#I can't ever forget what shit was like last May but beyond the pain I will also remember just focusing on getting to the wedding no matter w

[kiwichaeng]

Can't fucking believe it's been an entire year of tarlos being married what the fuck

[youbloodymadgenius]

Ivarello (Modern!Ivar x reader) Chapter 4

Moodboard by @quantumlocked310

Ivarello’s masterpost here

A/N: This is my entry for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie 500 Followers Fairy Tale Challenge. It's a retelling of Cinderella. Congrats again, darling 💖

A huge thank you to @mrsalwayswrite , who's a great beta reader and an even greater cheerleader 😂

A massive thank you to @quantumlocked310 , @vikingstrash and @serasvictoria . Thank you for agreeing to collaborate and for sharing your talent with me. Your moodboards are beyond amazing 🤩

In this story, Sigurd is alive. Ragnar and Aslaug are dead, but Lagertha didn't kill her. I took a lot of liberties with the show, I hope you won't mind.

Unlike the tale, there will be no magic involved. Not everything will be realistic, however. It's a fayritale, after all!

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Orphaned five years ago, Ivar and his brothers have been living with Lagertha ever since. Now 16 years old, he wants to attend Harald's traditional Midsummer party, but obstacles stand in his way.

Warnings: description of car crash; orphaned kids; Sigurd being Sigurd; OOC characters.

Words: 2877

Additional note: This is the final chapter. There'll be an epilogue, but you'll have to wait a bit because there are a lot of challenges I've signed up for and I'm way behind schedule.

Enjoy 🙂

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Devastated and angry at the world. That's how Ivar is feeling.

Holed up in his room since the night before, and despite Lagertha incessant requests, he doesn’t plan to come out, not now at least. Come to think of it, he might as well decide never to leave his room again.

He can't stand the idea of facing his brothers. He doesn't want to have to tell them about his failure. He doesn't want to endure Ubbe's pity and condescendence. He doesn't want to see the look of triumph on Sigurd's face. The thought makes his stomach lurch while at the same time a murderous urge creeps into his mind. No, he definitely can't see his brothers.

Surprisingly, and unlike Lagertha, his brothers have left him alone, as if sensing that entering his room would be as moving into a minefield. Only Hvitserk had taken a chance earlier, cautiously poking his head through the door. His disapproving look obvious when his eyes had taken in the scene before him, Ivar's belongings scattered on the floor, some of them smashed into pieces.

"I got you a chocolate muffin from the kitchen, baby bro," he had explained, putting it on a nearby shelf, and it had almost brought a smile to Ivar's face. To Hvitserk, there's no predicament that can't be improved with comfort food.

"Look, Ivar," scratching his neck, Hvitserk had then said, "I don't know what happened and I don't want to pressure you. You tell me when you're ready, if you are. But I'm here, okay? Whatever the time of day or night, you don't have to be alone if you don't want to. If I'm upstairs, just call me, okay?" With these words, he was gone, the door closed.

Ivar can't get the events of the previous evening out of his mind. Like a waking nightmare, they are playing over and over in his head: how he had freaked out when he heard the beeps; the confused and then so disappointed look you had given him when he sputtered his need to leave; finally, his shameful escape into the night.

What could he have done? What should he have done?

He does know the answer. He should have been more cautious. He should have checked the time, asked for your number and just walked away.

On the other hand, what difference would it have made? He would still have no future with you, right? He would still be a cripple, and you would still be... you... perfect... too good for him.

So yeah, he had run away like a coward. He lets out a bitter chuckle to himself. Run away? Who is he kidding? He hadn't run away, that would have been too easy. Cripples don't run away. Without his cane – why the fuck did he leave it behind?? – he had pathetically limped away, stumbling, his feet sinking into the sand. He had still been on the beach when the battery had died. He had had no other choice but to crawl like a worm the rest of the way, silently praying to the gods that the darkness of the night would prevent you from seeing him like this.

Tears of despair run down his cheeks for the umpteenth time. He's used to feeling humiliated, but feeling humiliated and heartbroken simultaneously is really too much to take. He feels like he's dying from the inside over and over again, cursing himself for wanting to attend the party, for wanting to see you again. He should never have let his walls down, he should never have dared to hope. What was he thinking? He may have walked, and even danced with you, but at the end of the day, he still is a pitiable cripple with stupid, crooked legs, in love with a girl way out of his league.

If he's being honest, that's what hurts the most. He now realizes how delusional he had been. Holding on to a dead dream for years, he had not forseen the painful yet unavoidable reality check. And now, it's like he's been hit by a train. Because there's no denying it, dreaming of a life with you is no longer an option, not after last night. And even though it's almost unbearable, he knows now he has to let go of you, of the idea of you and him being together. As much as this mere thought is devastating, he has no other choice. He has to stop fooling himself, for his own sanity, if nothing else.

Giving a guttural cry, much like that of a wounded animal, Ivar doesn't hear when the front doorbell rings. Not that he would have reacted even if he had heard it, too busy wallowing in self-pity.

***

"Thank you for having us here on such short notice, my dear." Your uncle states joyfully, his eyes sparkling, as Lagertha greets him with a handshake and a tight-lipped smile. Even though you don't know why, it's obvious that she's not his biggest fan.

Your uncle, who doesn't seem to notice – or doesn't care, you're not sure – keeps giving her a beaming smile. "My niece here," he turns his head toward you for a short moment, "has a weird request. She met a boy yesterday, during the party. He lost something and my sweet Y/N has been adamant since this morning that she wants to find him and personally return it to him. We were wondering," he turns his gaze in the direction of the couch, "if it could be one of your wards."

There are indeed three young men, half sprawled on the couch, who get up as one when Lagertha gives them a stern look. If you vaguely remember having seen them before, a single glance is enough for you to know that the one you're looking for is not among them.

You're on the verge of saying so but your uncle doesn't give you a chance to. "See boys," he unceremoniously grabs the cane you're holding behind your back, "here is the lost item. A cane! Fairly uncommon, if you ask me. Anyway... Does this... thing belong to any of you?"

Since you know it doesn't, you're surprised when two of the guys both take a step forward. "Actually, it's mine," they say in unison, each of them only then becoming aware that the other is speaking.

Dumbstruck, you look at one then the other successively. They've got a lot of nerve! You know they're lying, and you would have known it even if these two idiots hadn't spoken at the same time. They just look nothing like your handsome stranger – if he's a stranger.

"Sigurd, you know it's mine!"

"Don't play dumb, you never use a cane, Ubbe! Whereas me, I do sometimes. Everyone knows artists tend to be eccentric, right?"

The blondest one – Sigurd if you heard right – points his finger at a guitar leaning against the wall and then winks at you, "I'm a musician, you know?" You don't even have time to roll your eyes as the other one – Ubbe? – yells, his nostrils flaring.

"Shut up Sig, you're so full of shit! You know I've got a sprained ankle!"

"A sprained ankle, no kidding? Who did a ten-kilometer run today, huh? It's not me! So, you are the one going to shut up, you fucking douchebag!"

It's almost funny to watch them arguing back and forth. If you weren't so pissed off, you'd laugh. But right now, you're mostly mad at them. Their blatant lies make your blood boil with anger.

Are they really thinking you're a complete idiot? That you can be fooled so easily? Who do they think they are? Who do they think you are? Some stupid chick ready to fall for their good looks? If they think that, they're kidding themselves.

"You're the fucking douchebag, Sig!! Don’t forget I'm the oldest!"

"And what's the difference, huh? You can't have all the girls, Ubbe! Keep fucking Margrethe and just let me be! Stop being a controlling asshole!"

"STOP!!!! BOTH OF YOU!!!"

Lagertha's shout is deafening and if looks could kill, these two morons would be lying dead on the floor right here, right now.

"Y/N, my dear," Lagertha gives you an apologetic smile, "I'm so sorry for that. I swear they usually know how to behave, better than that at least. Guess they don't know how to handle your striking beauty. Now sweetheart, tell me, is one of these two knuckleheads the one you were with last night?"

The silence that falls on the room after her question is so complete that you could hear a pin drop. Acutely aware that all eyes are on you, you shyly lower your gaze, shaking your head slightly, as you clasp your hands over your belly. You eventually speak, your eyes meeting Lagertha's, and you can see she knows what you're going to say. "No, the guy I was with last night is not one of them."

"How can you be so sure?" Sigurd's voice is soft and tentative now, and Ubbe adds, seemingly for once in agreement with his younger brother, "yeah, how can you? It was pretty dark after all."

You give them a smile. "How can I be so sure? You mean beside the fact that you obviously don't need a cane? Neither of you?" The third brother, who still hasn't opened his mouth, chuckles, giving you a thumbs up. "Look, I appreciate your interest, I really do, but neither of you are the one I am looking for. Therefore," you look at your uncle, "we should leave, don't you think?" Checking the time on your watch, you shrug. "What about the Eyvindsson family? Didn't you tell me about three brothers? We may have time to go and see them tonight if we hurry."

Your uncle nods, handing you back the cane. "You're right, Y/N, we should leave." Taking two steps forward, he grabs Lagertha's hand. "Sorry dear, we will waste no more of your time."

You're about to thank her when one of the boys clears his throat. "Ahem..."

Turning your head, you're surprised to see the third brother, the silent one, raising his hand. "I think I might know who this cane belongs to." Frowning, he glances at his brothers. "And you both know it too."

"Shut up, Hvitserk!" Sigurd spits, clenching his hands into fists. "Don't bring the fucking cripple into the conversation."

"Sigurd! Keep your mouth shut!" Lagertha glares at him for several long seconds then her face softens as she looks at Hvitserk, placing a hand on his shoulder. "What are you trying to say, Hvitserk? Do you think this cane belongs to your baby brother?"

Hvitserk nods. "I know it does, actually."

"Come on, Hvit, you're talking nonsense. It cannot be, it just cannot. That guy was standing. It wasn't our brother. Our brother wasn't there last night." Ubbe stubbornly insists, but Hvitserk just shakes his head.

"Of course, he was. I saw him. And don't bullshit me, Ubbe, you saw him too. With Y/N." Hvitserk states. That's when you realize that your palms are sweating and your pulse is racing.

Hvitserk keeps going, now speaking to his guardian. "I know what I saw, Lagertha. It was him. I don't know how, but he was standing, Ubbe is right. He was even walking. It may sound weird but I swear, it was him."

Lagertha nods. "I believe you, Hvitserk." A beaming smile spreads across her lips and she tilts her head. "I wouldn't be surprised if Floki had something to do with such a miracle. Go get your brother, Hvitserk, please."

Your heart leaps at these words, you're barely able to contain your excitement and as you let out a nervous chuckle, you cannot help but jump for joy. Needless to say, Ubbe and Sigurd seem much less enthusiastic than you.

***

Reluctantly following his brother, Ivar mutters under his breath, "you're pissing me off, Hvit. I'm fucking not in the mood for whatever you have in mind."

Hvitserk pays him no mind though, a small smile dancing on his lips. "Trust me, baby bro, you'll be in the mood."

Ivar wants to protest, or maybe just turn around and wheel back to his room but all at once the sound of your voice reaches his ears and he stops, frozen in place, his eyes wide open. He may have stopped breathing.

Patting his shoulder reassuringly, Hvitserk whispers, "It's Y/N, baby bro, but I have a feeling you already know. She's here for you, she was looking for you, Ivar. Go..." before giving a single push to his brother's wheelchair, his right hand on the backrest.

Ivar honestly doesn't know how he manages to wheel himself into the living room. What he does know, however, is that you're suddenly standing right in front of him. The heart stopping smile you flash him blows all the air out of his lungs, his heart pounding wildly in his chest, and the outside world – Lagertha, his brothers, Harald – ceases to exist.

A little voice tells him he should be feeling self-conscious with his hair all messy and wearing worn sweatpants, but he can't bring himself to care, not when you kneel in front of him with stars in your eyes.

"Here you are, finally," you breathe, gently placing a hand on his knee. Ivar didn't know until now that one could die of happiness, but that's exactly what he's feeling and he wouldn't trade it for anything.

Swallowing, he blinks several times. When he speaks, his voice trembles, his bottom lip quivering. "Hello Y/N, you were... looking for... for me?" He has trouble getting the words out, his nervous fingers fidgeting on his lap.

Grabbing both his hands in yours, you nod, your thumbs stroking his knuckles tenderly. "I was, yes, and for a very long time."

Shyly lowering his head, Ivar, almost feeling dizzy, can't wrap his head around your words. They're just too good to be true. "But... why?"

"Why?" You giggle, your laughing eyes lighting up your face, and he's positive, you're even more beautiful like this. "Isn't it obvious? I want to know more about you, what's your favorite color, what you eat for breakfast, where you see yourself in ten years. I just want to spend time with you, Ivar."

'Ivar' You've just said his name and it's like the sweetest music to his ears. He can't believe it. Wow. "You... You recognized me?" There's so much hope and joy in his voice, he cringes.

You shrug, your smile never leaving your lips. "I wasn't sure at first. You've changed a lot." Your hand cups his cheek. The sensation on his skin is so overwhelming he has to hold back the tears threatening to gush. Yet, he can't help but think you're speaking about his legs.

He grits his teeth. "Yeah... Standing tall can change a man."

"No! no, no, no," you retort without missing a beat, "That's not what I meant. In my memory you still looked like you did when we were ten, but look at you now, all grown up! Your hair was so short back then." Reaching out, you brush a strand of hair back and tuck it behind his ear before letting your fingers run slowly down and up his bulging biceps, your hand finally lingering on his forearm, "Plus, you clearly work out a lot. So, yeah, I thought it was you, but I wasn't sure. When we were dancing last night, I thought I'd ask you right after, but then you left and... well... I didn't have a chance..."

Ivar wraps his fingers around yours, a frown creasing his forehead. "About that, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left like–"

You shush him, holding a finger to his lips. "It doesn't matter, Ivar. You don't have to explain. All that matters is that I found you." Standing up, you lean forward and gently kiss his cheek and he feels like he's floating. Intertwining his fingers with yours, you whisper in his ear, "I reckon we got some lost time to make up, you and me. Can we go stargazing now?"

Hearing this makes Ivar's insides turn to jelly. Barely able to think, he is on cloud nine and wishes with all his heart never to come back down to earth again. But despite the daze, despite the fog in his head, despite the blinding happiness, he knows one thing: no matter how many stars he sees, you'll be the brightest one.

"Yes, Y/N, you're right," bringing your hand to his mouth, he gives it a kiss, "let's go stargazing."

And as he leaves the room, you walking alongside him with your hand on his shoulder, his heart filled with joy and wonder, he doesn't miss the thumbs up Hvitserk gives him, nor the scowl on Ubbe's and Sigurd's faces.

For a fleeting second, he thinks he should – he could – taunt them. They deserve to be laughed at, don't they? But then, he realizes he doesn't have time for that. The time for happiness has come, and it's far more important.

Giving you a beaming smile, Ivar inhales deeply before releasing a sigh of satisfaction. Yeah. Happiness. Happiness sounds good.

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Ivar’s taglist: @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @pieces-by-me @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood @jadelynlace @grimeundglow @quantumlocked310 @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @adrille88

Ivarello's taglist: @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @hashimily @prepare4trouble @supernaturalvikingwhore @funmadnessandbadassvikings @heavenly1927 @dini73

[merci-bitch]

My Sweet Little One part II

Rose The Hat x fem!reader

Warning(s): swearing, slight abuse, PDA? 

Words: 2,5k

A/N: It has been quite a while. Hasn’t it? Haha. Well there might be a part 3 to this. It’s not as long as the first part which is 8k, and I have no idea how to make links so sadly I can’t link it here. ;/ . Hopefully there will more stories coming soon!

I made Y/N mine, alright. And everyone knew it, for sure. The next night she laid in my bed, I made her scream my name until her vocal chords were raw and made sweat crack across her place physiognomy.

No one could have her body the way I do, specially that loathsome rube. But he doesn't matter now.' I told myself. Though I wanted to make him pay. Rip his heart out and eat it on a silver platter after making him after making him suffer. Who the hell does he think he is? Laying his hands on my Y/n. They might both be steamy but he should see me. Oh yes, I am a cathedral compared to his small amount of steam.

"Rosie?" Y/n's voice pulled me out of my self induced trance. "Yes love?" I hummed. "You were zoning off again. Is something the matter?" I loved hearing the sweetness in her voice. It was like music to my ears.

"No darling, I'm quite alright." I smiled and placed my lips against hers and gave her a soft kiss. 'If only she knew though.' I thought to myself but shoved that aside for the moment. I could feel her soft hands gently caressing my bare skin and moved closer to her. Normally I preferred being the big spoon but on this moment, I didn't quite mind. She was home now and has been for quite a few weeks but still, I missed her.

"You're sure?" I nodded and ran my hands through Y/n's hair. "You're so pretty. You know that right?" She nodded and I smirked. "There is no one quite like you." Y/n's cheeks flushed cherry red and I chuckled. "No shame, darling. I only speak the truth."

"I know." She gave me a small smile that made me swell up inside. "Have you thought about my offer?" Y/n let out a sigh and I sat up. "I have but-"

"But what?" I tried my hardest not to sound angry. "When you stabbed me before, you told me it was for steam?" I nodded cordially. "Is that...what you guys eat?"

"Does it matter?" I expected to have her argue with me a little bit but surprisingly she didn't. Which I was thankful for. I took Y/n's hands gently in my own and kissed them. "Look, I know it's hard for you to wrap your head around but their pain is our gain. Don't you want to have a life with me? Unconditional bliss?"

She looked down as she slowly sat up and started fumbling with her hands. I wanted to say things, but I didn't want her to run away again. I didn't want to lose her again. She was mine, and only mine.

—— You don't know what it's like, not knowing who you are. To have lived in the shadows and to have travelled this far. Now I've seen a flashes of fire and echos of screams. But I still have faith, faith that someday my memories will come back.

In my dreams, it's all real. And my heart has so much to reveal. And my dreams seems to say, 'don't be afraid to go on, don't give up hope, come what may.' I know it will all come back! One day!

In my dreams shadows call. There's a light at the end a hall. Then my dreams fade away, but I know it will all come back one day. I just remember, rain against the windows. Sheets upon a bed. Terrifying nurses whispering overhead.

It was all strange. Rose, everyone. They say I was found on the side of the road. It had recently rained. In the darkness and cold with the wind in the trees. A girl with no name, and no memories but these above. I don't know a thing before that. Traveling the back roads, sleeping in the wood. I was always taking what I needed, working when I could. Keeping up my courage, foolish as it seems.

In my dreams I've always dreamed of a city. I dream of a city beyond all compare. Is it Paris? Paris... A beautiful river, a bridge by a scare and I hear a simple voice whisper, 'I'll meet you right there in Paris.' Paris.

Dancing bears, painted wings. Things I almost remember, and a song someone sings. It's almost December. Once upon a December. Someone holds me safe and warm. Horses prance through a silver storm. Figures dancing gracefully and across my memory.

Far away, long ago. Glowing dim as an ember and things my heart used to know and things it yearns to remember. And a song someone used to sing.

Heart don't fail me now and courage don't desert me. Don't turn back now that we're here. People have always said, life is full of choices and they aren't wrong but they never mentioned fear. Or how the world can seem so vast. On a simple journey to the past.

Somewhere down this road. I know someone true is waiting. Years of dreams just can't be wrong! Someone's arms will open wide and I'll be safe and wanted. Finally a place where I belong. Well, starting now I'm learning fast! On my journey to my past.

Home, love and family. There has to be a time where I had them too. I wouldn't be complete until I find you. But always one step at a time. One hope, then another. Who knows where this road may go? I wanna go back to who I was. On to find my future. There are things my heart still needs to know. Yes! Let this be some kind of sign and let this road be mine. Let it lead me to my past, and bring me home. At last!

—

"So, when the fuck was you gonna tell me."

"Hm? Tell you what my dear."

"Cut the sweet act Rose."

"What's wrong with you? Did they tease you again? You want tea?"

"Oh fuck you."

"Watch it."

"Watch it?! You have some fucking nerve Rose."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. The fuck did you think was gonna happen?"

"Seriously, what do you mean Y/N."

"Did you think I was gonna forget your words? Think I was gonna forget how useless and worthless you called me?"

"Y/N, I-"

"Shut it. I know exactly what you said, I'm not stupid or will I ever fall for some cover up you're calling this. I was happy without you!"

"You would never survive without me!"

"I did perfectly well for 10 fucking years Rose!"

"You call that happy?! With that Danny? You call that happy Y/N?"

"He loved me! He took care of me! More then you'd ever done, he took me for what I was. He picked up the pieces you broke."

"You better watch it. I don't mind killing you myself."

"See, this is exactly where you and I are different. I spend years not fitting in but thinking it was fine. Cause you were 'there' and cuddled me. Did you ever really love me? Cause you're blaming me for everything here, when it actually was you who fucked it up."

"I fucked it up?! You were the one who was so fucking ungrateful!"

"Ungrateful?! I have a fucking soul!"

"No, you don't! Cause you fucking sold it to the devil. You're not human. We turned you Y/N!"

"Excuse me what?"

"What?"

"No, don't change subject. What did you say?"

"Nothing."

"Did you fucking turn me without me saying you could?! Rose what the fuck!"

"What, you're mine. Just had to claim you. You'll be fine."

"Fine?! I don't wanna feed of dead kids Rosie!"

"They're actually quite delicious."

"You're fucking sick."

"Didn't stop you from fucking me."

"I didn't really have a choice."

"I didn't fucking rape you."

"Nah, it felt like it."

"You screamed my name out of pleasure."

"How come you were so sure of that?"

"I saw it, I saw your mind."

"What if that was just for play?"

"Oh, fuck you."

"I'd kill you if you tried."

"Oh, sweetheart. I'd like to see you try."

"Come at me."

"You can't be serious."

"Come kill me Rose."

"No."

"Coward."

"You're a bitch. A fucking bitch."

"Yet you put up with me for years. Took me back in when I was vulnerable. Loved me, well. Kind of. You held me close to you. Favorited me. So technically, I was your bitch."

"Exactly. You're my bitch."

"I was, not anymore."

"You'll always be my bitch. You're so weak for me, nothing will change that."

"Rose-"

"Begging already? Hm. Get on your knees."

"What?"

"Now!"

"Never."

"Get on your fucking knees before I make you."

"Make me then."

"You're playing with fire Y/N. I fucking hate you."

"Yeah, yeah. We've all heard that. How about something new?"

Before I knew it, her hand was wrapped around my throat. Holding me up in the air. Not a single piece of happiness or softness in her eyes. It was just dark. Her whole face was filled with anger. The veins in her throat showed as she strained. Her jaw clenched. Her hand squeezing harder around my throat. More and more air was ripped from my throat.

"You'll learn your fucking place. You disgraceful little piece of shit."

Her fingernails started to dig into the skin of my neck and my vision started to blacken out. Clawing at her hand. Choking on whatever air that was left in my lungs.

"R-Rosie-"

"Hm? Can't really hear you, my dear."

Her hand tightened even more and I felt my limbs go lump. Everything going dark.

-

"I don't know Abra. She's been gone for so long. She was missing when I came back from the bathroom at the cinema. You haven't seen anything?"

"No, I've been trying. It's like Rose is cutting her off from us."

"I just hope she's alright. She doesn't deserve all this."

"I know, but we'll find her."

—

"Sweetheart? Hey, wake up."

I felt someone slap my cheek. Groaning in pain, moving my head away. Slowly opening my eyes.

"Rose?"

"Yes, I'm right here."

"What happened?"

"My dear child, you passed out. You had a nightmare from sleeping and got up and started crying. Then you just dropped."

"Really? I don't remember."

"Oh, don't worry. I've got you."

Rose put her arms around me and pulled the covers over us, giving my forehead a kiss. I couldn't put my thought to it. Was that really what happened? I shook my head and snuggles close to Rose. Breathing in her scent. Relaxing. Smiling softly and looking up at her.

"What? What are you smiling about."

"Nothing."

"Come on, I can see there's something."

"I just -"

"Yes?"

"I love you, Rosie."

"I love you too Y/N."

—

"Rose? Is this really how it has to go?"

"Yes, my dear. Now come on. Stab her."

"I-I don't know, it's just a child."

"What have I told you before?"

"I-, their pain, our gain."

"That's it. Now come, feed your family."

Rose's hands were on my waist, her nose brushing against the back of my neck. I slowly raised the knife in the air. Feeling a sort of deja vu. Had I done this before? I couldn't have. Despite the child's cries, pleas and begging Rose was right. Their pain was our gain. I had to do this to feed the family. The true knot was my family.

Muttering a soft 'sorry' before stabbing the child. Stabbing it over and over again. Hearing both Rose's and Crow's laughter behind me. I felt angry for some reason, the child in front of me was the beat for my anger. The piece to take out all the unknown anger. Again and again. Until there was nothing left. Dropping the knife, shaking.

"You did so great, look at all that steam! Well last for weeks! If not even months. Good girl."

Rose gave me a wet kiss and stroked my cheek.

"Rosie?"

"Yes, my love?"

"Have I done this before?"

"What? Stabbing a child?"

"Yeah, I got like a deja vu."

"Well, haven't we all wished to kill children?"

Her carefree laughter filled the air. It didn't make any sense, but it had to.

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Don't be so sad now, poppet. You did well."

"It just feels weird. I was a child too once."

"We all were. But now we are adults, we are the true knot. We live as more powerful then pathetic rubes. You said so yourself."

"I did?"

"Right you did."

"Oh, I can't remember much."

Rose stroked my cheek again and pulled me against her. Rubbing my back and watched the moonlight with me. It was silent. Was it nice? Was it confusing? Was it awkward?

"I just, this doesn't feel right."

"What do you mean?"

"It's like I've been walking, but with my face turned to the sun. This weight on my shoulders. And I feel as if I need to run. I do what I can to please you and the others, I just feel like an outsider."

"This is your home, can't you hear freedom calling? Calling you to stay. Don't you feel it in your bones? You belong here."

"In the morning before the sun starts shining, we gotta start moving again, can I drive with you?"

"Always."

—

"So I'm gonna stand up, and take my people with me. Together we are going to our brand new home. Far across the river. Do you hear freedom calling? Calling you to answer their prayer."

"That's what you got?"

"Yes, it was all I could find out."

"It's not really helpful."

"I know, I don't know what's going on. Before it was so easy to track her."

—

"I go to prepare a place for you."

Rose watched you sleep. She knew it wouldn't be long until your memories would come back. Her and Crow had been talking about what to do with you. She didn't want to kill you. She did love you, but if she had to she would kill you. You were steamy but she didn't know if it was that good. She had only tasted it once, but it was only little bit.

It had tasted like flowers. For some reason each time Rose would think about it. She would feel this, this heavy feeling in her chest. She didn't know what it was. It couldn't be guilt, could it? No. Of course not. Rose The Hat never had guilt. She was a strong a confident woman. Powerful. The queen bitch of castle hell.

Rose O'Hara knew guilt, knee pain and specially weakness. Rose The Hat could never dream of getting on her knees for anyone.

If she had to kill the one thing she loved. She fucking would.

[etlunainmorte]

Very brief mention of abuse and bullying. Read with caution. Thank you!

***

📷 Memories 📷

***

Click.

There. He heard it.

Click.

He heard it once more.

Click.

There it is again!

"V!" The demonic familiar screamed. "Watch out!"

The warning came too late when one of the full - grown parasite’s snake - like heads hit V right in his stomach, throwing him across the messy, and thankfully deserted, marketplace.

Groaning in pain, the tattooed poet did his best to get up despite his fragile form and fight once more alongside his familiars to bring the unspeakable thing down. One strong attack after another, the poet's beasts finally managed to reduce the parasite into its most vulnerable form, making it weak against one final attack, which, of course, must be dealt by him.

Throwing his cane to the weakened Demon ( click! ) and using his ability to teleport, he instantly vanished and materialized in mid air right before the enemy ( click! ), making it even more confused than before this unexpected battle began.

His eyebrows twitching in annoyance when he heard that clicking noise again, he grabbed his metal cane, raised it high above his head, and pierced the enemy's chest with it.

"The cut worm,... forgives the plow." The poet quoted and smirked, relishing the satisfying feeling of the metal cane on his hands, piercing the pulsating flesh of the unknown Demon. "What do you say?" And with one final sadistic push of the cane deep into its flesh, the enemy finally took its last breath and disintegrated into nothingness, just like what always happens to the unlucky Demons who found themselves at V's mercy.

Click!

And just like those nasty Demons, this one left a fair amount of funk in the air that assaulted V's nostrils. More than necessary, in fact. This one really left an impression.

"V." Griffon whispered as he landed on his master's waiting arm. "I found the culprit."

"Where?"

"Behind that stall!" The bird pointed with his wing.

Eyes dangerously narrowed, he took a deep breath, and threw his cane. And the moment he grabbed it, he vanished once more into thin air.

And when he materialized once to where Griffon directed him, he heard an unmistakable little yelp as the culprit, who was, indeed, the source of those annoying clicking sounds, was finally caught.

And those annoying clicking sounds that distracted him more than once during the fight? It was a camera, after all!

The chit has been taking pictures of him fighting that Demon!

Forcefully taking the camera from the culprit's trembling hands, he directed his threatening, jade gaze at her, and it seemed to work really well.

"Are you the one who summoned the parasite to this world?" His low voice laced with threat and poison, V carefully asked the little blonde female, who was positively cowering in fear before his tall frame.

"Yeah, start talkin', lil' bitch, or I'll fry ya where ya sit!" Griffon added his ear - piercing threat.

The blonde's green eyes widened. She shook her head as she tried to cover her head in fright. "Summoned? I can't do that! I swear!"

"V, SHE'S LYIN'!" Griffon squawked angrily, making her even more frightened.

And this pushed V a little off balance. She,… seemed to be saying the truth. "What is your proof?"

"I,... ah,..." The blonde stuttered. Pointing at the camera, she said, "It's my job to take photos of Demons. I swear I didn't summon it! Please, believe me!"

"Do ya honestly believe this bitch?" Griffon asked V as he watched how the poet's facial expression soften but, only a bit. He's still suspicious of this female, after all.

"No but, let's have an agreement, shall we?" He declared, his attention fully focused on her. "Tell your boss to stop sending you to life - threatening commissions. Do you have,... any idea,... that this,... stupidity,... would cost you your own life?"

The female gulped nervously, her large eyes focused on his. She did not, or cannot, answer, and this irked V even more.

"No? Then, let this be a lesson to you. Stop chasing after such,... dangerous creatures,... and I will let this pass. That is for your own sake, believe me."

Satisfied to see the female nodding in agreement, he answered, "Good." Then, looking at the camera in his hands, he added, "Then, I shall give this back to you."

"T - thank you!" The female expressed her heartfelt gratitude with a relieved smile but, when she was about to take it from V, the man let it fall to the ground, and before she could even retrieve it, the man crushed it beneath his foot.

"That settles it." V murmured as he walked away from the female, hoping to not see those startling green eyes of hers, or that annoying camera, ever again.

"Haha! Couldn't agree more." Griffon jabbed.

***

"Who did this?" The teacher questioned as he showed the whole class a single report sheet with a big red F mark written on it. And, oh, how mad he looked! Those veins popping from his forehead! That left fist clenched and ready to take down the culprit! "Who. DID THIS?"

And lo and behold, from the sea of frightened faces rose a single, tiny hand that trembled. 

Tiny and trembling, and yet bold and daring.

"It was me, sir." The little girl squeaked and stood, frightened beyond her wits but determined to the bone to face the lion before her.

"SUERMANN!" The teacher growled, making the students gasp in fear. The balding adult closed his eyes, his lips spouting silent curses, and his fists clenching to restrain his anger. He opened his eyes and took out something from his drawer - a long piece of thin, flat wood.

THE long piece of thin, flat wood.

Nodding at the little girl with the feared device on his hand, he instructed, "Come here."

It took the little girl a whole minute to process what's going on, and when she and the rest of the class heard the awful sound of their angry teacher slamming the desk with his large palm, she jolted in attention.

"I said, COME HERE, YOU LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT!"

The little girl came forward as she was told, knowing all too well what would happen to her. She stopped right before the adult and looked up, feeling as if her life would end right then and there.

It did not, fortunately. But, she did end up having bruised hands later after school. And, oh God, it hurts! It hurts so, so much!

"Mary!" Her best friend called, catching up to her. "Mary, I'm so sorry! I must be the one who's punished, not you!"

Mary smiled at her best friend and shook her head. "It's okay. I can't let that man hurt you."

"Oh, Mary!" Her best friend cried as she saw the ugly bruises on Mary's hands. "I'm so weak! I shouldn't have listened to them when they told me to write on Mr. Burns' papers. But, I had to because they're gonna tell the whole school I'm adopted!"

Mary sighed and shook her head. Why are there such bad people living in this world?! And why do they keep torturing the weak?!

"Forget it, Vanessa. I'm here, and I'll protect you from those bullies!" Mary told her with a brave smile as she hid her hands behind her back.

"Thank you, Mary!" Vanessa cried as she threw herself at her best friend and gave her a big hug.

And that's how Mary Suermann came to hate Mr. Burns, his thin piece of flat wood, and those bullies who forced her best friend to vandalize on the teacher’s precious report papers.

***

"Thanks for pitchin' in, man!" The freckled woman with glasses patted V on the shoulder. Wearing a huge grin of success on her face, she added, "I knew I could count on ya."

"Where is your partner, if I may ask?" The poet questioned as he took a seat on one of the chairs inside the woman's spacious, and yet messy, trailer.

"Oh, Nero? Heh. Bet he's gettin' his ass kicked real good,..."

"Says who?" The man called Nero, himself, interrupted just in time when he opened the door and let himself in. And he clearly looked like he got his rear side kicked real good, just like what the woman said. From V’s fair perspective, Nero looked like someone who could face a horde of Demons with a smile on his face and still come out victorious. After all, his posture and his overall appearance said so.

Then, again, appearances could be deceiving. And V knew that very well. 

"Whatever." The woman answered, rolled her eyes, and lit a cigarette. "Oh. This is V. V, this is Nero, my partner."

"Hey, man." Nero greeted with a nod.

"It's a pleasure." V simply answered without too much of a fuss.

"Same." Nero nodded, and with a disgruntled expression on his face, he opened the door to let the cigarette smoke out and kicked the sofa where his partner was sitting. "Got any leads?"

"Hmm, aside from the single fact that these Demons just keep poppin' outta thin air, nothin'!"

"Nothing? Not anything?"

"I told ya!" The woman answered. Facing the poet, she then said, "How about you, V? Any leads?"

"That Demon," V answered. " ... it's a parasite called Nidhogg. I believe it latches on Qliphoth roots to sustain itself."

"Qliphoth?" The woman and Nero spoke almost simultaneously.

"It's a demonic tree that thrives on human blood." V explained. "And I found it,... quite baffling to encounter such a creature when there are no,... Qliphoth roots around."

"Great. Now, I'm even more confused." Nero muttered as he waved the cigarette smoke off his nose. "And it already smells like ass in here."

"That's you!" The woman retorted. Looking outside through the window, she spoke in a lower voice, "Ah, she's late."

Nero's eyebrows shot upwards in attention as he moved a bit away from the door.

And the person who entered the trailer made V's own eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

"I'm sorry, Nico, there's - "

The blonde stopped talking abruptly when she saw the mysterious man who crushed her camera sitting on the chair across her boss!

What is he doing here?!

Unless - !

"What is it?" The woman named Nico, who was unaware of what happened between the blonde and her friend V, asked as she looked up at her, a bit excited to know what news she brought for all of them. "Oh! Oh! Before I forget," Nodding at V, she said, "This is V, my good friend from Red Grave City. He's that other one I called to help with our investigation. Ya know! The one I told ya about last night!" And with a proud smile on her face, she stood up and roughly brought her hand down on the little blonde's shoulder, a thing she enjoyed doing just because she's small compared to her. "V, this is Mary, my assistant. And friend."

"Guys, I'll just call Kyrie." Nero spoke as he took his cellphone from his pocket and made his way out of the trailer. And nobody even noticed him.

"So! Got any leads for us, girl?" Nico asked, waiting for Mary to speak.

"I,... ah,... " Her nerves betraying her and getting the better of her, she took out the broken camera from her large We Bare Bears handbag and handed it to Nico. "I'm,... sorry,... about that."

"GIRL, WHAT HAPPENED TO THIS?!" Nico, whose eyes got as wide as saucers, freaked out as she held the broken thing on her hands.

"Well, I'm - " Mary began, seeing the look of utter horror on V's face at the corner of her eye. He just,... didn't expect things to turn out like this.

Who knew that chit worked for Nico?!

"WELL?" Nico screamed hysterically.

Oh, dear, V thought helplessly, deciding whether to, at least, save the girl from being fired, or not.

Then, something happened that he never expected.

Mary,... the little blonde chit,... smiled.

She smiled!

"I'm a klutz, right?" Mary squeaked with a nervous little laugh.

"This thing is OLD! You should've fixed your clumsiness a long time ago!" Nico scolded the blonde.

And to this, Mary just scratched the back of her head. "I'm sorry. I really do. But, hey! I can show you what that Demon - thing looks like - "

Nico growled, cutting her off and making her way to the back of the trailer to fix her grandmother's camera.

V's eyes widened in disbelief.

Why,... he thought as his eyes focused on the girl, who looked more relieved than worried. Would she cover for me like that?!

***

📷📷📷

***

[electricbluebutterflies]

i have a kabby prompt if you so choose.... in polis after ALIE, abby doesn't want to talk or cry.. she just wants sex. she begs marcus to make her feel something else, make her forget. marcus can't do it, not now, knows it's not what she needs and abby breaks down in the process. they end up sleeping.

Aka let’s play fast and loose with the s3 finale and shortly thereafter. PG13-ish, content warning for implications of dubcon (neither involved person was consciously aware of their actions), and also on ao3.

She has become a monster.

In the immediate aftermath of regaining consciousness, as she processes the weapon in her hands and the blood that might not be hers on her clothes, Abby is in shock. She knows there is that cute little word for it, and she knows recent events are far more complex than she is currently able to deal with. Neither of those background-noise details calm her as she searches the room for her…

Not lover, not yet at least, god no. They got one good kiss before everything went to absolute shit, and from there she… actually does not know what may or may not have happened between them. Her body is sore in certain places, yes, but her body is also sore everywhere else so that’s unhelpful. Will she wake up in a few days or weeks and know what she did while she had the chip? Until this fear passes, she hopes not. She hopes…

She finds him from across the room, and there is no one else in the world, and she runs and she falls and she crashes.

Everything she is still sure of is tangled up in this broken man, in his bloodshot eyes and shaking hands. She envelops him and she never wants to let go, and she-

“I’m here,” she murmurs over and over. “I’m here.”

What she did while controlled is a mystery; what he did even more so. She does not care, as she forces herself to be strong. This is a new dimension, perhaps even more frightening than the hell that surrounds them. Marcus has been a constant presence almost her entire life, stubborn and stoic and perfectly composed… except around her. Every time she has seen him break has been because of her.

She’ll be the death of him. She knows it now, feels it in the shifting of his body against hers, the deeper breaking he refuses to do in front of other people but won’t be able to fight off much longer. If he can die, it will be because of her, and it will be an unworthy sacrifice, and-

“Come with me,” she murmurs. “We should… we should…”

Chaos as it is, they slip away. They will return to the epicenter later, face the fallout of circumstances far beyond their control, but for now there is nothing to be done and Abby feels no guilt in departure. Until the dust settles she is unimportant - she felt the gun in her hands, the impeccable programming in her veins, and there will be no partial survivors for her to patch up. If she is wrong, she won’t be far, but she needs to breathe and she needs to get out of her skin and she wants and she wants and-

She pushes herself up on tiptoe in a hallway and kisses him hard enough to bruise because she can, because she wants to go numb and what other purpose is there in collision. Because she screwed up again, got herself attached to something else with a beating heart, and she has a certain feeling that his badly bandaged wrists are somehow her fault. She runs her tongue over his lower lip, desperate for something, anything. This will do nicely, once they’re somewhere behind a decent door. Not how she planned this step in whatever they are, but it will do.

But here is not the right place, and she breaks apart and leads on. She can’t remember them ever being this quiet with each other. There were those good months of shared workspace - can she miss something that only ended a few weeks ago? - and they were civilized to each other then, but not quiet. Trying to run things was a collaborative effort, countless little conversations about every little thing because they had no faith in themselves and absolute faith in each other. This, this is…

She doesn’t know where she is anymore in this rabbit warren of a palace, but if she had to guess, she’d assume they’ve wandered into the visiting diplomats’ wing or something. She does not know, does not care beyond there is an empty room with a door that locks from the inside. Somewhere out of the way enough for what she wants, for making each other numb, for-

She kisses him again, and this time he does not allow her to deepen it. This time he backs away, and the pain in his eyes breaks what’s left of her heart.

“This won’t help,” he murmurs.

“Then tell me what will.” Hands on her hips, glaring at him, reminded of a long history of sparring. If he wants a fight, she can easily give that too. “I was not me, Marcus. There are missing days of my life. I am terrified, and I don’t… I want to forget. Let me forget with you.”

“I can’t.”

Well that’s annoyingly vague, she thinks, and his overall presence isn’t making her feel any better. “Why? Give me one good goddamn reason why you won’t lay me down on that bed behind us and fuck me until I can’t focus on anything that isn’t you.”

He takes a step back and several deep breaths, visibly bracing himself. “There are… for one, this is hardly the right time.”

“We just survived the impossible. And given the fantastic array of shit that seems to happen to you in particular, I don’t think there will be a right time.”

“You’re visibly exhausted.”

“How much energy do you even think sex requires? I’m not asking you to show off, I just-”

“I don’t know what happened during… during that. What my body did while my mind wasn’t in it.”

“I don’t either. That’s the point. I want to go numb and I want to feel present again and I want-”

“That might help you. It might make things worse for me.”

Shit. So she probably did do something. She knows he didn’t exactly take the chip right after she did, but-

“What did I do? How did I hurt you?”

“You kissed me. It felt like you. I wanted it to be you. But you were… aggressive. Your timing seemed odd. And that’s how I figured it out.”

Abby turns away, curling into herself. She can’t look at him right now. All the scenarios she’s considered in the past twenty minutes, but not that, not the unforgivable, not…

“What happened after that?” She has to know. She doesn’t want to, but she has no choice.

“They… they tried to use you against me in another way. They were going to kill you. They restrained me, painfully, and they meant to make me watch you die. And that’s when I broke. After that… I don’t know what happened when we were both gone.”

“But you survived me. And you’re still willing to be alone with me.”

“Yes, because that wasn’t you. I know you, Abby. I’d like to think I have some idea how you love. And when the time comes, I know you will be different.”

“How can you let me kiss you when I-”

“Not. You.” He’s drifted closer somehow, and he puts a hand on her shoulder. “I can see the difference.”

“But you won’t…”

“Not because of that. It might… I do want you. I do trust you. Someday soon, I want to find out.”

“But not now,” she hisses, still feeling like she’s missing something.

“Not now. But only because we’re both tired and have seen too much. Not because of you, Abby.”

She turns to face him and oh, it is easy to fall and let herself be held. This, apparently, is within his limits. He is solid and he is hers, still racing manic energy but less so than the last time they touched, and she still wants so many things, and-

“Will you at least stay with me?” she asks, because even that feels like too much. “If I decide this is where I’m staying until the next disaster, or at least for tonight?”

“Yes.”

“And if I want you next to me on that bed? If I want…”

“Of course.”

There is a gentleness in this man, she thinks as she breaks the embrace and walks over to sit on the edge of the bed and take off her boots. Still a new blossom of a thing, this softness in an unlikely place, but undeniably present. Marcus, standing just out of reach and waiting for her to finish her process before he replicates it, has become everything he is capable of these past few months. And he chooses her, chooses to lie with her in her wreckage, and she cannot find words for any of it.

She shifts her body to the far part of the mattress and watches as she can. He has a jacket to shed as well, made harder by the layered bandages on his wrists. She ought to replace them with something clean, she thinks, but she will worry over that come morning or when he asks for her her help, whichever comes first and not a moment sooner. When those wounds heal, she will see them - she’d like to think she’ll see his details every day for a long time yet - and be reminded of his sacrificial heart. She will...

“You could move closer if you want,” he suggests.

She does. She fits well on his side, resting her head on his shoulder. She could get very used to this part, if he lets her.

“If I kiss your cheek, will you freak out on me again?”

“Depends on what else you do in that moment.”

So, innocent is alright. She feathers a few kisses across his face, because she can, and a heartbeat one on his lips before she retreats. Not pushing, not going anywhere, just a little playful affection.

“Not-me didn’t do that,” she murmurs.

“Not-you didn’t understand boundaries,” he replies. “Thank you, for...”

“Don’t. You know when to stop me, Marcus. That’s part of why I love you.”

He makes some kind of contented noise as she closes her eyes and crashes, and for now they are enough.

[thefandomcassandra]

2 (Alt.): Broken Voice

Inspired a lot by can i try again, and again, and again? by @drinkingdeadpeopletea

Thiala stands there and Ulfgar is sleeping and she waits for it to all go to shit. Like it did the first time and the time after that and the time after that. And, if her luck continues, more time beyond.

She's running out of options and she's running out of patience.

"The moon is gorgeous tonight."

Those are the last true words ever spoken by Thiala and it is heart wrenching. Tears into her ribs and hollows out her chest.

Alanis steels herself and smiles and lies and laughs. Of course, of course, of course. She can dance to this tune, exit gracefully, call it a day. She can pretend until the shiny is gone from the penny and then run when it gets hard. She can lie and smile and manipulate and abandon. She's untethered, a puppet with cut strings.

She's done it for centuries now. Time doesn't matter when you're looping it to your will and less so when you're spending it on a plane with a time differential. And she's an elf, so centuries shouldn't feel like so much but they do.

They do.

Gods, they feel like dragging a dull sword across her scalp, shearing her head in the most laborious way possible. Decades that should be moments are forever, and they are so many.

"The moon looks gorgeous tonight" may as well be tattooed on her skin for all she loves and hates it. May as well be her heartbeat for all she's remembered this exact moment and it's other variations.

But she leaves. She leaves and runs and plots and plans and later, in the comfort of what is only her home by sheerest technicality—her actual home is there, with Ulfgar and Thiala, before everything got so complicated that they couldn't see the forest for the fucking trees—she breaks down and screams and breaks things.

"The moon looks gorgeous tonight." Pittance, a fucking lie, bittersweet.

Nepenthe, please, let her forget. Drink from the Lethe, take a sip, babe, and never remember the pain of time and time and time.

"The moon looks gorgeous tonight."

Banish the moon from her island under clouds and spells and reflections and hidden wards. She doesn't want to, can't bring herself to, will not subject herself to the fucking moon. The fucking gorgeous moon. The memory of the breaking point.

She plots and plans and smokes until her head is filled with cotton fluff and not a single place for regret or golden light or smiles or warmth to sit and work it's way in, silkworms and moths consuming memories. She drinks until the bile on her lips is a bitter friend and she can wake to a hangover that drums out the call of her heart and the moon the moon the moon.

"The moon looks gorgeous tonight." She thinks as she goes to confront Thiala. Her mouth repeats the same, wonders if Thiala remembers, if the goddess is the same as the woman she wanted so long ago.

There is no recognition of the phrase and that is a dagger between her ribs, second and third, puncturing vital parts and releasing the air within.

She sobs, laughs, and flings spells with wild abandon.

"The moon looks gorgeous tonight."

And, unaffected by the irony, the moon sits in the sky, full and golden and so, so gorgeous.

Again. Again. Again.

[an-idiot-but-a-bit-more-refined]

I was laying in bed thinking of something and this made me laugh  for like a split second, then I got mad and then I started crying a little because, I imagined that I was a lecturer and I had to teach a group of Baby Swen about why their new fandom home was the way it was.

Me: Hello Babies, Mommy's back!

Student in the back: Sweet! Evil Queen references.. Umm, professor, I have a question.

Me: Yes?

Student: Why are our fandom grandmothers, mothers and aunts against Eddie and Adam writing Swan Queen?

Me, sighing gently: Darling, we're not against them writing it, but we have our reservations on the way they ARE writing it and most likely would attempt to write it.

Student in the back seems confused. Pauses slightly before nodding. I write down a topic that blankets the class discussion. "Swan Queen". BABY SWENS WHISPER AND SNICKER WITH EXCITEMENT, but I sigh once again. Someone notices

Student: Professor?

Me: Yes?

Student: What's the matter?

Me, slightly conflicted to do said discussion, but I feel it is needed.

Me: The issue the fandom is facing my dear younglings has to do with an ever running war on Tropes, Tokenism, Sexism and just all around 'fandom fuckery' as we've coined it. Some of you- rather, most of you may be familiar with how savagely Swen are dogged for wanting something that represents this current day and age. Be it a fairy tale that's never been told, or simple recognition in a way that does not make us feel as though we've been given a half-assed story that's tossed after it's done what writers and show runners believe it's supposed to...no-no, Your home- THIS home is a home that has to fight for the equality so that the younger generation may reap the benefits of the fight. Now, this may sound tragic- or seem catty, but I assure you, Swen are not known to be such. We like to leave that to...what was that other group's name, again?

Student with all the smart ass comments whom I adore: Crap tainted Swan!

Me: Yes, them.

I begin to write down a few categories and immediately hands go up.

Student: Professor, what exactly do you mean when you say- they will fuck it up?

Me: Precisely what I wrote. The Swan Queen fandom is not fond of being lied to, deceived or played for fools my young one. We know as well as anyone that 'pushing' is a thing for two overly hetero-normative men who run to Captain Swan with open arms and away from Swan Queen with eyes shut and ears deafened, will somehow manage to mess up a perfectly good story to tell.

Student somewhere in the corner: And when you say they'll make it more difficult- what does that mean?

Me: It means that Our ladies are difficult apart- NOT together and yet the writers seem to bring that as some valid way to deter the pairing. They believe by forcing these characters to appear as though they'd be difficult together would make it hard for them to have a lasting relationship. Trying to deter someone by creating this aura that they simply can't be around one another long enough before they become snarky and catty for all the wrong reasons is absolute bull. If anything- we have proof of countless times they have preferred to be with one another simply because it was obvious of the safety they felt. The care and concern they felt.

Student: Oh, so you mean like- Regina's stubborn and sassy and sarcastic when she and Emma are apart and when they work together, she's still sassy and sarcastic it's just in reference to everyone else and not Emma... it's like they're trying to make you think that Regina can't stand being around Emma when the only time we see the real Regina is when she's with Emma-or Henry-

Me, highly impressed: -exactly!

Another student in the front raises their hand: So, that ties into your next point of it being predictable doesn't it?

Me: It does. Have you all seen the consistent template that's written for a queer character?

They all nod and someone with a good bit of brains stands up to go on a miniature rant.

Student: Yeah, I have and it sucks. There's always the one gay character- (he manages to say with an eye roll.) But then there's all these other 'templates' that are stereotypical. Like if they do marry Emma off to Hook and she magically realizes she doesn't love him or that she's gay, they use Regina and it becomes that thing where the lesbian or in Regina's case- the bisexual, quote on quote 'turns' the straight housewife and she realizes she never needed a man; just some good love.. Or one of them dies- or in their case, both of them apparently.. isn't that what was happening in season six?

Someone whispers, Lexa deserved better and puts up a fist. Other students nod at the other baby Swen and agree.

Student who laughs sarcastically all the time: Or how about this one, She realizes she's not gay either after a bunch of passionate nights with Regina and then she goes back to.. the one handed wonder.. God, don't let her get pregnant-

Other Student yells in pain: -DEAR GOD, PLEASE DON'T GIVE ME IMAGES OF ANOTHER WHINY VERSION OF HOOK! But let's not forget the ones who argue all the time and can't keep a stable relationship and are secretive and all that other junk the L Word made beyond obvious.And if that's not bad enough, they both get beards and are tortured for seasons with men they have no chemistry with and these are women who have chemistry with brick walls and can't even make that shit work-

Me: -Alright.. alright, focus. Yes, these are the templates I'm referring to. But let us not forget the ones that gay male characters also go through.

Someone snorts because they only have one template for gay males.

Student: You mean they're difficult and mysterious and cute little twinks who get thrown with other cute twinks or big buff guys with daddy issues and bam- magical ending?

Me: Correct..moving on.. The third points says-

I'm interrupted as they all say it together

Students: Tokenism!

Me: This is just the TV way of saying affirmative action.. Fanciful in meaning isn't it?

Student: It's trash!

Me: Yes, I do suppose it is... however, would someone like to express why the word tokenism still would apply to Swan Queen?

Hands immediately go up.

Student: Well, if we're being honest here, We already got it once before and we don't even know what the deal is with that story anymore...Swen fears that tokenism can still be a thing for Swan Queen because Eddie and Adam only attempt Swan Mills episodes when their ratings drop and as that becomes a case, so does the question of will they just do Swan Queen to stay on the air and never explore it the way they should... We've been hearing of season seven being the final season and our worry is no longer that they will fuck it up. Quite frankly we don't even want them to write it anymore, we'll take it off their hands and make our own show out of it. The problem arises when they create the asinine plan to use it as a last minute crutch to 'go out with a bang' or something. Like, What if this season completely tanks it and season seven is in fact the last season,right? They get the plan, Hmm maybe we should do Swan Queen in the last episode and that'll justify all of the crap we've put these people through, just to say they did something some grande and amazing thing for us, when in reality, they were trying to save their shitty revenue.

Student directly adjacent: Can I add on to that?

Other student nods.

Student: It really is sad though when we were willing to settle for anything- any sort of thing, just to know we were being heard no matter how much we fought- no matter how much our fandom grandmothers have fought. I think deep down, a lot of us know they just won't do it, like they really won't and even if they do, the luxury of it has just faded. The luxury of it would have faded and they'll try to force it to be overly gooey and 'loving' or cutesy when that's not what we asked for. We asked for a story that was true to life and very much so a proper representation for us all. We asked for a story that proved that strong women can work together and fall in love with one another. That they go through ups and downs and doubts and sticking things out and believing in one another and all of the other good things we've seen.... If we get it, if we are blessed enough to have Swan Queen- We'll be happy, but we'll be tired. We'll be exhausted and still disappointed that it had to come to this for us to be heard... I don't think we'll ever be as happy as we were the first day in season one when they met, if only because of the pain and heartbreak and the amount of horrible things that have been said to us just seems to, hit too many nails in our coffins. The fight will never be over, and we have accepted that, but I think everyone's getting tired of having to fight for something that shouldn't even be in question... and it's not to say we've lost our drive or we're losing hope. We're just done with trying to tell men who clearly don't understand that this is a revolution that needs to happen. This is a change that needs to be seen.. we're done trying to prove something we have too much evidence for to still be called delusional and reaching and all those other things. Everyone's tired of watching some forced 'chemistry' dictate how women should be treated and seen in this world. We're tired of seeing people be criminalized and denied a second chance at a love that won't leave or die on them i.e Regina.. We're done and we are tired of feeling like what we watch is what it will always be- nothing but a dream, an illusion... A fucking fairytale.

Silence encompasses the room and everyone thinks on it. (I legit cried when I thought about this part, so I'm sorry)

Me: We are tired, young ones.. we are, but we fight for us and we fight for you until it's over. We march for us and we march for you until we die and you are right, we have not lost hope.. we've just lost that many damns to give on speaking to a group of people who choose not to understand.... And maybe it is true, maybe we truly won't be fulfilled even if they do give us what we asked for.. what we've pleaded for.. and maybe it will make it all seem like it was in vain and maybe we will feel like we've accomplished nothing because we had to force hand for them to cave or pressure them... your grandmothers, mothers and aunts for this fandom realized many things.. we will not force anyone to give us anything. We will peacefully protest the injustice, but if we are not given what we rightly deserve.... we move on from trying with them and you know what we do? We make a world of our own. Eddie and Adam didn't give Swan Queen life... we did, and you did. They didn't see what we saw. They didn't understand it and they clearly didn't want any part of it, but the dream lives on. The reality lives on- the world keep spinning and life goes on and guess what, so will the memory of Swan Queen....Now I need you all to say this last point with me..together we will do this..

Even if nothing happens. Even if your words fall on deaf ears to some, remember the many that you have made hear you. Remember the many who sat with you and held your hands and kept you together...when things fall away and the glamour goes goodbye, remember your reality, your worth and yourself in all of this- Remember YOUR fight.. Through all things, every hard moment and every distressing situation.. for every negative message- comes ten thousand positive soldiers. Fight on and keep hope..

When you open your mouth and words come out and you say "May I have your attention please?" Remember that those who listen are those who wish to hear.... Remember that your fight is a plea to be heard and someone will listen.. remember that actions and words are one and you fuel them. Remember that when the world around you dies- you are to flourish and bring light back to it... remember that you fight for you just as you fight for me and I do the same... remember from now until the end of time that you've done your part in this world and if it never happens... still, keep hope, because maybe, just maybe...one day it will

With Love, Megan