning Ivar could be.

He had outsmarted you, once, and he would do it again.

“You look like you haven’t slept, my lady” commented Caryn, unsure, although her voice was so sweet that it broke you inside and before you knew it, sobbing escaped your chest.

“… I did” because a paralyzing deep slumber had taken you, but it hadn’t brought you neither relief neither comfort, and it was difficult for you to remember the sole dream of that night.

Which meant it wasn’t something that you wanted to remember

“… but my body wishes for a sweet dream, before it faces the reality of things”.

Caryn smiled halfheartedly, something nostalgic in her plump lips and her longing eyes, as if she knew and could understand what you felt deep down, something that only awakened rage in your body.

You had always been babied like you didn’t have a brain and the way she acted with you just brought that back.

You had always believed what others had told you.

What your own father fed you through fear and harsh teachings.

What your books had fed you, fantasies and love stories that had now brought you to believe that the touch of a pure maiden might tame the beast.

But the beast was already corrupted.

And it would have just eaten the maiden, had she come too close.

For a moment yesterday, at the feast, you had thought about a possible life with him.

A life in which you didn’t have to be your father’s spy and you could enjoy the tenderness of the soft feelings you were starting to develop for Ivar.

But you would never have the chance to do such a thing, now.

He had killed his own brother in cold blood.

You had read that on his face when you had asked him if it was the truth.

If Ubbe hadn’t simply said a lie to tear you apart.

And you didn’t know what his brother had done, but it never could be as much as the treason that you’d have to do to him on your father’s beliefs.

Just because he had showed you some love it didn’t mean that this would be how your life would have for ever been.

You had always lost yourself too easily in the fantasy of perfect worlds, fantastic beyond everything and where you could live happily ever after, like the few fables you enjoyed listening when you were smaller.

You had been the biggest fool, truly believing that this would be just another one of them.

You got yourself dressed mechanically, but your mind didn’t shut down in the slightest as it elaborated strategies and thoughts till it got too much and you were suddenly locked inside of your mind in a drunken stupor for everything around you.

Till Hvitserk showed up in your tent.

You didn’t want to see him, but deep down a desperate part of you ached for some kind of confront with the brothers.

To know something that could justify Ivar’s actions.

But deep down you knew it wouldn’t have eased your aching soul.

“… you looked like you haven’t…”.

Why was everyone so concerned with your sleeping?

“… I know” you shot back, with an harsh glare on your face, no need of any pretense with the man you had thought was your brother, although he had betrayed you two times.

“(Y/N)…” he rushed in immediately, probably hearing the annoyance in your tone, the tight rumble of the last word “… this isn’t something that…”.

“… that might concern me?” now your rage, which had been shot down by your tiredness and sleepless night, flared up completely “… he is my husband, Hvitserk! And Sigurd would have been my brother-in-law!”.

“You don’t know nothing about Sigurd!” the comment burned you, but your entire body felt as if it had been set on fire, and for somebody who had never been able to express her own rage, it felt damnably magnificent and tiring “… he and Ivar hated themselves and we all knew it would have come to that end, one or the other”.

“That doesn’t justify Ivar’s actions” your voice was now lowered, but it echoed deeply in the tent, suddenly feeling so closed inside of her, meanwhile Hvitserk took a step back.

Something burning on his tongue, but his brain holding it back.

“… it’s a different culture, princess (Y/N)” your full title now sounded liked disdain “… you wouldn’t understand it…”.

 “No, I wouldn’t” the words were now a full offense for you, but again that quiet before the tempest filled your tone and her mouth and you spit everything out as a cascade at the end of a smooth river “… I was thrust in this reality not by my choice and I had to adapt, to learn and to survive. So, I might not understand it, but this doesn’t justify it in any way”.

And before Hvitserk could say anything you pushed out of the tent, the whole place becoming much more intolerable than before, the tightness of your chest being slightly eased out by the air outside.

The sun shone there, although it seemed just like the umpteenth attempt of the whole universe to make fun of you.

But you breathed better and deeper.

But did it soothe you, in any way? No.

You felt your name called out, but you simply kept on running.

It was the only way you could achieve some sense of freedom.

It was your last freedom.

And before you even realized it, your feet took you in front of the place you needed to go to finish all of this.

Heahmund’s tent.

The man looked surprised by your presence there, even more because she was quite aware of the fact that you looked like some kind of savage nymph with your hair unbound and your feet bare.

But he welcomed you inside.

‘… I wasn’t expecting you princess to be here’ he commented, meanwhile he gestured outside, as you entered the tent, noticing the minimal objects and furniture in it, but nonetheless it was Saxon to the core.

Unlike and like you.

‘… I heard that there has been quite the celebration yesterday’ it was obvious that to him all the rituals happening were nothing but heathen dances in the full moonlight and he frowned upon them.

And upon the Christian princess that had joined them.

And for a moment you wondered about what you were truly doing with him.

Was it be a good choice?

“I want a divorce” Heahmund definitely didn’t seem to think it was a good choice, although surprise shone brightly on his face after your affirmation “… something that’ll annul my wedding, although I already know it is illegal for Christians”.

“What?” Heahmund was definitely trying to make sense of the same princess who had told him to mind his own business the previous day, and then today appeared in his tent, just a few days later to pretend a divorce.

You were definitely full of surprises.

Exactly like Ivar.

“… did you know that my husband killed his brother?” you didn’t know why you asked that to Heahmund, but the mindless expression he gave you, confirming that he did know about it, made you feel even more betrayed “… and do you think that isn’t something that might make my husband dangerous to me?”.

“I am here to protect you, princess” it was almost an automatic response, the sole he could give with such short pretense.

“… like you protected me when I was accused of having tried poisoning Ivar?” you had definitely hit a sore spot as the bishop lowered his head and launched himself on the sole chair in the room.

You were happy of standing, able to tower over him, as if to ensure your power over him.

Your father would have been proud of you.

And disgust just flooded on your tongue, at that thought.

“… if he killed his brother, think what he’ll do to me, when he’ll discover what you and my father planned to do with our marriage. All the spying and lying” you knew you must have sounded pathetic, and it made you feel almost like you were chewing onto glass.

But you felt betrayed by everyone.

Because what made you speak and what you had just asked was the rage you had ignored for all your life, the one that had come out of being constantly belittled, scared and taunted, to the point that you felt like you couldn’t react.

You couldn’t show anything that you wanted to feel truly.

And you started being sick of this.

“You knew who he was when you married him, princess” Heahmund’s tone tasted of threat and you weren’t able to stop yourself from grimacing at that, although you gripped tighter your fists, Nanna’s teachings about how to attack definitely coming to your mind.

“… but did I have any choice other than marrying him?” the words echoed in the room in a way that hang on heavy around you, like a humid cloud involving you both and Heahmund wasn’t able to turn his head to the other side, as he had always done “… my father would have thrown me out, if I hadn’t accepted it…”.

“He won’t hurt you, my princess” and strangely you were aware of it.

But… yet… your soul was scared, left betrayed by your own thought of having believed that Ivar could be different from your father, when they were two men who wielded power through violence.

You shouldn’t have been surprised but yet scenes of ordinary sweetness between you and Ivar appeared in your mind and they kept on bothering you, because the revelation made you feel like there were two Ivars, something that you had seen before.

There was the one that would cradle you close to his chest, when you didn’t feel well enough, bringing you to his own private heaven so that you could share a moment, in something that nobody had ever bothered to do for you.

And then there was this disruptive creature, some kind of hungry wolf that trashed anything and anybody that came on his way, something that made you wary, not scared, but your self-respect wanted you to run on your own feet.

And only some basilar sense of honor held you there.

And the knowledge that running away would have solely given you more problems.

“… arrange the divorce” it was an order mixed with a threat, something that you learned from Heahmund’s tone itself, the man quirking an eyebrow at you, although his mouth kept itself in a straight line “… or I’ll handle it myself”.

And as you had come you exited the tent, noticing that life had started going on as usual again.

Everybody had somewhere to go and the sounds of an active army camp filled the air and for a moment you desperately wished to disappear in it, closing your eyes and hoping that, as an enchantment, your own will could bring you away from here.

In a place where you could be safe with your sisters.

Kathleen wouldn’t have felt this powerless, she would have fought, she would have stood her ground, meanwhile Abigail would have charmed everybody in giving her what she asked…

… and then there was you, who felt like everything was lost.

Your feet brought you to place where the boats were being repaired, the entire process having come to some kind of halt, since the workers who had been taking care of the boats to come back home, had been moved to make sure Bjorn’s would be ready for his and Halfdan’s departure.

Something bitter was in your mouth at the thought.

At Ivar’s first betrayal and lie.

You shouldn’t have been this surprised after all.

“I knew I’d found you here” the voice was slightly lighter than Ivar and spoke English graciously with no inflection in his tone and you didn’t have to turn around to know that it was Alexander.

You breathed out a breath of relief.

“… if you are here to tell me you were right, please don’t”.

You were already hard enough on yourself, on your own.

“I won’t” Alexander sat next to you, and although you felt the distance between you two, it brought you pack to a past time, when you were each other’s confessor, although there were things you hadn’t been able to tell even to him.

And now they damned your body to this kind of pain and loss.

“… good” it was so low that you were sure that it dispersed itself in the wind “… because I am already feeling like I lost everything and to know that I have lost also your friendship and respect it would… destroy me”.

What was this show of sincerity?

This sudden opening up to everybody.

It felt like weakness…

… and yet the way Alexander’s arm slung loosely over your shoulder felt heavenly and before you knew it the tears you hadn’t shed but needed to, escaped your control and soon you were crying on his chest desperately.

He simply caressed your back till sobs became sighs and eventually silence enveloped you both.

“… you’ll never lose something that is sacred to my heart” he commented once you had calmed down, gently bringing your hands in his, as you raised softly your head to meet his eyes, and he shook lightly his head “… I shouldn’t have said those things… I spoke of love, but the truth was that I had no right to it…”.

“… I am sorry my feelings can’t be…” but he shushed you softly.

“You can’t oblige your feelings to feel something that you don’t believe in” he spoke softly, measuring his words because they held an equal side of wisdom and pain “… that’s why you are feeling like everything is lost… because your head tells you to feel one thing and your heart… your heart is treacherous”.

“He is a murderer…” your voice was low and yet it could have shaken mountains.

It shook your soul to the core.

“… he… he isn’t the man that I was supposed to love” it felt like a justification.

A flimsy one.

“Love isn’t about deserving or earning” Alexander spoke slowly “… I know it on my own skin, but this doesn’t make it any less easy or more… simple”.

“… I can’t stay here” your legs lightly moved underneath you as if to reinforce the concept “… I shouldn’t have ever come, I should have done what Kathleen wanted me to do, run”.

“And when have you ever followed Kathleen’s advises?” now Alexander’s mouth was quirking up in a smile, a sarcastic one matched on your face, properly “… you are (Y/N), not Kathleen, don’t ever forget”.

“But I do wish I was her!” now your voice was loud enough to make a few of the workers turn around, but Alexander’s eyes shot to them to tell them to return to work, something they did without any questions “… I can’t do this… I can’t… anymore”.

Your hands gripped the earth beneath you, probably dirtying your nails but you needed to anchor yourself down as your lungs slowly started filling themselves slowly, meanwhile you pushed your hands underneath you, stretching your body.

“Then change” it felt natural the way he said it, like it was the only natural solution, but how could you even think about that, when you were stuck as nothing more than a glorified prisoner.

“… how?”.

“We’ll grab a few horses and we’ll make a fun for it” Alexander, always the knight in the shining armor, the one who played Arthur in your games because he was ‘the Just’, certainly wouldn’t have thought about anything more than that.

To him, it would have been a knightly ballad.

And to you a true nightmare.

That was why this would never work out between you two.

He was a dreamer and you had had too much reality in your own blood to believe in those fairytales.

As you had learned in the hard way, they always disappointed you.

“… this isn’t easy, Alexander” your tone was patient and yet tight, as if you couldn’t understand Alexander’s thoughts and point of view “… Heahmund won’t even grant me a divorce”.

“… then the only way is to run”.

This, indeed, sounded like Kathleen.

But (Y/N) was already asking herself where they’d go and hide, what they’d need for it.

And how it would influence the ones she left behind.

Ivar would have probably marched to your father to ask him to find you again to bring you back and your father would have absolutely tried his best to find you, using your sisters against you.

And yet, you couldn’t stay here.

Your hands let go of the earth as if it was poisonous.

But maybe you were what was truly poisonous.

“… I can’t”.

Because Alexander could look forward, like Kathleen.

But you couldn’t.

You hadn’t been able to, since your father had taken away the possibility of a future without him from you.

His actions had never let you think with your own head, with your wishes and your own taste and now you were broken completely.

And stuck in the middle.

Waiting for something.

“Then I’ll stay with you a bit longer…” Alexander’s voice was soothing and comforting and again you leaned your head against his shoulder “… my princess”.

---

When you arrived back in your tent, rigorously escorted by Alexander in a silence that was terrible and your sole solution, you found all your ‘handmaidens’ reunited around your bed, their hands threaded together and their lips muttering a prayer that was too silent to reach your ears.

But you knew that they were praying for your protection, because as soon as you bumped into something with your knee, making enough noise to make your presence known to each of them, their eyes almost madly raised to you.

“Princess!” called out Lia, meanwhile Angelika’s slight smirk became as cold as the rocks outside and Caryn’s sweet smile faltered lightly again seeing your tired and disappointed smile “… we were worried! You didn’t… come for us, this morning”.

You wondered whether they knew.

None of them had followed you outside after you had received the news.

They had been all too busy dancing their hearts out and you couldn’t blame them.

You had always thought and felt like they were your friends and because of that they were happy of being so far away from their home, in a place where they had no real family and friend.

You had always been too naïve.

You wondered how far the word of your fight with Ivar had spread.

Part of you worried for what this might bring onto the scheme that you and Ivar had created.

You knew that Ubbe had told you this secret, because he hoped to bring whatever deal you and Ivar had done down, and he had succeeded in this brilliantly, because had the fight become of public domain, it would have brought down whatever appearance of romance you and Ivar had set up for each other.

Alongside your image of beloved leaders.

But part of you, the one that you had denied for so long, wanted to just push everything out in the open, to be able to mourn your pain publicly and have your own revenge on Ivar’s omitted pieces.

It felt so vile and yet it just felt right.

“… I just had to clear my mind” worry continued on lacing your handmaidens’ eyes, but the part of you that felt the need to doubt everything, now wasn’t able to look at them back.

You weren’t able to look at them without wondering whether it was genuine.

What was true, after all, in this settlement of liars and lies?

Your father would have called you melodramatic and even naïve, because to think that the truth was what you saw was the greatest trick that the Devil had played on humanity.

And who didn’t understand this would have been completely destroyed by others

“Is… your mind… clear, now?” it was obvious that Angelika’s words were a polished version of what she truly wanted to say.

And do, with her way her fists tightened around the pretty fabric of her lovely bluish dress.

She wouldn’t have been as naïve as you, in your place.

“… a bit” words were difficult and you excused Alexander quickly with a few more, not truly wanting him to see what you felt, unable to conceal your ache for what he had proposed, alongside the knowledge that you wouldn’t have ever been able to realize his plan “… I’d like to lay down, alone”.

It was lunch time, but you felt like you would have pushed out anything that you’d have eaten, so you thought that the only way you could tolerate the passing of the day was alone.

With your books.

“… it wouldn’t be wise to leave you…” tried to start Solveig, her voice and her Nordic accent, a small memory of your husband’s one “… we should…”.

“Leave me, alone”.

You must have sounded like a spoiled brat, but you knew that your eyes held the wound of your pride and your imagination.

And soon you heard a fluttering of feet and curt bows, meanwhile dresses grated almost noiseless against the floor, wiping it clean in some kind of ritual that left you to push yourself on the ground, on your knees.

And silently cry.

You dragged your tired body as some kind of wounded beast till the trunk with all your books and searched through it for some old books about laws, most importantly wedding laws, even getting the Bible out.

It was a small one that Father Peter had gifted you when you weren’t anything more than a small crumb, in hopes it’d guide you to sanctity.

How far were you from it…

But the truth was that you could have wielded the book with all the world’s knowledge and yet you wouldn’t have found a solution to your own dilemma, because your father wouldn’t have ever granted you a divorce or annulled the marriage.

You were his little bishop, on his own personal chessboard, willing to the ultimate sacrifice and honored for the protection of the king, something that made you unable to follow a proper trajectory on her own.

Just another piece on the board.

If you asked for a divorce your father would have immediately denied it, because you were a precious spy.

And had you tried to escape, he would have turned himself against your sisters, till he brought you right back where he had always had you.

There was no way to escape his grip.

In the end, you hadn’t had many choices when the marriage had been set up.

And now that it was celebrated and you were the wife of a monster, you had even less.

There was a third way.

That was something stories had always told you.

And as your hands were in search for many more books, almost frantic in their movements, they brushed against the leather sheath of the dagger your father had given you to achieve the most utter level of betrayal towards Ivar.

But could you kill somebody?

The dagger weighted heavily on your hands, but you knew just how to grip it to be sure to stabilize it in your grip, thank to Nanna’s lessons, since you had trained with wooden knives, in your latest lessons.

‘Held it with one hand’ and you followed the instructions in your mind, grabbing the handle with strength, as your fingers pushed up their to wrap against the metal, to grip it steadily ‘… this way you’ll have much more strength from your upper arms’.

And then you’d pierce Ivar’s skin.

And not the bottom of the trunk.

Would it have made so much difference?

Would you have found resistance?

Would you have survived the attack, had you been able to catch Ivar by surprise, finishing the fatal mission her father had given you?

But right when the dagger was through piercing itself in the trunk your hand trembled and soon the trembling pushed itself up to your whole body in a way that made goosebumps appear on your skin, a slight shade of red appearing on you cheeks.

And you felt it because they burned.

Like your arms.

As if you had received some kind of premonition, the knife slipped from your grip, as you felt somebody entering the tent.

And you had gotten yourself used to those dragged out steps.

You had cherished them just a few days ago.

And you knew that Ivar had almost caught you in a dangerous experimentation.

But nothing in you wanted to be careful.

You had been focusing all your energy on hiding the double-play you had brought in your dowry and now you were so tired of everything.

So tired of Ivar’s and your father’s games.

You should have seen how similar they were from the start.

How deceitful and monstrous they both were.

Drenched in violence and unable to love others.

And yet, as Ivar’s eyes met yours, tired and disappointed, all the flashes of your happy moments appeared in front of your eyes, again, and for a moment you felt like throwing your arms around him.

And then the image of blood, tears and smoke filled your eyes.

You had been already too foolish.

And your eyes became of ice.

“… would you like to talk?” Ivar’s voice was as dry as your mouth, but yet it felt like a dam holding back something more and you trained your eyes to the ground, to avoid seeing what he hid in his eyes.

Because they’d have made you think you were talking with a human.

“I sent  away my handmaidens away for a reason” you hadn’t ever been this cold and this angry and it felt like every hit you sent his way was one to yourself and you couldn’t help but clutch your fists tight by your side, adjusting your dress just to look busy “… and Hvitserk already tried to say something”.

“He ran out of the tent with his tail between his legs” his attempt at humor was welcomed by a dry glare and this time in your eyes there wasn’t anything to be held back.

They were pure flames.

“… he told me that I don’t understand your ways” suddenly your own dam was broken and before you knew it, you were pushing out all the shit that you had swallowed all these years “… but the truth is that I was pushed in this, without anybody asking me what I wanted and what I preferred”.

“I had to learn on my own how to behave, how to act, how to fucking survive” Ivar backed off lightly, and your body raised in a swift move “… I had to learn how to fight back, how to defend myself from all the ones around me and not to trust anybody…”.

“You are a princess, you should have known these things” now Ivar’s tone was as dark as yours, and as you turned to look at him in the eyes you spotted that he hadn’t been able to conceal that you had hurt him.

And it made you feel good.

It made you take that step forward that separated you.

“… you are right” your voice was the calm before the storm, mirroring completely the static energy that followed lighting, meanwhile your voice became the booming power of a thunder “… I am a fucking believer of stories and you thought that you could control me easily because of that”.

Ivar seemed taken aback by your affirmation, and raised his arms as if to grab your attention but now you were utterly done and if he wanted to make you suffer, you’d drag him with you

“… for all my life I had somebody that controlled me, so it should have been easy for you to do the same for me, it was nice when you could make me act the role of the nice wife, the one that’d have stood by your side, no matter what…” a light of protest appeared in Ivar’s eyes and you chastised it with a look of your own “… don’t fucking deny it, my prince”.

You could have screamed and it would have done less damage than it did now, as Ivar lost suddenly his balance on his own braces and although everything in your body ached to desperately cradle him closer to you, help him up…

… your soul was frozen.

“… but I am done playing these games” and you let Ivar catch a glimpse in your tiredness “… and from now on, I wish you not to be my husband anymore in our tent, I’ll keep up the dutiful wife act outside of here, but I just can’t… I won’t be your bride in anything but my body”.

Ivar reached out for your dress, as you exited the tent, but you were faster.

Running away was your sole weapon.

And it struck deeper than a dagger.

---

Nanna noticed your uneasiness to even look towards a weapon immediately, as you came to here to train, and sent you through a run of the woods, to stretch your muscles before the real training, some kind of hand to hand combat that you had practiced till you knew the moves by heart.

For which you were grateful since your mind was completely gone.

And you couldn’t seriously do much more than crouch down and avoid hit after hit, meanwhile your attacks were lethal, enough that this time you almost hit Lia, the poor girl having to shield herself through a big push onto your chest, which sent you tumbling down.

And you welcomed the fall.

The loss of control was dizzying and maddening and for somebody who was a step close to losing it completely it was refreshing like rain on your face in a hot summer day.

And Nanna caught on all of this immediately.

She approached you as you came back to Bukefalos.

‘… whatever you have in mind, you should know that the brothers never liked each other” you rolled your eyes at her, a bold move that accompanied your own insanity since you wouldn’t have ever dared doing anything like that.

But the truth was that if you had gone through so much shit because of others, it was because you, firstly, had let yourself go through it, eventually creating a patterns of behaviors that you’d assume to avoid angering others.

You thought they’d spare you from pain.

But they had never worked truly.

And now you raged with intensity.

“… Hvitserk already tried this discourse with me” you counterattacked before Nanna could finish whatever she was saying, but unlike with Hvitserk, she held her own ground and waited for your outburst to end “… it doesn’t justify him”.

“It doesn’t, it never will” there was something deeper in Nanna’s eyes “… I am the first to say such a thing, because you see… I was Sigurd’s trainer, I taught him how to fight, although he wasn’t in the slightest talented for it, he was a great musician…”.

The confession seemed to cost Nanna years as her face became suddenly older and you couldn’t help but stop for a moment and think about what she had truly gone through.

You didn’t know Nanna, exactly as you didn’t know perfectly your handmaidens, so to be the witness of such a concealed pain it made your soul suddenly shift onto the most compassionate mood, although rage still burned and asked explanations.

“… I hate him, you know” Nanna’s voice was a soft whisper, her face holding a tight smirk, a sad one that spoke of many nights wasted to overthinking and distrusting anybody “… that’s why I wasn’t kind to you, when you first came, I thought that you were nothing but a meek little mannequin here for his schemes”.

“I am that” your voice tasted like a harsh bite, and Nanna sent you a compassionate look, but no pity in it, as if she knew deep down that that rage simply concealed much more.

“… you were” corrected her Nanna, coming closer to you, and lightly brushed away strand of hair drenched with sweat you hadn’t noticed you had shed “… but the truth is that you weren’t ever meek and stupid, someone easy to manipulate? Maybe at the start, but not anymore. That’s just a front and this strength that you are destroying through your rage… it’s the true you”.

Nobody had ever said something like that to you

You had loved Kathleen to Death and back, and yet, she had always treated her as if you were the meek little girl that your father had wanted you to be, and she couldn’t see past it, in the end becoming one of the many golden cages that wrapped you too tight.

You had always felt helpless.

Even when your strength had been reinforced.

But now somebody had finally acknowledged it…

… it felt like a freedom.

Like a beacon of hope.

That your rage shoved back inside.

“… he is a monster”.

“No” Nanna voice echoed through the empty spot of the forest she had brought you so that you could be more private “… he isn’t a monster, because those exist only in fairytales, little princess, he is a boy who has done and will for ever do monstrous things”.

“… is there any difference?”.

Your voice was slightly broken and even more importantly it seemed almost frail in the way it trembled in your own mouth, as if you wanted to eat it right back, because it was the breaking point.

Your breaking point.

Could you love somebody that would have tainted you?

Somebody who wouldn’t have hesitated to bring you down for his own plans?

No matter the fact that he had promised that he wouldn’t have ever done such a thing.

Could you turn a blind eye to all the monstrous things he did?

What would have made you?

A coward or a hypocrite?

“… there is” Nanna’s voice was instead low as if it was tasting the words, making sure they were the right ones “… being a monster isn’t a choice, doing monstrous thing is, and it only depends on us”.

“This doesn’t make everything better in any way”.

“It isn’t meant to” Nanna’s eyes settled on you unrelenting and piercing “… it is meant to bring knowledge to you. Even you would do something monstrous if you were given the proper stimulus believe me”.

The words seemed so foreign to you.

And yet hadn’t you cheated, lied and hidden?

Could you seriously blame Ivar for his lies?

Still you held your position strongly.

“… this isn’t some kind of silly courtly game, princess” Nanna’s hand shot out to your wrist and before she could grab, your reflexes acted up and you pushed it back “… and look at you, you already know the first step of it: don’t trust anybody”.

“… why don’t you cut Ivar’s throat off in his sleep?” it was treason what you had suggested, your father would have had the people saying it dead, but Nanna simply sent you a soft laugh.

“Because then I wouldn’t be different from him” it felt such an obvious choice and yet it clashed so deeply with the warrior image she had of Nanna “… the difference between me and Ivar it is that I can become a monster to defend what I believe in and he becomes a monster because he has been taught to hate whatever doesn’t agree with him”.

A logic came in front of your eyes.

“… he was born to be king, shaped by an overprotective mother who loved him and a father that hated what he truly was and taught him that love and happiness wouldn’t have been what was in his Destiny” the image of Ivar became much more complex at all these revelations “… this isn’t to justify him, but the first step to stop being afraid of people who do monstrous things is to understand them”.

Nanna’s hand now gently moved onto your shoulder, the grip strangely comforting, since it didn’t coddle you in any way.

But it stood with her.

“… I know you aren’t scared” she commented, as she slowly distanced herself from you “… and know that you are confused, so I hope that knowledge will help you in your choice”.

“As if I had one” you were simply able to mutter.

“… life is a path and you always come at crossroad, little princess”.

---

When you had come back to tent you had soon found out that you were alone, and you couldn’t exactly blame Ivar for not wanting to share the room with you.

But at the same time, you were almost grateful he had left your space.

Nanna’s talk had certainly cleared you a few things, if not about yourself, about Ivar.

But everything inside of you raged and ached for an answer that could calm your fear, ease your worries and finally find a solution to the enigma inside your heart: were you allowed to feel what you had started feeling for Ivar, or had it been all a mistake?

Your feelings were so confused that your feet just wanted to bring you away from there, if not for yourself, for the simple calm of mind that being far away from anybody would have given you.

You wanted just a bit freedom.

But you had taken your first steps in a priced cage.

So, how could you exit when the cage was smaller, and you knew nothing of it…

Your fist punched the light cupboard you had beside the entrance, where you knew that Ivar kept your nuptial gifts and you hit a bit too hard because the cupboard was slightly shaken and before you knew it, something fell right on the floor in front of you.

Floki’s gift, the small box with the moving sides, was now on the ground and as you rushed to grab it, already worried of having broken it, you noticed that out of pure luck you hadn’t broken it, completely.

But the box was now open lightly at the center and you moved yourself to collect it, finding much more than you had bargained for, because the broken box revealed a small piece of paper, which you grabbed, knowing quite well that you Vikings didn’t have written language, although you had received a book with a few runes and the proper pronunciation for words…

… and in fact, the paper didn’t contain any writing.

But it was a map.

A map, that contained all the villages around the settlement, signaling the ones that were already occupied by Vikings troupes and the ones that weren’t, making you discover that you had a convent nearby, a few days of travels.

But, again, you knew that escaping wouldn’t have been useful to anybody.

Unless… unless you managed to maintain the pact with Ivar.

And unless anything happened to you.

Had you died, accidentally, Ivar wouldn’t have been able to break the oath of protection to your father and your father wouldn’t have harmed your sister to try to get you back to him.

But you didn’t have any intention to cut your life so shortly, not only because you were coward and too attached to the life you had just started living, but you knew that suicide might destroy the oath, almost as much as a direct betrayal to either your father or Ivar.

But suddenly more and more ideas set up in your mind, as you remembered Nanna’s discourse.

A terrible and monstrous idea came to you, as you watched at the map, clutching it tighter in your hands till it appeared lightly crisped and marks of your nails etched in it.

You pushed it in your sleeve, and for the second time in that day you went to visit Alexander.

You noticed that a few guards followed you, although not closely and you were even more surprised to discover that Alexander and a few of his men had been asked to stay for a few days more.

‘To ease the princess’ nostalgy’ had mumbled Alexander, recalling the small meeting he had had that morning with Heahmund after you had left, the man looking as desperate as annoyed, and when your best friend discovered what you had asked of the bishop…

… he laughed loudly.

“… I don’t trust Heahmund, in the slightest” you mumbled, under your breath, but were still thankful for having Alexander with you a bit, even more with the plan your mind had conjured.

You showed Alexander the map you had found.

‘They probably wanted to use it to conquer more lands’ commented the blonde-haired knight, as he examined the countries that were left unconquered ‘… they couldn’t know that Ivar would have married an English princess, sealing peace with king Alfred and your father’.

‘… that gives me more credit than I have really’ you mumbled, but more because Ivar being brought in this conversation would have risked ruining all your coherent thoughts and confidence.

“This morning you said we should run away” your voice was low, although the guards outside hadn’t seemed to understand any English, but you tried your best to avoid being discovered “… but for me it isn’t just possible, I do know that if I just run away, my father would bring me back, using my sisters against me”.

“… so, you haven’t changed idea?” Alexander’s tone was slightly pensive and heavy, enough that you were very aware that he stood by your side no matter what.

And you needed that loyalty for your plan.

Something that still made you a bit icky to use, since you were aware that you were partly using Alexander’s fascination for you to get him to collaborate with you.

And it was horrible.

It felt awful.

And it was something that you could feel both Ivar and your father would have done.

Nanna had talked with you about creatures doing monstrous things, but not about the influence they’d have on the people around them,

“… my father wouldn’t search for me if I was dead”.

In Alexander’s eyes a flash of hurt and surprise appeared and immediately he reached out to you, trying to grab your wrist, but you snatched it quickly, as he instead went to gently caress one of your cheeks, as you kept your eyes down.

Unable to see the commotion and devotion in his eyes.

It reminded you of Ivar’s quiet misery of this morning.

Why had you this effect on men?

They were all moved by you and yet they wouldn’t listen on anything you had to say.

“… I won’t help you on your path to self-destruction, (Y/N)” Alexander told you, looking at you attentively “… I can’t… truly… I’ll swear my sword to your protection, but not to your destruction”.

“I wouldn’t need to die, to be thought dead” you added, trying to ease the worry in Alexander’s eyes “… I… if I was thought to be dead through some accident, leaving behind some of my things, I wouldn’t… I would be able to start again a new life, in a convent, where nobody has heard of me”.

The plan was crazy and Alexander did look at you as if you had definitely suggested something blasphemous, and honestly…

… had you had any other chance, you wouldn’t have suggested it.

But Heahmund or your father wouldn’t have ever granted you a chance of divorce.

And running out would have resulted in simply being brought back by force, either using it on you or your sisters.

And you couldn’t stay here.

Not when you had people pushing you through situation you didn’t belong in.

No matter how much you had thought of loving Ivar, your father expected you to do something against him and had Ivar discovered anything about what you had done and what you intended to do, he wouldn’t have hesitated to kill you.

And you had enough of being controlled and used for others’ plans.

You had now your own.

Your life at a convent wouldn’t have been perfect.

But you wouldn’t have risked your life, daily basically.

“This isn’t… this is…” Alexander’s eyes searched yours, hoping to find some gleam of sanity but you simply held yourself strong in your conviction, because had you lost also that…

… you would have completely vanished.

“… crazy”.

“That’s my only chance” you insisted loudly “… I wouldn’t ask you this if it wasn’t. I know that you want the best for me, but I can’t simply hide behind you anymore”.

Something in his eyes became sad and you had to admit what stood on your tongue, ready to be swallowed, because it was the truth.

And you knew that truth never paid off.

“… I know that you are in love with me” you admitted “… and I know that you want to protect me because of that, but I … Alexander I grew out of the fairytale, I don’t think it ever was. I don’t want you to do this because you expect something in return or because it is what virtuous knights do. I want you to do this because… you think it is the right thing”.

Alexander’s hand fell from your face and for a moment you were sure that you had done the wrong thing, you had chosen the wrong road and now you could only hope that Alexander would at least respect the secret of your words.

But for the second time in this day, you found a bit of luck, in this unlucky situation.

“I am not going to help you, as a lover” it hit you deeply, but Alexander’s eyes stared right back in yours, full of support “… I am going to help you, because I should have done all of this before”.

You looked at him curious about what he’d say next, but you couldn’t have ever foreseen what he’d say next.

“… I should have helped you and your sisters with your father”.

And for somebody who had never admitted what your father had made you go through, although solely emotionally, the knowledge that somebody had been witness to it took you like a sword straight up in your chest.

A bleak kind of pain hit you and you almost felt ashamed that he had found out about this.

“… how?” the words got all confused in your mouth “… how did you know?”.

“I didn’t… I just connected the dots” you didn’t know whether you wanted to hide all of this further in your heart, because shame just took you fully, or to finally breath out the truth.

Because finally you had received some respect, and somebody saw all of you.

“… once… when we were children… I accidentally ripped Kathleen’s gown, meanwhile we were fighting, and I found a big… big bruise on it”.

“… I didn’t realize back then that it came from your father, but I saw the way you flinched whenever he was slightly displeased with you, even more when I saw Kathleen flinching of pain if we ever fought, and seeing bruises on here that she justified as old wounds…”.

Alexander’s knowledge made you sick to your stomach.

Had others known about your father’s actions?

Had they known all this time and never done anything?

Although you were the first to admit that your father’s actions would have put the fear of God in everyone, you couldn’t believe that so many had stayed silent, at seeing the constant ruination of you and your beloved sisters.

“… and as a child I believed it, but when we started growing up we became more and more tight knit and I wasn’t able to ignore the way you’d shift away from your father, or the way Abigail would have her eyes trained down on the ground, whenever he was near… or how much Kathleen limped after she had answered her father’s provocations…”.

Painful memories overcame you as you choked on your own words.

“… that’s why I told you we should have run away, when we were still at the castle, before I got recruited in the army, I wanted to keep you safe, but…” a shade of guilt dyed his eyes “… I was just a boy and there wasn’t much I could do, I didn’t have the power and neither the money to convince your father to let you marry me”.

“And then my brother died and the only that kept me going was the fact that I could have finally been enough in your father’s eyes…” and his eyes showed the idealistic beliefs you had always loved about him “… but right when I came back, I found out that your father had sold you off to somebody’s else”.

The way he pronounced the word ‘sold you off’ made you feel so heavy and ashamed.

But it was the truth.

Your father had sold you like a priced cow.

And you wouldn’t have simply ‘mooed’ your annoyance, anymore.

You would have done something with it.

“… so, I’ll help you, my princess” Alexander sealed off his oath, as his hand reached out to you, nothing romantical in the way that he gripped your small hand in his “… for all the times that I couldn’t”.

You simply nodded, not trusting your voice, as you turned to the map

“... but we’ll need a well-thought plan”

“I have one” you commented lowly “… have you ever heard of the novella of the matron of Efeso?”.

---

You and Alexander had been talking about the plans for quite some time, estimating how much time it’d take you both to get ready.

You ran on stolen time, barely a week from when you’d be leaving for Kattegat, and Alexander’s staying had been extended for a few days, a whole week, if the heathens felt generous, something that made you both anxious.

And yet adrenaline filled your brain.

You almost hadn’t wanted to stop yourself from your plotting schemes with Alexander, but you knew that staying in his tent for more than it was proper would have costed you whispers.

Even more when the crisis between you and Ivar was evident.

So, you had tried to hide your schemes, through various visits, moving again to Heahmund, with the excuse to thank him for Alexander’s prolonged staying, appearing the image of the docile sheep, as the bishop complimented your virtues of patience and perseverance.

‘The ones of a true queen’ he had said, a strange gleam in his eyes, but you had chosen to ignore it, sick in the stomach at the sole thought that he had known about your father’s abuse against you and your sister.

And had never done anything.

Alexander’s confession of knowledge had opened your eyes and what you had thought was a closed world of violence and cunningness, had been open to the whole court to see and witness.

And nobody had done something against it.

They had all been cowards.

Like you.

And yet, a new kind of rage followed these new revelations, because you understood that many nobles completely depended upon your father, but yet, so many had even taken part in your father’s plan with no intention to even try to shed a glance your way.

You and your sisters had been left alone, to be adored and wished upon, and yet beaten down till your resistance broke.

But the truth was that it had never broken.

Kathleen was the portrait of that, and Abigail had much more cunningness than her soft preface gave the appearance of.

And as of you, the time in the Viking settlement had revealed to you, skills that you had never thought you owned.

You had always sold yourself short, and now it was time that you took the power away from all the men in your life that had taken it for you, doing not what Kathleen would have done, but what (Y/N) would have done.

Your father had thought that he had raised a stupid daughter, one that would be the perfect shy wife to a prince that wanted her simply to lay in bed, but you were far more than that.

And you wondered whether Ivar had known it from the start.

But these were questions you couldn’t allow yourself to have.

There were questions you’d leave behind as you took the vows and the veil.

‘… you’d have to change your appearance’ had mentioned Alexander meanwhile you talked about what you’d need to do to be accepted in a convent: money would have bought silence, but it wouldn’t have been enough to stop people from talking once it was finished ‘… maybe dye or cut your hair’.

And all these transformations had all seemed to you one more way to leave that life behind.

Your only regret was leaving your sisters.

The thought of never having to see them again, would have been difficult for you, to say the least, but Alexander had assured you that now that he had his brother’s inheritance he’d be able to move in court and he’d be by your sisters’ side.

He had sworn an oath to it, but you already believed him blindly.

You knew that you’d for ever regret the thought of him not being the one you had married and the one your heart loved, but there wasn’t much you could do, except be grateful for the support of such a friend.

After the visit to bishop Heahmund, you had tried your best to appear in public, wandering through the market alongside a few girls, till the night overtook the light of the day and you chose to dine alone in your room.

You hoped Ivar would ignore you like he had done for the whole afternoon (or better, as you had done with him for the whole afternoon).

But apparently, lady Luck had helped you too much this evening.

And your husband met you in your tent for a private dinner.

This was what he said to your handmaidens, as he sent them away, although Angelika had be to dragged away by a rather annoyed Solveig, the older woman, halfway through pushing her by the hair, something that brought a dry giggle to your mouth.

But as you turned to face Ivar, the giggle got stuck in your throat.

You had expected him to be angry, and although you had armed yourself with a good amount of your own anger, ready to spit back and fight…

… he just looked old.

As if tiredness had cursed his handsome image.

His eyes weighted heavily in their sockets and they hanged down, staring at his bracing, still on him and for a moment your hands shot forward almost wanting to do what you had started doing for him, your nimble fingers more able than the ones of any guard.

But you bit back your lips and pushed your hands away.

Many thought that the curse of sin could be transmitted through touch.

And yet, your whole body ached to give him some kind of comfort.

“… I’ll have dinner, in here, hope you don’t mind” your voice was slightly unsure and trembling, and you thought that it hadn’t reached Ivar truly, till he simply gave you a light shoulder nod, a moan of pain exiting his mouth as he moved his body “… are you hurt?”.

“What do you care?” that voice was so cutting that it was aimed to hurt you, without any doubts “… you aren’t my wife, anymore in this tent”.

You bit your lips, because your tantrum against him in that tent hadn’t been fair both to your strategy, but also to him, because as much as you hated the thought of what he had done, the rage you had shot him with was partly towards you.

You just changed the direction of it.

“… I might not be your wife, but…”.

He raised himself so swiftly and all the food that had been laid on the tray on the bed, fell in a cacophony of sounds that brought you to immediately cover your ears with your hands.

“What are you to me princess, truly?!” he was using the same tone you had used with him this morning, cutting and made to hurt your opponent, in a vocal sparring you had just learned.

And he was a champion in it.

“… you think that it is easy for me…” your words sounded frail to you, so it didn’t surprise you that Ivar destroyed them with a bloodied look and another shout.

This time your hands remained paralyzed to your torso.

“This isn’t about what I fucking did to Sigurd!” he shouted back to you “… this what is going to fucking happen in this tent! We had a fucking deal!”.

You were paralyzed and you felt bile coming back in your mouth, and before you knew it you pushed yourself outside of the tent, and emptied all your empty stomach on the ground, although you didn’t vomit anything much more than mead and water.

You stood with your body bent in two, your stomach aching and your mind running around, in a way that made you lightly scrunch your eyebrows in a way to calm your soul.

But nothing eased the confusion in your whole body.

The way it trembled so lowly.

And then rage filled you.

And you pushed yourself back in that tent.

“… you are right!” you didn’t even look at Ivar, as your hands hastily ripped off the slight nightgown you had been wearing, lowering it over your night garments “… we have a deal, then fucking take what I offered you, be the fucking prince you think yourself to be!”.

Your voices sounded so rough and so broken that they didn’t belong to you but to some wounded animal.

And Ivar looked at you surprised, as you made the nightgown pool at your feet, revealing your body barely covered by the rough fabric of your garments, your nipples piercing through the fabric for the coldness of the room.

A fire was blaring in the fireplace, but it wasn’t in any way of some use to you both.

You were looking at each other as two wounded lions, prideful and yet asking the other to quit this pretense and to help each other.

And you pierced your palms with your nails to make that thought vanish.

“… you seriously married me thinking that I wouldn’t someday protest against everything you have taken me away from…” your words echoed in the air and you weren’t able to stop yourself from the step forward you took.

“I always thought that you were smart” his voice was finally the truth.

But they weren’t of any consolation to you.

“You fell in love with a fantasy, Ivar” you spoke, your voice appearing in all the sadness of your condition “… I am not a fantasy, I am a person, and not a pawn, one that will simply stand by your side, without fear or…”.

“I would never hurt you”.

You refused to meet his eyes, because you knew it would have been the truth.

And it would have undone you.

“… those are words, not fact” and you smiled softy and tragically “… not facts”.

“I wouldn’t….” his voice was finally showing his age, a few years older than yours, and yet infinitely younger in a way that made you wonder whether you had been talking with a child

An unloved one.

“… what do I have to do to show you that you wouldn’t ever be hurt?”.

“… nothing, Ivar” your voice was flat, because otherwise it would have begged for more.

“… there must be something!” his voice was now the tantrum of a child, and as you finally raised your eyes again, you found them laced with a rejection he had known all too well.

When you had first met him, you had thought that the sadness you had seen in his eyes was due to the fact that you were both forgotten children, alone in their thoughts and ideas.

And yet, something in his eyes reeked of the same martyrdom you had put yourself through.

Hadn’t Nanna told you that his own father hadn’t ever had any gentle words for him?

But did this seriously make any excuse for him?

You had grown with a father that had abused you emotionally and you hadn’t ever thought about killing one of your sisters.

“Sometimes the only solution we can offer is simply to leave things as they are” your voice didn’t sound convinced, but there wasn’t much comfort you could offer to Ivar, not when you knew yourself what was going on in your head “… I’ll keep up part of my deal outside of here, but I don’t… “.

“… but you’ll never be my lover” now Ivar’s words made a defeated sound in his mouth “… I wonder why I ever thought that you could be that”.

The words hanged in the air heavily, as Ivar lightly turned on the bed away from you, facing the opposite part and although you had been prepared for worse, the way he had chosen all of this… it destroyed you.

But you couldn’t do much more than adjust yourself on the opposite side of him.

You just needed to hold on till Alexander would have the money and the things you needed and then you’d be able to leave all of this behind.

And yet, like some silly child, your hands reached out to the cold middle of your bed.

---

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[switchblademouse]

All you could do was laugh.

What other response could you have after seeing death run rampant through your world? The old lady buried one morning when the sun felt harsh and new, then her tiny grandchild ready to be buried soon before the sun set heavy and ripe that very same day. Watching as the people took over the streets howling right in the open, drowning out everything else in their grief. Then watching as those same people burnt down the walls of all the lives around them, smashed the whole world to rubble under the stampede of thousands of charging feet, when all that unanswered grief of theirs turned into righteous rage.

What more was there to do than sit back and laugh at them?

I had warned them. As had many others before me, and after me. We were silenced, all of us. Told we were being too negative for their comfort. Told we shouldn't tell them of the open dangers they faced, unless we gave them the choice to run from such uncomfortable topics beforehand. We, the ones who could see the dangers, had been screaming our warnings at these people for years. We who had already been dying had been begging this blind public for that justice they loved dearly for so very long now. Our suffering had not mattered to these people who thought of themselves as Good People. Where was all of that elitist high ground they once waved above us beggars? Above those of us who had all been denied the basics of human life; and yet we all ended up watching them crumble at our feet for so much less than we had already survived.

We could do nothing but laugh. Throw our heads back and shake from the gasping breathing that came with the horrid and hysterical laughter of those who had been pushed too far for too long. We the people who have only just realized that the others who put us there always knew that our suffering was the worst possible thing anyone could live through. Those awful Good People had let us all suffer while knowing these things; simply because they couldn't care less to act on helping others if they couldn't get something for themselves out of it. Why did such people still dare call themselves "good" to our faces?

We laugh as they fall at our feet, suffering too, in all the ways they looked away from dismissively when that suffering was in our lives once.

We laugh as they bleed out in front of us, blood pooling in a dark river that twists with whirpools of tears, and the many empty, begging promises of desperate human beings trying to avoid the consequences of their own misdeeds brought to their feet.

We laugh as they call us evil, for those moments are the only truly humorous times we still have in our lives, after all this madness.

Because they don't realize they lost that right to feel morally superior to me so very long ago.

We no longer see a human being in our own reflection these days.

We no longer want to.

For all those humans we have seen walking through our life are not what we wish to ever see ourselves become.

The cruel actions those humans who call themselves good take when they simply feel justified in destroying everything they find distasteful are not those we seek to emulate.

So, we will destroy every last human being, and the destructive despair they drag around them like the chaotic wake behind a great storm.

I am perfectly fine being the grinning villain these days.

For if such beings as humans call me evil, then I must be doing so very well as a person.

Isn't that funny?

Just absolutely hilarious?

I see humans, but no humanity.

All you can do is laugh.

[Just a Random Writer in the Electronic Void. Don't mind me. I just got bored. Sorry about the rough copy /Edit: Went back and edited for spelling and grammar because it bugged me, no longer a rough copy/. Not sorry about the chills. Villains are such an interesting topic. Any of us could be one to somebody else. Enjoy this one, or don't. Not exactly my best work after all. Guess I should just laugh it off, huh?]

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End Copypasta

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This right here is copypasta from my YouTube commentary. The video was a wonderful VillainCore playlist, titled "i see humans but no humanity: a villain playlist", posted by username "cupid". (Quote marks are mine. I sincerely apologize for not linking it here. I like giving credit to the creators, but I have no clue how to link that through my phone app here. Sorry!)

I designed this for the authors notes to be at the end, to increase the impact of the writing. In commentary style story posts, putting the authors note at the top deters people from reading by breaking that story immersion. If you put those authors notes at the end of the comment-story you are writing? You get more readership, because the hook for your story can do it's job properly. That's an important tip I recommend you keep in mind if you post stories in places like commentary or reply sections. Just make sure your hook strikes well!

Anyway? Because this was designed for that hook to hit first? I do apologize for having to drop my copypasta without context. It is what it is.

Before I'm done? I would like to make another more personal apology. Someone accused me of "humble-bragging" after the original note to this. I had no idea what that meant. I looked it up. Honestly? I was appalled that they thought that, and confused. When I brag I'm not subtle about it! I also wasn't sure why they would think anyone would over just what I wrote there. I asked some friends. Turns out? My writing is better than I thought it was. I know I'm good, but I didn't think a quick short story like this, done in an hour could be well written for me. I was corrected on something. My standards for excellence were significantly higher for myself than they were for my readers. So, what I legitimately thought wasn't good enough, everyone else thought was me humble-bragging.

I felt the need to apologize for this. I didn't want to alter my original post, for personal reasons. But I want to apologize now, before anyone says I'm doing that. I wasn't, but I'm still struggling to wrap my head around the fact that I'm not just a good writer. I'm a writer who is apparently, on occasion, so good at what they do that they make people think I must be full of crap if I say I don't believe I did well.

Do you know how hard that is to accept?! I'm freaking out. My image of myself does NOT match with that! Even if I was confident about being a good writer, this is still a shock. I'm working on it. It's just taking me a while.

So, on top of my writing tip today?

Take this to heart.

Just because you think you aren't good enough yet, doesn't mean you aren't great already.

Your lackluster effort, just might be a high quality piece in others eyes.

Look at your stuff through some of your biggest supporters eyes at some point.

It could be the best thing you will ever do for your self-confidence.

I hope you all have a weird and wonderful day from here.

~ Tapestry

[kissthegogo-goat-witch]

Misery of the Vampire: Chapter one.

I want to try something and post the first chapter of a novel I wrote up. Its the auto biography and journey of a vampire through out the ages.

 breech The years pass by like grains of sand in an hourglass. Agonizingly slow with each passing day, a far cry from how a writer would describe my people. It would be a dream, a wish fulfillment for it to go swiftly by and bring us closer to death who awaits us with its welcoming, open arms. I have seen how the mortals often described us and the life we live. There is no glamour, no beauty, nor charm.

 An only pure tragedy with so many flaws to our being. There is nothing beautiful about falling from God's grace. I am both ashamed and outraged about how the modern world perceives vampires such as myself, spreading lies and turning humans gullible as they fall into a trap. I have taken it upon myself to inform future generations of the unspoken and forgotten world of the true night creatures. Let my story be a warning to those who are lusting for a life in which would soon make them seek death itself. 

My rebirth took place within the country of Italy, during the time in which many had fallen victim to the Black Death. Or what we know now as the bubonic plague. I myself was a coward, fearful of dying a horrific death such as my beloved wife and daughter. I know now that I should have gone with them. But alas I was no more but a fool. A young man who was but a boy inside. 

My desire to live have outweighed what I know now would have been right. To bury me along with my small family. But how is an ungrateful fool such as myself supposed to know that while barely above the cusp of manhood? This was when I met my sire, a tall and elegant older gentleman who had the darkest hair and fairest skin of Verona. He was unaffected by the plague, having others believe that he was in God's favor. Including myself.

I sought him out so I could have a chance to avoid the Lord's wrath, even if I was a peasant at the time. I can still remember it as it was a muggy summer night. The stench of death rose from the bodies piled in the streets.  Amidst the foulness he stood, arms wrapped around a young man. His back was facing me while I watched him a feast. Back then I did not know what he was doing, but as a human, I had been drawn to such chaos. Well, I myself would not call the death of a mortal chaos but primal instinct told me otherwise. That is when I have uncovered the ghastly truth of how he survived the disease which struck and killed hundreds, if not thousands. 

He realized I was watching him when his head jerked up, blood seeping into a crimson pool beneath them both. 

That gorgeous, which beguiled any woman who gazed upon it, turned ghastly. In its place was a pair of wicked eyes made worse by the fangs of a putrid yellow, jagged like the shiv of a crazed convict. Blood was smeared across his lips, chin, and cheeks. and I soon realized I was staring at the face of a corpse. I did what any man would and ran, though knowing that he would pursue me, and I hid in an alley that stank of urine and worse. Covered by pitch black darkness like my own funeral veil, I thought foolishly that he could not see me.  now I know that my kind can pierce through the blackest of darkness with their keen sight. Despite this, he did not pursue, and for the time being I knew not why. 

When I returned home that night I simply went to sleep, thinking that this was all a nightmare and that I would wake up to the usual bellows calling for corpses. This is how we capture you, we simply come when least expected. There is no invitation, that myth about vampires is foolish. We do not give warning, we are cheaters to when it comes to getting what we want.

 You can ask any vampire, even some of the purest of blood and they will say the same thing such as I, a dirty blood states as mere fact. When I awoke, my whole body was burning from the inside out. I was plastered in a sordid sweat that soaked my sheets, while my veins threatened to burst through my skin likes plants bereft of light... ironic as that now seems. That, however, was not the worst of it- for when I rinsed my face with water, I noticed two obscene marks on the side of my neck. They were fresh and like forbearers of my fate, also weaped.  As you most likely know, If you are not careful, a bite mark can become infected. For me, they began to swell to a size like that of spring tomatoes; red, ripe and raw- leaving two horrid scars that shall remain upon me forever, the physical manifestation of a memory desired forgotten. 

  For days I have suffered to where it felt like I was the victim of the plague. My skin was pale while the appearance of my body was grotesque, black liquids were seeping out of everywhere as the stench was horrid. I dared not to venture outside in this condition, nor I couldn't for I was bedridden. Sooner or later, somebody would find my corpse. 

The last final phase of turning is the hunger. Do you know how it feels when you are starved? Multiply that by one thousand, add the heat of a fever, and every single muscle in your body tearing itself apart. Now I still had my morals, but my dignity was nonexistent. Desperation caused me to slip out in the night, unseen with only corpses as witnesses.

 They were my first victims. I still remember the putrid taste and how easily their flesh torn. They were rotten of course. The cysts upon their bodies bursting with the faintest of touch. Those disease-ridden corpses would be the source of drink in which kept me alive. I endured days of agony, due to myself being repulsed by consuming the blood of the already dead. But when it became too much I had no choice. It was either to feast on corpses during my weakened state or else, children. 

I am no monster, I can tell you that now. My own decisions are based upon my morals, for I still have kept my humanity. Most vampires chose to leave it behind due to the traumas their new life can lead. During the phase before my sire, I was a ghoul. No one in the city had caught on to what was happening to the bodies.

 But my sire had, for he watched as I suffered. There was no intervention as I struggled to manage my very existence. It was a test to decide whether I would survive or not and if I was worthy of his own teachings. To this day I do not know why I was chosen, for my sire was a madman. After the course weeks, he finally deemed me worthy enough to claim.

 It was another typical night, the moon was high on her perch while shining down, illuminating the streets below. I stepped out of my home while wrapped in a tattered cloak. Hiding in the shadows, I used them to my advantage not to be seen, silently making my descent towards the nearest corpse I could smell.

 By now I have grown accustomed to this vile act. I can remember the corpse being still fresh, having passed during the hours of daylight. Even though, it did not sit in the hot sun and become putrid, the disease was still evident. I still grimaced upon the nights I fed. The blood was still disgusting as ever. Above myself, I heard a soft flutter. 

Suddenly I felt a large hand grasp around my neck. Roughly, I was jerked up and came face to face with my sire. His eyes were blazing like embers, amber in color with blackness ebbing around them. Rows of hideous fangs were inches away from my face. He was like a statue, still and silent. I was fearful of what was to happen next. My face was plastered into a mask of horror.  My heart would have been pounding if it was alive.

 "Pathetic is what you are, ghoulish corpse eater. Not one of my finest creations, but you have too much resilience to waste." 

His voice was smooth, deep and calloused. There was no emotion to it. But I could feel his own rage. Suddenly he had a look of disgust. I remember being over his shoulder as he took off into the night, leaping into the air with a powerful force. He danced from roof to roof with his graceful movements. No one would believe that such a man in Verona existed. Not even I, if I wasn't here telling you my life, that is. Just as swiftly as we had left, we arrived at where he lurked about during the daylight. Before I had a chance to look, to take in my surroundings, a coffin was sealed. 

[deloresisout]

I wrote this story for a creative writing contest at my college - then shit hit the fan after the deadline [social distancing] so I don’t even know if I’ll hear back from faculty anytime soon. This was my first time writing in 1st Person (or rather converting a story into 1st person) and I was proud enough to show some people close to me in real life. So, I’m going to post this excerpt here. 

I have found that with my increasing age, those around me expect me to be a walking contradiction. Of course, they would never say this out loud, but I have watched as young women wait with bated breath: anticipating for words of wisdom to emerge from my lips. I have also watched as some of these very same women then expressed surprise - astonishment even, that I am capable of recalling years long behind me. 

The ability to recall my days spent within the walls of Julienne have brought on many gazes of wonder. But nothing brings forth an abundance of questions more than the fact that I can recall my grandfather with the same clarity.

Even as I keep to myself, the sight of menthol cigarettes neatly packaged and placed atop shelves reminds me of billowing smoke drifting through his dining room. A place I spent much of my childhood studying in. 

Then, there are times when my heart swells with warmth when I see men like my husband conceal his silver locks with a flat, rounded cap. Unless Granddaddy was working in the barbershop or, if he was within the sanctity of his own home, a hat would always stay perched on his head. Yes, it was his trademark.

But, even among the woolen flat caps, the menthols, and the strong Southern twang revealing his Alabama roots, one of the things that I will always closely associate with my grandfather would be his rings. Grandaddy possessed so many rings, but I was not given permission to do anything except look on. Once, great admiration had been tied to my yearnful gazes. However, when Ms. Bedel moved in, my days of secretly caressing thick, metallic gold ended. Like granddaddy, she too, is a person I will never forget. 

In our early days together, Granddaddy’s rotund lover told me that she was not my mother. In that very same breath, her eyes narrowed as she further asserted she would never be my mother. Despite this, she fulfilled the needs my seven-year-old counterpart required when it came to maternal care. 

Ms. Bedel, in my eyes, was a woman who was never truly appreciated by those around her. I know that she certainly wouldn't have been by today’s standards, either. Because even in my time as a wide-eyed, meek child in 1961, there were whispers of how she was too strict. Too reflective of the period that cultivated her.

Her full name was “Lucille Tallulah Masters-Bedel.” At the time, I did not know how a person could have two last names, but later I would find that ‘Bedel’ came from her deceased husband. This was not necessary for me to know at the age of seven.

During my adolescence, a child was to stay in a child’s place. Seen, not heard. Boundaries that children manage to cross today were intolerable in my time. 

Being ever obedient, I never thought of doing anything other than what I was told. Appreciation factored into my blind ignorance and how could it not? Ms. Bedel was the one who bathed me at the end of each day. De-tangled my hair. Ensured I clasped my hands together and told God of my utmost gratitude each night. I have no doubt in my mind that each day I spent with Ms. Bedel, the more she came to love me.

This belief was proven in how she provided me with the loveliest dresses. She made sure Granddaddy would use his hard-earned money so that I remained a well-groomed girl, decent for both neighbors and distant cousins to lay their eyes upon if they happened to see me. I can even remember believing that Ms. Bedel once purchased me the dress of my dreams.

It was all white, its collar delicately laced. Lilac flowers in bloom decorated the fabric gorgeously. With my anklet socks and patent leather shoes, the pious women of the community would coo over me, sweetening my self-image by calling me names such as baby doll.

There even came a point in which I had the honor of being among Ms. Bedel’s jewelry, that evening I was almost trembling in her lap. Watching intently as Ms. Bedel clutched onto a small key and inserted it into the jewelry box slot, I could feel my heart pounding. With a turn the box was open, and treasures were revealed right before my eyes.

As I had mentioned, I was an obedient child. If someone said, “don’t do that,” I would not engage in whatever was before me. If somebody said, “don’t speak,” I would never open my mouth. So being given permission to trace rings and necklaces and earrings with my little fingertips filled me with the utmost delight. 

While basking in this privilege, I realized there existed differences between a man’s ring and a woman’s own.

Granddaddy’s rings were thick accessories of solid colors, more often than not the dimmest shades of silver and gold. It was almost as if they were old decorations that lost what could once make them shine. There were a few bumps and prongs, but frankly, there is nothing else I can say that compares them to the mesmerizing jewels in Ms. Bedel’s prized jewelry box.

“Where do these come from?” I couldn’t help but ask. “Child, everything you see before you has a story.” With this answer, I thought I would learn about the source of the beautiful pearls of Ms. Bedel’s necklace, or where on earth the little diamonds in her rings came from. I was too ignorant to recognize the wistfulness that hung in my elder’s voice. “During the Harlem Renaissance, I held a man named Aliki Eliopoulos in the palm of my hand. He was bronze, Greek, and we thought we could make it through the odds.” The brief huff that blew from Ms. Bedel’s nostrils was strong: “one night, he found me after the curtains closed and he presented this. This necklace is dear to me…I suppose because I never quite knew where Aliki went.” Pointing out another piece of jewelry was not needed as Ms. Bedel rose whatever called to her the most.

“This engagement ring - not a wedding ring - engagement, was given to me by my first husband. To accept it would mean I would make a vow for him. He knew of my past and knew that even if I couldn’t right my wrongs, I could try to start over with his name.” 

Again, she expanded her chest with her second mighty huff. During that moment I wondered, how can this woman seem so disillusioned yet keep each belonging? Belongings that provide her with such unpleasant memories. Where did the hatred end and the sentiment begin? 

“True love is a concept,” Ms. Bedel said, the resentment never leaving her tongue. “The idea of that sort of thing existing is new, too. People don’t realize that...but Delores.”

“Ma’am?” I replied. For no reason, I was stricken with fear in how she said my name. All I had known was that she said it with such sharpness that surely my own faults were on the verge of being mentioned - whatever those faults may have been.

“Do not follow in my footsteps.” 

I believe Ms. Bedel was sixty-six at this time. The same age as I am now. Ironically

enough, I feel I can understand her without even having the full pieces of her story. My grandfather was a lover of women who were respectable and clean. Women who would not taint his image by being well-known throughout the city for scandalous tales. 

I will never say that Ms. Bedel was not a woman who presented herself with high caliber. She sang opera long before becoming involved with my grandfather. She possessed clothes in her closet that continued bearing their tags. Perhaps it was loneliness that brought my grandfather to her, but that I do not know for certain. All I know is that at the end of the day, Granddaddy felt Ms. Bedel would be the most appropriate woman to guide me through my adolescence.

Still, to think back on the many statements - the way her eyes fixed on me, lets me know she was not a pinnacle of virtuous deeds throughout her life. 

However, at that particular moment, all I knew was that I disliked the heavy silence her statement brought. It became my intention to steer away from talk of vows and purity so as I refocused on the piled riches, I noticed an emerald glistening among gold and rubies. The longer I stared into it, the more I noticed that it had lighter streaks. Appearing and disappearing depending on my movement. It was like thunder and lightning had been coursing within it. “Ms. Bedel...where did that ring come from?” I asked. “This -” Ms. Bedel lifted it, studied it. “This belonged to my mother.” “Did her husband give it to her, too?”

“My mother was never married.” With that unpleasant remark came another pause that I felt lasted forever. When Ms. Bedel spoke again: it was clear and amazingly without strain, “she hailed from a place in the South that was so unimportant that it can’t even be defined by a name.” She paused, asking me: “Do you know what slave labor is?”

Even in my discomfort, I nodded. “What is it then?” Ms. Bedel did not believe I had a wealth of knowledge. I knew it just from the strength of her gaze. Timid, my fingers slid against the hardwood of her dresser. Not knowing any better, I began recalling how at the age of five Granddaddy decided it was time I learn how Africans - not even colored people, but Africans - were chained like dogs and brought to America. After that, they were bound to pick cotton all day under the sun. That was slave labor, my young mind decided. 

“What Africans had to do...” I answered, just barely connecting my gaze with her own.

“No.” My idea was correct, but wrong.

“My mother may not have been picking cotton, but she did live under those horrid conditions. After I was born, my mother bundled me up and took me with her as she journeyed North. Of course, being a colored woman, she didn’t have the luxury of driving or possessing a fortune to get her there in an instant. She worked as a maid here and there until she reached New York...and there was one woman before that.” She paused. 

“We were in Kentucky…” Ms. Bedel refrained from speaking yet again, hissing: “I hate Kentucky...and I will never forget that woman as long as I live...she,” Ms. Bedel’s lips were curling, “she was downright nasty. That woman sat so high on her horse, that she had my mother feeding her baby through her teat.”

My face was surely pulling in disgust. I did not understand what was said just the right amount to be puzzled, but I understood enough to be both bewildered and uncomfortable.

“From time to time, my mother would take little things from her house. Sugar, flour. Things that wouldn’t be missed. But before we left Kentucky and never looked back, my mother thought she deserved something more in return, and this ring was it. After my mother passed on, I received it. This beauty has been with me ever since…” Suddenly Ms. Bedel took on a soft and tender tone, it was as if she placed her past behind her. “Try it on.”

Not only was I soothed by a far preferable tone, but I was also elated. Yes, it felt as though I was ascending to new heights. My high emotions would soon leave as the ring was placed on my finger, limp.  “Oh…” Ms. Bedel’s lips pushed out, sympathetic. “It’s too big for you…”

 “My fingers are too little…” I felt like I was an infant, helpless and insignificant.

“Maybe.” Ms. Bedel took my hand into her own, covering it in love. “One day you’ll grow into it.”

[mithrasisgay]

The Rise of the Dread Fleet - Chapter 3: Siren’s Call

New chapter, yo! Currently, we’re kind of assembling the full cast, but i do hope you enjoy my scribbles regardless <3

@tyrias-library

On AO3

„What we need right now is support.” Snezz says. “There’s only three of us, which is no basis to build a crew out of. Which leads me to my next point.”

Him, Asha and Aurelia Sharpwit are sitting in the darkest, most remote part of the tavern, conspiring over ale and cheap food. A week has passed since Asha’s recruitment of both him and Aurelia, and he’d taken the time to get the kid washed and dressed in something that didn’t smell like death. Now that Asha vaguely resembles a human again, he can see a glint in her eyes he hadn’t quite noticed until now. By all means, she is still a scrawny teenager, but there’s a hidden fury, as well as an unexpected degree of intelligence behind her immediate first impression that leads him to take this whole endeavor seriously. She has her hands wrapped around her mug and listens intently to him, nodding occasionally.

“I didn’t come to Lion’s Arch alone.” He continues. “I brought a friend with me. We both left Rata Sum post graduation due to a lack of direction, but I believe that, if you let me do the talking, I can rally her to our cause.” “One additional Asura won’t make this a viable crew.” Aurelia comments. “That is true. However, my friend is kind of a… package deal.” Snezz smirks involuntarily, unable to conceal his pride. “She’s a necromancer.” “Minions, hm? Could definitely solve the issue of actually sailing a ship in terms of manpower.” Asha says. “I’m down. Let’s get your friend on board.” “Um, before we do this -…” Snezz pauses to take a long swig of ale. “She’s, uh… a little bit eccentric. Trust me on this matter. She’s worth it.” “I’ve agreed to follow a random human girl and a guy that comes up to my kneecaps into battle. I don’t think eccentricity is going to scare me off now.” Aurelia says, with a low growl in her voice. “When do we go?” “Tomorrow morning, first thing. She’s probably asleep by now.” Snezz states and looks up at Asha by his side. She’s staring into her half-empty mug, brows furrowed. He elects not to ask for her approval in addition to Aurelia’s, and waved to the barmaid instead, to get a refill for his own drink.

 Morning rolls around much too early for Snezz. Him and Aurelia had spent a long time in each other’s silent company last night, but regardless, both of them meet Asha in front of the tavern they’re staying in – on Snezz’s bill, of course.

“Ready to go?” he asks them and only gets mumbled responses; Asha simply takes a few insistent strides forward, and Snezz clicks his tongue. “Right. This way.”

The unlikely trio weasels their way through narrow alleys into one of the cheaper residential areas of the city. Snezz stops them in front of a small, worn looking shack in the corner of the street, steps forward and knocks on the door, the entirety of which rattles under his fist. He sees Asha tilt her head curiously before the door opens a crack.

He holds his breath, as the horrid smell of putrefaction assaults his senses and leans in to peek into the dark interior. “You brought friends.” States the occupants matter-of-factly. “I did.” Snezz replies, speaking fast to avoid inhaling too much of the stench. “This is Asha, aspiring pirate Captain, and our friend, Miss Sharpwit. Can we come in-… or can you come out?” The door slams shut, Snezz hears a few nondescript clattering noises, then the door opens again, wider this time. Out steps a tiny Asura, even smaller than him. She’s completely black in complexion and hair, her vibrant green eyes and lighter, freckled rodent nose being the only features to be immediately discerned. She’s dressed in simple, rather dirty clothing, her apron stained with several fluids Snezz doesn’t even want to attempt to identify. She blinks up at his companions. “Why’d you bring them?” she asks, staring intensely at the two. Asha and Aurelia exchange a glance.

“We need your help.” Snezz tells her. “I’ve joined them and we want to steal a ship, then go out and make our living on the Seas. But we’re critically understaffed. I know that you can amend that.” Her gaze flickers back to him. “Piracy?” “Yes.”

She steps forward to face Asha, who immediately takes a step back, due to the woman’s rather fragrant presence. “I want a private laboratory below decks and access to any dead matter we encounter.” She demands. “Uh, I mean, sure? I can arrange that.” Asha fumbles, quite taken aback by the demand. “Good. I am joining. Call on me when you need me.” With that said, the steps back into her shack and slams the door shut.

A good ten seconds of baffled silence pass before Aurelia speaks up. “Well. You weren’t kidding.” “I wasn’t.” Snezz agrees. “She’s a good person. She just doesn’t do well with, uh… living people.” “What even is her name?” Asha asks, as the group turns to leave. “She left so abruptly.” “It’s Liamu. Don’t worry about her. I’ve known her all my life. I can vouch for her.” Snezz draws a deep breath. “With her help, we can crew a ship, but more help is always a good thing. We should all hit the road and see what we can organize.”

Asha stops in her tracks and taps her chin. “Actually, you two go do what you want. I have an idea.”

 --

 Asha looks over her shoulder, making sure she isn’t being followed, before kneeling down by the water. “Raya?” she calls out, in a hushed whisper-shout. It takes a moment before she sees the salmon pink shimmer of scales passing under the surface of the harbor basin, then Raya’s pale face becomes visible in the water, not breaking the surface, but close enough to speak.

“I need you to find somebody for me.” Asha leans down, her nose almost touches the water, and she whispers to Raya, who blinks slowly at her, then vanishes back into the depths. Asha rises back to her feet and dusts off her coat. It’s probably better not to tell her developing crew about Raya just yet. There needs to be more trust, more bonding before she can safely let them in on her secret little friend, without scaring them off.

--

 Cariyen’s exit from Vaixx and Raxxi has been rather undramatic. Both had been very understanding of her decision to leave, and even given her a rowboat to get back to Lion’s Arch shortly after their departure, so she can find her own path without them.

It shouldn’t take longer than a few hours to make it from Bloodtide Bay to Sanctum Harbor, according to Cariyen’s predictions. And then… what then? Cariyen doesn’t exactly have anywhere to go home to. She wouldn’t have joined a pirate crew if she had been able to return to the Grove, not after her brother had gone missing. She’d attached herself to this little girl after years of living half-alive, only functioning as her role on the ship. And then, even that little girl was taken from her, killed right before her eyes.

It’s a heavy mixture of guilt and grief in Cariyen’s heart, as she rows her little boat toward the city, almost on autopilot, reflecting upon the events that transpired. She knew the entire time. How Asha had suffered under her father. And while she did support her, she did not do enough. Asha was just a child, it had been just a matter of time until she’d snap and something horrible would happen. Cariyen can’t shake the thought that she could have prevented it, done something, anything, taken the girl somewhere safe, away from this environment…

Her thoughts are cut short by a heavy rock going through her boat. She pauses, heart skipping a beat, gaze flickering around to seek the source of the turbulence. Cariyen sits frozen, her hands gripping her oars tight as she listens for any telltale sign of an attack. Krait, Risen, hostile Hylek, marine predators-… no, she’s too close to shore for that.

She has no time to consider her options, as another heavy hit against the boat’s rump instantly capsizes it. Cariyen barely has time to hold her breath before she is plunged into the water. Her years of sailing experience immediately tell her to swim upward and surface, but she feels and iron grip around her ankle, preventing her from moving. Panic sets in, and she begins channeling magic in her left hand, only to be interrupted by something that is clearly a humanoid hand gripping her wrist and dragging her to the depths. Asha’s desperate thrashing in the water is the last image before her inner eye, then her consciousness fades.

 Cariyen had not expected to survive this mysterious attack, much less to hear the voice she hears when she eventually awakens. “Grenth’s grace, Raya, I told you to find her, not almost drown and kidnap her!” “I apologize. I am not good at convincing people to follow me. I thought this to be the easiest option.” “You could’ve-… ugh. Whatever, she’s here and she’s alive. Did anybody see you?” “I took the long way around. I was quick.”

Cariyen groans and rouses, forcing her eyes open. She’s in a room, laid out on a cheap bed, next to a small firepit crackling to her left. “Ah, you’re up.!” Asha Gaets says and sits down by her side. “Sorry about the… journey. Raya has no, uh… social skills.” Cariyen’s head spins, but she forces herself to sit up and face the girl. “How-...?” she croaks, throat raw with seawater. “Long story. Raya saved me and I made my way to town.” She explains, which clarifies very little to Cariyen, and gestures to a nude woman, crouched like a lurking tiger in the corner of the room.

The Sylvari looks from the strange woman to Asha, then lurches forward and embraces the girl. “Hey, hey.” Asha soothes her, helplessly patting her back. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I should’ve-.. I could’ve done something, I-…” “Hush, it’s fine. It’s okay.” Asha struggles and Cariyen releases her from the hug. “It’s not your fault. You were the only one who ever helped me on that rotten ship.” Asha puts her hands on Cariyen’s shoulders. “I’m just glad to see you again.”

Cariyen wipes the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand and nods slowly. “I am too.” She whispers. “Asha, I… I can’t believe you survived.” “Trust me, it took me a while to realize too.” Asha grins from ear to ear, nothing like the broken soul Cariyen remembers her to be. “I told my friend Raya to find you, because I didn’t think you’d stay in the fleet after my death. Sorry about her methods. She’s used to drowning people.”

Raya makes eye contact with Cariyen, who feels her blood run cold when she glares into those empty eyes. “Siren.” She gasps. “I apologize.” Raya says. “I did not believe you would agree to come with me if I had asked.” “Don’t worry about her. She’s a friend. She saved my life.” Asha assures her and Raya nods. “She speaks the truth. I mean you no harm.” She confirms and Cariyen rubs her temples, trying to process all of this.

“I’m actually assembling a crew myself. Got a few people already.” She conchalantly states. “I’d like to have you on board, too.” “I-… yes, of course, but…” “Awesome. I’ll let you rest here. Don’t worry about the room, my new friend Snezz pays for it.” Asha gets up and gestures to Raya, who promptly rises and climbs out the window. “They don’t know about her yet, so if you could keep that little secret, that’d be great.”

“I... doubt anyone would believe in anyways.” Cariyen manages to articulate in her confused and weakened state. Asha grins at her. “I’ll organize you some food. Sit tight, will ya?”

[qtakesams]

Dutch Reflections: A Take on (Non-Existent?) Culture Shock

When I first started my search for an abroad program and then selected one, the world travelers in my life started warning me about one specific thing: culture shock. Everything from what this could mean for me and how I could handle it. What to do if I got to my study location and decided within a few days that I hated it. When to recognize signs of culture shock and collect methods to resolve the issue.

           Somewhat obviously, culture shock is like academic stress or a light headache in that it affects us all very differently in different ways. Some people, especially those who do not travel until they are older and therefore do not know what another country could be like, are hit hard and fall into depression. Others, like me right now, notice the many cultural differences, but accept them rather easily.

           Generally, I’m a relaxed and chill person. I do sometimes stress easily, but I manage it pretty well. It takes a lot for something or someone to annoy me so much that I feel the need to escape the situation or say something. This is all part of why, when everybody around me began telling me I should worry about serious stress or culture shock, I didn’t give much thought to their words.

           The biggest form of stress most exchange students encounter is a language barrier. You never actually realize how important it is to communicate until you do something simple like order a drink or ask when the next bus arrives. Then, you realize it is imperative for you to be able to ask your question and receive a comprehensive response quickly. Students who go to Berlin, take German. Before Florence, they take Italian. Before Tokyo, they take Japanese. These are a handful of the places where English is hardly spoken outside of the inner city or high tourist density. If you visit these places expecting to not get lost only using your proper manners, you will be sorely mistaken.

           Before I knew of my acceptance to my program in Amsterdam, I knew there was almost no language barrier. I’ve written about this prior to this post, but one can travel almost anywhere in the Netherlands and whomever you need to interact with likely speaks borderline fluent English.

           Because of knowing this, the currency, and some general background history, I had expected I wouldn’t be hit too hard by culture shock.

This summer, I lived with eighteen other college students whilst doing an internship in Edgewater, Maryland. Of course, this meant I did not live alone and when I wanted a friend I could just walk into the common room and strike conversation. We did, however, each live off of our own paychecks and food. My parents provided me their spare car for the summer, so once a week I went grocery shopping and bought $40 worth of the cheapest one-person groceries I could buy.

We drove ourselves everywhere, cooked for ourselves, paid our own rent, and took ourselves to the urgent care center in town when we had tick bites and sinus infections. It was the first time in my life I was providing almost completely for myself. My parents took care of my phone bill and bought me a round-trip plane ticket to a family wedding in late July, but I did most everything else.

It was a huge wake-up call, showing me that yes, I could survive on my own if thrown into a poverty-stricken scenario. On the other hand, the experience showed me how much I need to learn. How to cook proper and healthy meals, track spending, and manage time. How to reallyspeak to people with eye contact and confidence. Truthfully, when I return to life as a normal college student in the spring, I’m not even sure how I’ll be able to bring myself to letting somebody else keep cooking for me.

With all of this under my belt, I got on my first ever international flight from Philadelphia to Dublin, worrying really only about how to catch my connection in Dublin to Amsterdam (it turns out, Dublin Terminal 2 is extremely small, and you can catch a connection in under thirty minutes). The first week I was here, I was whisked so quickly between orientation activities and new friends to the point where I wasn’t even trying to keep up with how my surroundings had changed.

It wasn’t until the end of the week, when I started going to the store and restaurants without a tour guide, that I realized I was really in a new country, living there.

A changing cultural aspect I was actually looking forward in the summer was the Dutch bluntness. The Dutch are known for how direct they can be, speaking in terms that we would deem rude in America. If you are standing in a group blocking the sidewalk, a Dutch person will simply part their hands and force you to separate. If you use sarcasm toward a Dutch person, they will take you literally. Truthfully, I do like this, as it feels good for someone to simply say what they mean. The sarcasm, however, takes adjustment.

Yesterday, I went out to dinner with two of my international friends. After a week of what felt like eating on the go or eating in a student environment, we all agreed it was delightful to venture on our own and eat food with other adult human beings.

The place we chose was an Italian restaurant, located in a tourist square not far from the opera house in Amsterdam. We approached the outdoor seating, and a waiter beckoned us in and handed us menus. We sat for maybe ten minutes, people-watching, until another waitress came by and took our food and beverage order. Another few minutes went by, and food and beverage came.

Now, keep in mind that because I am learning to bike in Amsterdam and the public transportation is difficult to learn, expensive, and sometimes unnecessary, I walked everywhere last week. According to my phone, I walked about 7-10 miles every day the first five days I was here. This includes the first day, when I was so jetlagged, I could have cried every time somebody spoke to me.

So, because of this, I’ve been drinking water. Lots of it, constantly. One of the weirder cultural aspects of Amsterdam I very much appreciate is that drinking water comes from the tap, and all taps are usable. People fill their water bottles using hoses sticking out of the ground in public spaces, something unheard of in America.

As I sit at this lovely restaurant eating our pasta, I finish my water in probably just two gulps, and patiently wait for the waiter to come refill it. And I wait. And I wait some more.

Eventually, my friend asks for a refill, and another waitress returns with an entirely new glass of water. I consider asking for one but decide not to bother.

After several minutes of sitting with our plates clean and glasses empty, we begin to wait for the check. In the back of my mind, I begin wondering if the food will soon be free because the service is presumably horrid.

Then, my other friend suggests an article she read before we arrived, one that described restaurant customs in the Netherlands. Basically, unlike in America where the staff routinely refills your drink and brings your check in a timely manner, you must ask for everything you need.

I don’t dislike this because I am too lazy to ask for the check, or flag down a waitress for more beverage. I dislike it because it feels demeaning to the staff to ask them for everything, like a needy child in a supermarket. Yet, when we ask the waitress for the check, and then to split it, she does it with a large smile spread across her face. It’s interesting.

What is perhaps most shocking about culture shock, is that what can seem extremely rude or weird to you is entirely normal for everybody else around you.

Many parts of Amsterdam look and feel just like America. This is mostly in the city center where fast food chains and cheap gifts line the canals for American tourists. In other areas, such as Amsterdam West and the Red-light District, the Dutch allow what we consider their freak flag to fly at top mast.

Amsterdam is pretty much known for liberal views and tolerated pot, along with several cultural norms that most other countries view as inappropriate or odd. Yet, mixed into that oddity is a brand new perspective one may find interesting if they have the courage to step outside their country’s own beliefs.

[lumilasi]

So. Originally I meant Adam be my main, but I decided I should go with Azul and Reuben instead, given how many connections they have to the other ocs I and my friend got. They are clearly more of the center of focus.

Also there’s a bio for Azul’s familiar Lasha.

Who is a total hoe. 

At first glance anyway, there’s more to him than that actually.

Anyway, character bio; 

Name: Azul Samaros

He/him

Height: 177 cm

Human mage

Age: 25

Dark Arts master of the Kingdom of Valencia

personality:

Azul is known to be very quiet, only talking when he legit has things to say. He’s also very blunt and honest, and has a dry sense of humor. He is the type to often take matters into his own hands and act before asking for permission. 

He is a highly protective big brother, and while he tends to act like a dick to his lil bro (who acts like a dick back, it’s a bro thing) he loves Reuben dearly and would literally kill anyone who dared to hurt him.

Despite his apparent grumpy nature, Azul is actually far more patient than one would think initially, as it is really hard to make him angry. He can stand his brother’s mishaps and his familiar’s flirty behavior without batting an eyelid for hours. 

Important people:

His brother Reuben: https://lumilasi.tumblr.com/post/174471835666/next-oc-done-this-time-its-azul-feisty-lil-bro

His teacher Lionel: https://lumilasi.tumblr.com/post/174634983311/i-was-supposed-to-finish-him-ages-ago-but-had

Alexander (his king, TBA)

Mellina (His Queen, TBA)

Helias (former ruler, Gwendolyn’s brother): https://lumilasi.tumblr.com/post/174053975541/so-ive-been-busy-with-working-on-designs-for

Gwendolyn (his GF of sorts and also an Empress): https://mad-hatter-rici.tumblr.com/post/174081334714/my-best-pal-since-2010-decided-to-create-a-tumblr

His brother’s Djinn and his familiar’s love interest Athem: https://mad-hatter-rici.tumblr.com/post/174755800804/athem-the-djinn-yeah-so-here-is-another-oc-for-the

Familiar Lasha (more info at the end)

Abilities:

Azul is a dark magic mage so he knows a lot about curses and summoning spells, and can perform those as well, not to mention create enchanted objects or poisons. He can also solidify shadows as a weapon. 

He has the ability to put a sleeping spell on people, this one is sort of his trademark as he uses it a LOT, whenever he wants his bro or Lasha to shut up, or if he needs someone to rest due to their injuries.

He can also command Lasha as he pleases, though mainly uses the snake’s skills for intelligence gathering and occasional massages. He doesn’t want to use Lasha in battles too much both because the snake demon might go a bit far, and because he honestly is concerned the dumbass would hurt himself badly. 

Weaknesses:

His tendency to act before asking for permission can sometimes lead into rather bad results, where he meddles into something he shouldn’t have. 

He is terrible at making friends because most find him highly intimidating. He mainly really chats with his brother casually, or his familiar. Overall, he just has the tendency to come off cold and blunt, which might be learned from the way his teacher acted. His habit of not always getting enough sleep and staying up too much is also learned from Lionel, although in his master’s case it was fine, since as a Chesire, he didn’t need as much sleep as Azul does.

He is a skilled mage, but there are always those who are more skilled, such as his teacher, Lionel, and sometimes Azul overestimates his abilities.

Fun Facts

- Azul could be considered Demisexual, as one really needs to gain his trust before he can actually feel attracted to them - something Gwendolyn managed to do. He doesn’t care too much whom he’s romantically involved with, at least when it comes to gender. His current lover just happens to be a woman. 

- Azul is pretty kinky and aggressive lover, which Gwendolyn actually enjoys a lot given how feisty she is.

- He sometimes contacts his wandering teacher trough Astral plane if there is more serious matter to discuss

- Azul’s most precious possession is a ritual knife he got from Lionel (the one he can use to contact him) his teacher, and he is highly possessive over this item due to the incredible emotional value it holds. He will get pissy if anyone touches it without his permission, and might either stab, curse or just punch them, or otherwise make their day miserable. The only two people who are allowed to touch it are Reuben and Lasha.

- His nicknames for Lasha are Lash, hoe, Slutnoodle and dumbass.(Lasha has a habit of flirting a lot, and before Reuben found Athem, Lasha also slept around quite a bit)

- He calls his brother either Ruby or Reubie (or dumbass number two)

- He himself is nicknamed “the Blue Demon” by the common folk because he tends to terrify them a lot. 

- Azul is one of the very few people Empress Gwendolyn trusts to see the horrid scarring on her back from the demon attack century ago. 

- Azul can go on for days without sleep, though usually someone eventually knocks him out when he starts getting ridiculous with it.

- That claw thing on his finger is something he uses to bleed magic essence from things. it is based on Helias’ feathers that have similar ability.

BG story in a nutshell:

Reuben and Azul were orphaned brothers whose home village was destroyed by a rampaging magical fire, which originated from their lunatic of a father trying to enchant Reuben’s elemental powers with a forbidden ritual, and causing the boy’s power to lash out of control. They ended up in Mirthas where they lived up to their late teens, during which time both were trained in their respective magic skills, Azul being trained by Mirthas’ master exorcist Lionel. After Reuben’s mental state got worse due to the nightmares and guilt over what happened back in their home village, Azul and Lionel decided to erase every bit of memory from Reuben’s mind regarding to the incident, portecting his sanity.

During their time in Mirthas, Azul summoned himself a familiar, who freaked Lionel out at first upon realizing he was the same type of demon as the one who’d attacked their Kingdom years ago. However, upon seeing how well Azul connected with the snake, he allowed the boy to keep it. He also managed to develop a bond with the then reclusive Empress of Mirthas, who’d been keeping herself away from public eye due to heavy emotional scarring and shame. Azul’s honest, no nonsense nature helped to ease the troubled Empress’ mind, and she grew fond of the young mage.

Azul ended up in his current Kingdom of Valencia after taking a trip there with his brother and the Empress, who was requested to aid her old friends with something. The two brothers grew fond of the human kingdom and decided to stay, especially after Reuben went and fell in love with their elder prince.

So that’s all about Azul for now

Here’s bits about Lasha

Age: Unknown, but he says he’s at least a couple centuries old

Height: 185 cm

Length (snake form): about 4-5 meters

Demon Type: 

He’s what they call “Arthan” which refers to members of the lost kingdom of Arthanos who ended up succumbing into their own magic power and turning into demons. Another name - the one primarily used - is Silver Night Beasts as often they have an element of their body that appears like the night sky and glimmers silvery with “stars”

Personality: 

He’s highly flirty, physically affectionate and seductive, coming off as somebody highly confident with their looks and not afraid to use that advantage. Most of the time he acts calm and well-mannered, though he is mischievous too, playing tricks on people (harmless; Azul would get pretty angry if he hurt people without permission) and loves being paid attention to. 

That being said, he genuinely cares for his Master and gets highly testy if someone insults Azul or his brother Reuben. As a snake, he can act almost cutesy and silly. 

When it comes to his master brother’s Djinn - whom he knows personally from the past - Lasha’s behavior can change drastically and reminds more of how he used to be as human; loud, aggressive, blunt and sarcastic. Athem just seems to know exactly how to push his buttons.

The same time it’s pretty obvious to everyone around them that Lasha still loves him and his blunter attitude is born more out of absolute trust towards Athem and lack of need to control himself and portray himself in a certain manner. basically, he acts a bit more natural with Athem.

He can also be extremely childish and playful around his childhood friend/boyfriend in a manner that resembles what he usually does only in his snake form. 

Abilities:

He is IMMENSELY strong physically, able to even damage the most powerful creature types of their world like Nephilins (Gwendolyn and Helias) or White Tigers (Rayna) He can rip humans to shreds with ease, and his claws in human form are so sharp he can cut trough metals and thick rock. 

He has four forms he can shift in between; a full human form with legs, a half-human, half-snake naga form with two variations; a “friendly” one where his human upper body looks like how he normally looks in human form, and a “demonic” look where his face turns more demonic with a snake-like jaw, no eyebrows and his hair turns inverted with colors. This form is also MUCH larger than normal, easily towering over people with being near three meters tall (not including the tail part, simply the human body) Last form is the tiny snake which is weakest, but he prefers it outside battles (or making out) as it conserves energy.

Lasha, like other demons of his kindred, has a curse he can inflict upon others; his is called “Euphoria” where he can inject or blow powerful poison on people that drives them to extreme bloodlust, or uncontrollable mad cackles that won’t stop, or other extreme types of hormonal rush or so, to the point they eventually die from too much stress put upon your body. 

Lasha can traverse trough shadows like most demons and turn invisible, and see into people’s dreams. He also has a mental link with his master, able to communicate with him wordlessly. 

He’s an excellent dancer as well and gives reeeally good massages.

Weaknesses:

Being a bound demon, he is not as powerful as he would be when freed. Like majority of dark beings, light magic is pretty effective against him.

Lasha has a demon-type specific weakness where someone using his original name from his time as a human can basically gain complete control over him, making him lose his autonomy entirely, both body and mind if the name-wielder wishes so. The only being able to override this enslavement is his Deity Belias as he always knows the human identity of his demons. Lucky for Lasha, finding out ones original name isn’t easy.

Unluckily, there is a person in his current life that knows it, though he would never use it against him voluntarily, as he loves Lasha. (Athem)

In his snake form, he is pretty vulnerable and can get badly hurt from just stepping on him. 

His past has left him with traumas, and at times he might wake up in a fit of anxiety where he is unable to speak, nor change his form from whatever it is (snake or humanoid) even if he wanted to. 

Fun facts:

- Lasha is a lil intimidated by huge ass tall people, because Mirthas’ Kingdom Bear shape-shifter guardian Cain accidentally stepped on him once. it hurt, a lot.

- He has a habit of nuzzling Azul’s hair as a form of innocent affection; it’s  a habit he developed during their first year of knowing each other.

- Lasha’s favorite people to flirt with for shits and giggles are Azul and Gwendolyn. His flirting style is very different then though, when compared to the person he actually loves; Lasha can be very well spoken and charming when flirting with peeps he’s not serious about, but with Athem he can be absolutely childish.

- His curse bases on what he felt when he first transformed into a demon; in Lasha’s case he was in the middle of a bloody battle and was enjoying it to a disturbing degree.

- Ironically, he’s actually calmer now as a demon than he was as a human, according to Athem who knew him when he was human

- Lasha’s favorite napping spot in snake form is his master’s shoulders. In human form he sleeps on Azul’s bed as it’s often unoccupied anyway due to Azul’s night-owl habits. He does also like to go and use Athem as a pillow whenever he’s available.

- The ruby pendant he wears in human form is the symbol of his contract with Azul, as it used to belong to Azul originally.

BG story in a nutshell:

Lasha was once a warrior of Arthanos, a lost Kingdom known for its dark magic and powerful warriors. He was one of the “channelers” warriors who could channel their deity’s magic power. Like every Channeler, he was paired with a normal warrior, who happened to be his childhood friend Athem. 

Athem had been in love with him since they were kids, and always tried to reign in Lasha’s violent tendencies, though rarely succeeding in it. In turn, Lasha found him an “annoying nag” or “party popping, straight-laced, goody-two-shoes bore with a stick up his ass, and not the good kind.”

Despite his harsh words, Lasha did actually return the feelings aimed at him, he just didn’t want to admit it openly.

It was Athem who was forced to banish Lasha into the dark realm once he transformed, as Lasha almost killed him. The snake didn’t really recall Athem or any of these events up until he appeared back into his new life as a Djinn.

Sometime during his demon years, Lasha was under another master who treated him horribly, thus resulting into his traumas. 

The reason why he adores his current master so much is because of his past experience, as Azul is actually decent towards him - aside from the name-calling and smacking his head when he misbehaves - which Lasha is really glad about, as part of him still yearns to be treated like a human and not a monster.

Wow.

Lot of stuff here.

I’ll update this later on likely, right now my brain is emptied out of creative juices after typing all that on the fly

Art and characters (C) Me

[smilexcaptainx]

Brothers Best Friend (3/5)

Chapter 3

| O N E | T W O |

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: You’re the younger sister of Bucky Barnes and his most prized possession. He would do anything to keep you safe and he’s extremely strict on who you date. Steve Rogers has found an interest in you and asked you out on a date. But what happens when Bucky doesn’t approve Steve? But hey, who said that Bucky ever had to know.

Word Count: 2,829

Ask me if you want to be tagged in future posts

Tags: @soldierplum

Warning: Fluff

Playlist:

Somebody Save Me by Remy Zero

A/N: Here’s chapter three! I hope you enjoy ♥

 The first customer came through the door, and it wasn’t some random customer, it was a customer that has visited the place bunches of times. He’s been there so many times, you knew what his name was, and he knew yours. His name was Carl and he was the sweetest human you’ve practically ever met. He didn’t show up yesterday though and you were wondering about that. Carl didn’t even need to order because you already knew what his order was.

 You automatically got his order ready as he sat down at his table that he always sat at. He pulled out his wallet and began to dig through his wallet for his money, when he found it, he got it out and put it on the table. Carl pulled out his phone and started to play on his phone as his food continued to get ready. You knew that it would be a while until it was finished so you decided to walk up to Carl and chat with him. You get out from behind the counter and walk up to him, catching his attention before you fully reached him.

‘’Y/N.’’ he nodded, turning his phone off and putting it down onto the table.

‘’Hey Carl,’’ you greet, returning the nod. ‘’How are you doing?’’ you ask.

‘’Wonderful! My son got married yesterday to an amazing woman. Her name is Penelope.’’ he answers, his face lighting up with joy.

‘’Aw. That’s so sweet.’’ you smile, placing your hands on your heart happily.

‘’How about you?’’

‘’Well.. I’m dating my brothers best friend.’’ you say, your heart fluttering on the thought of steve.

‘’Really? Um.. Your brother is um..’’ he started to snap his fingers, struggling to remember his name.

‘’Bucky.’’ you say for him.

‘’Yes! Bucky!! And his best friend is..Uh.. Steve?’’

 You nodded in response, receiving a smile from Carl. The cook slammed his metal spatula on the call bell, signaling you that Carl’s food was ready. You kindly excused yourself and rushed up to his food and picked it up. You returned to Carl and placed it down in front of him. He thanked you and unraveled the napkin which held the silverware inside.

 He picked up his fork and knife and began to cut up his pancake. As he continued to cut, he felt the need to start up a conversation.

‘’So.. Have you told Bucky that you’re with Steve?’’ he asks, stabbing the piece of pancake with his fork.

‘’Umm..’’ you rubbed your arm softly, biting your lip. ‘’No.’’

‘’Well honey,’’ he stuffed the piece of pancake into his mouth. ‘’Are you planning on telling him?’’ he asks, his mouth muffled from the food.

‘’Not really.. No.’’

‘’Y/N..’’ he gulps, staring at you sternly.

‘’Carl.. Bucky’s super strict on who I date. And I don’t think he’d be to happy if he heard that I was dating his best friend.’’ you explained, blushing.

‘’Bucky loves you. He just wants to protect you. There’s nothing wrong with that.’’ he says, resuming to cut up the pancake.

‘’It is when he won’t let me choose who I want to be with.. He acts like he’s the boss of who I get to date and who I get to see. And he never seems to realize that I’m not a little kid anymore! I’m full grown woman who can make their own decisions!’’ you ranted, hoping you weren’t boring carl.

 Carl swallowed another piece of food and nodded.

‘’I understand what you’re going through Y/N,’’ he says, placing down his utensils. ‘’But as a father, I am incredibly strict with who my daughters date because I don’t want them to fall into the arms of the wrong man. There have been times where they have fallen for a complete dick but they’re blindly in love and I’m there to always keep her in check. I’m protecting my daughters and I think that’s what Bucky’s doing with you. And just like him, I still think that my daughters are the little princesses that I want to protect and love forever. It’s hard to take in that someone you love so much is growing up.. It’s heartbreaking.’’ carl explained, tearing up a little bit.

 Carl sniffed and sucked the tear right back in. He exhaled calmly and looked up at you intensely. His little speech made you a little teary eyed as well, you never thought of it that way. Carl opened your eyes on why Bucky has been like he has been. He just wanted what was best for you, you always just thought he was being awfully annoying for no reason whatsoever.

‘’Well.. We’re holding a party tonight.. Do you think I should tell Bucky than?’’ you ask.

 Carl nods and approves your question. Your stomach turned into a knot when he agreed to your question. But you knew that you had to tell Bucky whether or not he would like it. He needed to know, you’ve told Bucky everything ever since you started school. You’ve told him about your crushes, you’ve told him about your boyfriends, but you didn’t know why it was so hard to tell him about Steve.

 Maybe it was because he was his best friend? You were deciding what to do, but the customers started to pack into the restaurant and you had to continue your shift. The entire afternoon was the same as usual, rude guests, nice guests, all sorts of people. But the only thing that you was drowning your thoughts was the party tonight. It was a party with The Avengers and you were going to tell Bucky about you and Steve.

 The afternoon flew by and before you knew it, it was already four and your shift was over. You called to your boss that you were leaving and he yelled at you again about being late. You didn’t care what he said after that because you knew that he wasn’t really that mad at you. You ripped off the apron and left the restaurant, heading home with Steve on your mind and the happiness he would bring you once you see his face.

***

 You entered the compound and you could hear the footsteps of people walking around in the kitchen. You made your way to the kitchen and saw that they were already setting up the party. You looked around for Steve who unfortunately wasn’t there. Everyone was chatting with each other, they didn’t even notice your appearance. You just walked up to Wanda who was chatting with Tony.

‘’Hey Wanda, you know where Steve is?’’ you asked, tapping her shoulder.

 Wanda turned towards you and shook her head. You sighed in disappointment and looked around. You didn’t know where Steve was and the party was going to start soon. You wanted to see him so you could get his feedback on telling Bucky that you two were officially dating. You decided to go upstairs first to change into something that didn’t smell horrid.

 When you reached your bedroom, you opened it up and gasped at the candles that were placed all around your room. There were roses scattered all around the ground, and on your bed was a Steve Rogers in a tuxedo with a rose inside of his mouth. You couldn’t help but laugh when you saw Steve. You closed the door behind you as you stepped inside of your bedroom. You continued to look around in awe, your bedroom looked much different from before.

‘’It’s about time you’re here,’’ steve says, removing the rose from his mouth. ‘’You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for you.’’ steve sighs in relief, getting off of the bed.

‘’I’m just shocked that those candles haven’t started a fire yet.’’ you tease, smirking at him.

‘’Welcome to your very first official date with me.’’ steve declares, holding out the rose to you.

‘’My first date with you is inside of my bedroom?’’ you chuckled. ‘’Fancy.’’ you joke, accepting the rose.

 You hold the rose and followed Steve as he took you to your bed. Your bed could hold two people, so in this case, Steve got on first and went onto the left side. You hopped on and got the right side. There was a TV in front of your bed, and a little desk placed on each side of your bed. The remote was on Steve’s side.

 Steve got the remote and turned on the TV, he than opened the little desk next to him and got out a humongous bowl of popcorn. He placed it in between you and him and began to eat the popcorn inside of the bowl. You watched as he scrolled the options of a movie, you didn’t know what was going on, but the fact that you were with Steve, it didn’t matter. Steve finally chose out a romantic movie and clicked on it. The movie started and he threw his around you.

 You nuzzled up against his chest and began to watch the movie, eating the popcorn at the same time. You didn’t know why Steve took the time to get into a tuxedo if you were just going to watch a romantic movie. But once again, you were with Steve, all alone, no worries in the world, and you loved it. Steve kissed you lightly on the head, causing you blush lightly. You looked up at him and he looked down at you, he began to lean in and he placed his lips upon yours.

 Steve gradually began to pick up the speed on the kiss, rolling over on top of you. His kissing started to quicken up and so did his body movements. You totally forgot about the movie and just enjoyed the wonderful moment that Steve was giving to you. But the wonderful moment got interrupted by the knocking on your door. You immediately paused and told Steve to get off of you, and that’s exactly what he did.

 He rolled off of your bed and started to crawl underneath it, just in time before the door opened, revealing your brother.

‘’Hey Y/N—’’ bucky paused and noticed the candles and roses. ‘’Umm..’’ bucky pointed around your room, confused. ‘’Why does your bedroom look like this?’’ he asks, raising an eyebrow.

‘’Why..Not?’’ you asked, shrugging.

‘’Anyways,’’ said bucky, dropping that subject. ‘’The parties about to start, so come on down, the guests are arriving,’’ bucky explains. ‘’And try to find Steve. I can’t find him anymore.’’ bucky says before stepping out of the door and slamming the door shut.

 You sighed in relief and got off of the bed, seeing Steve crawling out from the side that you were on. You watched him climb to his feet and your face twisted into a disgusted face expression as you saw his tuxedo.

‘’What?’’

‘’You’re tux is ruined.’’

‘’Wh—’’ steve looked down and groaned as he saw that his tux was ruined.

‘’Guess I’ll go change. I’ll see you downstairs.’’ steve said, excusing himself.

***

 The night was more perfect than ever, you hung out with Steve and had one of the most funnest times of your entire life. Bucky was off somewhere and that was good because you and Steve snuck a few kisses here and there. The others knew about the kisses, but you told them not to tell Bucky or else he’d flip out. But the thing was, all of their responses were, ‘’You should tell Bucky, he’s your brother. He deserves to know that you two are dating.’’ And about the fifth time you’ve heard that line, it reminded you that you were supposed to tell Bucky.

 You tried to procrastinate and put it to the side, but when Wanda told you that you should tell Bucky, you had the feeling that you really should. You were going to tell Steve that you were going to tell Bucky, but he told you he had to go to the bathroom before you had the chance. You just stayed in the crowded area as Steve disappeared to the bathroom, leaving you all alone.

‘’Y/N!! There you are!!’’ a voice calls out. You twisted around and your heart dropped as you saw that it was Bucky.

‘’B-Bucky.. H-Hey.’’ you stuttered nervously.

 He reached you and instantly spotted that you were nervous.

‘’Why so nervous?’’ bucky jokes, playfully shoving you.

‘’I just.. Bucky.. I..’’ you looked down, trying to motivate yourself to tell him, but nothing was helping.

‘’Y/N.’’ Bucky put his finger underneath our chin and raised your head up so your eyes met his. He stared at you in concern. ‘’What is it?’’ he asked, his voice worried.

‘’Steve and I are dating!’’ you blurted, slapping your hands over your mouth after.

 Bucky froze and stared at you, wondering if what he just heard was actually what came out of your mouth. Your mind was flooding with so many thoughts, you didn’t know if he was going to be happy or sad. You didn’t know what his reaction was going to be and that’s what was scaring you the very most. But after a few minutes of silence, he broke it, but he broke it in a harsh way. Bucky lashed out at you about the rules, going on about how he was the one who chose who you would date, and Steve was way far down that list.

‘’You don’t get to choose who I date and who I love Buck! I do!! Why can’t you just accept that?!’’ you shouted, tears welling up in your eyes.

‘’Because I know you’re not capable of making your own decisions!!’’ bucky shouted back, his voice getting deeper.

‘’And what makes you think that?! What makes you possibly think that I’m not capable of making my own decisions on who I date?! I love Steve, Buck!’’ you snapped, waiting impatiently for a reply.

‘’You don’t know what love is Y/N!!’’ bucky snapped back.

 You didn’t even want to argue any longer with him and pushed past him angrily. Bucky reached out for you but missed you by a clear second. You wiped your eyes and pushed through the crowd of people, trying to clear out your head. Bucky stood there and watched as you vanished into the crowd of people. He groaned in annoyance and threw his hands over his face.

 You stormed upstairs and into your bedroom that still had lit candles and roses scattered all along your floor. You locked the door behind you and stomped your way up to your little desk and yanked it open. You grab your phone and your headphones, getting on your bed afterwards. You get underneath your blanket and plug your headphones in, turning on some music. You put your earbuds in and turn it up loud enough to drown out whatever was happening around you.

 You laid on your side and closed your eyes, tears sliding down your cheek. You tried not to think of Bucky, you tried not to think of Steve, you just wanted to drift off to sleep. You continued to try to sleep, but after a few minutes, you began to smell something burning. You popped an eye open and sat up, your eyes going wide as you saw that all the rose pedals on the ground were now on fire. You looked over your bed and saw that the fire was now touching your blanket and it was rising up to your bed.

 You ripped out your headphones and climbed out from underneath your blanket hastily. You jumped up to your feet and started to panic as your whole bedroom floor began to light on fire. It felt as if all of this was happening so fast, it felt as if you were going to die if you jumped onto the ground. The ground was burning with fire and it was heating up your bedroom. You didn’t know what to do, you saw the fire making it’s way up to the top of your bed.

‘’STEVE!!! BUCKY!! ANYONE!! HELP!!!!’’ you screamed, hoping somebody would hear.

 Your heart was beating a thousand times faster, and you didn’t know what to do. The flames began to pick up and started to rise, causing you panic even more. The smoke started to catch up to you and you covered your mouth with your shirt, coughing.

‘’Someone!! P-Ple—’’ you couldn’t even scream any longer, the smoke was taking over you.

 You knew this was the end. You were going to die.

There is Chapter Three! I hope you enjoyed!!

Should I Make A Chapter 4??

[betta-resplendent]

Warning; Needles, blood. No pics it’s k

i have a super tender bruise on my hand :C

TL;DR: Had MRI. Needed contrast. Was stuck 4 times. Once in the hand. Vein blew. Needed a goddamn ultrasound to the arm to even find a good vein.

Super long post but I tried to make it at least a little humorous for anybody who actually wanted to read it. I kept blood to a minimum. :c

I had to have my MRI rescheduled from Tuesday; I ended up having it on FRIDAY of this week (yesterday), and because I’d already had spine surgery in 2012 they wanted to do contrast. Which means IV.

Now, I don’t know if it’s because of my weight, or I have naturally deep veins, or a combo of both but I have ALWAYS been a hard stick. I usually don’t leave hospitals without at least two bandages where they tried to poke me and failed to get anything. It once took two nurses at a MedPoint to stick me because they can only have 3 attempts before they have to find somebody else to do it. I have scarring on the inside of my left elbow from the amount of times I’ve been poked and prodded. You’d think, after all of this AND two steroid injections in my back (THAT SUCKED OH MY GOD I NEVER WANT TO DO THAT AGAIN), I’d be used to this. However I still have a horrid fear of needles, to the point where usually I have to look away and squeeze something, whether it’s somebody’s hand or the damn chair I’m in (or in this case, the blanket they wrapped around me)

But yesterday was the absolute worst it’s been since the steroid injections. Now, to give the nurses credit they were super nice and clearly felt bad for all the prodding. They kept me calm, even got me multiple warm blankets because between the anxiety and the room being cold AF, I was shaking so bad I could barely speak. I hadn’t slept at all that day, and the appointment was at 8:30. I was exhausted, so I think that amplified the pain by quite a bit. I laid down, the nurse explained what they needed (again), and they started. I gave them a warning that my veins were hard to pin down even with tons of water. I’d even been rubbing the insides of my arm to try and get one to work. The nurse said “Oh that’s alright, we’ll get it.”

Oh boy.

So she wraps the tourniquet on my arm, I pump my fist for a moment and then hold. I’ve done this shit before man. I got dis on lock. She feels around, pressing and rubbing at the skin. Already, she’s getting perplexed. A few soft ‘hrm’s’ here and there as she searched all up and down my arm. I tried to make small talk but I was already trembling like a goddamn baby in a snowstorm, so that wasn’t working out too well. Not to mention I already had the earplugs in so it was hard to hear anything.

She asked about hobbies. I mentioned gardening. She says she has a flowerbed overtaken by weeds. I laughed and said ‘Same.’ We mentioned creeping charlie. I told her about my mint plants. I told her about the dogs. Shit, I even mentioned using fish water for the herbs and talked about Bailey.

Through all of that, she’d gotten increasingly concerned. I think the moment she started smacking at the veins to find something was when she realized ‘this is going to suck’.

She thinks she found one. “Do you want me to warn you?”

“I don’t like surprises when it comes to needles. Yes, please.”

She cleans off the area. She presses again to make absolutely sure she has it. She preps the needle. “Okay, you’ll feel a pinch.”

In it goes. Fucking ow. Anybody who’s had their blood drawn, or gotten an IV, or...dealt with needles at all really (no judgement <3) knows that when you or somebody else misses the fucking vein and start to dig for it, it is the weirdest feeling in the fucking world and it hurts. It starts small, sort of uncomfortable, after the initial stick. The longer it goes, the more it grows. It radiates almost like an itch through the arm. I felt it down in my goddamn fingers at one point because I’m too much of a coward to say ‘enough, try somewhere else’. This goes on for what seems like five minutes (tho i’m sure it was only like, one or two at MOST, probably not even that), before she sighs, “Well, I can’t seem to find it.”

“That’s okay.” She pulls out the needle, wipes away any blood, keeps searching. Keep in mind, I refuse to move my head to look at anything she’s doing. By now another nurse came out and brought a heated blanket to me to help stop the shaking. It helps a little, enough to let them work.

Nurse count: two.

She searches around my elbow. I visibly tense up when she starts searching my hand. I’ve gotten my blood drawn from the hand before and lemme tell you that shit hurts. A friend of mine claims that hurts less than the elbow and man do I envy that because that is not the case for me at all.

I think she noticed it, because she didn’t dwell long on the hand before moving on to my left arm.

Tally: Right arm, 1 attempt.

She starts the process again on my left arm. Prodding at the skin, rubbing, turns into slapping at different points hoping for something to come up. I’m now looking to my right, staring at my glasses and the locker key containing my bag and my cane. I counted the damn cabinets, tried to guess what was inside. Anything to keep my mind off of it.

She’s reaching back onto the little caddy she’s got with all the supplies. I prepare myself for another stick. She cleans, she pokes some more, slaps again, cleans one more time.

“Okay. A pinch.”

Here we go again. She misses. More digging. I’m staring up at the ceiling at a dim, horizontal (vertical, from my position, perpendicular to me) image of a sky. I’m assuming that if I’d been put into the machine feet first, perhaps the image would have been turned on to give me something to look at. Maybe it would have moved? I’ll never know. I don’t even know if my head would stick out of the machine. I didn’t even know you could go feet-first. That was news to me. 

She digs for another minute. My fingers start to hurt. That weird radiating numb-pain is going to my shoulder and fingers from the crook of my elbow and god damn I wish it would stop. She lets out another sigh, shakes her head. “Okay. Well. We’re just gonna go ahead and do the first set of images, and we’ll pull you out, try again, and do the last 3 with contrast.”

“okiedokie”

In I went. They were nice enough to provide a cloth to cover my eyes, the ‘emergency escape ball’, as I call it, and put me in. I stayed as still as possible. I shit you not, I was more relaxed in that loud ass machine than I was outside of it. It was also so warm in there omg. I fell asleep in the damn thing. Granted it was more of a cat-nap that I woke myself up from by grunting (whoops), but it’s still astounding I managed to sleep while the machine was screaming at me and taking pictures. 

After the last picture of the first round was done they pulled me out. The two nurses and another nurse was there to prep me for another run to poke at me. I felt like a science experiment. 

Nurse count: Three.

They spoke pretty quietly. I don’t know what they said really. Their tone was more confused or concerned than anything. With the ear plugs I couldn’t really hear them and you can bet your ass I wasn’t gonna look at ‘em either. They tried my right arm again, poking at it. They could find nothing. The first nurse asked, “Has anybody gotten you here before?” while running her fingers over my elbow. I told her no, not to my knowledge, as a bit of a joke. I don’t think it was appreciated but she gave me a polite chuckle anyway. The heat from the blanket was gone so I was back to trembling  again. The third nurse left, came back with a second blanket, and layered it underneath the first to keep in heat. Thank the Gods for nurses.

The first nurse moved to my left arm again, poked some more. She pressed against the spot she’d gotten previously and sighed, “You’ve definitely got some scarring there.”

“Yeah? I’m not surprised.” Only I was shaking so it was more like ‘Y-yeah? m’n-not s-s-surprised’. Fuck, I felt dumb.

She keeps looking. Eventually she focuses on the hand. Ah, shit. I tensed up again and she says, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Do what you gotta do.” Because who am I to argue with a nurse? At this point I just wanna fuckin go home and sleep. And eat because man I hadn’t eaten for ~24 hours and i was hungry af. 

She pokes at the hand, finds one. Slaps at it a little, pokes it again, nods. All three nurses are around me, one next to the nurse poking at me, and the other watching from the far end by the window in case assistance was needed. The humming from the machine was getting obnoxious, the lights were too bright, I was too tired and I just wanted to go. 

“Warning?”

“Yes please.”

She preps the needle. I try to relax, stare back up at the ceiling again. The cloud looks like a bunny. 

“Okay. Pinch.” 

Oh. My. God.

I could have started crying. Well, I did, but not much. The pain was immediate and instead of dulling for a few before radiating it started at 10 and just went from there. She dug for a few minutes, inhaled sharply. Exhaled just as sharply. 

“Well,” and I looked at her, focused on her face instead of her hands. “I found one.”

“Yeah?”

“It blew.”

Fuck me running. All I could manage was “well that’s unfortunate” because oh my god what the fuck am I supposed to say to that? Tbh it didn’t really hurt, though now I’m wondering if the pain was that bad because it blew or if the vein deciding ‘fuck it’ and going out like an abandoned mine shaft was really painless. It was at this point that the third nurse left the room. 

Nurse count: Two. The second nurse left. 

Nurse count: one.

She stepped back from me and apologized. I, of course, said it wasn’t a big deal. I mean jesus, I did warn you, I kind of expect some difficulty but jesus christ not this much. A few more minutes pass. The two nurses that left return, followed by another nurse, somebody that puts IV’s in frequently. 

Nurse count: Four.

So, now it’s his turn. He starts poking, prodding, rubbing, tapping. His hands are far rougher but he’s nice enough, I figure he’s gotta be kinda rough with it if he has any hope of fuckin’ finding anything in the Girl Who Had No Veins. 

He lets out a sigh and another ‘hrm’. I smile a bit weakly, “how long do i got” which earns a couple wry laughs. That’s all I got at this point, don’t judge me. 

They step away to talk for a few minutes. I’m back staring up at the ceiling. The other cloud looks like a fucked up potato with a stick attached to it. 

The first nurse comes back. “He’s going to prep an ultrasound to see if we can’t find something.”

Oh my god. This is new. A goddamn ultrasound. Tf. Again, I can’t argue I’m in a damn flat ‘bed’ attached to a giant machine and walk with a cane. I have no leverage and no escape.

They detach me from the machine and roll me into the room on the other side of the machine. It’s dark as hell, but that’s okay. Several people are in the room and start standing around me to watch and/or assist.

Nurse count: Fucking six. Why are there so many people back there is that normal or did I become a sideshow somehow?

He gets the machine prepped, uses that nasty gel stuff, and starts pushing against my arm. It takes maybe two minutes to finally find one he’s satisfied with. He presses his goddamn nail against the area for a solid 30 seconds while the other nurses get the saline and contrast fluid. I looked up at him like ‘tf?’ and he just gave a weak smile, “Marking it so we don’t lose it again.”

Fffffair enough. Mark away.

The nurses get back, he does the injection, they push through the saline, then the contrast. “You’ll taste or smell something funky.”

Gross. They were right and I hate it. I don’t even know how to describe it. 

The contrast was put in, she told me it would feel ‘cool in temperature’ which...it really didn’t. I didn’t feel a damn thing. They finished that up, I was wheeled back into the room with the machine, realigned, and we finished the last 3 pictures. They removed the IV when I got out, and I swear I could not have hobbled out of there fast enough. I bought a sandwich at the hospital cafe and ate it the moment we got home, chatted with my girlfriend a bit, and went tf to sleep.

I dislike hospitals. Greatly. I don’t blame anybody really, it was all one big clusterfuck and they were nice, but damn.

/story.

[readbookywooks]

A Tantrum

She had got up very early in the morning and had worked hard in the garden and she was tired and sleepy, so as soon as Martha had brought her supper and she had eaten it, she was glad to go to bed. As she laid her head on the pillow she murmured to herself:

"I'll go out before breakfast and work with Dickon and then afterward--I believe--I'll go to see him."

She thought it was the middle of the night when she was awakened by such dreadful sounds that she jumped out of bed in an instant. What was it--what was it? The next minute she felt quite sure she knew. Doors were opened and shut and there were hurrying feet in the corridors and some one was crying and screaming at the same time, screaming and crying in a horrible way.

"It's Colin," she said. "He's having one of those tantrums the nurse called hysterics. How awful it sounds."

As she listened to the sobbing screams she did not wonder that people were so frightened that they gave him his own way in everything rather than hear them. She put her hands over her ears and felt sick and shivering.

"I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do," she kept saying. "I can't bear it."

Once she wondered if he would stop if she dared go to him and then she remembered how he had driven her out of the room and thought that perhaps the sight of her might make him worse. Even when she pressed her hands more tightly over her ears she could not keep the awful sounds out. She hated them so and was so terrified by them that suddenly they began to make her angry and she felt as if she should like to fly into a tantrum herself and frighten him as he was frightening her. She was not used to any one's tempers but her own. She took her hands from her ears and sprang up and stamped her foot.

"He ought to be stopped! Somebody ought to make him stop! Somebody ought to beat him!" she cried out.

Just then she heard feet almost running down the corridor and her door opened and the nurse came in. She was not laughing now by any means. She even looked rather pale.

"He's worked himself into hysterics," she said in a great hurry. "He'll do himself harm. No one can do anything with him. You come and try, like a good child. He likes you."

"He turned me out of the room this morning," said Mary, stamping her foot with excitement.

The stamp rather pleased the nurse. The truth was that she had been afraid she might find Mary crying and hiding her head under the bed-clothes.

"That's right," she said. "You're in the right humor. You go and scold him. Give him something new to think of. Do go, child, as quick as ever you can."

It was not until afterward that Mary realized that the thing had been funny as well as dreadful--that it was funny that all the grown-up people were so frightened that they came to a little girl just because they guessed she was almost as bad as Colin himself.

She flew along the corridor and the nearer she got to the screams the higher her temper mounted. She felt quite wicked by the time she reached the door. She slapped it open with her hand and ran across the room to the four-posted bed.

"You stop!" she almost shouted. "You stop! I hate you! Everybody hates you! I wish everybody would run out of the house and let you scream yourself to death! You will scream yourself to death in a minute, and I wish you would!" A nice sympathetic child could neither have thought nor said such things, but it just happened that the shock of hearing them was the best possible thing for this hysterical boy whom no one had ever dared to restrain or contradict.

He had been lying on his face beating his pillow with his hands and he actually almost jumped around, he turned so quickly at the sound of the furious little voice. His face looked dreadful, white and red and swollen, and he was gasping and choking; but savage little Mary did not care an atom.

"If you scream another scream," she said, "I'll scream too --and I can scream louder than you can and I'll frighten you, I'll frighten you!"

He actually had stopped screaming because she had startled him so. The scream which had been coming almost choked him. The tears were streaming down his face and he shook all over.

"I can't stop!" he gasped and sobbed. "I can't--I can't!"

"You can!" shouted Mary. "Half that ails you is hysterics and temper--just hysterics--hysterics--hysterics!" and she stamped each time she said it.

"I felt the lump--I felt it," choked out Colin. "I knew I should. I shall have a hunch on my back and then I shall die," and he began to writhe again and turned on his face and sobbed and wailed but he didn't scream.

"You didn't feel a lump!" contradicted Mary fiercely. "If you did it was only a hysterical lump. Hysterics makes lumps. There's nothing the matter with your horrid back--nothing but hysterics! Turn over and let me look at it!"

She liked the word "hysterics" and felt somehow as if it had an effect on him. He was probably like herself and had never heard it before.

"Nurse," she commanded, "come here and show me his back this minute!"

The nurse, Mrs. Medlock and Martha had been standing huddled together near the door staring at her, their mouths half open. All three had gasped with fright more than once. The nurse came forward as if she were half afraid. Colin was heaving with great breathless sobs.

"Perhaps he--he won't let me," she hesitated in a low voice.

Colin heard her, however, and he gasped out between two sobs:

"Sh-show her! She-she'll see then!"

It was a poor thin back to look at when it was bared. Every rib could be counted and every joint of the spine, though Mistress Mary did not count them as she bent over and examined them with a solemn savage little face. She looked so sour and old-fashioned that the nurse turned her head aside to hide the twitching of her mouth. There was just a minute's silence, for even Colin tried to hold his breath while Mary looked up and down his spine, and down and up, as intently as if she had been the great doctor from London.

"There's not a single lump there!" she said at last. "There's not a lump as big as a pin--except backbone lumps, and you can only feel them because you're thin. I've got backbone lumps myself, and they used to stick out as much as yours do, until I began to get fatter, and I am not fat enough yet to hide them. There's not a lump as big as a pin! If you ever say there is again, I shall laugh!"

No one but Colin himself knew what effect those crossly spoken childish words had on him. If he had ever had any one to talk to about his secret terrors--if he had ever dared to let himself ask questions--if he had had childish companions and had not lain on his back in the huge closed house, breathing an atmosphere heavy with the fears of people who were most of them ignorant and tired of him, he would have found out that most of his fright and illness was created by himself. But he had lain and thought of himself and his aches and weariness for hours and days and months and years. And now that an angry unsympathetic little girl insisted obstinately that he was not as ill as he thought he was he actually felt as if she might be speaking the truth.

"I didn't know," ventured the nurse, "that he thought he had a lump on his spine. His back is weak because he won't try to sit up. I could have told him there was no lump there." Colin gulped and turned his face a little to look at her.

"C-could you?" he said pathetically.

"Yes, sir."

"There!" said Mary, and she gulped too.

Colin turned on his face again and but for his long-drawn broken breaths, which were the dying down of his storm of sobbing, he lay still for a minute, though great tears srteamed down his face and wet the pillow. Actually the tears meant that a curious great relief had come to him. Presently he turned and looked at the nurse again and strangely enough he was not like a Rajah at all as he spoke to her.

"Do you think--I could--live to grow up?" he said.

The nurse was neither clever nor soft-hearted but she could repeat some of the London doctor's words.

"You probably will if you will do what you are told to do and not give way to your temper, and stay out a great deal in the fresh air."

Colin's tantrum had passed and he was weak and worn out with crying and this perhaps made him feel gentle. He put out his hand a little toward Mary, and I am glad to say that, her own tantum having passed, she was softened too and met him half-way with her hand, so that it was a sort of making up.

"I'll--I'll go out with you, Mary," he said. "I shan't hate fresh air if we can find--" He remembered just in time to stop himself from saying "if we can find the secret garden" and he ended, "I shall like to go out with you if Dickon will come and push my chair. I do so want to see Dickon and the fox and the crow."

The nurse remade the tumbled bed and shook and straightened the pillows. Then she made Colin a cup of beef tea and gave a cup to Mary, who really was very glad to get it after her excitement. Mrs. Medlock and Martha gladly slipped away, and after everything was neat and calm and in order the nurse looked as if she would very gladly slip away also. She was a healthy young woman who resented being robbed of her sleep and she yawned quite openly as she looked at Mary, who had pushed her big footstool close to the four-posted bed and was holding Colin's hand.

"You must go back and get your sleep out," she said. "He'll drop off after a while--if he's not too upset. Then I'll lie down myself in the next room."

"Would you like me to sing you that song I learned from my Ayah?" Mary whispered to Colin.

His hand pulled hers gently and he turned his tired eyes on her appealingly.

"Oh, yes!" he answered. "It's such a soft song. I shall go to sleep in a minute."

"I will put him to sleep," Mary said to the yawning nurse. "You can go if you like."

"Well," said the nurse, with an attempt at reluctance. "If he doesn't go to sleep in half an hour you must call me."

"Very well," answered Mary.

The nurse was out of the room in a minute and as soon as she was gone Colin pulled Mary's hand again.

"I almost told," he said; "but I stopped myself in time. I won't talk and I'll go to sleep, but you said you had a whole lot of nice things to tell me. Have you--do you think you have found out anything at all about the way into the secret garden?"

Mary looked at his poor little tired face and swollen eyes and her heart relented.

"Ye-es," she answered, "I think I have. And if you will go to sleep I will tell you tomorrow." His hand quite trembled.

"Oh, Mary!" he said. "Oh, Mary! If I could get into it I think I should live to grow up! Do you suppose that instead of singing the Ayah song--you could just tell me softly as you did that first day what you imagine it looks like inside? I am sure it will make me go to sleep."

"Yes," answered Mary. "Shut your eyes."

He closed his eyes and lay quite still and she held his hand and began to speak very slowly and in a very low voice.

"I think it has been left alone so long--that it has grown all into a lovely tangle. I think the roses have climbed and climbed and climbed until they hang from the branches and walls and creep over the ground--almost like a strange gray mist. Some of them have died but many--are alive and when the summer comes there will be curtains and fountains of roses. I think the ground is full of daffodils and snowdrops and lilies and iris working their way out of the dark. Now the spring has begun--perhaps--perhaps--"

The soft drone of her voice was making him stiller and stiller and she saw it and went on.

"Perhaps they are coming up through the grass--perhaps there are clusters of purple crocuses and gold ones--even now. Perhaps the leaves are beginning to break out and uncurl--and perhaps--the gray is changing and a green gauze veil is creeping--and creeping over--everything. And the birds are coming to look at it--because it is--so safe and still. And perhaps--perhaps--perhaps--" very softly and slowly indeed, "the robin has found a mate--and is building a nest."

And Colin was asleep.