#Cannot get over how he cuts through the two beautiful woman to get in Nick’s face just to say ‘Now it’s me and you. Nicky boy’

[zappedbyzabka]

[labyrinth-runner]

“We can share the bed. If that’s not weird” ~ Obidala if you’re alright with it! Thank you!!

I was a little inspired by Mulan for this?

Title:  Oh, Captain, My Captain.

Padmé looked up at her handmaiden, a smile on her face at how light it felt without the usual caked-on makeup. She looked into the face of Sabé, her mirror. 

Sabé’s brow furrowed in concern, “We are not sure that you should do this.”

Padmé bowed slightly, picking up a helmet to tuck under her arm. “We are brave, your highness.”

“It is not your bravery that we doubt,” Sabé said in a soft voice as she gently placed a hand on Padmé’s shoulder. 

“So it is our army that you doubt?” Padmé asked, a brow raised and a slight smirk on her lips.

Sabé shook her head, “We shall not dissuade you.”

Padmé nodded and settled her helmet on her head. Then, she snuck into the ranks of troops in front of her majesty’s dais, waiting for her to address the crowd. She watched as Sabé snuck back to the stairs and made her grand entrance.

“We have faith in our forces, and we know that you shall do well to protect us,” Sabé said in the queen’s slight monotone. “We look forward to seeing you all come home in victory soon.”

The troops all cheered. Padmé looked around and joined in, a rush of excitement going through her. This is where the fun begins.

The battles dragged on, and Padmé soon found herself becoming close with her fellow soldiers. She was always careful about undressing so that they wouldn’t discover her true identity. In fact, only a precious few had seen her without her helmet on. One of them was her tent mate, Major General Kenobi. She had quickly risen in the ranks, having shown her battle strategy and earning her place as his aide-de-camp.

“Naberrie, can you get me my-” he trailed off as she placed a cup of tea in front of him. He looked up from his reading, “Ah, yes, thank you. And my-”

Padmé placed an apple on his table.

He frowned, “I was hoping for a biscuit.”

“You need to be healthier. Can’t have you falling down in battle before you’re due,” Padmé teased.

Obi-Wan fixed her with an intense look before smiling, crinkles forming at the corner of his eyes.  “You’re too good to me,” he chuckled as he picked up the apple and the cutting knife next to it. He wagged the knife at her slightly, a weird look of sadness in his eyes, “I’m sure you’ll make some woman very happy someday.”

Padmé blushed slightly at his words. “I just want to make sure you’re ready for the battle tomorrow, General. I would hate for you to rendezvous with General Jinn when you’re not at your best.”

“I thought I was always at my best, Captain,” he winked.

“Or so you would like to think,” she shot back.

He blushed slightly and looked down at his teacup. “You’re dismissed for the night, Captain Naberrie.”

“Are you sure, Sir?”

He nodded, “Get some sleep. If I am to be at my best, then I need my aide-de-camp to be at his best in order to make me look even better.”

Padmé saluted him before giving him a shake of her head. “Good night, General.”

“Good night, Captain.”

Padmé removed herself to her side of their tent. With great care to her uniform, she slowly took off the cumbersome pieces until her ensemble was comfortable enough to sleep in. As always, she pulled her hair into a tight, low ponytail as was fashion amongst the ranks. She slipped into her cot for the night and let exhaustion take over her.

Obi-Wan stayed up into the late hours of the night until his candle started to die down. When the wax started to spill onto his table, he decided to go to bed. As he passed by his Captain’s cot, he had a weird look in his eyes as he noticed how his Captain’s hair haloed his face in tendrils. He looked so peaceful when he slept. Obi-Wan caught himself staring and blinked, shaking his head before going back about his business.

Padmé stirred slightly when she heard the General’s cot creak under his settling weight. 

The next day, the General’s troops packed up camp and prepared to meet with General Jinn. Padmé rode on her horse next to General Kenobi until they met with them at the top of a battlefield.

Destruction stretched in front of them. She swallowed at the loss of life.

“Ah, General Kenobi,” General Jinn smiled, “It’s about time you showed up.”

General Kenobi shared a smile, “It’s good to see you, too.” His gaze took over the battlefield. “We are losing.”

“You’ve come in the nick of time with my reinforcements,” Jinn commented. “We’ll push forward with the siege.”

“With all due respect, General, but if that is what we have been doing, then perhaps we should change the strategy,” Padmé commented as she surveyed the field.

“And who are you?” Jinn asked.

“Captain Naberrie,” Obi-Wan introduced, “My aide-de-camp. He has quite the head for battle.”

Qui-Gon appraised her, and Padmé could have sworn she saw a glint of intrigue in his eyes. “I’m sure he does. What do you think, Captain?”

Padmé swallowed as she turned back to him from the field. “I think we should separate the troops into two groups and outflank them by going through the forest. Their colors would stand out, but we would blend in.”

“A veritable strategy,” Qui-Gon commented. “I see why he keeps you around. I’ll inform the men to retreat so that we may regroup and follow your strategy, Captain Amidala.”

Padmé bristled, but Obi-Wan hadn’t noticed the slip up.

“I think you’ve impressed him,” Obi-Wan commented when they were alone. “That’s no easy feat.”

Padmé smiled at him as she tugged on her horse’s reins, “And you knew him from before.”

“He was my professor at the academy,” Obi-Wan explained before nudging his horse back to the rest of his men. 

The battle was fierce and long, but the amount of men lost was minimal in comparison to the previous strategy. Although, the wounded were many. When Obi-Wan breached the enemy lines and sent them into a retreat, he turned triumphant towards his aide-de-camp to find that they were not there. He turned, eyes frantic to find that Captain Naberrie was on the ground meters behind him, having been thrown from their horse after being shot. Quickly, he dismounted and went to his Captain’s side.

“Stay with me, Naberrie,” he murmured as he knelt down. With all the care in the world, he scooped Padmé up and took her back to base to be seen by a medical professional. 

Soon enough, he was pacing outside the tent as a professional tended his Captain’s wounds.

Qui-Gon dismounted outside the tent, “Are you trying to wear a path into the ground?”

Obi-Wan paused and saluted, “General.”

“At ease. What happened?”

“The Captain was shot at and thrown from his horse,” Obi-Wan informed him, worry apparent on his face.

Qui-Gon frowned, “If she’s wounded, you’ll have to take her home. The battlefield is no place for a lady.”

“She?” Obi-Wan said incredulously.

Qui-Gon looked at him with a smirk, “You’ve shared a tent with her majesty and didn’t recognize her this entire time?”

“You’re telling me that Captain Naberrie is....” Obi-Wan trailed off. “Oh heavens, she’s been serving me when I should have been serving her!”

Padmé chose that moment to get out of her cot and throw open the flap, wincing at the movement, “I can assure you, General, you serve me well enough with your military campaign.”

“Your highness,” Obi-Wan said as he bowed.

Padmé tilted his face up to see hers. Softly, she murmured, “At ease, General.”

Obi-Wan locked eyes with her and swallowed the lump in his throat before straightening. “As you wish.”

“Obi-Wan, I’m giving you new orders to escort the Queen back to the palace,” Qui-Gon said, interrupting their moment.

“Absolutely not,” Padmé protested, “I’m needed here.”

“Your majesty, you are not safe here. We must get you home,” Qui-Gon replied with only a touch of exasperation, “What will your people do if you perish? Sabé cannot take over forever.”

Padmé opened her mouth and then promptly shut it before going back into the tent to sit. She couldn’t leave Sabé in charge. Sabé hated politics. Padmé sighed, “I’ve already left her in charge long enough, haven’t I?”

Obi-Wan smirked, “Long enough to make Captain.”

She smirked at him, “I had an inspiring General.”

“The palace is about two day’s ride to the south if you don’t stop,” Qui-Gon informed them. “You are to leave immediately before the enemy catches wind that the Queen is even here. You’ll take the messenger’s horse. It’s the fastest.”

“What will the messenger use?” Padmé asked.

Qui-Gon smirked, “He’s got feet, hasn’t he?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, “You’re horrible.”

“That’s ‘you’re horrible, General’ to you,” Qui-Gon winked, “Now get out of here.”

In an instant, Obi-Wan scooped Padmé up in his arms and carried her towards the corrals. 

“I can walk,” Padmé murmured.

“You took a nasty tumble earlier,” Obi-Wan replied.

“Obi-Wan, you know I’m capable,” she replied in frustration. “Treat me as you always have.”

Obi-Wan looked down at her, “Your majesty, it’s hard to just go back to that.”

“Why?” She asked as he placed her in the saddle and swung up behind her.

“Because of who you are and the type of person that I am,” he replied before setting the horse into a run.

Padmé sighed as she leaned into him and settled into the trip. A silence settled around them.

General Kenobi looked down at the woman in his arms. He was nervous, but most of all, he was confused. He’d always though his Captain was a handsome man, but now faced with the truth that she was a beautiful woman, he was left reeling. He considered him, nay, her to be his best friend on that field. She was brilliant in a way that most couldn’t even come close to touching. He didn’t know what he was to do without her. She kept his life in order and held him together in more ways than he dared to admit. Now, he was faced with the issue of returning her home. He felt awful for not waiting on her instead of the other way around. Most of all, he felt foolish that he hadn’t realized it sooner, and hurt that she hadn’t told him.

“You’re quiet,” she ventured finally, “it’s unlike you.”

“Is it?” he asked softly. “Perhaps we both don’t know each other quite as well as we thought.”

Padmé stiffened in his hold before turning to look at him over her shoulder. “General, that’s a lie and you know it.”

“Do I?” he asked, a slight edge to his voice. “Because everything that I thought I knew, I apparently did not.”

“Obi-Wan, I never lied to you,” she replied adamantly.

“You lied about being a man!”

“You never asked,” she shot back.

“And your name.”

“Naberrie is my maiden name,” she replied.

“Oh.”

They walked on in silence for a few strides before Padmé sighed.

“I am sorry,” she murmured.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he replied. “I understand why you would go to such lengths. It’s actually admirable that you care so much about your people as to risk your own life to ensure theirs.”

A quiet understanding enveloped them, then. The knowing that although it may have been started under false pretenses and conclusions, their friendship was still real. It was still valid. They had still been through a war at each other’s side, and nothing would change that.

The rhythmic pitter patter of rain on the forest canopy above could be heard. It started gradually before growing in strength to the point where they were shouting to be heard above the din.

“We should stop for the night!” Obi-Wan yelled as thunder clapped above them. He had taken his cape and held it over their heads to try and protect them from the downpour. “If we go on like this, we’ll get ill!”

“We’ll stop at the next in!” Padmé yelled back. 

Obi-Wan pulled up to the next inn they came across, holding the door open for her once they arrived. 

“There’s only one room left,” the innkeeper said as he slid the key over. He gave Padmé an odd glance at her choice in outfit and she looked down to find she was still in her uniform. 

“I ran out of clothes,” she explained quickly.

His eyes narrowed, but he nodded, satisfied with her answer. “Third door on the right.”

Padmé gave him a gracious nod and started down the hall with Obi-Wan. When they reached the room, she started up the fireplace out of habit.

“You should let me,” Obi-Wan said as he took the prod from her.

“If you wish, General,” she sighed before she started to peel off her layers as they clung to her skin.

“Y-your majesty?” Obi-Wan stammered.

“Obi-Wan, our clothes are soaked. If we don’t let the majority of them dry then we won’t have anything to wear,” she replied as she draped her clothes over the back of the chair until she was just in her undershirt and underwear.  “You, too, General. I won’t have you getting sick on my account.”

Obi-Wan sighed, “That’s not proper.”

Padmé rolled her eyes and moved to undress him. “I will not have my friend catch his death due to modesty.”

He looked down, watching as her nimble fingers unbuttoned and peeled off his jacket. He stopped her when she went towards his pants. “I can handle that,” he murmured, unbuttoning and sliding them down until they matched in states of undress.

Together, they sat on the couch, trying to dry the clothes they were still wearing by the warmth of the fire. Obi-Wan draped his arm around the back of the couch. Padmé leaned into his side for his body heat, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked softly.

“Would you have let me stay?” she asked seriously.

“Maybe,” he sighed, “I already don’t know what I’ll do without you, if I’m being honest.”

“I’ve become that important to you?” she asked, tilting up to look at him.

He looked down at her with a small smile, “You’re indispensable.”

Padmé felt her cheeks heat up from his words and not the fire, turning away from the intensity of his gaze. Reaching up, she touched her shirt to find that it had dried. “We should get some rest,” she murmured.

“I’ll take the couch if you want. Or we could share the bed if that’s not odd,” Obi-Wan murmured.

“Why would it be odd? We’ve shared both bed and tent before,” she replied as she got up to cross the room.

“Yes, but that was different. It was before...”

“Before, what, you knew who I was?”

“Well, quite frankly, yes,” he replied.

“Does that knowledge really change so much between us?” she asked in exasperation as she threw back the covers and got into bed.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan replied seriously as he gently got into his side of the bed.

“Why?” She asked, turning to face him in bed.

“It makes my attraction to you less awkward,” he admitted.

Padmé blushed, “Attraction?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan murmured as he gently took her hair out of the low ponytail she had it in. He cupped her cheek with his hand before tucking hair behind her ear.

Padmé looked up at his eyes that were so intensely focused on her lips, “I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t mutual.”

“Oh?” he asked in amusement.

“You’re capable, charming, and handsome, General. What’s not to like?”

“Please, your majesty. Call me Obi,” he murmured.

“And you may call me Padmé. You’ve more than earned the right, Obi,” she murmured as she felt his arm wrap around her. She slowly drew nearer. As her nose bumped his, she let herself melt into him as their lips connected. She closed her eyes to heighten her other senses, feeling his lips move firmly against hers as his hands slipped into her hair. She kissed back harder and harder. Their motions became desperate until she pulled back for air.

Obi-Wan took stock of how flushed her cheeks looked and how rosy her lips were from the kiss. He had kissed his Queen. His eyes widened slightly with the realization.

Padmé opened her eyes to her General. He had kissed her, and she had kissed him. Most of all, she’d liked it. He looked at her so intently. It was a way that made her feel seen. She hoped he’d always see her. The thought thudded in her chest: Did she love her General? Her eyes widened in the realization as she swallowed a lump in her throat and immediately turned over in bed.

“Good night, General.”

“Good night, your majesty,” Obi-Wan sighed, running a hand down his face as he faced the other direction.

[maxskulline]

Freshly brewed coffee steams in a cup that’s shaped like the bulbous form of a Petilil. The hands wrapped around it are speckled in cuts and freckles alike, because farm work is never easy and because she spends more time in the sun these days than she’s used to. Max found out that she isn’t too prone to sunburn, and that that’s a good thing when you work in one of Alola’s dryest, hottest areas. Instead, her skin turned into a soft tan and her freckles stand out more than ever. It looks pretty - anyone would say so. Those who were once bold enough to trace the constellations on her skin always said how much they love that she’s star kissed. But beauty isn’t anything she pays much attention to these days. Why should she? On a usual day, Max works herself to the limit and then some, pushes past the possible because she dreams less when she’s exhausted. Dreams are unpleasant, unwelcomed, repetetive and she’s so tired of seeing it all happening over and over again. Of seeing him. 

The him she knew last, his wickedness forever imprinted into her memory, is more bearable. She can deal with the hatred she feels for this person. It’s the dreams of their time before - before all of this - the dreams of a family she has loved and lost -  those are the ones driving Max to a fitful, tear-stained awakening. Sometimes, she scrambles to the bathroom just in time to purge herself. As if she could throw up the shards he has left of her, cutting her apart from the inside. It is for this reason Max eventually decided to sleep in her own room, and protect Rosie from the mess she has turned into. She had to promise Rosie that she’ll take a bedroom next door, and that she’d always be there when Rosie needed her. But this is a battle she prefers to fight alone. 

On some days, Max doesn’t respond much when someone attempts conversation. These are the bad days. The days when she can only make it by because she’s had nothing for breakfast but a good handful of Valium. If asked, Max will blame it on bad sleep - it’s not technically a lie. Although, in hindsight, no one cares how dissociated she feels as long as she’s earning her keep on the farm, and intrusive answers are never demanded by anyone. In return she doesn’t care if she can’t remember the rest of the day because all that matters is to make it by somehow and save up enough Pokédollars to leave this godforsaken island. 

Today’s one of those less than okay days. The cup’s been sitting in front of her nose for a good half hour and turned luke-warm, voices and colours are whirring around the pink haired girl who sits two chairs apart from another youth at the table, a television is running distantly in the background. It’s all there and not there at the same time. To the outside eye, Max may look like a girl who isn’t an early riser and who needs her first cup of coffee to be talkative. They wouldn’t guess that she hasn’t slept to begin with lest they take a closer look at her face and notice the dark circles lining her eyes. 

Her fingers begin to trace the texture of the oak wood table over and over again, although she hardly acknowledges the sensation, while she musters enough clarity to wonder where Rosie went. There’s a young man named Rocky she’s getting along with well, very much to her surprise. Rocky’s been - he’s been good to them. Especially to Rosie. Patient, attentive, funny, the kinda guy with such a warmth in his smile that he could melt away glaciers. He’s handsome, too. If Max cared about such shallow nonsesense nowadays. Still, for all the fucks she’s lost to give, she definitely cares about Rosie, and Rosie’s smiling a little more around him. It is the sole reason why Max can let herself relax a little whenever her best friend is spending time with him, indulge in self-pity without pretending she’s anything but heartbroken. 

The coffee’s gone pretty cold now. Doors open and shut close again, until she’s left in the room with three middle-aged farm workers. No one had shut off the TV. Max feels like she’s only now waking up, slowly blinking and shifting on her seat until her whereabouts make sense again. When the large grandfather clock tells her it’s almost time for her shift, Max lifts the cup at last and empties it in two large sips. Ugh - unsugared, cold coffee’s pretty much the worst and almost makes her wanna spit it out again, but it does as good a job of snapping her back as a smack to her cheek would. She cringes into herself and reaches out to pluck a grape from the fruit bowl as a means to wash away the bitterness. 

Her hand stops and falls flat when someone turns up the TV, loud enough to make her feel like she’s being once again pulled under water where she cannot breathe. 

‘.......... as of this morning, we can confirm that the President of the Aether Foundation was found and is now receiving medical care.’

Max moves on auto-pilot. Her legs don’t even feel like her own when she gets up and joins the others by the TV, fingers curled inwards so tightly that her nails leave crescent dents. Everything she hears and sees, Max watches from somewhere else - she’s no longer the owner of her body, but rather an observer. And yet - yet she feels more alert than she has had for the past couple of weeks. “What’s going on?”, she hears herself ask, unable to tear her eyes away from the screen. Next to the reporter plays a scene most likely recorded by phone, a shaky recording trying to focus on a bright tear in the sky. ‘It shouldn’t be there’ is the first thing Max thinks when she sees the wormhole - she’s never seen one in person before, made it out before she ever could. But looking at it feels unnatural and wrong because she knows the sinister fabrications behind it. All those experiments on the poor Pokémon..... no, this thing shouldn’t exist. 

“Dunno, they said it’s been there for hours before someone dropped out of it. Closed up right after. Apparently it spat out the missing Aether Foundation president.” 

And there she is. A fallen angel, exiled from what she had deemed her own paradise - a fitting and deserved ending to the nightmare she had played such a great part to create. She can’t find an ounce of sympathy within her, and why should she? This woman - she may look like a fallen angel now, but she certainly helped to crown Max as the queen of nothing - and she deserves everything she’s got coming for her. But not even the thought of a fitting punishment can satisfy Max now because something else’s catching her attention. 

It’s easy to miss, really. Just a black shadow falling through the sky when the camera zooms in. Max may have been the only one who saw it happening - a man dropping from the wormhole mere seconds after the President - a someone not even the news care to name. If Max thought she had lost her ground before, now it is swallowing her up whole. There’s little room to breathe down here, in the depths of everything she suppressed until now - the uncertainity and the fear and the deeply rooted knowing she wouldn’t let herself dwell upon because it hurts too much. She was right all along. She was right to think he’d do it. Max whimpers but doesn’t feel the solid pull on her arm, dragging her away from the television. A strong, kind hand - Rocky’s hand.

He and Lusamine are the only people who fell from the wormhole. There was no one else. None. He’s left them all behind. Max can feel her mind reeling, the world around her spinning. There’s a ringing in her ears, but every sound is dull, as if spoken through cotton wool. Max is pliant when Rocky maneuvers her out of the house and Rosie grabs her hand, speaking to her, telling her friend to breathe.

There was no one else. 

Traitor.

Guzma had called her a traitor for turning her back on him and his grandior plans. What had happened to her friends? Where are they? Did - did he leave them in his so called paradise? No.. No, that’s not it. She knows that’s not what had happened at all. Her vision blurs when something inside her fractures at the truth she had known all along. Now she’s clinging to Rosie, though she doesn’t remember when her hands found Rosie’s upper arms. She may be squeezing too tightly because Rosie flinches, but she doesn’t push Max away when her body cracks and she starts sobbing. 

He didn’t take them with him to begin with. Because there never was any room for anyone else, not even for Max.

She can’t turn away from the last time she saw him; it plays like a broken record, over and over and over again. How could she have believed that their ending may have swayed something inside of Guzma? She remembers him on his knees before her, rain-soaked, defeated, insane. She remembers the look in his eyes when she left him for good. She remembers that he wasn’t alone - he was surrounded by the people who adored and admired him through every challenge, who were there to catch his fall from grace and who could have made a change for him - but instead, he chose to follow her. Every last bit of hope she had left for him died today. She hates herself for having hoped to begin with - such a stupid and human thing to do. Guzma cannot be saved from his greed for everything that’s bigger and better than him. It is a disease and it’s infested him too deeply. He cannot see the good that he already has - that’s why, in the end, he couldn’t see her. Max doubts he ever will learn to know what he has. It isn’t her problem anymore.

Half an hour passes in the blink of an eye, but eventually, her breathing slows down and the tears dry fast under Alola’s brightest sun. A pair of brown eyes stare with concern, but there’s pain in them, too. Max wishes she could take it away - but she can’t even take her own pain away. What good is she, really? 

She really is the queen of nothing.

“Sorry about that”, she croaks out and clears her throat twice. Fumbles in the pocket of her pants for a half-empty pack of cigarettes and can’t even light it because her fingers shake so much. Kudos to Rocky for nicking the lighter and doing the job for her.

“Rosie.” 

Another problem comes with the fact that Guzma’s back in the picture. Not that she expects him to look for her, but you never know - might wanna take his sweet revenge for ruining his image in front of the Prez. She’ll need to make herself invisible and unknown to him, or to anyone who may recognize her as his..... 

Whatever. 

The first cigarette’s burned down within seconds. She can light the next one herself, ignoring the concern written all over Rosie’s and Rocky’s faces because Max is acting like this break down didn’t even happen. “I need your help with something, okay? If he’s back out there, I need to make sure he’ll never find me.”

Because Arceus knows how long they’ll have to work for an escape from Alola.

“I need you to cut my hair.” 

[author-morgan]

Kryptic ↟ Deimos

eighteen - value of a moment

masterlist

But the great leveler, Death: not even the gods can defend a man, not even one they love, that day when fate takes hold and lays him out at last.

Death submits to no one, not even Dread and Destruction.

They are both weapons of flesh and bone, of warm blood and beating hearts, and they cannot be controlled.

THE EAGLE BEARER sits tall astride a chestnut steed named Phobos. Lesya has procured her own silver mare from Argos and decides to name her after the moon goddess —Selene. The road to the Land of Beautiful Corruption is one the former champion has traveled before, though Deimos had been at her side then. “Have you ever been to Korinth?” She asks, sparing a glance at the misthios. 

Kassandra shakes her head —up until meeting Barnabas she had not left the shores of Kephallonia since washing up on the shore. “I haven’t. You?” She counters. 

Lesya grimaces but does not lie. “A few times,” she answers. It always ended in bloodshed —raiding the Akrokorinth fort, pulling the strings of the Monger’s puppets, sabotaging the Spartan supply line, and Athenian camps. Deimos and Enyo had shed enough blood in Korinthia to paint the steps of the great Temple of Aphrodite red. 

“What did you do in Argos?” Kassandra is curious about what happened, especially as Ikaros was more distrustful of her now than ever. Lesya tosses a bloodstained letter to her and watches the confusion spread over her countenance. Midas. Agamemnon. Kosmos. A clue that had led Lesya straight to another Cultist. “How did you find this?” It does not matter though, not really, Midas is slain and the Cult’s efforts to resurrect Agamemnon has failed. 

She swallows the lump growing in her throat and glances ahead, finding where the flagstone road leading from Argos ends. “Deimos gave me that letter,” Lesya tells her, avoiding looking anywhere else but the road. Somehow, he had known her path would lead her to Argos and Midas. Sparing a glance, Lesya can see Kassandra’s confusion has not ebbed. She recalls the tales Chrysis told them as children, lies they so vehemently believed —about peace and order, about a true king, about Kosmos and his servants. “Kosmos is the Cult’s ideal of peace and order,” she begins. “They believe Agamemnon was the first servant and sought to return him to this world to lead Hellas into a new age.”

The explanation leaves Kassandra with more questions than answers, but she does not dwell on the mythos of the Cult. “Why would Deimos give you this?” Kassandra asks, holding up the scroll. She has only faced her brother once on Andros and he had been committed to serving the Cult’s will —even at the cost of destroying family. 

Kass watches as Lesya’s jaw clenches. She has seen the scars on the disgraced champion's trunk and has heard whispers of the stories behind them from Barnabas. The Cult is cruel —she imagines it is not such a different story for Deimos. “There’s only so many times you can kick a dog before he snaps,” Lesya responds, her voice tinged with bitter hatred. Squeezing the sides of her mount, Lesya rides ahead of the misthios. Kassandra lets her be. 

WATER SLOSHES OUT of stone tub and onto the smooth floor. A trail of bloody armor and stained clothing starts in the villa courtyard and ends at just shy of the growing puddle of water. Enyo runs her finger’s through Deimos’ beard —dark and thick. She still finds it strange to see him with one. They have been on an assignment in Makedonia for over a moon and scarcely had time to bathe, let alone groom. “You don’t like it,” he surmises, lips kinking into a smile —he’s not particularly fond of it either. 

“I could get used to it,” she counters. Deimos reaches over to the small table, pushing aside an assortment of sweet-smelling oils in stone vials and picks up a curved copper razor. He settles against the side of the tub, stretching out his legs —thighs and calves corded with muscle— and tilts his head back. Enyo takes the razor from his hand and moves forward, straddling his waist. She is far more patient than him and if her steady hand works the blade he is less likely to come away with nicks and cuts. 

Pulling the skin of his neck taut, Enyo moves the razor up in short, quick strokes. His eyes slip shut and his hands busy themselves following the gouged scars on Enyo’s back. A lullaby plays in her mind, one she remembers from childhood —her mother used to sing it. Now though, Enyo hums the same broken tune, never breaking concentration. And for a moment, it’s difficult to think this is the same woman who could cleave a man in two, who relishes in bloodshed and the cries of her enemies. 

Sitting back up, he stares at her —unabashedly— trying to memorize everything. The curve of his lips, the pattern of freckles on her cheeks, how her brow furrows when she focuses on a task. Deimos knows they walk along a path narrower than a knife’s edge, teetering between life and death. Enyo has come close to death twice, each time he has found her in a pool of blood —terrified at the thought of losing her. Lost in thought, he does not notice she has set aside the razor until he feels the soft-tingling of lemon balm. Tawny-gold eyes slip shut when her fingertips brush over his smooth neck and jaw again —opening only when he feels the soft caress of her lips against his. 

Deimos wakes on the deck of the ship in a cold sweat —heart pounding. Sitting up, he wipes the sweat from his brow then runs his hands over his face, pausing at the coarse stubble on his jaw. Pushing aside the memory, he rises and moves to the bow of the war galley. The horizon is still dark, as is the churning sea. A flash of lightning erupts in the clouds, illuminating the faint outline of land in the distance. Before morning, he will be back in Phokis —waiting to do the Cult’s bidding once more. 

AT SUNDOWN, LESYA and Kassandra veer off the road and into the forest. Thieves and renegades often patrol the roads during the night. Besides, if they leave at sunrise Korinth will be on the horizon before midday and neither of them has slept in two days. The Eagle Bearer stares into the flames but her gaze soon moves up to Lesya —she is fletching arrows as a distraction. Kassandra bites down on her bottom lip again, albeit the question on her tongue still slips out. “What is my brother like?”

The question hammers a stake through Lesya’s chest —she drives the last arrow into the ground and studies the lines of her palm. “Deimos is not your brother,” she tells Kassandra. Deimos is a weapon, a demigod, a lie, just as Enyo had been. Even Lesya knows deep down that Deimos is beyond saving, but Alexios is not. Alexios, for a moment she is lost to distant memories, tender touches, and soft kisses, Alexios is a good man. 

“I will save him from the Cult,” the Eagle Bearer states —she will see her family reunited, no matter the cost. 

A melancholy smile pulls at Lesya’s lips —she will save Alexios, not Deimos. Kassandra’s question remains unanswered. Drawing in a slow breath, Lesya struggles to find winds. “He’s angry and erratic. Proud and stubborn,” she remarks. Those traits were not unique to Deimos, but few harbored them the same way as him. The misthios finds herself fighting back a small smile —she can hear the affection in Lesya’s voice when she speaks of Deimos. 

“He has the capacity for kindness, though. We looked after one another for years.” She thinks of the times he tended to her wounds —even if they were minor. He had always been gentle, careful, and attentive. When she closes her eyes, Lesya can still feel the soft caress of his hand against her cheek and the tingle of his lips brushing against hers —I miss him. “He was all I had,” her voice cracks. “I dread to think of what the Cult has done to him.” The few times they have been together had yet to feel like the right time to ask what happened after she left. 

Ikaros glides from the night sky, perching on a felled branch near Kassandra —preening his feathers. The Eagle Bearer frowns, brows furrowed. Lesya answers the question forming on her tongue before she can speak. “They thought I made him weak–” she laughs, they had always been stronger together. Apart from each other Deimos and Enyo were deadly, but together they could topple nations. “Elpenor warned Deimos of their plan to kill me and he helped me escape.” The memory of fleeing that night is still fresh in her mind even if nigh three years have passed.

Kassandra says nothing, though she wears a deeply troubled expression. Lesya stokes the fire back into flames and places several more pieces of wood on the embers. Since Kass had spoken her intentions of traveling to Korinth to speak to Anthousa, Lesya has not been able to shake the feeling in her gut that they are walking into an intricately laid trap. The hetaerae may have the love of the people, but it is the Cult who controls the city. “The Monger controls Korinth,” she says —a warning. “We have to be careful.” She has seen and felt the Monger’s wrath before. 

“Why?” The misthios counters. The Monger —Deimos— all the Cult will fall in time. She does not understand what makes the Monger so special to warrant fear from the former champion. 

Tugging the belt on her waist aside, Lesya pulls up the hem of her chiton revealing a discolored and disfigured patch of skin at her hip. A brand. Bound and gagged, the Monger had pressed the poker into her hip, forcing Deimos to watch as the scent of burning flesh filled the air. A target had slipped under their noses in a night raid and such a failure had to be penalized. 

Kassandra’s face twists into anger. “Deimos bears the marks of his iron too,” Lesya breathes, knowing the brands he endured at the Monger's hand had been to spare her from pain. He had taken the punishments without flinching or crying out and never complained. I’d do it over again Deimos told her one night while small waves broke on the shoreline, brushing against their legs. 

@wallsarecrumbling @jaegers-and-kaijus @novastale 

[ohvalleyofplentyyy]

Frozen in Time

one-shot | master list

A/N: Hope y’all like it :) my requests are open btw if yall want me to write anything for you.

She stood at the edge of the stone balcony, overlooking the vast forest below here. 

Small streams of smoke rose in the distance from the neighboring town, close enough to see but too far to reach. It was ironic really, all those capable bodies to come free her yet not one dare challenge the witch who kept her captive.

She’s there for a reason, they said.

It must be her destiny, they whispered.

She propped her head up on hands, both elbows balancing on the cold stone that crumbled beneath the very touch. “Maybe it will one day cave in and I’ll fall.” She mumbled to herself.

It was lonely in the castle, the girl hadn’t spoken to anyone since she was seven years old. She often wandered the hallways, speaking to the portraits that weren’t torn in half or eaten away by moths.

She gazed out into the horizon from the only place she could watch freedom pass her by. The witch had cast a spell onto the windows of the castle, blacking them out and making them unbreakable. Sure, there were small windows in various parts to light the rooms and hallways, but this balcony in the tower was the only spot she could feel the wind on her face or see the trees sway below her. Their tallest branches just out of her reach.

Too far to climb down and escape from either…

The girl sighed and got up, her dress protesting as it was too small for her now. The sleeves that used to cover her wrists came to her elbows now and the once floor-length dress now mid-length. It was a faded pink, and the bodice had little bows and embroidered roses along the collar. 

Sometimes she would run her fingers across them and try to remember the people that must have loved her so much to add these details into a little girl’s dress.

As she walked through the hallway, light streaming in from above through tiny planes of glass, each a different symbol, she traced her fingertips on the wall, dipping into each grove and cut in the rock. The first day she was here, the girl had run through the whole castle looking for a secret passageway out, and she never found one.

The girl never ate or drank which was surprising, but she never felt hungry or the need to quench her thirst. Her lips were never chapped and she was always as clean as a person could have been in a magical prison.

She often wondered if the witch that had enchanted the castle, then maybe she had enchanted her as well.

To be a porcelain doll in a glass cabinet, forever, in the house of eternity.

The young captive didn’t know how long she had been here, time seemed to mess with her. Some mornings she would look out the balcony and the trees were a lovely orange, a day would go by and they were baren of leaves and had a small coat of snow covering them.

It couldn’t be the seasons, she thought. Those happen so slowly and this seems to happen in a mere week. Also as peculiar as that, the young maiden swore she sometimes saw for a moment people standing beneath the castle looking up at her.

It must be my imagination…

On one particular night, a strange noise woke her. The girl immediately sat up in bed, and low and behold, an arrow with a note attached to it was embedded into the post of the bed frame.

She snatched the note, full of adrenaline and hope.

It read,

 I cannot free you from outside, you must do it on the inside of the castle. Mark these symbols in the place the outside world can come into the castle. Trace in blood.

The girl ripped the sheets off her and raced to the wooden desk across the room, she opened the bottom drawer and pulled the fake base of it up, revealing a small dagger. She took it out and held it in her hand with the note in the other.

Where does the outside come in?

As she wondered, a gentle breeze passed into the room and she quipped her head to the balcony.

Of course!

In the shine of the moonlight, she put the note in the center of the ground before her and with the dagger, cut a small line across her lower calf. When the blood pooled enough, she dipped her finger into it and drew the symbols in a half-circle like the balcony was shaped.

Then, the symbols started to glow a hazy green.

The girl darted up and grabbed the old cloak she had found in her first year from exploring the old rooms. She pulled out from underneath the bed a pair of old worn riding boots that once upon a time a girl must have used to ride horses here. They fit pretty well, and given that these were the only pair, they would have to do.

In one quick dash, she rounded up all the nick-necks she had collected over the years from the castle. A marble, a sparrows feather, her favorite book from the half-destroyed library the castle housed, the dagger, and a pendant.

She paused for a moment with the pendant.

It had been the only thing in her possession when she had been taken. It wasn’t much to go on, but there was a beautiful family crest that must mean something and could lead her home.

Home…

Her details of home were fuzzy, she didn’t know if it was the magic that effected her loss of memory or just time, but she didn’t have a solid notion of where she came from. Bits and pieces, like the warmth of fire against her skin, the laughter in a large room with music playing in the background, the sound of water being poured to a bathtub.

Shaking her head of the thoughts, she put the necklace around her neck, grabbed the note, and made her way to the front wooden doors which she hoped her opening at this very moment. She practice jumped down the spiraling staircase and bolted to the entryway.

But when she got there, nothing had changed.

The second she realized this, the girl dropped to the ground on her knees, shaking with a sob stuck in her throat. It was as if fate was playing a cruel joke on her. She took a breath and started walking back to her room, through the hallway of moonlight.

That's when she gasped.

The symbols in the glass panels all shine into a line on the stone floor, but they all looked incomplete in the moonlight somehow.

Every time she had come this way in the daytime, the sun had been at an angle that kept the shadows from falling into this position.

The only reason she hadn’t realized this sooner is that this hallway had always been too cold for her to want to come through at night and too painful to see the door that could have been her escape out.

The wooden doors had these beautiful bolts that always puzzled her the few times she had looked at them. They had no keyhole and seemed to be melted into the doors. After trying and failed to pry them off the doors, the girl had decided that trying something else may be more beneficial and with that, she never thought of them again.

She moved with quick haste to the first light marking and took the blood that was still condensing around the wound. The girl looked back and forth at the note and symbol, then connected the two where it seemed to need an extra piece.

They fit together perfectly.

The symbol started to glow green like before, but this time it changed and turned purple.

A lock popped on the door. Her eyes widened as she watched from the hallway as the top lock disintegrated.

She quickly got to work on all the others, sometimes having to rub away the blood and start again, but the end result always ended with a pop! and dust crumbling to the floor. On the last symbol she paused, this would be the moment she’d be free and to be quite honest, it scared her.

I haven’t been outside these walls for so long. How will I adapt to the world I only grew up watching from a window?

The girl looked down at the pendant and smiled.

Someone once loved me outside these walls, and if I can find that sort of love again, I’ll be fine.

With a shaky swallow, she traced the last symbol.

Instantly, the lock popped and then the doors started to glow a vibrant yellow from the seams and then dissipate. She walked over and pulled the handle.

It opened.

When she stepped out onto the soil, she couldn’t believe it.

Trees are so big.

The ground is so soft.

The young girl turned to look back at the castle and with one final glance, closed the door and stepped away from the entrance. The castle crumbled upon itself as she did that, and all that was left were ruins.

“Shh!”

Hm?

The girl turned to see where the noise came from and then remembered.

The note!

“Hello?” She called out, suddenly, the rustling came to an end and two men came out from behind a large tree. One, visibly shorter and with a bit more spunk in his step, had a vivacious blue tunic on and a lute strapped to his back. The other man was huge and remind her of the giants she read about in the fairytales she found in the library years ago. He had white hair that resembled moonlight and these extraordinary amber eyes that made her curious beyond measure. He was also holding a bow.

She walked toward them, “Are you the one that sent the message?” She asked, holding up the note. “Yes, took you quite a while to get it.” The gruff man said. She scrunched her eyebrows together, “What do you mean, this flew into my room only an hour ago.”

The what she presumed was a musician, came out from behind his rather beefy friend. “What do you mean an hour ago?! We sent that 2 and a half days ago into the castle.”

The young woman took a step back, “What…” The white-haired man’s eyes zeroed in on the pendant that had caught the moon’s rays with her movement.

Then his face drained of what little color was in it.

“Where did you get that?” He asked, pointed to her necklace.

“It’s my family crest I believe. Do you know the story of how I got here? A witch I believe kidnapped me and imprisoned me here, this was the only thing I had with me.”

The man then put his hand up to his forehead, “Fuck.” The bard, sensing his friend's concern, stepped forward. “What’s your name? I’m Jaskier, and he’s Geralt.”

The girl thought for a moment, “It’s um, Y/N I think.”

Geralt and Jaskier made eye contact with surprised looks on their faces. “What? What is it? Why does it matter?” “Because, Y/N, your kind— or family, died out over 667 years ago.”

“That’s not possible! I—, I—… I was going to find my family.”

Y/N crumbled to the ground, tears welling in her eyes.  “What am I suppose to do now?” She looked down at the ground. The two boys looked at each other, unsure of what to do.

“You could come with us.”

Her head shot up, “Huh?” Jaskier watched forward hesitantly and crouched to her level. “Well, it’s not the most conventional plan but after we get you caught up with the few last hundred years and maybe some clothes that fit, you’d be a good travel companion.” He turned back to Geralt, “What do you think?” “Her family line was known for their immortality and special abilities, it could be useful in the future.”

She stood up at the mention of her family, “You know my history?” He nodded, “It’s folklore, but in a pinch, yes. We can probably find some books on it, though they’ll be very rare.”

Y/N smiled and took Jaskier’s hand, pulling him up. “This isn’t what I was looking for, but I’m thinking it’s a good alternative. Thank you.”

The three started walking away from the castle crumble that some of the townsfolk may have heard so it would be best to not be in the area at the moment. “So you know you’re a fairytale too right?” Jaskier said as you stepped over a large branch. “I’m what?”

“Yeah, you’re the Princess of the Time Capsule Castle, people throughout history have come to take a glance of the castle in hopes of seeing the girl frozen in time. They say that during some days, you could see a girl looking out from the balcony frozen in a specific position on the stone ledge.”

She laughed, “Are you serious?” “Yeah, I used to hear stories about you when I was little.”

The girl smiled.

This wasn’t the love I was hoping to find, but I’m glad it’s the one I found.

master list

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tags: @stretchkingblog97​ @alienemilyyyy​ @angelic-kisses13​ @alwayshave-faith​ @holyhumorliteraturelight​ @emilyhuynhhh @holychic​ @katiejmac​  @jessevans​ @petalduck​ @clumsypinktiger​ @romancebibilophilia

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[riathenowheregirl]

Gold Dust Women: My Favorite Witchy Singers

Okay, before you burn me alive with “Where’s this certain artist?!” or “Why is this certain artist not here?!” or “Who even uses Tumblr these days?”, uhmmm me bish?? It’s my safe zone. Okay, the last question was a joke. 

Can I just say that the amazing women on this list are artists I listen to all the time. They’re my favorites, so chill (I’m open for suggestions tho). This is not Rolling Stone or Billboard magazine, it’s just ya girl’s good ol’ tumblr blog. Also, I’m not saying that all of them are literal w i t c h e s, it’s just that they portray the same aesthetic through their art and music. 

Alright, now that’s settled, let’s start.

1. STEVIE NICKS 

Do I even need to explain this? Stevie is undoubtedly the Etheral Queen of them all, the Pioneer, the O.G. Supreme whose lyrical soul and spellbinding voice echoes from the distant past to the inevitable future. Everything about her oozes with witchcraft and magic starting from her iconic top hat, to her millions of intricately made shawls, down to her platform boots. Only Stevie Nicks could pull off such Not-of-this-Era outfits and she has been doing it CONSISTENTLY. She’s in a timeline of her OWN. If you listen to her music, you would notice that every song of hers is poetry, like she’s telling a story or conjuring the unknown. She’s every witchy woman’s icon and that’s a fact.

Stevie is an untouchable yet gracious legend, we’ll always be a part of her sisterhood until the day of earth’s decay. Forever the Queen of Rock N’ Roll. 

Current Favorite Stevie Lyrics:  “ You can fly swinging from your trapeze, scaring all the people...but you'll never scare me.”  |   “Once in a million years a lady like her rises. Oh no, Rhiannon, you cry, but she's gone and your life knows no answer.”

Notice how I used the word “current”? Because it always changes depending on the state my life. Here’s a more detailed post on why I love her.   

2. KATE BUSH 

“Heathcliff, it's me, I'm Cathy, I've come home, I'm so cold! Let me in through your window!”

The eccentric beauty, Kate Bush made a genius, artistic move by writing a song about the book, Wuthering Heights, written by Emily Brontë in the 1800′s. Mind you, she was only 18 when she wrote and was the first song written by a female artist that landed on top the charts. Her voice is almost as distinctive as Stevie Nicks. While Stevie’s more nasal, commanding, wailing rock n’ roll goddess, Kate’s voice was high-pitched, alarming, ghostly, queer, and fairy-like. Everything about her is Performance Art. This is a woman who is not afraid to express herself.

For starters, you might think her music is strange and weird. Trust me, I felt the same way when I first heard her songs. But then, it began to grow on me leaving floral patterns on its path. 

Favorite Kate Bush Lyrics:  “Do you want to feel how it feels? Do you want to know that it doesn't hurt me? Do you want to hear about the deal that I'm making? You, it's you and me.”

3. FLORENCE WELCH 

This one is as obvious as Stevie Nicks. Florence Welch from the band, Florence + the Machine, is a poetess, a screaming banshee, and a full-pledged Sister of the Moon. She even started a witch coven during middle school. From her red carpet looks to her everyday outfits on Instagram, Florence vibrates powerful witch energy. Not to mention she has a song called “Which Witch” and that haunting music video for Big God with levitating women. Flo is not a woman to trifle with, I’ll tell you that. 

Photos courtesy of @lillieeiger

In all her songs, Florence will bind you with magic and it’ll leave you breathless. If Stevie’s songs are poetry, hers are spells you could sing out loud. Also, if you haven’t seen her house tour, go check it now! 

Favorite Florence Welch Lyrics: “'Cause I am done with my graceless heart so tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart.”  |  “And in a moment of joy and fury I threw myself in the balcony like my grandmother so many years before me.”

4. LANA DEL REY

Remember when Lana used witchcraft to hex Donald Trump? It was all over the news and Twitter went wild. She was later quoted saying, “I really do believe that words are one of the last forms of magic and I’m a bit of a mystic at heart.” Oh, and she also did a collab with Stevie. 

We. Stan. Forever.

There was even a time that I MEMORIZED the monologue in the music video for Ride. ALL OF IT, HUNNY. 

Lana’s hypnotizing vocals together with her sixties baby doll dresses and Priscilla Presley hair is enough to convince me that she’s not of this era. She has a deep understanding of the beauty of past generation and the looming sadness and nostalgia that comes with it. Whenever I listen to her music, I imagine myself as a rockstar’s muse who is involved with the mafia but then I decided to leave him while taking his gun and convertible. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Favorite Lana Del Rey Lyrics: “Well, my boyfriend's in the band. He plays guitar while I sing Lou Reed. I've got feathers in my hair, I get down to Beat poetry. And my jazz collection's rare, I can play most anything.”

5. LORDE 

David Bowie didn’t call her the “future of music” for nothing. Just two albums under her belt, Lorde already proved that she will one day become a legend herself. Her music narrates an unparalleled interpretation of the anguish and fleeting charm of our youth. She knows what we’re feeling because she’s been there herself and is on the road to healing just like us. 

I think the message she’s trying to say is that we’re constantly losing grip on our innocence, and that life is often wicked so we need to accept that, grit our teeth, get on with it, and make art. She can also see color when she hears music. 

In my opinion, Lorde is one of the greatest artists of my generation. 

Favorite Lorde Lyrics: “The truth is I am a toy that people enjoy till all of the tricks don't work anymore, and then they are bored of me.”  |   “That slow burn wait while it gets dark, bruising the sun, I feel grown up with you in your car. I know it's dumb.” 

6. FKA TWIGS

Honestly, FKA Twigs is literally art in living form, a celestial angel that nobody can easily decipher. This woman has more talent in her fingertips than I could ever have in a lifetime. She somehow reminds me of a young Kate Bush; fearless, experimental, with an intoxicating voice. She never stops reinventing herself and it’s beautiful.

In FKA Twigs’ world, there are no limits, just endless galaxies. She pours her whole being in all of her songs and it shows. She’s not for the faint of heart, let me tell you that. 

Favorite FKA Twigs Lyrics:  “And I don't want to have to share our love. I try but I get overwhelmed. All wrapped in cellophane, the feelings that we had.” 

7. SKOTT 

I say this all the time, but I cannot write without Skott’s music blasting on my earphones. She grew up in a “forest commune run by outcast folk musicians” and was not exposed to contemporary music until her teen years. You would notice it in her songs. 

It’s hard to explain why, but listen to Skott’s music when there’s thunder and rain outside, then you’ll know why this woman is witchy. I kind of want her to be more popular and known, but then again, I also want to keep her to myself. Scratch that, LISTEN TO SKOTT’S MUSIC NOW. 

Start with Glitter & Gloss. 

Favorite Skott Lyrics: “Like an empty canvas, hear me cry. Like a masterpiece, I'm in your eyes. Now your colors are in front of me, we're a picture-perfect oddity.”

8. FIRST AID KIT 

I fell in love with this sister duo when I first heard their song, Emmylou, while browsing YouTube. It’s one of those moments of instant magic. Klara and Johanna Söderberg are a coven of their own. I would describe their music as “Woodland Folk laced with runes and wild flowers”. 

Their voices compliment each other so much that it reminded me of Simon & Garfunkel (they even performed their own version of America in front of Paul Simon!!!). First Aid Kit has this Woodstock seventies vibe, and you know me, I live for that sh*t. 

Favorite First Aid Kit Lyrics: “ When I run through the deep dark forest long, after this begun, where the sun would set, the trees were dead and the rivers were none. And I hope for a trace to lead me back home from this place, but there was no sound there was only me, and my disgrace.”

9. ZOLA JESUS

Zola Jesus’ music deserves to be played with an orchestra inside an abandoned castle in Transylvania while it gently rains and you’re wearing a white nightgown as you roam its empty halls. Is that too much?

 Not at all. 

Like Skott, I listen to Zola whenever I’m having writer’s block. If I ever finish my book, I’m gonna have to thank them. 

Favorite Zola Jesus Lyrics: “I'm on my bed, my bed of stones, but in the end of the night we'll rest our bones, so don't you worry. Just rest your head cause in the end of the night we'll be together again.”

10. ZELLA DAY 

Photo Credits to Harper Smith

I LOVE ZELLA DAY’S MUSIC OH MY GOODNESS. My favorite songs of her are Sweet Ophelia, Hypnotic, Man on the Moon, and Hunnie Pie. ESPECIALLY HUNNIE PIE. I cry whenever I hear that song. It’s just so pure, calming, and beautiful. 

Her music belong in the psychedelic era. 

People labeled her as the “happier version of Lana Del Rey” but I think she’s in a league of her own. She deserves more recognition, honestly! 

Favorite Zella Day Lyrics: “The older we get there's an ocean of people in places we've chosen and you know how mama keeps saying “we've gotta stop the games we're playing””. 

Hope you guys approve of my list! I really like sharing stuff that I love! Feel free to message me for more suggestions, I’d really appreciate to know more witchy artists out there. We’re all in a huge coven of sisterhood. 

Thanks for reading!

Love, 

Ria  🌙

P.S.

Please follow my blog!!! THANK YOU  🔮

[eirist]

Little Bits and Pieces of Heaven

BOUTS OF JEALOUSY

One-shot #: 12

Disclaimer: One Piece (and its characters) belongs to Eiichiro Oda-sensei.

Reminder: I have no beta-reader. Any grammatical and spelling errors are solely mine.

Warning: OOC possible. One shot.

Rating: M (Not explicit but insinuations and wordings are)

Note: @zoronamiroronoa requested a jealous Zoro and a jealous Nami. I hope this will suffice for the long wait. I had real fun writing it so I hope you have fun reading it. This is by far the longest one-shot I’ve ever written. 

Summary: “Heh, got a taste of your own medicine?”

“Uhm, Zoro?”

Usopp settled on the wooden bench next to the green-haired swordsman. He took note of the rather piercing glare Zoro gave him before knocking back the tankard of beer he was holding.

“Are you alright?”

“Never been better,” Zoro answered, though a bit coldly for the sniper’s liking.

Usopp clamped his mouth shut as his eyes shifted towards the inn’s bar. Their navigator was sitting there surrounded by two attractive guys who were obviously hitting on her, laughing delightfully.

“Tch,” Sanji made a sound from across them. “You are so incompetent,” he remarked at the swordsman. He bit at his cigarette before taking a drag. “If I were her—”

“Shut up ero-cook,” Zoro snarled. “Her business is her business. She’s probably gonna rob those two for all we know.”

“Oh,” Robin murmured amusedly. “You may be right Zoro.” She lifted her lovely blue eyes from her book to gaze at the swordsman. “But then again, Nami IS quite beautiful,” she added and a ‘Hai, I agree Robin-chwan’ can be heard in the background. “She may also be enjoying their constant flattering of her very obvious assets.”  

Usopp felt the swordsman stiffened at that. “Way to go Robin,” he muttered under his breath. Trust the archeologist to manipulate her nakama for her own twisted entertainment. “But Zoro’s right. She’s probably taking advantage of those poor bastards as usual.”

“Yeah, probably,” Franky said in a doubtful tone. He had seen Nami trail a finger on one of the men’s jaw when he passed by the bar on his way to the Mugiwaras’ table. Thank heavens, Zoro had his back turned to them.

“Hmm… well those two are not bad looking,” Robin commented before taking a dainty sip on her coffee cup. “Would’ve been fun.”

“Robin-chwan?” Sanji almost choked when he realized the possible implication of her statement.

The older woman shrugged. “All I’m saying is that those two would be… pleasant drinking companions since they’re easy on the eyes.”

Franky laughed as he settled down beside the archeologist. “Right,” he said before gulping down his cola. Being older than most of their crewmates have its perks when it comes to deciphering double entendres.

“What Franky?” Robin glanced sideways at him… sharply.

There was something in her eyes and tone that made the cyborg shook his head and decided to change the subject. “Nothing. Where’s Mugiwara by the way?”

Usopp pointed towards the other end of the pub where a lot of noises were coming from. “Buffet battle. With Chopper and Brook.”

“Aww! That is super!”

Zoro, who was quiet all throughout the exchange, lifted a hand to signal one of the waitresses for another beer.

Usopp sighed. He gotta hand it to the swordsman. He admires the man’s tolerance with the cat burglar’s antics. Nami’s not above doing a good deal of flirting or using her womanly charms when it comes to getting what she wants.

Take their cook as a perfect example.

Though her tricks are not effective with the former bounty hunter. Nami cannot make Zoro succumb to her flirting or her seducing ways especially if he is aware that she’s trying to wheedle something out of him.

Sometimes Usopp thinks that Nami flirting with her ‘victims’ like crazy is somehow a sort of payback to Zoro being resistant.

Or it could also be a way to get the Supernova jealous.

Which is freaking scary knowing Zoro’s tendency to rampage without so much a thought to the consequences.

The long-nosed sniper sighed again and shifted his attention to the tankard in front of him. He’s overthinking things. Nami may just be getting chummy with her targets as usual and Zoro’s irritable countenance probably had nothing to do with that.

Which is purely bullshit. Even he doesn’t believe it.

“Hey! Why are they getting too close to Nami-san?” Sanji suddenly seethed. Everyone turned towards the bar and true enough the two men had shifted much closer to the orange-haired girl, almost sandwiching her between them. “If they so much touch a hair on her head—”

“Uh-oh,” Franky intoned. “Cannot keep their hands to themselves!” He said with a shake of his head. One of the pirates had reached out and started playing with a lock of Nami’s orange hair.

Sanji started spewing profanities and something about skewering.

“Yabe...” Usopp whispered nervously.

BANG!

Zoro suddenly slammed his tankard down on the table.

Everyone stopped talking at once and four pairs of eyes widened as he stood up and left without another word.

The rest of the Straw Hats raised their eyebrows at each other in astonishment.

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

Nami threw back her head and laughed at something the blond-haired guy on her left said. She made sure that she sounded so amused to make it appear like she was deeply interested with whatever they were telling her.

The navigator studied the two men discreetly. Both were tall, with excellent body structure and definitely attractive. From their looks, she could surmise that they are the kind who are suckers for pretty girls; those fascinated enough to fall for stories about their recent exploits and tussles.

She smiled sweetly when the blond winked at her. He was bragging about a recent island escapade where they managed to rip off a good deal of cash from some random pirate crew.

So that’s where the scent of money is coming from.

The guy on her right—with dark brown hair and beautiful green eyes—started boasting about their encounter with a rear navy admiral while they were escaping the island and how easily they were able to kick that officer’s ass.

Nami giggled. They are so… cute. And certainly gullible. Though she gotta applaud them for their rather convincing tales. If she was stupid and naïve, she’d definitely end up giving in to their charms.

But she’s not.

She’s not after a good time with these two crooks after all. No, no.

What she’s actually there for are the belis inside their pouches calling out her name. They might be exaggerating with their stories, but not the money. Nami had noticed it the moment they entered the place.

Besides, she already had her hands full with a surly swordsman. These two would look like babies beside Roronoa Zoro.

The brown-haired guy suddenly reached out and touched her hair, twirling the orange strands playfully around his fingers as he smiled at her teasingly.

Nami frowned inwardly. She didn’t like it when other people touch her hair. Zoro doesn’t like it when other men touch her hair—especially if it’s because she’s flirting to steal.

Good thing the swordsman was busy with his beer.

She forced herself not to flinch at the gesture. Instead, she returned the smile flirtatiously.

This nicking better be damn worth it.

Nami felt the blond guy on her other side sidled closer to her. The one playing with her hair did the same, effectively trapping her between them.

Her guard was up at once and she stealthily moved her hand near her Clima-tact’s hiding place.

Suddenly an arm wrapped itself around her waist. It tugged at her lightly, making her lean back towards a familiar strapping chest.

She tilted her head upwards and was surprised to see Zoro standing behind her.

“Playtime’s over.” His deep voice cut through their conversation, as sharp as his blades. She can feel his chest rumbling as he spoke lowly, almost threateningly.  

“Hey!” The one on Nami’s right protested and Zoro pinned him with a menacing glare.

“Hands off her hair.”

The guy promptly swallowed the lump that suddenly formed in his throat, before letting go of Nami’s hair. That was one hell of a frightening look.

The blond on her left simultaneously let out a small squeak at the sight of the scarred eye and three swords and hastily stepped away from the navigator.

Nami’s brows drew together and she frowned. What is he doing? “The hell Zor—” she began, but he immediately cut her off.

“I want you upstairs now.”

And despite the irritation she was feeling, a delicious shiver ran up and down her spine at his tone.

“But we saw her first!” The brown-haired man found the courage to loudly and stupidly protest. “Go get your own woman!” He snarled at the bounty hunter-turned-pirate, boldly resting a hand on Nami’s bare thigh.

His friend on the other side desperately tried to make him stop; waving both hands to get his attention and silently pointing at the swords on Zoro’s hips.

But the other guy was oblivious.

“Is that so?” Zoro cocked his head to the left so he can look at the idiot straight in the eye. The grin on his face promised nothing but pain. “That better not move another inch,” he barely glanced at the man’s hand. “Or you will lose it.”

Nami closed her eyes and sighed. The buffoon just had to go and do that. Zoro will make mincemeat out of him even without his swords.

“Oh real… ly…” The guy’s voice suddenly trailed off. He finally noticed his companion pointing at the weapons on Zoro’s side, holding three fingers up.

Three swords?

The young man almost choked. His eyes widened and it went from Nami to Zoro then back again.

And he went deathly pale.

“You’re…” he whispered and his friend on the other side nodded vigorously. His knees began to shake and it seemed to crawl up his body because Nami can actually feel the hand on her thigh trembling.

The blond darted towards his partner and pulled his hand away from the navigator. Without another word, he shoved his friend’s head forward and made him bow down in front of the swordsman.

He followed suit.

“Sumimasen deshita! Roronoa Zoro-san!” The blond shouted.

It was so unexpected that Nami and the other Mugiwaras, as well as some of the customers who were watching the scene, were surprised.

“We are really sorry!” The blond apologized again still keeping his head and his friend’s bowed low.

His brown-haired companion finally realized what he had gotten himself into. “Yes we are sooo sorry! So very sorry!” He suddenly cried in a pleading tone. “We didn’t know it was you! A master swordsman in the flesh!”

Nami swore she could hear snivels coming from him and are those teardrops wetting the floor?

“Yes! We should’ve realized it sooner!”

“Please don’t cut us!”

A sneer appeared on Zoro’s face. “I don’t know about that; you did piss me off.”

Now the two were visibly quivering.

Nami fought the urge to laugh out loud. Whatever happened to their tales of fearlessness? “But,” she spoke out of the blue. “I thought you two can best anyone in a fight?” The cat thief had an impish grin on her face that widened when she saw the two shook harder than before.  

“No! No!” The blond lifted his head slightly to look at Nami tearfully. Gone now was the confident, debonair air they exuded earlier. “We’re exaggerating of course!” He admitted and his eyes shifted back to Zoro and he hastily bowed his head again. “We would never think of fighting someone like Roronoa Zoro-san. Not in this life. Not in the next.”

“That’s true! We are really sorry Roronoa-san,” the other apologized again. “We didn’t know she was yours. If we did, and we do now, we would never have approached her. And we never will! You have our word!”

“Just please let us go!”

“Do not let them off just like that shitty swordsman!” Sanji shouted as he stood up from the Straw Hats’ table. “Cut the hand of that bastard who dared touch Nami-san! Or I will personally gut them like a fish and served them to the Kumate tribe.” He threatened as Usopp grasped him on both shoulders to prevent him from going berserk.

“Oi pipe down swirly!” Zoro growled towards the cook’s direction. Honestly, this is getting troublesome than it’s supposed to be. “You two,” he called out suddenly and the men stiffened.

“Hai…?” Both answered with quavering voices.

“Just get out of my sight.”

“HAI!” The two dropped down their knees quickly. There was a ‘thud’ as their foreheads hit the floor as they bowed much lower, grateful that Zoro was letting them go without any injury.

“We’ll be on our merry way now. Sorry for the trouble!”

“It was nice to meet you Roronoa Zoro-san! Truly! We’re sorry and thank you!”

They both edged away from the two Straw Hats and headed towards the entryway while still crouched down the floor. They left in a crawling manner in the midst of laughter and hoots from some of the pub’s patrons.

The moment the two chaps disappeared outside, Nami huffed. She swiveled to face the green-haired man and pouted. “Really Zoro? What did we agree about this?” She chastised, not amused by his antic. “I haven’t even gotten their money yet!”

Zoro in turn, glared at her and threw something on the bar counter. It was the men’s money pouches.

Nami’s eyes widened.

“You must be losing your touch.” Zoro muttered, scowling at the navigator.

“Or she probably enjoyed flirting with them,” Robin casually commented as she passed by behind them.

“Robin!!!”

“Can’t blame you, they are quite cute.” The raven-haired woman let out a soft giggle as she leaned against the counter. She lifted a hand to get the bartender’s attention. The corners of her eyes crinkled in mirth when she saw the expression on Zoro’s face.

The swordsman looked absolutely livid.

Oh my, has Zoro always been this easy to rile up when it comes to Nami?

This is fun.

“Woman,” Zoro all but hissed in Nami’s ear, grabbing her arm. “Upstairs now!”

“Hey!” Nami protested. “I’m still…”

“Now!” A shadow seemed to cross Zoro’s face and his tone had lowered to the point that he was growling.

“…”

He moved away from her and headed towards the second floor where the Straw Hats rented rooms for the night. When Zoro starts using that tone on her, she’s in for trouble and she better do what he says.

Nami locked eyes with Robin, frowning as the older woman gave her a sly smile. She slid off her seat and followed him upstairs, but not before grabbing the pouches he surprisingly nicked from the two men earlier.

This is going to be a long and tiring argument… not to mention night. It can only end in two things: them not talking to each other tomorrow…

Or…

“NAMI!” Zoro’s voice almost thundered across the whole bar.

“Coming!”

Robin gave them a small wave before turning to the bartender to order her drink.

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

It was well into the afternoon when Nami slid on the bench opposite Robin, who was sitting alone in the half-filled bar enjoying her pre-dinner coffee and book.

The navigator slumped down the wooden table with a groan.

“And good afternoon to you too,” Robin greeted. “How was last night?”

Nami’s face immediately scrunched up into a frown. “Awful! My throat’s sore from screaming because apparently, Zoro’s deaf and could not understand what I’m saying!” She nestled her head on the hard surface of the table. “My voice was not loud enough to penetrate that thick, stupid skull of his.”

“Surely it’s not that bad?” The older woman asked, sprouting a pair of hands on each side of Nami so she can massage her shoulders.

“Uggh. No thanks to your comment!” Nami responded with a glare at her friend.

That made Robin giggle. “You just say that.” She took a sip of her drink and smiled amusedly at the navigator. “But you’ve been holed up with Zoro in that room for almost the whole day. Do you honestly want me to believe that all that screaming is because the two of you were arguing? The inn has thin walls after all.”

Nami’s face heat up at that. Well there’s no use hiding anything to Robin. With a moan she pillowed her head on her arms. “I hurt all over. This is all your fault!”

The archeologist glanced at her. Nami might be complaining, but there was look of satisfaction on her face that tells her otherwise. “Well at least now you know he isn’t immune to your flirting… with other men that is.”

The cat thief laughed sardonically at that. “Zoro’s just in the mood to be an ass. He usually doesn’t care about this stuff.” Nami lifted her head off the table. “That’s why I can steal from gullible, good-looking men whenever we dock!”

“Maybe that’s where the problem is? You always choose good-looking men for your victims.” Robin pointed out, turning a page of her book.

Nami sat up straighter at that and Robin’s hands disappeared in a flurry of petals. “You’re not listening last night are you? Cause I swear that’s exactly what Zoro said.”

Robin chuckled and shook her head. “No. I wasn’t.”

“But good-looking men are the best victims Robin,” Nami retorted. “And you know that. Most of them are self-absorbed and easily manipulated. And they’re much easier to approach. Average-looking guys tend to be suspicious when a cute girl walks up to them.”

“Are you sure that’s it?” Robin stared straight in her eyes. “And not because you’re trying to make him… jealous?”

“Who’s making who jealous?”

Usopp’s voice cut into their conversation. The sniper plopped himself down beside Nami with an exhausted sigh, looking a bit worse for wear.

Nami stared at him in astonishment. “Why do you look like you just came out of a death match?”

“Long story,” Usopp replied wearily. “All I can say is, Luffy plus adventure… you do the math.”

“I see.”

“So who’s jealous?” He asked curiously. His eyes scrutinized Nami for a few seconds. “Did you just wake up?”

“You can say that.” Nami answered with a nod.

“Rough night?”

Franky, who just sat on the vacant seat beside Robin guffawed. “More like rough sex you mean.” He commented earning a loud laugh from the sniper.

“Franky!!!” Nami shrieked, horrified at his straightforwardness.

“Hey,” the cyborg retorted. “Not our fault! Is there anyone here who hasn’t heard all of that last night?”

Usopp clutched his stomach as he laughed harder. “I dunno… is there anyone here who slept a wink last night from all that?” He jested and Franky joined him in his laughter while Robin politely tried to hide her giggle behind her hand.

Nami reached out and pulled at Usopp’s ear. “You and you!” She hissed at Franky. “Perverts!”

“Aw! Thanks Nami-sis!” Franky’s grin was wide as he gave her a thumbs up.

“Hey ouch!” Usopp cried beside her, hand wrapping around her wrist to stop her from twisting his ear off. “Stop it!!!” He hollered. “Why am I the only getting assailed?”

Franky laughed at his expense.

“Shut it,” Nami snarled at him. “You’ll be getting your own due later.”

The shipwright grinned roguishly at her. “If Nami-sis. IF.”

“If what?!”

“If Zoro doesn’t lock you up in that room again like he did last night.”

“FRANKY!!!!” Nami’s scream can be heard within a one-mile radius from where they are.

Usopp‘s shoulders shook so hard from laughing too much.

“This is a whole new set of debts in my books you idiots!”

“Oi!”

“Franky,” Robin said. “That’s enough picking on Nami. She had been through… a really fierce battle.”

The mapmaker’s jaw dropped at that comment. “Not you too Robin!”

Franky shook his head while laughing. “You gotta admit, last night was gold. It’ll be a waste not make fun of it.”

"Tell that to Zoro," Nami challenged him. "I dare you two to tell and do that to Zoro."

“Are you kidding?” Franky stared at her in disbelief.

Usopp vehemently shook his head. "I refuse to die early! Thank you very much!"

“You are scared of Zoro more than of me huh, Usopp?” Nami grabbed the front of Usopp’s shirt, pulling his face near hers.

“Nami,” Usopp placed both of his hands on her shoulders. “Debts I can pay. But life? I only have one.”

“Girlie, you do realize what you are saying?” Franky raised an eyebrow at her. “You don’t make that man the butt of jokes.”

“Except when it comes to his sense of direction,” Robin added her belis’ worth.

“Right,” Franky agreed. “Other than that, there are no other areas I want to tread. You do know how terrifying he is?”

“Especially when provoked.”

“Nico Robin’s supeeer right again,” Franky concurred. “I’m honestly surprised he did not unsheathed his swords yesterday and unleashed one of his attacks here.”

Usopp nodded and folded his arms across his chest. “I was half-afraid he would!”

“Only half?”

Nami rolled her eyes. “It’s not like he’s gonna slice and dice people all because I’m—”

“Flirting to steal?” Robin continued for her with a chuckle.

Nami pouted at her.

“Well he won’t ignore it all the time Nami. Just take yesterday for example.” Robin gave her a polite smile. “I just want to remind you of his tendencies to wreak havoc and cause destruction. Just don’t push him too much.”

“Wait,” Usopp moved back a little to stare at Nami. “Is this what you and Robin were talking about earlier? You ARE trying to make him jealous?”

“What? No!” Nami answered a bit defensively.

“That’s suuuper scary Nami-sis.” Franky frowned at that thought.

“I think she succeeded with no casualties.” Robin pointed out.

Usopp gawped at Nami with eyes wide. “Zoro is a monster once angered. And you want him jealous?” He asked incredulously. “What is wrong with you?” He glanced at Robin and Franky. “Did we tell her about Wano? We should tell her about Wano!”

“You already told me about Wano!”

“And you still want him jealous? Pissed off?  Enraged? Wrathful?” Usopp said in one breath. “Kami, I think I’m having a heart attack. Call Chopper!”

Nami lifted a fist and thumped the sniper at his head… hard.

“Look, we’ve already talked about this. I’m not gonna stop with what I’m doing just because we are together.” She explained, flicking her long hair behind her shoulder. “Now, if he has a problem with my stints then that’s his to deal with.”

The other three pirates exchanged glances. “Well,” Franky began. “You are lucky that Zoro’s not inclined to also flirt with other women to steal their purses.”

Robin laughed quietly at that.

“If that was the case, I’ll bet it’s you who will be having a hard time trying to rein in your jealousy.”

“Uh sorry,” Nami said smugly. “I’m not the jealous type.”

Both of Usopp’s eyebrows shot up at that. He doubts if that’s really the case knowing how greedy Nami can be.

“Oi!! Minna!!!”

They all turned their heads towards the direction of their captain’s voice. Luffy had just entered the pub with the other Straw Hats.

“Hi guys!” Luffy cheerfully greeted them as he bounded towards their table. He was grinning widely, even though his face and clothes were streaked with dirt. “You won’t believe what we have found!” He gushed excitedly. “Oh, hi Nami! I haven’t seen you… all day?”

Nami raised an eyebrow. “Kind of… yeah?”

“Where were you? Shishishi! And where’s Zoro? I also want to tell him what we found!”

“Upstairs? Asleep? Or lost. I’m not sure.”

Luffy tilted his head a little, studying Nami. “Are you two fighting? You sound so mad at him; you kept screaming his name last night.”

Nami turned to a fiery shade of red as the others who are in the know burst out laughing.

Zoro will get it later. She will fucking break all of his bones.

Chopper jumped on the bench next to Usopp and peered at the navigator. “Did Zoro do something to make you angry, Nami?” He innocently asked without any intention of prying in his friends’ lives. He didn’t hear them fighting last night, but he did wonder why Nami didn’t sleep in the room she was supposed to share with him and Robin.

“Because Zoro is an idiot.” Nami answered with a huff. “And you know how I always get mad and scream at idiots?”

“Uh-huh. I see.”

“Nami-swaaaan!”

There was a sound of running footsteps as they all flinched at the voice. Honestly, Sanji can really hit a high pitch whenever he’s calling out female names.

“Sanji-kun,” Nami smiled at their crew’s cook. She inhaled deeply and braced herself to the onslaught of questions that she knew would be coming.

Sanji skidded into a halt beside her. He immediately got down on one knee and grasped her hands. “Are you alright my love? I can hear you yelling last night! Did that stupid swordsman hurt you?"

"I'm ok Sanji-kun. Why is everyone suddenly asking about my well-being?”

Brook’s cool voice drifted from the other side of the table as he took a seat. “Might’ve something to do with what we heard last night… even if I have no ears to hear. Yohohoho!” Franky joined him in his laughter.

“Shut up you shitty skeleton!” Sanji roared at the musician. He turned to Nami again. “Are you ok Nami-san? Your face is so red! Hey Chopper! I think my angel is sick!” He yelled for the reindeer. “I knew it! That stupid marimo did something to you! I’m going to slaughter him like a pig.”

“He did not Sanji-kun, calm down!” She tried to pacify Sanji’s ranting while the others continued laughing; except for Chopper and Luffy who had no clue about what’s going on.

“But… but those were definitely cries of agony!” Sanji blubbered. In the background Usopp mouth the word ‘agony’ in a questioning manner as Franky and Brook laughed harder. “I was barely able to stop myself from kicking the door down and coming to your rescue and beating that second-rate swordsman’s ass!”

There was a choking sound coming from Usopp who was trying to bite back his laughter. He placed one hand on the chef’s shoulder and asked with faux innocence. “Uh… and see them going at it Sanji?”

“Eh?” Was all the blond could utter out, freezing as Usopp’s question began to sink in on him.

Franky and Brook were now laughing their asses off while Robin was giggling behind her hand. Luffy and Chopper where looking at each other still not fully comprehending what was happening.

Nami pulled her hands away from Sanji’s petrified grasp and grabbed Usopp’s neck, choking him. “You dolt! You just had to say that!”

“Arck! Can’t… breathe… Nami!”

“Aaah!” Chopper screamed when saw Usopp was turning blue. “Nami stop! Doctor! We need a doctor!”

Sanji suddenly stood up. His face had turned scarlet and seemed to darken to purple as seconds ticked by. Steam came out of his ears and he shouted. “Marimoooooooooooo!”

“What shitty cook?”

The commotion in their table immediately stopped at the sound of Zoro’s voice.

Sanji spun towards him and approached him with a growl. “YOU! Grrrrrrrrr…”

Zoro stared boredly at the blond cook. “Problem?”

“You! You! $#@#!!@#!!!”

“Tch. Use some damn words.” He walked past Sanji but not before deliberately bumping his shoulder.

“Oh hey Zorooo!” Luffy shouted, waving his hands. “Zoro!”

“Captain,” the swordsman greeted with a nod as Luffy ran towards him.

“You sure take the longest nap!” Luffy said with a pout. “We found something in the forest! I want to show it to you!”

Zoro nodded. “Just let me eat first Luffy.”

“Oh! Great idea!” Luffy’s face brightened at that and he turned towards Sanji. “Oi Sanji! I want meat!”

“Urusei shitty gomu!” The cook was practically rabid that Luffy took a step back, away from him. He was snarling and cursing.

“What’s with all the noise?” Zoro asked no one in particular, looking irritable. His gray eye flicked a glance at the table before reaching down and lifting the still squawking Chopper who was trying to make Nami release Usopp. “Stop that Chopper.”

“Zoro!!!” The reindeer cried out when he realized who was holding him. “Nami’s killing Usopp! Stop her!”

“Nami,” Zoro reached out and wrapped a hand around the navigator’s wrist. “Usopp’s probably dead now.”

“Zoro!” Chopper shouted horrified.

“You!” Nami pushed Usopp away and looked up at the idiot swordsman. “Why are you awake already?”

Zoro raised an eyebrow at her. “Bed’s a bit cold. Thought I should haul you up back there.”

Franky hooted and Brook slammed his hands on the table from laughing too hard. Even a choking sound akin to laughter was coming from Usopp.

Luffy made a face. “I don’t get it. What is happening? Why is everybody laughing?”

“It’s ok Luffy,” Robin said. “Don’t mind them.”

“I don’t get it too Luffy,” Chopper admitted, thoughtfully staring at his friends.

“Nevermind it Chopper,” Zoro said placing the reindeer down on an empty seat. He patted his head and moved to the vacant place beside Nami.

A growl came from behind him. Sanji has still yet to cool down. “Oi aho kenshin. What did you do to Nami-san? Huh?”

“Oi ahocook. None of your business.”

“Why you!!!”

“Are you seriously asking me what goes on behind closed doors?” Zoro inquired with a raised eyebrow.

Sanji’s lower lip trembled at that. The stupid moss-head had a really malicious grin on his face daring him to probe much more and he will get an answer.

Of course he doesn’t want to know! He knows but he doesn’t want to hear it! Argh!

Sanji let out a wild howl followed by the sound of explosion as he suddenly burst into angry flames.

“Aaah!” Chopper screamed again, jumping on top of the table. “Water we need water! Sanji’s burning!”

“Wait, wait!” Luffy yelled. “I think I saw a barrel near the entrance earlier.” Without another word, he bounded towards the entryway with Chopper in tow.

“Zoro!” Nami hissed, harshly pulling at his shirt. “Sit your ass down here.”

“Oi quit pulling woman,” Zoro complained, plopping down on the seat beside her. The others greeted him casually as if they weren’t making fun of last night’s occurrence.

“I’m not going to be the only one to suffer their teasing! This is all your FAULT!”

Nami’s eyes narrowed when a smirk appeared on Zoro’s face. He looked like he was about to say something…

“Do not say anything that would make me clobber you.” Nami threatened. She lowered her voice a little, grateful for the noise as the pub started to fill up with customers. “For someone who initially wants to keep our relationship quiet you sure don’t care if everyone here knows what’s going on!”

Zoro frowned. “I really don’t care if they know. As long as they don’t stick their noses in our business. Like ero-cook there.” He pointed with his thumb at the blond man behind them.

Sanji was still burning bright much to the amazement of everyone inside the tavern.

“If he keeps that up, we’ll be sweeping his ashes back to the Sunny.” Robin commented matter-of-factly while watching the cook.

“Robin!” Usopp gasped. “You and your morbid thoughts!”

The raven-haired beauty just shrugged.

“Good,” Zoro muttered. “Maybe we can throw his ashes overboard or something.” He turned towards Sanji. “Keep burning swirly. You’re doing a good job.”

He was answered with a string of expletives that would shame even the worst of the worst pirate in the New World.

Nami glowered at him.

“What?” Zoro scowled at her. “Is this still not settled? I already told you last night,” he dipped his head lower to whisper in her ear. “If that’s what it takes for everyone to understand that you are mine, then hell I don’t care if they all knew that I’m fuc—”

The navigator covered his mouth with her hand before he can finish what he was saying, making sure she was grasping his cheeks as firmly as she could with every strength she can muster. She can feel the corners of his lips twitched up beneath her palm. She stared at his lone grey eye, unexpectedly filled with amusement and she pouted.

“What a jealous brute.” She mocked him, retracting her hand away.

“Damn right.” Zoro sneered at her. “You want to pull one of your stealing stints here again?”

“Hmph.”

“Oi what’s with the whispering over there?” Usopp raised an eyebrow at them. A mischievous grin appeared on his face. “Go get a room you two!”

Nami glared daggers at him as loud laughs erupted from the table again. In the background Luffy and Chopper had successfully doused the cook with water, earning his ire as he started chasing them around the table.

Zoro merely snorted. “Tch. What should a man do to get some peace and quiet while drinking here?” He stood up and headed towards the bar, leaving the Mugiwara chaos behind.

“Aren’t you going to join Zoro-san, Nami-san?” Brook inquired.

Nami dismissed his question with a wave of her hand. “Zoro’s a big boy. He’ll be fine alone.”

“Uh-huh,” Franky nodded. “Had too much of each other?”

Usopp laughed and promptly shut his mouth when Nami looked at him menacingly.

“I wonder what you’ll do if some woman approaches Zoro while he is at the bar?” Robin suddenly murmured out loud with a thoughtful look on her face.

Nami raised an eyebrow at her. “Nothing? Zoro can handle it just fine.”

Usopp nodded. “Quite confident aren’t we?”

The navigator laughed. “Besides, who would dare approach him? Zoro can be scary. You said so yourself Usopp.”

“Well, Zoro has a scary face… when he is not in the mood.” The sniper agreed. “But only when he’s not in the mood.”

“But being the keyword,” Robin said with a smile. “Zoro is ruggedly handsome, I’m pretty sure a girl or two would have the guts to approach him.”

Usopp tilted his head a little and stared at Robin. She’s not doing what he thinks she’s doing, is she? He let his gaze travel back towards the orange-haired girl beside him. Nami was now frowning.

He gotta hand it to Robin. Talk about downright manipulation! This is a bit reminiscent of last night!

The scent of smoke wafted through the air as Sanji, now surprisingly dry and calm, approached the table with Luffy and Chopper, who were both sporting huge bumps on their heads. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Now sit yourselves down and do not move until the food is here on the table!”

“Hai…” The captain and the doctor intoned and obediently sat themselves on the available spots near Nami on the bench.

Sanji remained standing. “Where’s that baka marimo?”

“Bar. Drinking.” Franky answered.

“Nami-swan! Robin-chwan!” He suddenly chanted with a twirl. “Do you want something before we start dinner? Hors d’oeuvres? Aperitif? Anything?”

“I’ll have a refill of my coffee Sanji,” Robin requested.

“Orange juice please Sanji-kun,” Nami smiled sweetly at him.

“Coming mellorine!!!” The chef disappeared in a blink of an eye to cater to his two favorite ladies’ requests.

Usopp sighed. “So much for asking us if we also want something before dinner huh?”

Brook laughed softly. “Dream on Usopp-san. Dream on.”

The sniper laughed. He turned towards the bar to check on Zoro and stopped. He felt Franky nudged his feet under the table and they looked at each other. Stealthily, they stole a glance at Nami, who was now busy talking to Robin, then back at the swordsman.

They looked at each other again. This should be interesting.

Usopp sneakily motioned for him to be quiet. And the shipwright nodded. They both shifted their heads toward the bar and watched.

A rather pretty and busty woman with long, bluish-black hair had approached the swordsman and was engaged in a conversation with him. From their vantage point, they can see that the woman seems to be asking something and Zoro was nodding. Then the woman laughed, though a bit flirtily in Usopp’s opinion.

“Oh,” Brook suddenly said. “Looks like a beautiful woman is hitting on Zoro-san! Yohohoho!”

“What?!” Nami exclaimed. Usopp fought the urge to use kuro kabuto at the skeleton. Why can’t he keep that bony mouth of his shut?

“Aaah,” Brook hummed, calmly sipping his tea. “She’s just probably asking him something.”

Nami managed to throw a shoe at the stupid, old skeleton.

With a ‘hmph’ she settled back on her seat, folding her arms across her chest. She turned her attention back to the bar.

Heck, they all turned their attention towards the bar.

The woman had sidled closer to Zoro, her thighs nearly touching the green-haired man’s knee. She was saying something and it looks like Zoro was listening to her intently. The woman leaned towards the swordsman and placed a hand on his thigh, obviously showing him her generous... assets.

Beside Usopp, Nami bristled. The sniper’s eyes met the shipwright’s.

“Hmmm…” Robin murmured. “Safe to say she’s seducing him.” She looked at Nami and winked. “Oreja Fleur!”

“Robin!” Nami exclaimed.

“You don’t want to know what they are talking about?”

Nami inhaled sharply, gathering whatever pride was in her. “No.”

“Alright.”

Sanji appeared behind the navigator armed with the requested beverages. “Tch! Why is that marimo-head always attracting a beautiful woman?!” He grumbled disdainfully, placing the orange juice in front of Nami.

“I have no idea Sanji-kun.” Nami said through gritted teeth. “He’s not exactly the good-looking, approachable type.”

Usopp cleared his throat. “Talk about bad mouthing your boyfriend.”

“I beg to differ,” Brook interjected. “Zoro-san’s the kind that actually attracts women. Raw power and rock-solid muscles and…” he sighed.

“Alright! Enough!” Usopp stopped him, shivering. “That’s just creepy Brook!”

“Oh hey!” Luffy called out suddenly. “I think Zoro made a new friend! Let’s go meet her Chopper!”

“Yes!” Chopper agreed.

“Hold it aho captain,” Sanji hooked a finger behind Luffy’s shirt. “You too Chopper.”

“Why isn’t that moron pushing her away?” Nami growled. “See! This is how dense he is. He doesn’t know if a girl is outright flirting with him or seducing him!”

“Are you talking from experience?” Usopp queried.

“Shut it Usopp!”

“Oops another one who can’t keep her hands to herself!” Franky whistled as the woman reached out to play with the swordsman’s earrings.

“That idiot!” Nami snarled. 

“Thought you weren’t the jealous type girlie?” Franky raised an eyebrow at her.

“I’m not!” Nami answered hotly. “But no one touches the earrings! No one!”

 Robin was trying to stifle her laugh.

“Nami, maybe she’s just asking him where he got it or something.” Usopp suggested, moving a lit-tle out of harm’s way.

Nami glowered at him. “Oh really Usopp? She can ask. Does she need to touch?”

This time even Luffy and Chopper was shuffling farther away from the orange-haired girl and closer to the cook.

“But Nami-san...”

“Shut up Sanji-kun!”

“Hey, who knows, maybe Zoro will be pickpocketing her also? That’s why he’s letting her slink closer. ” Franky queried in a jesting manner.

“Maybe he’ll do more than pick her pocket?” Brook said cheekily… even if he had no cheeks and was all bones.

Nami’s glare on them was icy enough to freeze the whole room. Her brown orbs shifted towards the bar again just in time to see the woman brazenly touch the pommel of Zoro’s red sword. She tapped a finger on it before completely wrapping her hand around the sword’s hilt.

“Oh?” Franky’s eyes widened.

“Oh?!” Usopp coughed at the display.

“Yohohoho! That was pretty suggestive…” Brook commented.

Nami slammed her hands down on the table. Her eyes were hidden underneath her orange bangs and she was emitting a rather strange and chilling aura.

Everyone saved for Robin backed away from the obviously enraged navigator.

“No one,” she whispered in a really cool and steady tone. Like the calm before the storm. “No one gets to touch the swords but me! No one!” She moved away from the table and marched towards where the idiot swordsman and that equally idiot woman are currently talking.

“Nami-san!” Sanji called out to stop her. But one look from Nami immediately made him shut his mouth.

“Oh shit,” Usopp was looking around his crewmates’ faces. ​It was just like last night. Only this time the tables have turned.

“And she said she’s not the jealous type huh?” Franky shook his head at the absurdity of it.

Nami confidently approached the bar with a flip of her orange locks, ignoring the looks and lewd eyes from the other pub patrons that followed her. It stopped once they saw that she was heading towards the green-haired man with three swords, who had a pretty woman cozying up to him… the lecherous gazes turning into curious stares.

The moment she was near enough, she suddenly closed her hand around the woman’s wrist with enough force to make her cry out. “Excuse me, do you mind?” Nami gave her one of her sassiest smiles, forcefully removing her grip from Zoro’s sword.

“Hey ouch!” The black-haired woman glared at her darkly. “Do YOU mind? I’m trying to—”

“I’ll ask nicely,” Nami cut her off, wedging herself between Zoro and the woman, forcing her to take a step back.  “Can please keep your hands to yourself?” She leaned against the bar counter, the smile never leaving her face. Nami silently gloated that the woman was a few inches shorter than her and that she can look at the bitch down her nose.

“Oi Nami,” Zoro began.

“Shut up,” she said through gritted teeth, still all smiles.

And Zoro promptly kept his trap shut at her tone. The whole bar seemed to fall into a hush as conversations dwindled and shouts turned to whispers.

The woman suddenly smirked, not the one to be deterred. She took a step forward and was face to face with Nami. “Why the hell would I do that when I have a finely toned man in front of me?”

The navigator sneered at that as one hand proceeded to pull out her Clima-tact. Zoro immediately noticed it and made a grab for her hand as stealthily as he could. They are not sure if this woman is alone or not. If Nami decides to fry her with thunderbolts, they might possibly engage in an unwanted scuffle.

“Because this finely toned man is mine!” Nami said with enough venom in her tone to kill a sea king. Her finger nails dug into Zoro’s skin painfully, and he fought the urge to wince. Nami is in a piss off mood and he can feel her clawing at his hand with enough force to draw blood. “Touch him again and I will rip you apart.”

The woman folded her arms across her chest. “I see no ring around his finger darling.” She smiled in an obnoxious manner. “And even if he did, that wouldn’t stop me from jumping him.” She reached out to touch Zoro but Nami’s hand closed around her wrist again, fast.

“I already said no touching.”

“And I’m not listening.”

There was a pause and the whole bar seemed to hold its breath, waiting…

Then everyone gasped in surprise when Nami’s other hand suddenly shot up and punched the living daylights out of the infuriating woman.

No one said a word for a minute as eyes widened and jaws dropped simultaneously. Everyone was looking at the woman who had toppled over one of the bar stools from the force of Nami’s fist.

“You bitch!” The woman managed to hiss as she woozily tried to stand, clutching her cheek.

Nami took a step closer to her and Zoro snapped to attention.

His arm snaked around the navigator’s slim waist stopping her from moving closer to the other female.

“Let me at her Zoro!” Nami’s voice cracked like a whip across the silent bar.

“Stop it Nami!”

The woman grab the edge of the bar counter to steady herself. The orange-haired girl can pack a punch despite her slim physique. She glared daggers at Nami.

Suddenly the whole bar erupted into cheers.

“Place your bets!!!” Usopp suddenly shouted on top of the hoots and roars. A choruses of ‘yeah’ filled the air.

“10,000 beli for that still woozy chick!”

“15,000 for that orange-haired gal!”

“Another 10,000 for—”

Robin giggled into her hand as all around her people chanted and shouted their bets. “Oh my!”

“Looks like Nami’s in for the kill,” Franky laughed as he watched the swordsman stepped between the two women to prevent them from attacking each other.

“U-weh!” Chopper had stars in his eyes. Nami was so cool!

“Nami-swaaaan!!!” Sanji was screaming himself hoarse. “Nami-swaan that was a lovely punch! I’m placing all my money on you my love!”

“Go Nami!!!” Luffy joined the cheers, pumping both fists into the air and accidentally knocking back a pirate who was passing by, drinking his rum.

“Hey! Why you…”

“Oops!”

“You little piece of shit!”

“Ah!”

“No captain don’t!!!” Somebody shouted from behind. Tables and chairs crashed as said captain tried to lunge at Luffy who promptly jumped at another table filled with drinking pirates.

“Oi!!!”

“Sumimasen!” The straw hat wearing captain apologized.

“Captain stop! That is straw hat Lu—”

“Let me at him!!!”

There was a crash as the captain’s subordinates doggy piled him to stop him from attacking Luffy.

Robin giggled again as she stood up, taking her coffee and book as she strolled away from their table. “This is so much better than last night.”

“I so agree Robin-san,” Brook nodded as he followed the archaeologist;s example, grabbing his teacup and sauntering away just as a brawny customer landed on their table, splitting it in half.

And just like that the whole pub erupted into chaos as pirate crews and random pub patrons brawled with each other; throwing tables, chairs, bottles and plates and anything they can get their hands on.

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

Zoro clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He managed to drag Nami away from the skirmish and the woman. They were now outside the inn watching the madness inside unfolding as Luffy’s laughter echoed all throughout the pub.

He turned to the still incensed navigator.

“Heh, got a taste of your own medicine?”

Nami's only response was a dirty look directed at him.

And he laughed. “Can’t say I’m not amused.” He reached out and ruffled her hair as she slapped his hand away. “No wonder you do it all the time.”

“Do it again and there’ll be hell to pay Zoro!”

“Hahaha!” He reached for her hand, the one she used to punch the annoying woman’s face. “Nice hit by the way.” He brought her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles. Once the adrenaline passes Nami will be complaining endlessly about the pain in her hand.

He stared at her with a smirk. She was still scowling and fuming. It will take a lot to get her to stop sulking after this.

But it was probably worth it. Maybe this will taper down her flirting antics, if not put a stop to it.

He tugged at her hand, drawing her closer to him. He kissed her forehead, earning a small sigh from her. “Come on. Let’s just go back to the Sunny.”

“Wait. I’m still pissed off with all of these. That punch was not enough.”

“What are you planning?” He asked when she brought out her Clima-tact.

She gave him a mischievous smile.

“Zeus!”

[lothirielswanmarvel]

Chapter 1 of Avengers: Love and Lightning

Love interest: Thor (+ a Peter Quill love triangle later introduced in the series)

“Vision, what's next on the list?”

“Blueberries, sir—boss—tiny man with lots of money,” Vision stuttered as we walked on the aisle. Tony Stark, famous billionaire and world-saver, sat in the shopping cart that I pushed, munching on an open box of pocky.

“Tiny Man better not squish my M&Ms,” Rhodey muttered. Every now and then, Rhodey would reach out and steady himself against the edge of the cart. The metal casts that encased his legs were bulky, and I couldn't imagine how irritating they were. I noticed Vision wince every time Rhodey stopped to gather himself.

I sighed. My family had gone through a divorce recently (and you can imagine how crappy that was, given Director Nick Fury was practically the priest that united the match). The Avengers had separated, leaving all parties in broken pieces. All of the people I cared about in my incredibly tiny yet fulfilling social circle were in pain. How was someone like me, an introvert with zero superpowers, supposed to fix that?

“Oh! Can we pick up some cucumbers?” Shuri asked. Her voice was light and had a hint of an accent to it. She wore bright colors and had a chipper air to her. Sometimes, I swore she was a character from an anime brought to life.  

“No,” T’Challa said sternly.

Our group took up the entire aisle, and as we slowly inched towards the end, I daydreamed about the book I had stashed under my bed in the Compound. But I forced myself out of my comfort zone, more than a regular amount: I felt like they needed me. And I honestly cared too much to forsake any of the Avengers right now.

“Ms. Angie, can I have some cucumbers please?” Shuri turned to me with a polite smile on her face.

I blinked. “You’re the princess of an entire continent. I'm pretty sure I have no say here.”

“Sure you do, Ms. Angie,” Peter Parker, another random kid that Tony adopted off the street, raced up to our party. He stuffed a bunch of doughnuts in our cart. Tony nodded his approval, “ ‘Atta boy. Now go steal the bananas by the ‘kids get free snacks’ sign.”

“Don't listen to him, Peter. Tony can go by himself,” I said. “And what do you mean, I have a say?”

Peter shrugged. “Well, you’re an adult, right? You’re old enough to drink, that's pretty old.”

I stopped pushing the cart abruptly and gaped at Tiny Man 2.0. “Wait, hold on a minute, did you just call me old?”

“You read books all the time,” Shuri replied.

“You always prefer your free time in solitude,” Vision interjected.

“And you look…” Peter trailed off as he studied my face. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tony making cutting motions with his hands.

“You look, uh,” Peter swallowed. “You look really young. I mean, you dated Thor and he's like a thousand years old. You're practically dating the elderly.”

“Woah, that is not cool, man,” Rhodey shook his head.

“We need to work on how you talk to women,” Tony told Parker. Then he turned in the cart to glance at me, and cowered behind a jar of Nutella. In the background, T’Challa started hitting his head on a box of cereal.

I sucked in a breath as I processed all of this information. “Okay, a few points to be made here: I am a young woman in the prime of my life.”

“Who radiates youth and beauty,” T’Challa offered.

I continued, trying not to blush, “Right...er, thanks. Number two: I never dated Thor. If I wanted to date the elderly, I’d call up Bucky in Wakanda. Last thing,”

I stared down Vision, Peter, Shuri, and Tony. “if I am the adult, that means you are the child.”

I continued down the aisle, tugging Tony along in the cart. “Rhodey, pick up some Minute Maid juice boxes for the kids.”

“But I like Juicy Juice more…” Parker whined.

“Tough!” I turned around the corner, and crashed carts with someone. I winced at the sound. Tony squirmed in the metal basket, “Hey—oh, they visited the liquor section.”

Tony reached out to steal the pack of beer and yelped when three long blades came before his hand.

“I’m so sorry! Hi, Logan,” I said, facing most of the staff of the X-Men. Professor Charles Xavier was sitting in the cart, giving Tony a disapproving look. Erik Lensherr pushed the cart without even touching the handle, who offered an unfriendly sneer to Vision. Hank McCoy was nearby, studying the shopping list. Sometimes he glanced up at me and quickly looked back down at the slip of paper.

“Our deepest apologies, Ms. Green,” Charles wore a friendly smile when he met my gaze. “Do excuse us. Mister Wade Wilson has been draining our supply of snacks for the students, so we’re here to pick up more biscuits.”

“That's british for crackers,” Hank McCoy translated.

“They don't need to know our life story, bub,” Logan grunted.

“Right. We must be off,” Charles waved as his cart started moving by itself. “Good day to you, Avengers.”

Erik sneered at Vision as they passed. “Next time you touch my daughter, remember: I can control metal.”

The group marched off to raise havoc in the bakery department.

“The other side of the pond is crazy,” Rhodey remarked, watching them go.

Tony held up a beer in victory, “Ugh, why is this warm? We’re getting some Aviation American Gin.”

I started pushing Tony again. Both him and the doughnuts had some weight to them. “No alcohol around kids.”

“But mom!”

“No dice,” I said. Our group kept walking. My mind wandered back to what Peter mentioned: he thought Thor and I were dating. We were intimate—I mean, we were close, not in a romantic way, but...he always came up to me first when he returned to Earth. Thor sent me exotic flowers from Asgard sometimes, when he was away—he called me his “earthen goddess” on the tag, and it always made me feel all warm and tingly.

Thor and I had struck up a system while he was away, too: to make sure he was alive, we sent letters through Heimdall for each other. I felt bad bothering the poor Watcher of the Nine Realms, but at least I knew Thor was okay. He was off doing space stuff, and I did my earth stuff: I just...I missed him sometimes.

Only when fiery sparks filled the air did I return to reality (only Thor could make me forget what planet I was on). Doctor Stephen Strange appeared before us.

“Hey,” I was the first to recognize him. I probably knew him better than everyone else; my health history wasn't...pristine.

Tony stuck his tongue out at him like a five year-old. “What, you got tired of your blue telephone box?”

Peter and Shuri gasped. “Can I be your companion?”

“I asked first! I got dibs! Ha!”

“No fair! You didn't even get your Hogwarts letter!”

Stephen smirked, and despite Tony, leaned on the front of the cart, holding my gaze. “Hello. Food shopping with the family?”

“And pursuing other condiments, including feminine hygiene products and alcoholic beverages,” Vision added.

I plastered a smile on my face. “Just an ordinary day living among superheroes. Very boring.”

Shuri nodded vigorously. “It's true! All Ms. Angie does is sit on the couch and play video games and cry over made-up people. There is nothing interesting going on in her life.”

I gripped the handle to the cart tightly, silently vowing never to have children. Stephen’s cheekbones were sharp and taut like they were held up by internal wiring. He had a regalness to him. I was one of the few around that he actually joked with, “I disagree. I think there are plenty of interesting things about you.”

I made a face at him, wondering if this was a hint to a new health crisis—or even worse—an attempt to flirt with me. Suddenly T’Challa was right next to me. “What is your motive in this visit, Strange? Perhaps you have run out of money, and cannot afford basic necessities.”

I groaned at the two of them. “Please play nice. I think I’ve finally reached the temptation to buy Aviation American Gin. Tony, direct me.”

“Yay!” Tony pointed Logan’s stolen beer bottle towards the end of the aisle. I followed my soon to-be tipsy compass.

Stephen still lingered in our group. I glanced over at him, “If there’s anything you’d like…”

“I wouldn't want to impose,” He said.

“Angeline, I think you are too kind to the misfortunate,” T’Challa mused.

“Guys, please. I get enough bickering as it is: I'm surrounded by four kids,” I motioned again across our group. “Let’s just be nice, and enjoy Tony’s black card.”

We reached the end of the aisle and a curse flew from my mouth. I crashed carts with someone else.

“I'm so sorry—” I trailed off when I looked up at the person.

“Intruders!” Scott Lang raised his nerf gun from his seat in the shopping cart. “Make way, people! It's the White Jets to our Latino Sharks!”

Steve Rogers sighed. “Scott, you have to stop watching musicals with Cassie.”

[unfortunate-stranger-losers]

Six Baudelaires AU, Part Three {AO3} {Masterlist} {Part One} {Part Two}

Chapter Thirty-One → in which Nick is not taking Ishmael’s bullshit

“Thank you so much, Friday.” Nick said, as they walked. “That man is very bad, and we’ve been trying to get away from him for some time.” 

“He seemed very mean.” Friday nodded. She looked carefully at Lilac. “Is he the reason you’re hurt?” Hesitantly, Lilac nodded. “We don’t allow violence on the island, so he won’t be allowed here. You’ll be safe.” 

“He’s very good at disguising himself and manipulating people.” Violet warned. 

“And we’re very good at seeing through that bullshit.” Friday said. She froze then, and slapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry! I’m not supposed to know that word.” 

“It’s alright.” Klaus laughed a little. “We swear a lot. I assume that’s not allowed on the island.” 

“No.” Friday nodded, and then she leaned in conspiratorially. “But I’ll tell you a secret. I know a lot of bad words anyway.” 

They giggled. “So do we.” Solitude said. 

“Okay.” Friday said. “Can you tell me what ‘fuck’ means?” 

They gave each other very awkward looks. Then, Lilac said, “Quick question, first. What’s your seashell for?” 

“Coconut cordial.” Friday said. “There’s no fresh water on the island, so we drain the milk from coconuts and allow it to ferment.” 

Nick paused. “Um, doesn’t that make it a drug?” 

“What’s a drug?” 

Nick groaned. “Oh no.” 

“Okay, what is fermented coconut milk and what does it do?” Klaus asked. 

“Opiate.” Nick said. 

“Still don’t know what that is.” Solitude muttered. 

“Well, shit.” Violet huffed. 

“What?” Friday asked. “What’s wrong?” 

Nick considered. “Can you take us to the medical tent first? Before we meet everyone else.” 

“I guess so.” Friday shrugged. “Come on, Dr Kurtz and Willa should be in.” 

She led them onto blindingly white sand, and Nick said, “Is that a boat?” He pointed towards the beach, where something was almost built. 

“An outrigger.” Friday said. “It’s tradition.” 

“What are some of your customs?” Klaus pulled his commonplace book out and started to take notes. 

“Every time there’s a storm, we go storm scavenging and present what we’ve found to our facilitator, Ishmael. He’s been on this island longer than any of us, and he injured his feet and keeps them covered in island clay, which has healing powers. He can’t stand, but he decides what might be of use, and what the sheep should drag away.” 

“Baba?” Sunny asked. “You have sheep?” 

“Yep.” Friday said. “They drag our scavenged items to the arboretum, on the far side of the island over that brae over there. All that grows there is an enormous apple tree, or that’s what I’ve heard, at least. Nobody goes there, because Ishmael says it’s too dangerous, with everything the sheep brought there. Nobody picks the bitter apples from the tree, except on Decision Day.” 

“What’s Decision Day?” Violet asked. 

“It’s like a holiday.” Friday said. “Once a year, the tides turn in this part of the ocean, and the coastal shelf is completely covered in water. It’s the one time a year that it’s deep enough to sail away from the island. All year long we build an enormous outrigger, and the day the tides turn we have a feast and talent show. Then anyone who wishes to leave our colony indicates their decision by taking a bite of the bitter apple and spitting it onto the ground before boarding the outrigger and bidding us farewell.” 

“Hm.” Nick said carefully. 

“Of course, people rarely leave this island.” Friday said. “Nobody has left since before I was born, so each year we simply light the outrigger on fire and push it out to sea. It’s beautiful, and we only have a few days left until then.” 

“It sounds beautiful.” Klaus said uncertainly. 

“Here we go!” Friday led them into a clearing, where several tents had been set up. She waved at a few wandering people in robes, mouthed the word Castaways and gestured to the Baudelaires, and then ducked into a tent on the far side. The siblings followed her into it, giving each other skeptical looks. 

Inside, an older man- who admitted he was more of a veterinarian than a doctor- and a younger woman greeted them, and while Friday explained the situation, they inspected Lilac’s wound. “It doesn’t seem to be infected, which is incredibly lucky.” Willa said, kneeling down and frowning. “How did this happen?” 

“I was attacked.” Lilac said simply. 

“Well, you won’t have to worry about that here.” Willa hmmed, and then she reached to the side, pulling out some strips of fabric. “These should be better bandages. If your siblings want to wait outside-” 

“No.” said all five of her siblings. 

Willa raised her eyebrow, but shrugged. “Alright. I won’t force you. Friday, why don’t you deliver what you’ve found to Ishmael?” 

“I’ll do that when the Baudelaires are ready to go.” Friday said. “I want to show him the Castaways.” 

The Baudelaires all shared a look of agreement. “And we’d love to meet him.” Violet said. 

It took a while, but Friday just sat beside them and told them about the kinds of things she’d found on the island- unsurprisingly to the Baudelaires, she hadn’t been able to keep any of it, as Ishmael had “convinced” her to send them to the other side of the island. Dr Kurtz wandered out after a bit, while Willa kept treating Lilac. She didn’t seem to have much medicine, but she did manage to get her bandaged up, and told her that she’d probably be fine in a few days. 

“It didn’t cut too deep, and you didn’t bleed too much.” Willa said. “So you should be alright to go meet Ishmael. A lot of people will be back from storm scavenging, so you can see our customs firsthand.” 

“I’m sure we will.” Violet said. “Friday, mind showing us the way?” 

“I’d love to!” Friday beamed, reaching to grab Lilac’s hand. “Come on!” 

The Baudelaires once again shared a look, and then a nod, and then they followed Friday out. 

Up near the outrigger was an incredibly huge and incredibly long white tent. Friday led them inside, where they saw several people already crowded around. There were several sheep laying against the walls, snoring soundly, and across at the edge of the tent was an old man with a beard as thick and wild as the sheep’s woolly coats. He sat on an enormous chair that looked as if it were fashioned out of white clay, and two more piles of clay rose up over his feet. Several people in similar robes to Friday were gathered around him, holding up items, and off to the side was a large sleigh where several items already stood. 

“I found the propeller of an airplane.” said a pleasant-looking man. 

“Well, Alonso,” said Ishmael, “I won’t force you, but I don’t think a propeller would be of much use.” 

“We could make a fan.” Violet whispered.

“You’re right, Ishmael.” Alonso said, and he placed the propeller on the sleigh. 

“I found this tool.” a girl a few years older than Lilac stepped forwards. 

“Is that a dagger, Ariel?” Ishmael raised his eyebrows. “You know weapons aren’t allowed on the island.” 

“It’s an old tool for cutting pages of books.” Ariel said. 

“Well, we have no books on this island.” Ishmael said. “So it would be of little use. But I won’t force you.”

Klaus glanced down at Friday. “There are no books?” 

“They get wet in storms.” Friday shrugged. 

A plump man with a sunburned face said, “I found a cheese grater. I nearly lost a finger prying it away from a nest of crabs.” 

“You shouldn’t have gone to all that trouble.” Ishmael said. “We’re not going to have much use for a cheese grater without any cheese.” 

“Grate coconut, make cake.” Sunny said. 

The man made a similar point. “We could grate other foods.” 

“Well, I won’t force you, Sherman,” Ishmael said, “But I think we have all the food we need.” 

Nick clenched his fists and turned to his siblings, and they nodded in agreement. Friday looked at them curiously, unsure of their thoughts. 

“Go ahead and introduce us, if you want.” Lilac said to Friday, smiling encouragingly. 

Friday nodded, and as Sherman put his cheese grater onto the wagon, she shouted over the crowd, “I found some castaways!” 

They all turned, interested, and Friday brought the Baudelaires forwards. The crowd parted as they approached Ishmael, and Nick quickly grabbed Klaus’s hand, as Violet kept her arm under Lilac. Solitude had decided to walk over with Sunny, so she held her hand as they toddled across the dirt, to make sure she didn’t fall. 

“Well, hello.” Ishmael said with a cordial smile. “And what should I call you?” 

Lilac straightened up, knowing she was the only one of her siblings who could stay calm enough for introductions. “Lilac, Violet, Nick, Klaus, Solitude and Sunny Baudelaire.” she said. 

Ishmael’s eyes flickered. “Baudelaire? Well, welcome to our island. Did you survive the storm last night?” 

“Yes.” Violet said. “And there’s a bad man running around, too, named Count Olaf.” 

“Well, we’ll deal with him, don’t you worry.” Ishmael said. “Now, Friday, what are those?” He pointed at her sunglasses. 

“I thought they might be useful on bright days.” Friday said quietly. 

“Well, I won’t force you, but I think we should retain our custom of only wearing white.” Ishmael said. 

Lilac straightened up and gave Nick a nod that clearly communicated, Tear the bitch apart. 

“And I think,” Nick said, stepping forwards, “That those could be useful.” 

The islanders whispered amongst themselves, and Ishmael turned to Nick with a cold smile. “You must be tired from the storm, my boy. Friday can show you where to get robes-” 

“We’re not changing.” Nick said. 

The Islanders all stiffened, and Friday gasped. Ishmael simply stared. “Well,” he said, “It’s our custom to wear only white.” 

“You cannot force me to wear white.” Lilac said. 

“I won’t force you-” Ishmael began. 

“And you won’t.” Nick said. “Listen up, you- someone cover Friday’s ears.” Klaus reached forwards and slammed his hands over Friday’s ears. “Alright. Listen up, you bitchass motherfucker. I don’t know what kind of a scam you’re running here, or what scheme you’re pulling, but we’re not falling into it. Thank you for the bandages for Lilac, but we’re gonna fuck off on our own now, thanks. We just got out of a cult, we’re not joining another one just because this island’s small as shit.” 

The Islanders looked like Nick had just announced plans to end the world. A woman ran forwards and dragged Friday back with her; they realized quickly that was probably the young girl’s mother. 

Ishmael frowned slightly. “Young man, you must be tired. Have some cordial-” 

“Oh, and about the cordial,” Nick said. “Friday said it’s fermented, right? Yeah, that just makes it an opiate. We’re not gonna chug drugs just so you can convince us you know best and everything’s fine and we should toss away all our shit. I was drugged up once, it’s not fun.” 

“Yeah, it’s not.” Violet agreed. 

“Wait.” Solitude narrowed her eyes. “Nick, when were you-” 

“Don’t ask.” he said. “Anyway, I’d rather not be high as a kite, living under a dictatorship claiming to be a democracy, while our Dickhead Asswipe Motherfucking Family Enemy is running around with a harpoon gun, and possibly a helmet of deadly fungus- speaking of which, any of you find a diving helmet, leave it closed, alright? Alright, cool, back to it. Violet, you look like you want a turn.” 

“Yeah.” Violet nodded. “All these inventions suck, I could make you a fan and an irrigation system in, like, less than a week. You’re stifling creativity because it threatens you, and now it’s Klaus’s turn.” 

“If you think I’m not going to tear the ocean apart to get a book, you’re dead fucking wrong.” Klaus said. 

“I think-” Ishmael straightened, looking stern. 

“And I think you’re hiding knowledge from everyone, like the knowledge they’re being drugged out of their minds.” Klaus said. “Soli?” 

“I’m not throwing out my frog, bitchfuck.” Solitude said, as Babbitt hopped to her shoulder, having only just woken up, now very confused. 

“Fuckshit.” Sunny said. 

“I’m not gonna translate that for her,” Lilac said, “But know it was not pleasant. Anyway, I’m not subjecting my siblings to this cult bullshit that discourages innovation. So we’re gonna find someplace to set up camp, far away from here, and we’re gonna have fresh water and no fermented drugs and we get to keep whatever we want, and also we’re gonna need a knife in case Olaf shows up.” 

“Yeet me.” Sunny said. 

“You’re right, Sun, we’ll just beat him up. Nevermind.” Lilac said. “Anyway, thank you for the bandages, we’ll be on our way.” 

“We’ll leave you alone to do your cult bullshit,” Klaus said, “But if you bother us, we bother you.” 

“Kapiche?” Sunny said. 

Everyone was dead silent. Friday, who could hear everything even with her mother’s hands over her ears- hands were never an effective block, anyway- was wide-eyed. Ishmael looked for one moment like he might explode. 

Then, sternly, he narrowed his eyes and said, “Well. I won’t force you-” 

“Then don’t.” Nick said. “Later, sluts.” 

And with that, the Baudelaires walked out of the tent.

[themadlostgirl]

Not Dead Yet (Part 82)

Pairing: Reader x Peter Pan

Warning: language

The moment my lips touched his forehead everything exploded. All my memories came back flashing before me. It went by so fast but I could see everything clearly. My life. My life was literally flashing before my eyes.

I don’t know how it happened but it did. I could remember who I was. I looked down at the figure below me and a wave of misery swept over me.

“No…” I cradled Peter’s limp body and placed his head in my lap. His blank green eyes stared aimlessly up at me. “No. I remember. Peter please, I remember. You can’t be gone now.”

I cried and cried without shame. No injury I have ever taken could come close to the pain that hurtled through my body as that one sobering fact settled in. I pressed my forehead to his, his skin already growing cold.

“P-Please…” I hiccuped through my sobs, “Please Peter, come back to me.”

I pulled Peter’s body closer to me. I don’t know how long I sat there holding his body, feeling the warmth drain away. The island itself seemed to be as dead. No trees rustling in the wind, the ocean was as still as glass, and the moon itself was paler in the sky.

Wait. If Peter’s dead then how is it the island is still here? If he died the island would plunge itself into the sea and cease to exist. I looked up and saw the Jolly Roger flying away from Neverland with the use of Peter’s shadow. Once the shadow is gone this land will turn to dust.

“Y/N!” Devin and the remaining loyal Lost Boys found me with Peter’s body. “Oh god…”

“Is he dead?” One of the boys asked. I nodded grimly.

“It doesn’t matter now. The island will be destroyed the moment the Jolly Roger leaves this realm. The only thing keeping this island intact is the shadow. We can’t stop the ship and the island can’t live without a host.” I held out the magic bean to them. “Here, get yourselves out while you can.”

“What about you?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Neither am I then.” Devin wrapped an arm around my shoulder.

“Nor I,” Ben nodded.

“Same.” Nick sat down next to us. All of the remaining Lost Boys sat down along with us. The boys grew quiet, making peace with themselves before it was too late.

I laid my head against Devin. “It wasn’t supposed to end like this.” he murmured, “Peter Pan never fails. I hoped beyond anything that that was true. Now here we are...at the end.”

“Maybe not,” we looked up and saw Tigerlily had joined the group, “Peter Pan hasn’t failed yet.”

“He’s dead! I’d say that’s a failure!” I shouted at her, “And where the hell have you been this week? What help were you during all this?”

“Listen to me. You said that the island can’t live without a host, right?”

“Right, but what does that--”

“You’re going to have to trust me” she pulled the broken bit of wand from her satchel. “Give me your dagger.”

I handed her my dagger and she stabbed the wand with it. I watched as the last remnants of magic imbued itself into the knife. “Stand.” she ordered.

I did as she said and she went to work cutting into the sand around my feet. No, not the sand. She was cutting my shadow against the moonlight.

Once it was free the dark mass sprung away and flew around me. I shuffled my feet at the sensation of no longer having a shadow. I felt lighter somehow. “Oh this is weird.”

“Look,” Nick pointed to the sky where the Jolly Roger blinked out of sight. The island shook and my eyes rolled back into my head.

~~~

I was painfully aware that I was not in fact unconscious at least mentally. I couldn’t move my body nor feel anything around me. I was a thought floating through the air. An expanse of white surrounded me in absolute silence. Was I dying? Was this death?

“It’s not death, pet.”

An image appeared before me. “Peter? I remember! I can remember everything!”

He smiled sadly at me, “I know and that’s great but you need to listen carefully now.” his voice whispered to me as if he was across a large room though he stood right before me. “Since you severed your shadow from your body the soul of the island took you on as the new host. Your body is being tied to the island.”

“What? How can it--”

“Shh. I don’t have time to explain everything. I scarcely know what’s going on myself so you need to listen. Now that I am gone all of the magic is being transferred to you. Then you will be the new tie to the island. All your emotions and your very soul will shape the island like it had with me.”

“Does that mean that I’ll have my own hourglass? That my time is just as limited?”

“No. The hourglass was part of my curse. You carry no such thing. You will be surrogate to the island’s life. It doesn’t matter if you leave for another realm or even if you die, Neverland will stand. No hourglass. No curse. Just your soul being one in the same with the realm. Do you understand?”

“Yes. I believe so.”

“Good. Cause once you wake up then I’m gone. My soul will no longer be intermingled with yours in this transfer and I cannot speak to you ever again.”

“Please no. I need you. I can’t do this without you!”

“Of course you can. You’re my Lost Girl. You are a survivor. A leader. If anyone can do this then it’s you. You’ll be just fine.”

“Peter...I...I love you.”

“Y/N, I--”

~~~

“Y/N! Y/N wake up!” A pair of hands shook me awake. The boys were crowded around me breathing out in relief. Devin crushed me in his arms. “It worked! Neverland stays!”

“No…” I gasped in horror. I clenched my eyes shut, “No, no, no! Go back! Go back!”

“What’s wrong? It worked. Shouldn’t we be a little happy?” Nick asked.

“Everyone back off.” Ben whispered to the others.

Hot angry tears rolled down my face as I tried in vain to go back to the blank space. It isn’t fair! I finally remember and he’s gone. He can’t be gone. One more moment. I just want one more moment with him. The others left carefully picking up Peter’s body and leaving with it.

After I was able to catch my breath and open my eyes without wanting to burst into tears again I got to my feet and followed the boys’ tracks into the jungle. I didn’t notice at first but everything was exceedingly dark giving that there was a full moon. I looked up and saw dark clouds as black as obsidian blocked the sky. What in the world? I wish they would go away. I can barely see anything. Just like that the clouds started to part revealing the moon once more.

Right. I’m the tie to the island. My will and my emotions control every drop of water and grain of sand in this realm now. When I got back to the destroyed camp the boys were fixing things up. They saw me enter and stopped what they were doing to stand before me.

“Where have you put him?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

They pointed to the center of the camp where Peter’s body lay next to the dying embers of the fire. “Shovel.” I held out a hand and after a moment I held a makeshift shovel. “Bring him.”

The boys picked him up again and followed me. I stopped at Peter’s Thinking Tree. I chose a space and plunged the shovel into the dirt. An old sense of familiarity took root as I upturned shovelful after shovelful of dirt. When it was deep enough I pulled myself out and nodded to the boys. Carefully they picked up Peter’s body to lower into the grave. “Wait.” I stopped them.

No one said a word as I brushed the hair away from his eyes and gave his lifeless lips one last kiss. I stepped back and watched as they settled Peter into the grave. With my shovel and their hands we poured the dirt over his body until it was full and the only thing laying before us was a long plot of upturned earth. I stabbed the shovel at the head of the grave to mark it till I could make a proper headstone.

One by one the boys left again until it was just me asleep next to the grave.

~~~

Peter sat up with a start as the connection was severed. He could still hear the trembling in Y/N’s voice echoing through his head as she spoke those beautiful final words to him.

I love you.

She loves him. His Lost Girl loves him...and now she’s gone forever. He’s dead and he can never tell her that--

Wait.

Where the hell was he?

Peter looked around where he woke up and froze. He knew this place. He used to come here all the time when he was younger.

“Look who’s awake at last.” Spoke a withered voice. Peter turned to see an old woman with a huge swollen thumb smiling at him.

“Cibil.” Peter glared. Looking behind the spinner woman he saw the other two with their drooping camel lip and huge flat foot. “Bain. Dabria. How terrible it is to see you all again.”

“Peter Pan, lost child, still so harsh.” they sighed.

“Yes, yes, whatever,” he looked around the weathered shack with its various odds and ends. “Nothing changes around here it seems.”

“Much has changed in your life, Peter Pan.” Dabria smirked at him.

“Well I’m dead so yes, a lot has changed. Why am I here?”

“We caught your soul on its way to the Underworld.”

“Thanks. I can have a last moment with my three favorite seers before I’m damned for all eternity in the River of Souls.”

“If you do not wish to hear what we have to say then you can be on your way to your death, lost child.” The three of them glared back at him.

“Apologies if I’m not in the best mood after dying and being separated from the one person I care about. But please, tell me what it is you have to tell me.”

“You are not damned, Peter Pan. Dead yes, but the damnation of your curse has been lifted.”

“What do you mean? I thought I--what changed?”

“True love’s kiss can break any spell. It restored her memory and saved you.”

“A kiss...why didn’t it work before then? When she first came home?”

“She didn’t believe in you. You were a stranger. She had to fall again.”

“And even before that? Before she got caught in the Evil Queen’s curse?”

“You know the reason.”

He did. Peter couldn’t let himself think like that. It would just hurt him to admit and his Lost Girl deserved more than that. If he told her he wanted to be there to enjoy it with her. At the end though he couldn’t deny it anymore. She had finally returned to him. He wouldn’t deny what he felt for his Lost Girl.

“Can I speak to her again? I need only a moment.”

“You know you cannot. Even now, we struggle to hold your soul here. You must move on to the next life.”

“Yes…” Peter nodded. He didn’t like this but at least Y/N was safe and he wasn’t going to suffer for eternity in the River of Souls. “Well, I can’t say it was a pleasure but it wasn’t terrible seeing you old bats again.”

“How that poor girl came to love you is a mystery even we can’t unravel.” Bain muttered.

“I don’t care that you don’t understand it. So, how do I get to the Underworld? Do I just--”

The hut around him melted away and he was now stood in the middle of a street. Peter didn’t recognize the town but it looked to be modeled after some town from the Land Without Magic. He probably would have thought he was there if it wasn’t for the red hellish glow in the sky and war torn destruction in the street. Peter imagined death and the Underworld plenty of times but he can say that this was nothing like what he was expecting.

With nothing left to do and no one left to care about Peter wandered down the desolated street. He felt something in a fold of his tunic and found a piece of parchment he could have sworn wasn’t there before. He unfolded it and smiled. It was the first drawing he did of Y/N. The one he drew when they were trapped in the Enchanted Forest and that the Neverbird burned to ashes. Guess not only people end up down here.

Peter continued to stare at the picture and sighed. “I’ll find a way back to you, love. My word is my bond.”

(First) (Previous) (Next)

[frizz22]

Announcements pt. 2

read on ao3

3-month checkup

“Do you want to know the gender?” Zelda asked, packing away some of her tools and reaching for the necessary potion ingredients that would reveal the baby’s gender.

“No.”

“Yes.” Her niece and her husband answered at the same time. Zelda hid a smile and turned her back under the pretext of packing more tools away so that the couple could bicker quietly behind her.

“Nicholas, what do you mean you don’t want to know?” Sabrina demanded, aghast. 

Nick placed his hand on Sabrina’s ever-growing belly. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have a surprise? Learn if it’s a boy or girl when it comes out? I think that would be fun…” He tried, raising his eyebrows.

Sabrina shook her head, “I’d like to know now so that we can prepare better.”

“And what is there to prepare that differs based on gender?” Nick countered, smiling smugly knowing that playing that particular card would rile his wife.

The heated, but quiet argument continued until it culminated with Sabrina shouting, “I’m the one carrying the baby for 13 months! And then I’m the one who is pushing it out of a very small hole. I think I get final say, wouldn’t you?”

Nick gaped at her soundlessly for a moment, unable to think of an argument, then he nodded. “Alright,” he sighed and turned to Zelda. “Would you please tell us?”

Zelda smiled and picked up the already prepared concoction. Nick look slightly affronted that she had the potion ready, Zelda just raised a brow. “What? I know my niece, and she wasn’t going to back down.” Sabrina smiled smugly and made a face at Nick who scoffed, but the twinkling in his eyes undermined his portrayed irritation. “So, what we do,” Zelda continued coming to stand next to where Sabrina still lay on the exam table, “is pour this over your stomach and the symbols it creates tells us the gender of the baby.” She held up a finger, “this is by no means perfect, there is a margin for error.” She added as a disclaimer, “though I’ve only had it mislead me personally once, and that was in a case of twins. Ready?”

Sabrina and Nick glanced at one another and gripped one another’s hands before nodding eagerly. “Yes, we’re ready,” Sabrina remarked, anxiously watching as her aunt slowly poured the potion over her abdomen.

The liquid swirled, stilled and swirled again before finally settling in on a decision. The couple looked at the symbol in confusion, brows furrowed. “What does it mean?” Nick finally asked, looking at Zelda expectantly.

“It means,” Zelda smiled broadly, “that you’re having a little girl. Congratulations.”

Nick took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, as he turned away “a girl? We’re having a girl?” He sounded winded and Sabrina looked at him with some concern.

“Nick…” She reached up to touch his back, “are you okay?” Sabrina bit her lip worriedly, though Nick had assured her that he just wanted a healthy baby, she couldn’t help the horrible little voice in her head that told her he was like some of the ‘old school’ warlocks who insisted on having male first-borns so that they may act as heirs.

When he turned back around, there were unshed tears in his eyes. “We’re going to have a baby girl, ‘Brina.” He gave her a watery smile before embracing her tightly. “A sweet, brilliant, beautiful little girl.” He roughly wiped his eyes when he broke the hug and cleared his throat. “I’ll, I’ll go tell Hilda while you two get everything cleaned up.” And he turned and headed upstairs, neither woman missing the slight skip in his step as he left.

Zelda chuckled and shook her head, happy that the man her niece had married was more progressive than her own parents had been in terms of what order boys and girls should be born in. Sabrina’s voice interrupted her musings.

“Auntie,” she murmured, taking the towel Zelda offered and wiping the residual potion from her stomach before pulling her shirt down and sitting up—legs dangling off the edge of the table.

“Yes, dear?” Zelda questioned, efficiently putting away the ingredients for the gender potion.

Sabrina shifted on the table, “I, I have something I want to ask you….”

And her tone had Zelda pivoting to face her niece with a look of concern. “What is it Sabrina?”

“It’s about the baby. We, well mostly me, but I told Nick that I wasn’t going to pick anything else unless you said no. And he understands why, in any case, and I really hope you don’t say no—”

Zelda smiled softly, while her niece often took after her in terms of being direct to the point of rudeness at times, she’d also inherited Hilda’s knack for rambling when nervous. “Darling, just spit it out,” She cut in gently, walking over to where Sabrina was sitting.

Nodding determinedly, Sabrina exhaled and then plunged ahead. “I want to name the baby Zelda Diana.” She paused a moment and then added, “after my mothers.” Zelda’s shuddering intake of breath had Sabrina hurrying on. “I wasn’t sure if you would be okay with that. But I really want to honor you and thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Taking me in, raising me, protecting me and loving me all these years. And—”

The rest of Sabrina’s sentence was interrupted by Zelda lurching forward and hugging her hard, tears pouring down her cheeks. “Oh, Sabrina…” she murmured, tightening her hug. “I don’t need any thanks or honoring. Getting the chance to raise you, though it meant losing your parents, was the best thing to ever happen to me. I thank Satan every day that I have you, that I got to raise you, protect you, love you. You were, and still are, a gift.”

“But I can still name the baby…?” Sabrina managed through her tear constricted throat, hands clutching at her aunt’s dress.

Zelda pulled back and chuckled softly, “of course, darling. You can name the baby whatever you want.” She murmured, touching her niece’s cheek.

Sabrina beamed, “well, then I want to name her after my mothers. Zelda Diana it is.” Her aunt huffed in joyful disbelief but nodded and tucked Sabrina back into her arms, her chin resting on top of Sabrina’s head like when she was little. “I love you, Auntie Zelda.” She whispered.

“I love you too sweet girl,” Zelda breathed in return, rubbing small circles on Sabrina’s back.

They waited 10 minutes, taking the time to collect themselves before going upstairs to join the others for dinner. They’d barely made it into the kitchen when Hilda all but accosted them.

“Did you ask?!” She demanded excitedly, looking between the two of them.

Zelda blinked, nonplussed, “Hilda knew what you were going to ask me?”

Before Sabrina could reply Hilda was bustling forward and hugging her sister and niece at the same time. “Nick only just told me it was a girl and that he left so that Sabrina could ask you a very important question. And, and I think it’s a marvelous idea. A little Zee running around, it’s, it’s just, just marvelous.” She managed dabbing at the happy tears streaming down her cheeks when she released them.

Pressing her forefingers into the corners of her eyes to stem her own crying, Zelda cleared her throat. “Yes, well, it is very thoughtful, and I am touched. Let’s eat,” she turned and started to gather some more napkins and the others filed around her to finished grabbing items to set the table.

~~~~~~~~~~

6-month checkup

“You cannot be using magic to that degree at this stage in your pregnancy!” Zelda scolded, mouth pressed into a tight line. “We’ve been over this.”

Sabrina rolled her eyes and threw up her hands, “it wasn’t even that much magic. Just a little spell—” she began to argue.

Zelda’s eyes flashed at Sabrina’s careless tone. “In any pregnancy, mortal or witch, a baby takes some of the mother’s energy for itself. It’s natural, normal and needed if the baby is to develop and grow. In a witch’s pregnancy, the baby also absorbs some of the mother’s magic. There are many theories on why, none of them have been fully proven, but they all agree that pregnant witches must reduce the amount of magic they perform because of this. You do not have any magic to spare on ‘little’ spells. You are putting your body under unnecessary strain.”  

When Sabrina looked as though she were going to argue with her further, Zelda continued. “And I do believe that when you asked me to be your midwife you said it was because you wanted someone who would be honest with you. Someone who told you what you needed to hear, not what you wanted to hear.” She reminded her, she’d had mothers try and argue with her on this aspect of their pregnancy for decades, Sabrina wasn’t going to be treated any differently than they had been when Zelda confronted them about magic use.

Her niece deflated slightly, clearly feeling guilty about what she’d done and for her insistence that is was not that big of a deal. “I thought, I thought I had more reserve power than I did. I never would want to put strain on the baby… you have to believe that, Auntie Zee, please.”

Some of Zelda’s ire drained away, “I do believe that, Sabrina. I believe you want what is best for your little girl. But I need you to believe me, and all of my decades of experience and knowledge, when I tell you, limit your magic use to the bare minimum. Are we clear?”

Sabrina nodded seriously and stood, smoothing her dress down. “I’m sorry, auntie. I will make sure to do better in the future.” She didn’t quite meet Zelda’s eyes and it was so similar to how contrite Sabrina would look when she was in trouble when she was little that Zelda couldn’t stay mad.

She cupped Sabrina’s cheeks, “I know it is difficult. We rely on magic in so many small ways that we don’t realize how much we use until it’s taken away. I remember that feeling all too clearly from during your trial.”

Sabrina made an exasperated sound but smiled a little. “I was only on trial once! Once, more than three decades ago! And you guys still manage to bring it up with frightening regularity.”

Zelda chuckled, “well, it wouldn’t do to let you forget that you were almost the second felon in the family.”

Shaking her head, Sabrina hugged Zelda briefly and then pulled her coat on. “I get it, if I just listen to you stupid things wouldn’t happen.” She intoned teasingly, “thank you for squeezing me in, I know it’s a busy day for you.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Zelda followed her upstairs. “Are you and Nick joining us for dinner on Thursday? Ambrose and Luke are back from Europe.”

“Yes, we will see you then, bye Auntie, love you.” Sabrina pecked Zelda on the cheek and was out the door.

~~~~~~~~

10-month checkup

Prudence suddenly appeared in the middle of the Spellman kitchen, struggling to hold up an unconscious Sabrina. Zelda yelped in shock and then quickly regained herself and moved to help support her niece.

“What happened?” She demanded, as they moved Sabrina to the basement and onto the exam table.

Prudence was pale and nervous, wringing her hands as she looked at her friend. “I don’t know. We were just painting the nursery, she wanted to surprise Nick by having it done and asked it I would help. We were doing it the mortal way, so that Sabrina didn’t use any magic and then she just, just collapsed.”

“How did she land?” Zelda inquired, checked Sabrina’s pulse.

“What?”

“How did she land after she fainted? Did she face plant and land on her stomach, did she fall sideways, was it backwards? Prudence, I need to know.” Zelda clarified, trying to keep her tone calm when the young woman in front of her was already so stressed.

Prudence ran a hand through her short hair. “On her side.”

“You’re sure?”

Nodding confidently, Prudence met Zelda’s eyes. “Yes, she landed on her side, not on her belly.”

A sigh of relief escaped Zelda and she did a few more tests on Sabrina, once her niece’s health was verified as fine, she started a full workup on the baby. “Go upstairs and start a kettle of soothing tea, when she wakes up Sabrina is sure to be upset. Once that’s done bring the kettle upstairs to Sabrina’s old room with some cups, then find Nick. Tell him what is happening. Sabrina is fine, it just seems to have been a fainting spell. She probably shouldn’t have been breathing in paint fumes and doing manual labor at this stage, but there’s no help for that now.”

“And the baby?” Prudence asked, pausing at the staircase, eyes filled with worry.

“I’m checking her now, I don’t see any reason for alarm. But I will know soon enough.” Zelda then shooed Prudence away and continued her work, heart hammering in her throat.

Everything was perfectly fine. Sabrina was healthy, the baby was healthy, no harm had been done. That didn’t mean that the fainting episode hadn’t scared Sabrina badly. She’d woken up shortly after Prudence had gone upstairs, Zelda could still hear her moving around the kitchen.

Her niece had been panicked at first, understandably so. Zelda resorted to teleporting them to Sabrina’s old room, where she tucked Sabrina into bed and forced the tea into her hand for her to drink before sitting next to her and running a soothing hand up and down her back as she murmured calming sentiments.

Slowly, Sabrina calmed, both from the tea and the comforting presence of her aunt. When she finished her tea, Sabrina leaned heavily against Zelda and greedily took all the comfort she was offering. Soon she felt her eyelids drooping, the rhythmic motion of Zelda’s hand on her back, the slow stroking of her hair and the quiet promises that the baby was perfectly safe and healthy, lulled Sabrina to sleep.

Zelda sighed and carefully untangled herself from her niece, picked up the kettle and empty cup and made her way back downstairs. It was only when she caught a glimpse of the clock that she realized how long it had been since Sabrina had arrived…and it made her wonder where in Satan’s name the girl’s husband was.

As if conjured by her thoughts, Nick burst into the kitchen, pale, sweaty and anxious. “Where is she? Are they okay?” The words rushed out of him and he peered around the kitchen searching for his wife.

“Sabrina and the baby are perfectly fine, nothing happened. Just a little spill, no harm done.” She reassured him, holding her hands up to placate him.

Nick slumped into the kitchen chair in relief. “I wasn’t sure, Pru said she’d been trying to find me for an hour. I wasn’t at the office, a demon banishment gone wrong pulled me out to Riverdale for most of the day. And you know how phones can set demons off, I’d left mine on my desk.” He dropped his head into his hands, “what if something had happened? And I wasn’t here?” He brought his eyes back to Zelda’s and they were pained.

“You can’t think like that. They are both fine. You will drive yourself mad with the what-ifs,” she murmured, placing a cup of calming tea in front of him and she took a seat at the table as well.

He shook his head, “I should’ve been there. I should’ve painted the nursery already. If I had she never would’ve been in the room with all those fumes…” He took a slug of tea, grimacing slightly at the scalding heat.

Zelda swallowed and then reached across the table and took his free hand. “Nicholas, you cannot blame yourself for not being able to protect Sabrina from everything. Trust me, I’ve done just that for decades and all it did was give me an ulcer and high blood pressure. I know you will always worry, will always want to protect her and the baby from all harm and I appreciate that more than you can understand. But I also need you to know, that constant worrying and blaming yourself helps no one. I speak from experience.” She gave him a small smile and squeezed his hand.

Nick took a shuddering breath and nodded, “I understand. I can’t make any promises, but I understand. Will I—, could I come to you in the future to talk about this if I need to? Like you said, you have experience with worrying about Sabrina.”

“Of course,” Zelda replied, though her heart swooped a little at the suggestion, hoping to bond with the man who was essentially her son-in-law, even if it was over their mutual torment over Sabrina’s safety and wellbeing. She stood and moved around the table, “would you like to go see her now? She’s up in her old room.” Nick nodded and poured another cup of tea for Sabrina, but before he bounded up the stairs, he stopped.

Turning abruptly, Nick set down the tea and engulfed Zelda in a bear hug. “Thank you for taking care of my family.” He whispered, his arms tightening around her before he released her and was heading up to see Sabrina, tea back in hand.

Zelda cleared her throat and moved around the kitchen just cleaning random things up as she waited for the couple to come back down. After about fifteen minutes Nick trod back down, Sabrina in tow.

Upon seeing her aunt, Sabrina let go of Nick’s hand and hurried forward to be tucked into Zelda’s embrace the best she could with her large belly. “Thank you, Auntie Zee. I’m sorry I overreacted…” She pulled back with a slightly sheepish smile.

Shaking her head, Zelda placed her hands on Sabrina’s shoulders. “There is nothing for you to apologize for, any mother would have reacted as you did, darling. But, no more painting or manual labor, understood?”

Nick stepped forward, wrapped and arm around Sabrina’s waist and gave her a meaningful look, “yes, we’ve already discussed this upstairs.” He turned his attention to Zelda, “thank you again for taking care of them. You’re coming over Saturday, right?

“Hilda and I will both be there.” Zelda confirmed, looking forward to the get together with Nick’s side of the family. “Until then, take it easy, you’re at 10 months, final stretch but still some time to go.”

They both nodded, thanked and hugged her again before Nick teleported them home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Due Date

All things considered, the labor was moving along rather smoothly. Though Sabrina and Nick would hardly have agreed with her on that. As another contraction worked its way through her niece, Sabrina cursed Nick in every language she knew, all while crushing his hand in hers.

Zelda raised her brows, impressed and then they stayed up out of amusement when Nick retreated upstairs under the pretext of getting Sabrina ice during a lull in her contractions. She chuckled, “I didn’t think my language lessons had sunk in that well,” she teased, getting up and pulling her gloves off to throw them away. “Or did you just remember the curse words?” Zelda got some water and took a drink herself before offering it to Sabrina.

Sabrina laughed a little and accepted the cup. “Just because I don’t read a newspaper in a different language every day doesn’t mean I wasn’t paying attention to what you taught me.” She countered, wincing slightly and placing a hand on her stomach.

Collecting a cool cloth from the nearby table, Zelda gently wiped Sabrina’s brow. “You’re doing amazing, darling. You’re almost done.” She encouraged softly, and Sabrina’s eyes teared up.

Before she could respond, though, another contraction hit and it had a growl forcing itself through Sabrina’s clenched teeth. Zelda promptly took the cup of water away, snapped on a new pair of gloves and positioned herself back on her stool.

“Almost there, sweetheart, a few more big pushes…”

Nick arrived back just then and abandoned the cup of crushed ice in his hand and hurried back to Sabrina’s side.

Twenty minutes later and Zelda was scooping the babe up, clipping the umbilical cord and laying her on Sabrina’s chest in the matter of a minute. “Say hello to your daughter, sweetheart.” Zelda announced, though her voice wobbled a little with emotion.

“Oh, oh Satan, she’s perfect.” Nick murmured in awe, bending to run a cautious finger along his daughter’s skull.

And Sabrina just beamed and held the girl close, silent tears slipping down her face. “Hello Zelda,” she whispered, kissing the baby’s head carefully and laughing a little in disbelief that her child was finally there.

It took another 15 minutes or so until everything was done, and mom and baby were cleaned up and ready for visitors. Zelda brought everyone down to the basement and hung back as Hilda, Ambrose, Luke and Nick’s parents crowded around the little family; the new parents exhausted but flushed with happiness.

“How’s little Zee?” Ambrose asked, immediately drawn to Sabrina’s side, eyes wide in wonder as he took in the little girl. “Oh, coz, she’s beautiful. Good thing she takes after Nick.” He teased, only to yelp slightly when Hilda playfully smacked the back of his head.

“Oh hush, she’s perfect.” Hilda gushed, happily taking the baby when Sabrina offered her, and automatically swaying side to side as the baby nestled in her arms.

It was only then that Sabrina noticed how Zelda was hanging back, just taking it all in. Sabrina held out her hand and looked at her aunt meaningfully. Zelda smiled and stepped forward to take it, allowing herself to be drawn into a tight hug.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, Aunt Zelda,” Sabrina breathed in her ear, softly so that the others couldn’t hear as they passed the baby around. “Any of it, not just this. Thank you, thank you for everything. I love you.”

Zelda didn’t know how to respond, just clumsily patted Sabrina’s cheek and kissed the top of her head. “I love you too, Sabrina.” They stood there smiling tearfully at one another for another moment before Zelda briskly wiped her eyes. “Alright,” she stated clearly, composure regained. “Let me see my namesake.” She smiled widely, holding out her arms expectantly for the baby. Nick’s father looked slightly put out about having to relinquish his granddaughter already but handed the girl over without pause or argument.

As she held the baby, Zelda couldn’t help the burst of love that went through her. It was similar to when she’d held Sabrina for the first time. “Hello, little Zee. I’m your Auntie Zelda, it’s nice to finally meet you.” She cooed and cuddled the baby, who yawned widely and settled against Zelda’s chest.

“Don’t you mean great aunt, Auntie Zee?” Ambrose remarked cheekily, and Zelda flicked one hand and the stool Ambrose was sitting on shot out from underneath him. And everyone laughed at his stunned expression.

Zelda arched a brow at him, “watch yourself, just because you’re almost a century and a half old doesn’t mean I can’t still ground you.”  Ambrose just gaped at her from where he was still sitting on the ground and she laughed before turning her attention back to little Zee.

Had anyone told her decades ago that her life would be this full of love, family and laughter Zelda would have scoffed at them. But, as she lifted her gaze to sweep through the room, she couldn’t think of anywhere she would rather be then surrounded by family.

[aromantic-eight]

Why I will always write James Ironwood as aromantic

As probably the whole fandom knows by now, the Ozluminati are all loosely based on one or more characters from L. Frank Baum’s Wizard of Oz series. What fewer people know is that evidence points to them specifically being allusions of the book characters. This is important for several reasons, not least of which is that the movie and the books have very different takes on the main characters. I’m going to talk today about Nick Chopper, aka the Tin Woodman, the allusion character of James Ironwood.

Now, L. Frank Baum can never be accused of being a particularly progressive author, or even of having particularly good takes on a lot of things, but one thing he did manage to do (probably unintentionally) is write a fantastic aromantic icon. Other essays before mine have laid this out, but I want to repeat it here on tumblr with particular emphasis on what it means for James Ironwood’s character.

The Tin Woodman’s Story

Dorothy finds the Tin Woodman rusted in place in a forest, as he had forgotten to oil himself and it had rained. After freeing him, he tells her how he became made of tin, and also why he is deeply unhappy with his lot in life.

“I was born the son of a woodman who chopped down trees in the forest and sold the wood for a living. When I grew up, I too became a woodchopper, and after my father died I took care of my old mother as long as she lived. Then I made up my mind that instead of living alone I would marry, so that I might not become lonely."

So he found a munchkin girl, and he tells us that he fell in love with her because she was beautiful and because she loved him back, but that she was the slave of a Wicked Witch who did not want to lose her. So she cursed his axe such that it chopped off each of his limbs one by one, requiring him to get them replaced with tin.

"I thought I had beaten the Wicked Witch then, and I worked harder than ever; but I little knew how cruel my enemy could be. She thought of a new way to kill my love for the beautiful Munchkin maiden, and made my axe slip again, so that it cut right through my body, splitting me into two halves. Once more the tinsmith came to my help and made me a body of tin, fastening my tin arms and legs and head to it, by means of joints, so that I could move around as well as ever. But, alas! I had now no heart, so that I lost all my love for the Munchkin girl, and did not care whether I married her or not. I suppose she is still living with the old woman, waiting for me to come after her."

The Tin Woodman’s lack of heart, therefore, is an issue of not being able to feel romantic love. We’re told that the Tin Woodman was previously able to fall in love, but no longer can due to the materials he’s made of. This is consistent with how other non-human characters in the series are described, although Charamei gives a convincing argument for a Tin Woodman who was always aromantic. But whether or not you buy that, it is very explicitly canon throughout the entirety of the books that the Tin Woodman cannot fall in love, and that’s just how he is. 

Now, in the first book the Tin Woodman is very distressed by this. He not only feels he would be happier if he were in love, but (like the scarecrow) he feels that because other men can fall in love and he cannot this makes him less than them, and also because he attributes a lack of romantic love with an inability to be kind or compassionate.

Thereafter he walked very carefully, with his eyes on the road, and when he saw a tiny ant toiling by he would step over it, so as not to harm it. The Tin Woodman knew very well he had no heart, and therefore he took great care never to be cruel or unkind to anything. “You people with hearts,” he said, “have something to guide you, and need never do wrong; but I have no heart, and so I must be very careful. When Oz gives me a heart of course I needn’t mind so much.”

And:

“I am a Woodman, and made of tin. Therefore I have no heart, and cannot love. I pray you to give me a heart that I may be as other men are.”

The Wizard of Oz

One of the main differences between the Wizard of Oz movie, and the first book in the Oz series, is the interpretation of each of Dorothy’s three companions, and what happens when they finally meet the Wizard. It’s made clear throughout the book that all three companions already have the thing that they want from the wizard, they just think they don’t. In the case of the Tin Woodman, while he is indeed unable to fall in love (as shown in later books) he is repeatedly stated to be the kindest character in the group. 

The Wizard could not make the Tin Woodman feel something he was not able to feel, but he could “trick” the woodman into recognizing the feelings that he was already capable of. And that’s exactly what he does in the books. 

So Oz brought a pair of tinsmith’s shears and cut a small, square hole in the left side of the Tin Woodman’s breast. Then, going to a chest of drawers, he took out a pretty heart, made entirely of silk and stuffed with sawdust.

“Isn’t it a beauty?” he asked. “It is, indeed!” replied the Woodman, who was greatly pleased. “But is it a kind heart?” “Oh, very!” answered Oz. He put the heart in the Woodman’s breast and then replaced the square of tin, soldering it neatly together where it had been cut.

The heart the Wizard gives the Tin Woodman has no powers. It’s simply cloth and sawdust, but the Tin Woodman believes it to be a functioning heart. From here after, he attributes any and all kind or caring feelings to this heart, and credits the Wizard for supplying it. But even after he gets this heart, he admits that it does not include the ability to fall in love. 

“Well,” continued the Tin Woodman, “after meeting the Scarecrow and Dorothy, I went with them to the Emerald City, where the Wizard of Oz gave me a heart. But the Wizard’s stock of hearts was low, and he gave me a Kind Heart instead of a Loving Heart, so that I could not love Nimmie Amee any more than I did when I was heartless.”

“Couldn’t the Wizard give you a heart that was both Kind and Loving?” asked the boy. “No; that was what I asked for, but he said he was so short on hearts, just then, that there was but one in stock, and I could take that or none at all. So I accepted it, and I must say that for its kind it is a very good heart indeed.”

The Tin Woodman goes on to gain a great reputation for being kind, but he is also shown to care about his friends a great deal, particularly the scarecrow. 

“Nothing can be done!” gloomily replied the Emperor of the Winkies. “But since Ozma refuses my army I will go myself to the Emerald City. The least I may do is to perish beside my beloved Ruler.”

And:

There lived in the Land of Oz two queerly made men who were the best of friends. They were so much happier when together that they were seldom apart; yet they liked to separate, once in a while, that they might enjoy the pleasure of meeting again.

The Story’s Conclusion

We eventually get a conclusion to the Tin Woodman’s munchkin maiden, Nimmie. In a later book in the series, the Tin Woodman is reminded that the purpose of his marriage to Nimmie was to allow her to escape her cruel owner, and that she must therefore still be there. He resolves to track her down and offer to marry her again, but not because he has fallen in love again. 

“To be sure,” said the Tin Woodman, “if you care to join our party. It was you who first told me it was my duty to find and marry Nimmie Amee, and I’d like you to know that Nick Chopper, the Tin Emperor of the Winkies, is a man who never shirks his duty, once it is pointed out to him.” “It ought to be a pleasure, as well as a duty, if the girl is so beautiful,” said Woot, well pleased with the idea of the adventure. “Beautiful things may be admired, if not loved,” asserted the Tin Man. “Flowers are beautiful, for instance, but we are not inclined to marry them. Duty, on the contrary, is a bugle call to action, whether you are inclined to act, or not. In this case, I obey the bugle call of duty.”

And again:

“But I’m afraid you don’t love Nimmie Amee,” suggested Dorothy. “That is just because I can’t love anyone,” replied the Tin Woodman. “But, if I cannot love my wife, I can at least be kind to her, and all husbands are not able to do that.”

Listen, I don’t know about you but that is an extremely aro attitude towards marrying someone. Moreover, the other traits the Tin Woodman expresses throughout this book and previous books—kindness, concern for others’ welfare, a strong sense of duty to one’s country and loved ones, and even disagreements with Ozma over the usefulness of military force—are all traits shared by our own James Ironwood. 

James Ironwood

Which brings us back to RWBY, and James Ironwood, and the fact that despite the fact he comes into the show as the head of a country painted as emotionless and logical, James Ironwood is shown time and again to care a lot. He is presented as a foil to Oz not based on how much each wants to do right by their people but by how each of them thinks that’s best accomplished. In the season 2 director’s commentary, Miles + co stress that Oz and James are very, very close friends who’ve just run up against something they can’t agree on. He even gains his metal limbs sequentially like the book’s background for the Tin Woodman. 

There’s no reason, therefore, that the Tin Woodman’s lack of romantic attraction wouldn’t also be part of his character. And the fact that his aromanticism comes tightly tied in with his status as the kindest person in Oz is, I think, very important in a world where many people assume “aromantic” means cold, or uncaring, or disloyal. 

Give me a James Ironwood who was told all his life that you can’t be happy unless you’re in love. Give me a James Ironwood who tried, and failed, and hated himself, and then met a sad old wizard who told him “don’t you see, you have so much to give the people in your life already.” Give me a James Ironwood whose duty to his family and his country is more important than anything, who holds his friends dear to his heart, who feels intensely and misses people intensely and holds a certain wizard and scarecrow as the best friends he’s ever had. Give me a James Ironwood who’s found himself a place he belongs and a contentment with who he is, and who does it all without ever falling in love. 

[traincat]

I think I Kno the answer but I like the way you explain things so; would you ever write superfamily?

This is the sort of stone cold ‘no’ where it’s literally one of the only things I say I will not write on signup sheets. You’d have to pay me to write it. Substantially. If there’s one Marvel fandom-specific trope I hate above all others, it’s this one. I ‘flames on the side of my face’ gif loathe it. And because you played to my ego here, anonymous, I’ll explain why it bothers me so much. (Joking aside, I do genuinely appreciate that people want to hear my thoughts on things! Thank you! I’m sorry for how seethingly bitter I’m about to be, but anon, I suspect you knew what you’d be getting when you asked this!)

Frothing hatred, a discussion about the integrity of the character of Peter Parker, and The Importance of May Parker – all beneath your friendly neighborhood cut.

Superfamily in this instance refers to a specific fic trope in Marvel fandom where a pair of superheroes, traditionally Captain America and Iron Man (the superhusbands, hence the superfamily) although I’ve seen other pairings especially as of late, are written as the fathers of Peter “Spider-Man” Parker – usually adopted, sometimes biological, but ultimately legally. 

In general I don’t really enjoy this kind of fic where two characters who aren’t related (by blood or otherwise) are re-envisioned as relatives. It’s not that I think it’s inherently a bad concept, but what I would hypothetically want out of it – an exploration of how these characters change as a result of being related in this version – is almost never what it actually is, which is that Characters A and B are the author’s OTP, and the author wants to give them a child, and Character C, who is off over there minding their own business probably with their own supporting cast, is right there. 

(While trying to come up with comparative combinations on a tangent I ultimately dropped, I did think “Maria Hill and Natasha Romanoff are the parents of Daisy Johnson, costarring Nick Fury as the mysterious uncle” and apparently there are versions of this I would read. Make superspyfamily the next big thing.)

There’s a lot of other things I don’t like about the trope: the diminishing and infantilization of Peter Parker, a ~30yo man in the comics with his own complicated web of connections and relationships – including, if we wanted to go here, a surrogate father figure in Joe “Robbie” Robertson. The twisting of Peter’s personality in order to make his a Good Earnest Kid, his Grand Canyon-wide independent streak and his anti-authoritarian nature stripped away in favor of making him beholden to two characters who are, you know, not his parents. Two characters who aren’t even, striking a stint in the ice where Steve Rogers is concerned, that much older than him in 616. The fact that, over the years, Iron Man and Spider-Man have clashed several times, often aggressively on Peter’s side of things. 

(This post isn’t meant to be a criticism of Tony Stark – even if I was interested in taking that angle when discussing this trope, which I’m not, I frankly haven’t read enough Iron Man comics to offer a valid criticism – but rather a statement that Peter Parker is an aggressive character by nature, and that sometimes two characters with the best of intentions can have damaging interactions with each other. That’s the beauty of having a canon with 80 million different characters – every possible dynamic exists. And that’s why there’s several canon instances of Peter attacking Tony in my Spider-Man refs folder. Listen, I like when he punches people, okay.) The invention of a totally fake dynamic that has become so widespread and latched on on a fanon level to the point where it was shoehorned into the latest Spider-Man movie adaptation to the detriment of Spider-Man’s actual supporting cast. The fact that when I read Spider-Man fic, I want to be reading about Spider-Man, not someone’s Peter Parker shaped OC. And maybe most importantly: the erasure of May Parker. Without May Parker, there is no Spider-Man, not as we know him. 

I’ve spoken before about the importance and gravity of Ben Parker’s death and how without knowing the exact circumstances, I find it difficult to know what form Peter’s actions will take. (The differences in his crime fighting methodology 616 vs Marvel Noir, for instance.) But while Ben Parker’s death made Spider-Man, the vigilante, I think it’s May Parker who makes him a hero, every day. 

And, my line on her to Peter is that he got his powers from the spider but he got his strength from May. Because that backbone is what made him who and what he is today. The choices that he makes now come of her having raised him a certain way. – J Michael Straczynski (x)

Look, I think there’s a simplicity to Superfamily that contributes to its overwhelming, infuriating, kudzu-like popularity: Spider-Man is one of the biggest superhero properties on the planet. He’s often, however incorrectly I would personally suggest this is, depicted as a kid. He is, as we all know, an orphan – he has no parents, and he lives with his aunt and uncle, and then – robber, bang, power, responsibility – only with his aunt. And I think sometimes when people hear “orphan” and “aunt” they kind of feel a distance – a disconnect. Or maybe it’s an age thing – the idea that May’s somehow too old to be his parent, so she’s discounted. Maybe it’s just because she’s not a superhero, I don’t know. I don’t think it’s entirely a coincidence that early Marvel is populated with non-traditional family models – the Fantastic Four, for example, are not a team but a family – when these stories were created by Jewish people living in a heavily Jewish area in the shadow of WWII. In the face of decimation, you come together however you can. Orphaned Peter Parker and his aunt, his father’s brother’s wife, alone together. But May Parker’s a lot more than just that.

In Amazing Spider-Man #33, Peter finds himself hopelessly trapped under rubble while Aunt May’s life hangs in the balance – if he cannot free himself, it’s not only his life but hers that’s forfeit, and through his love from her he finds the strength to literally move mountains. (Speaking of removing May from the picture in favor of Iron Man, I’ll never forgive Spider-Man: Homecoming for recreating this scene so that Peter derives his strength from him and not from, you know, the woman who raised him and who he loves more than his own life, in favor of the inherently more marketable Iron Man brand.)

A lot of times in Superfamily fic, they just kill May off. Okay, fine, whatever. I might hate it (I hate it a lot) but like, alright! Fine! If you gotta go here! May’s often been in delicate health, especially in older comics, and if an author needs to take her out of the picture, her literally being dead is basically the only in character reason she wouldn’t be there for Peter if he needs her. I might personally have a grudge against about it, but hey, as we’ve established, I have a grudge against the whole trope. Lately though, and I suspect because of the advent of Homecoming’s Hot Somewhat Younger May – I’d like to suggest that 616 May is not as old as one might think looking at her first appearances and that, as the sliding timescale moves along, we have to address the fact that people both live longer and look younger today than was expected in the 1960s –,  I’ve been seeing a different trend. (Yes, I’ve been known to hateread, I’ll admit it. How else would I know how much I hate it! Also it keeps ending up in the JohnnyPeter tag and I make poor choices re: deriving enjoyment from my anger over fanfic of all things.) Lately, more and more, I’ve been seeing fics where Tony adopts Peter from May – as in, she signs the forms giving up her child, because obviously he loves him so much more. Fics where May is just the cover story so Peter Stark can escape media attention – so great, now she’s an employee. And at least one tweet about how great it would be to see a fic where Peter comes out to May and she throws him out in a homophobic fit but wait! The Avengers can rescue him! So now she’s demonized for the Drama. Gag me. (Not that I think it should matter at all for the sake of this argument, but we have May’s actual word in Amazing Spider-Man v2 #38 on what would happen if Peter came out as gay to her, and that it’s she’d love and support him no matter what.) And listen, like, part of me is like let it go! The majority of this content is written by younger fans just figuring out what they want to write, dipping their toes into the swampy waters that is Marvel canon! But the problem is, this perpetuates. It gets popular, and people form their opinions based on headcanons and not on canon and it becomes a vicious cycle, and suddenly Peter’s the Kid Avenger like, ACTUALLY, and May’s role in the story has been demoted to Roommate With a Car at best. Just there until better, cooler parental figures show up at the doorstep with adoption papers. 

Because, listen, May Parker is Peter’s mother. 

One thing I find fascinating about Peter Parker in 616 is how he relies on and draws strength from other people’s goodness, and none more so than May. It’s her well of inner strength and kindness that enable him to be kind of superhero that he is. 

Without May Parker, Peter Parker would be a totally different character – and I don’t want a different character. I like this one. (For a canon story about how Peter would be different without May, check out Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man #8.)

Like I said above, the great thing about having 80 million characters is that those characters get to be different things, and as superheroes they get to protect different things. Iron Man is a futurist. The Fantastic Four are about discovery. The X-Men protect a world that hates and fears them. Spider-Man isn’t here to save the world. Spider-Man is here to protect ordinary people – people like May Parker. 

In conclusion: fuck Superfamily as a widespread trend.

Anyway I had to see an actual article about the MCU refer to two characters as Spider-Man’s “Avenger dads” and another suggest that Dr. Strange and Spider-Man are the father-son combo we never knew we always needed (it’s not, and we don’t), so I guess I’m going to go live in a cave and throw rocks at innocent hikers who stumble upon my Spider-Man Opinions cave now.

[mister-tom-a-dildo-lover]

How do you feel when people call Voldemort dumb, cartoonish villain? Do you think he is?

They only paid attention to Movie!Voldemort. In the films, every character is dumbed down considerably. On my main blog, I am doing a re-read of the HP series and am keeping everyone up to date with my observations. I have observed a lot.

Vernon is 10X worse in the books. Easily talking of beating Harry, hating Harry, and expressing no remorse over the thought of him dying. He’s made to be a joke in the films. He is in fact, very abusive and love to lord that fact over others.

Ron is 10X smarter in the books. All of his quotes were given to other characters in the films or just left out. He was regulated to an attempt at comic relief in the film.

Book!Myrtle talks of trying to kill herself after being chased off from Nick’s Deathday Party. She’s more playful in the films but in the movie she has tantrums all the time.

Voldemort monologues in the books, but it also shows his thought process. Limited time in the films means they cut out a lot of his character and the way he thinks.

In the films, things were changed/cut to conserve time. In the books however, there is more depth.

Tom Marvolo Riddle: I Am Lord VoldemortBlood Status: Half-Blood(in denial)Born: 31 Dec 1926Died: 2 May 1998Birthplace: Wool’s Orphanage, LondonTalents: Parseltongue, Powerful Magic, CharismaMother: Merope Riddle née Gaunt - PurebloodFather: Tom Riddle Sr. - MuggleHogwarts House: Slytherin - Head Boy

Notable Happenings in his Childhood/Teen Years:

The Great Depression.

WWII - leads to him witnessing the aftermath of The Blitz. As well as perpetual bombings of London long after the Blitz ended.

Magical War - Grindelwald lording over the magicals all over the world.

Tom Marvolo Riddle was conceived through use of a Love Potion. His mother, in an effort to permanently escape her abusive father and brother, who were in prison for the time being, decided to dose the Muggle she obsessively fancied. She then forced him to marry her, take her to London, and have sex with her.

Over time she began to feel guilty, but waited until she was far along in her pregnancy before releasing Tom from her influence. She had hoped he would at least stay for the baby. However, he didn’t(nor should he have had to). He fled in a panic and she had nothing to her name but the Slytherin Locket, which she pawned off in Knockturn Alley in hopes of getting something to live off of. That didn’t work much either.

She managed to give birth to Tom Marvolo Riddle in an orphanage and died shortly after naming him after his father and her father. She also made a wish for him to look like Tom Sr.. She ‘died of a broken heart’ that in my personal opinion is a load of bull since she forced herself on someone and has only herself to blame for the situation she was in.

Now TMR grows up in the orphanage where people think his oddly named mother was a circus performer since she was so hideous(thanks to inbreeding) and had no man with her. Tom grows up being able to do things others cannot and believes himself to be special.

Like other magical children who show natural aptitude, he wasn’t liked. Much like Hermione Granger wasn’t. He was smart and studious, and poor children who are fighting to get adopted out of a mediocre hellhole during the Great Depression, aren’t going to like that.

He had altercations with some of the children. The matron, a drunkard, blames him entirely. He is framed to be a delinquent, kind of like how the Dursleys had everyone thinking of Harry. And he is a child who grows to hate people who treat him terribly just because he isn’t their definition of ‘normal’.

When he finds out he has magic, he ends up revealing that he can speak to snakes. A teacher, who is supposed to be impartial but who took the words of a woman who inhaled multiple glasses of gin while complaining about how unnatural Tom was, decided to treat him like a monster on the brink of snapping any day. Because of a language. He never told Tom what it meant either.

Tom is a hard worker. He is sorted into Slytherin which is known for treating those who are not Pureblooded, terribly. And with a non-magical name like Riddle, he was probably disliked for a time. And he worked to gain the favor of his professors, save for the one walking on eggshells around him of course.

He begins to collect prominent Slytherins and makes his little group, the Knights of Walpurgis.

In his 6th Year, he opens the Chamber of Secrets after searching so long for information on his ancestry. Marvolo was a magical name, and he somehow learned of Parseltongue being a Slytherin Family trait. So he researches and studies, and finally finds what he’s looking for, though is unhappy to find that his mother was his magical parent. After all, she was weak and died. Why didn’t she save herself and decide to leave him in such a horrible place?

And during these years, he develops a fear of death. But how and why? People scared of dying, are usually faced with a near-death experience, or are made blatantly aware of something dangerous that can cause it. Take a look back at the ‘Happenings’ during his childhood. Muggle war. Blown up buildings. Thousands of people dead. Him being forced to go back to that every summer thereby putting his existence on the line.

These are what created Lord Voldemort. This is his history. A magical orphan growing up in WWII in the thick of the danger, while the world is going through a Great Depression. These experiences shape him.

Orphans cling to anything they own, which helped make him possessive of his belongings. And keeping things from kids who bothered him, isn’t a bad thing in my opinion since I did the same when people tried bullying me. If you didn’t want your hat to get ruined/taken, you shouldn’t have punched me in the face, simple. Keep your hands to yourself.

Tom Riddle as a character has nuance. But he lost his mind with the Horcruxes. He made so many that we see a vast difference in the Tom from the Diary - who has the largest soul piece - and Voldemort from GoF and onward. Looks aside, he starts getting repetitive, and a little frantic in action. He doesn’t plan things out. Why?

Horcruxes eff you up. He made 7. He’s operating on the smallest sliver of his soul and he looked like a scaley cosplayer gone wrong. The whole point of DH was to show how bad Horcruxes are and when you compare Diary!Tom to DH!Voldemort, they are massively different. Both possessive and obsessive, but still vastly different.

Voldemort ends up as a shriveled up baby-look-alike at the end of DH, never to leave Limbo. Horcruxes did that to him. Mutilated him terribly. He went mad because of his own foolishness.

Now do I think that Rowling could have done more with his character? Yes. But book Voldemort has a very interesting background, and the beauty of it, is that Rowling alludes to much in her books. She doesn’t spell everything out for the readers, and expects you to read between the lines.

So for those of us who have been in situations like Severus, Harry, or Tom’s, we see what is wrong with their childhoods and understand better. We pick up little things.

Take Harry for example. There are people claiming he wasn’t abused by the Dursleys, but then the books show him being locked in his room, bars put on his window, a cat flap placed on the door, and Petunia conveniently only feeding him and Hedwig one can of soup a day for 3 days in a row. Or how Harry learned a lesson all abused kids learn early on. [Don’t ask questions!] For those of us who’ve been through things like that, it sticks out for us.

Voldemort is an example of what went wrong in the worst way. He, Severus, and Harry are examples of the same thing going in three different directions. Voldemort got into Dark Magic and became obsessed, losing himself as he happily drowned in it. Severus got into Dark Magic and realized he was in too deep but it was too late to save him. Harry got into Dark Magic, realized it wasn’t good, and chose to stop thanks to the examples of the two before him, warning him away.

We are supposed to juxtapose Harry and Voldemort. Harry being on the one end of the spectrum and Voldemort being on the opposite end. ‘It’s our choices’ and all that rubbish.

[LIGHT]—-|—-[DARK] 

Voldemort, while not as detailed as I think he should have been toward the end, did what his character was supposed to. And that is to prove that absolute power demoralizes.

He is not cartoonish, though he is a drama queen and an attention seeker. But in the words of Sherlock Holmes, ‘the frailty of genius, [John], it needs an audience’.

[couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name]

Molly please grace us with a philly super bowl gothic. I need your input on the state of our city rn because I'm trying to explain it to people and I can't adequately convey the palpable emotion and tension in the air

You need to get into city hall for business, but all the streets are backed up for over a mile. Everyone appears to be just laying in the streets for as far as the eye can see. You shove your way through the masses, determined to get to city hall, but to your horror, you realize that is the epicenter of this madness. People are bowing down in worship to the William Penn statue atop the building. You see Jim Kenney lean out of his office window and smile- he believes this praise is for him. 

You’ve had to go to three separate eye doctors, certain something is wrong, something is deteriorating. Why can you only see in the color green? The doctors all assure you nothing is wrong, but you haven’t seen a normal color in over two weeks. All these buildings should not be green, it doesn’t make sense.

You are new in town, and your neighbor comes over to chat with a friendly, welcoming smile.“How ‘bout our Iggles, huh?”. You ask her what she’s talking about, but she merely laughs. “Our crazy Iggles! Youse know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout! Our undadawgs! They’re gonna be champions! Big ole’ Billy’s gonna make it happen furus, I can tell. Love them Iggles! Yo, jeet yet taday?” You are left blinking in oncoming horror, trying to piece these incoherent soundbites together. “Yiz want any cawfee?” You are visibly shaking at this point. What is this woman trying to communicate to you. She sees your tremors and laughs again. “Maybe not cawfee, huh? Well, hey, let’s just head over to the MAC machine by the ac-a-me and then I’ll treat youse to some good ole’ wooder-ice? Yo, maybe we can even grab some hoagies!” She has your arm and is dragging you along with her, her smile still plastered on, somehow friendly and threatening all at once. “C’mon! If we hurry, we might be able to catch the Iggles party down by the furry! GOW BURDS!” You cannot escape her grip and you feel sobs beginning to wrack your body. What is she saying.

Your dog got loose in the park and you are trying to locate him. But every where you turn, a person is wearing a german shepherd mask. They are standing there, motionless, seemingly lifeless. Unnerved, you carefully maneuver yourself through the crowd, looking for harmless little Chris. You can’t spot him in the horrifying sea of masked men. You need to get out of here. ‘Chris!’ you yell, hoping to attract his attention. Instead, to your terror, every single masked face turns in your direction. It is still terrifyingly quiet. ‘CHRIS!’ you call again, the desperation clear in your voice. The crowd all moves closer to you, the eye holes seemingly empty. Suddenly your little dog bursts through the crowd and happily leaps into your arms. You sigh in relief. ‘Let’s get out of here’ you mumble under your breath, but little Chris puts his paw up on your shoulder, looks you in the eye, and to your immense fear says, clear as day, ‘We can’t leave. We belong here.’ Trying to pull yourself together, you ask the puppy what he means. ‘We Are The Underdogs’. The masked crowd around you begins to chant ‘Underdogs’ over and over as they move in. Your screams cannot be heard over them. Six hours later, you awake in your home, and when you look in the mirror, you discover you are wearing the german shepherd mask. It will not come off no matter how hard you pull at it. You weep, for now you too are an underdog.

People keep screaming ‘Dilly Dilly’. No one really knows why. It’s just kinda happening. 

You are in the library alone, late at night, trying to cram for an exam, when you are suddenly approached by the ghost of Benjamin Franklin. He leans against the desk, splashing bud light all over your textbooks, and one glance at him confirms he’s been recently snorting cocaine. ‘Hey,’ he says, ‘If you suck my dick I’ll pull some strings on the other side so the Eagles will kick Boston’s ass’. You groan. “Ben, please, I’m not in the mood”. He raises an eyebrow, ‘Fine, fine, but if they loose, it’s gonna be on you. Don’t you love your family?’. You know he’s right. Papa’s heart couldn’t possibly take another crushing blow. You take a deep breathe to steady yourself before following him into the backroom. 

Alien visitations have increased in tenfold since the city learned the Eagles were going to the super bowl. But hardly anyone has noticed, because everyone is painted green themselves. The aliens have been loving all the cheesesteaks.

‘Say Mama’ you beg your child. He should have started talking months ago. ‘Mama’. He puts his chubby little hands on your cheeks and presses his precious face to yours. ‘Are you gonna say Mama?’ you try again. The child blinks, before clearing his throat and saying “In Nick Foles We Trust”. You cry yourself to sleep that night as your husband high fives all his friends.

Every person knows a person who was personally punched by acclaimed actor Bradley Cooper after voicing distaste for the Eagles.

New Jersey, continuing their act of Just Wanting To Be Philly, lights up everything green as well and makes a big show of prosecuting Boston fans. No one finds it cute. They try harder and harder each time they don’t get a reaction. CBS News tries to give them a shoutout to just get the madness to end, but Ukee is interrupted by the ghost of Betsy Ross yelling ‘she doesn’t even go here!’. Adam Joseph writes a think-piece on the whole situation. 

Theater-loving fans everywhere scream out as Leslie Odom Jr. appears to be wearing Patriots colors while singing America the Beautiful despite the fact he’s from Philly. Betrayal is in the air. 

You have an accident and cut your arm, when you realize to your horror that instead of blood, something green is oozing out of the wound. You scream, scream so much you start up a hacking cough, and are further terrified to find a green haze coming out of your mouth. Someone runs to your aid, and wordlessly, panicked, you show them your injury. They laugh and shrug, sounding relieved. “Oh, that’s nothing, your fine! You know we all bleed green around here!”

“What the fuck is Minnesota?” is a question you grow used to hearing. You aren’t even quite sure you know the answer yourself. It’s irrelevant, anyway, because we all know there’s not really a world outside of Philly. 

Every report you see on the super bowl mentions ‘The Philadelphia Eagles’. Every article online, every late night show host, it’s all about the Philadelphia Eagles. You feel your breaths quicken pace, your heart pound, your palms sweat as you press them to your forehead, trying to contain your oncoming panic. Philadelphia Eagles? Philadelphia Eagles? What the fuck is the Philadelphia Eagles? You know only of the Philly Iggles. You were told your favorite team of the Philly Iggles were going to the super bowl. You choke back a sob. Had you bought all this merchandise for nothing, then? Why would someone lie to you like this? 

Fireworks have been shot off in every part of the city for the past week, so much so that you can no longer hear properly anymore. You are irrationally ashamed of this, and try your best to keep it a secret. Every time someone tries to talk to you, you just respond ‘Go birds!’. It works flawlessly.

Your father has been barricading the house for three days now, a panicked, mad look in his eyes. You ask him what’s wrong. “This city is going to burn, baby! We have to stay safe!”. You remind him that no one knows who’s going to win the super bowl yet. He looks to you with a broken stare, tears running down his face. “It doesn’t matter, honey, it doesn’t matter- WE ARE ALL GOING TO BURN.”

You smile at the girl wearing an Eagles jersey on the bus, and ask her where in the city she’s from. “Oh, Willow Grove, but-”. Your stare grows cold and uncaring. That’s not Philly. That’s the suburbs. “It’s like, 20 minutes outside it though, it counts. I‘m in the city all the tim-”. You cut her off. She doesn’t belong here. That jersey is not meant for her to wear. “But we’re all really excited for the Eagles in the suburbs, too! It’s all we-”. She falls silent at your glare. The rest of the bus has tuned into the conversation and turn to her with matching looks. She does not deserve that jersey. 

Pope Francis glances at his small tv blasting the CBS3 News cast, and sighs wistfully into his bite of cheesesteak. “They used to talk about me nonstop,”. His aids acknowledge his mood. His Holiness sighs again, “If only they knew….that I put in that good word for them. That I made this happen.“ He sighed once more. This truly was a thankless job.

Philly Jesus can be found in a green robe, dancing with passerby near the LOVE statue and taking pictures. The cops can’t even bring themselves to arrest him this time, everyone is relishing in the good mood. The news breaks that the Eagles are in the lead. In celebration, Philly Jesus claps his hands and everyone’s drinks turn to wine. Holy shit, he’s actual Jesus. Unfortunately now the cops have to arrest him for distributing alcohol to minors and for carrying it open in public. This is somehow on brand for the city.

You light an alter in your dark room. On it sits a photo of the entire Eagles team, a box of Quaker Oats with William Penn smiling benevolently at you, a nude of Bradley Cooper, and a picture of Ben Franklin with double blunts in his mouth and gold chains around his neck. You make your promises, and then place your offerings of tastykakes and soft pretzels. Almost as if on cue, green fire works explode outside your window and you here the people in the next room scream ‘TOUCHDOWN!’. You smile. You knew your boys would never let you down. 

Your mother is a bad luck charm. You know this, and she knows this, and she is somehow stronger than you in this moment. You are still fighting back tears as she hands you the blade. “It needs to be done. Make it quick, love.” You don’t dare open your eyes as you dispose of the bad luck. You will miss your mother, but the city needs this win more than you needed her. 

A terrifying green fog has rolled in over the city, completely engulfing it, it would be near impossible to see through if not for all the fires popping up. No one even bothers to question it. We all know what it means. We all know how this night is going to end. 

A lone, majestic, bald eagle will soar over the torn remains of the city one day. It will let out a broken caw, horrified at the sight, blaming itself for all this madness. A single tear will fall from it’s beautiful eyes, and land onto the fallen statue of William Penn. Upon impact, a light will flash through the ruins, and Wawa’s will spring back into the world, the magical tear of the eagle will return people to their sane minds, fixing what it can of the war torn city. Philadelphia will rise from the ashes because of this Eagle Tear. The cycle will begin again. 

[beraldathevalkyrie-blog]

Heading back; Snow.

“We made it lil’ one...” -Voice of Beralda

Within the where about of a cavern, the shadows lit upon wings overstretched the far reaches of the back where light were just barely shining from an oil lamp at the side. A Valkyrie it appeared out of her elements, sat cross legged by the fire with her newly acquired journal she had been given in her one day’s worth of travel. Silver accents upon her feathers from the wings were a lit with many small messages that glowered every so often in a lovely bluish color. A quill made from gryphon feather were brushed over pages, leathered in texture. Almost papyrus, but different style. 

“This place is surreal, almost another part of this Eorzea I’ve not yet experienced in quite sometime having the Garlean designs as intricate patterns here. I search in time for Bodvar and Aelfred. Aelfred mostly, nick named Stetson due for his favorite hat he adorns. He’s another half-breed I've come across in the few months I’ve been here. The others are Elezen’s mostly. Knife-ears as others call them. This writing a ‘journal’ theme seems to help soothe my mind, so. I will start off with. I am Lady Beralda, Valkyrie. Shield Maiden of the North, to the Clan of Wolf. 

My home is much North of here, within the ‘legend’ place apparently as I’ve been told, Halls of Valhalla. The Aesir are her people. ‘Her’ being the homelands of Asgard. I know, muchly known at the mythical place of others but here I am writing in a journal just to be away from this civilization of Eorzean citizens. Mostly Ul’dah. I stopped at this place call Camp Bluefog? Yes, odd name, but I’m here. With a small pup that followed me out from these caverns. I’ve yet to name him, but his spirit is strong. He is a young Wolf, that much I can see forth of his features and the way he carries his stride. A good traveling companion since I do not have my Gryphon. Bodvar. That is another...story itself.”

(Picture of Beralda and said Wolf pup right in the corner.)

The picture were placed within the journal taken a sketch of her as well the wolf pup earlier. The Valkyrie smiled, running her fingers over it before going back to her writings; 

“I’ve managed to talk to others here, about the where about of Aelfred. No signs of him this way, only through Ul’dah. Do I strive myself back there to the city-state to face the others yet? No. With or without my gryphon I will be heading North none the matter. There is a place called Camp Dragonhead I can go to, right outside of Ishgard. The home city to these knife-ears here. Some of them are kindly, I’ve met one actually that befriended quickly over Mead. Others...Not so much. The people here at the camp are to say the least...Colorful, if anything.

They strive to protect what they have here away from the Imperials. Little do they know, I once served on a vessel to get here for a long time. Learn the ways through them. That will be for another journal posting. Imperials that recruit Eorzeans into their ranks have little knowledge of what they were getting themselves into. I pity them, all of them. Including the footsoldiers of the Imperial Army. Everyone has a life. Everyone has a standard. My hatred for them is long gone after almost killing one that turned out to be a child no less. Barely in their summer years.

The Moon here rarely shines on the tavern here to which bunks to a Lalafell, two other patrons and a few more. They share beds or take turns through out the night to rest. A trust squadron. We did this back home when watching out for enemies through the raids we’ve done if I were not picking through Einherjar to bring forth to Odin. So many countless battles...

My sword and shield are still no where to be found, but this sword I have currently serves me proper. Given to me a by traveler that died on my first arrival here known as Coerthas Western Highlands. The gates were impeccable to go through, but once through is where I came upon this land. I am heading back there, to hunt and live perhaps for awhile. I don’t know yet, it’s my destination for the time being while in search of my gryphon and his current rider. Perhaps my sword and shield will pop up on the way North. I pray to the gods it does.

I wonder how my friends are foregoing in their nature after realizing some emotions that I’ve never had before. I need to clear my mind, my heart. Though I fear for them without me around, what am I to do? Asatolf, I’ve asked to watch over my good friend the Elder Monk Singing Ocean. While Rothgar I’ve packed my things from mostly and left in a hurry after assurance of leaving something behind at Yrsa’s. That woman of truth norse blood. Halone’s Priestess she is, as is she shall be. She is a Warrior, but a good woman, good heart. Means well. Rothgar? Well, he is a sweetheart of one, but some exchanged words made me realize that perhaps a friend were right. I am not meant for here. His wife as well himself share a housing that is much reminding me of Doman. It’s lovely.

Asatolf is a Baker as well a Monk. He has a wonderful home with a luxurious hot tub he spends most of his time within to clear his thoughts after a stressful day. He knows many friends, but at the same his heart is heavy as is his peace. He looks to me always with affection that I cannot give back due for oath. Of heart of gold, as well good manners. The Jotun is always welcomed in my book.

Yrsa is a woman of gratitude, beauty but stubborn. Comical in some ways, one of the first I’ve come to known in this land. A hot head like myself but welcomed me in her home first before any. I lived there with one other which I’m about to get to. She’s a long hall that is not visible really to those around, however seen clear as day if one knew where to look. Also a deputy with the Flames, which I were gracious of. She’s been a help more than any, if not one of my closest friends. A woman of home I can relate to.

Aelfred, or Stetson I like to call him for nickname really is a character. He brings out the best in folk that others cannot see with pestering them. A kindred that made me stop in tracks upon first walk in the Quicksands reminding me of someone. Though, that wasn’t ever the case. There’s a connection there I know of, but won’t write here. Perhaps it’s my mentality. He’s the one with my gryphon right now, however; after what Yrsa spoke to me, I’d rather a word with him to get my Bodvar back. I raised that feathered beast from an egg. I doubt he’d sell my gryphon but who knows?...He’s the half-breed I mentioned earlier also. The red haired one with open coat few have spoken to the last couple of days. I’ve gotten hints of his where about but he seems to frequent the city state when I’m not there. If one does see him, He’s always with cigar in hand, drinking Mead. Looks for Miqo’te tail to cut off wanting all the colors. As well tosses out Elezen out of the bar. There’s more here, but I’ll leave that for another section of journal entry.

Rothgar, helping in killer of the Siren, my dear friend. Or at least I thought. Perhaps he still is in a wonder of things if only wiser words were chosen. I get the fight stopping, but I were defending myself...Long story. Roth is a quiet man, calls himself old, but is a very good friend to others.  He would give the shirt off his back to others as well if it came to that. Currently, I’m still upset with him.

Jahl is the maker of happiness with others, gracious in his ways as well his husband. His heart is there but also shares another ‘open relationship’ type deal. Perhaps in time he will fondly help me capture Aelfred with Bodvar. When I mean fondly, I mean literally chasing him, soon. 

Siti, the Xaela that is another skin changer I call them. They make themselves known through other skins it seems. Miqo’te then back to Xaela. Quite odd for me to capture this in my mind but it has happened on several occasions. My heart calls out to mine friend of dark thoughts, he is young learning to protect others in his grace. I only which that his dance were the speak of his tongue as well. One day he’ll get it. He is still one never to be forgotten.

For now that is all I have to wish to write on this page, however I will continue so forth on my journey. This journal writing is something new as well interesting. Maybe one day my story will be shared when I am gone from this Eorzea or printed to share with others if I decide to stay here long term. That’s another saddening thing...Eorzean’s do not live as long as a Valkyrie. I found this out yesterday as well...”

The journal were closed while Beralda stowed it away into her satchel for another day worth of writing. She’s had plenty of time upon her hands recent with all going on after leaving the city-state. Her where about will be shared with friends alike through letters to send through the Moogles. Another creature she finds yet interesting, but curious. Within the light of the caverns now darkened from the oil lamp being turned down. Her wings were the only bluish light to now reckon the icy walls of the cave. Shadows danced from the small flames now dying off within the once campfire that lingered upon logs. 

The wolf pup yipped happily beside the Valkyrie when she made herself a bed out of straw to lay upon. With the pup jumping up within arms to be held for the night, the dreams came upon her quickly of prior wars. Good dreams then a nightmare she’d soon never forget.