#and WHY would you attempt to put down the other women who RIGHTFULLY earned their place in the noms?

[favroitecrime]

barbie discourse getting unhinged actually please end the debates by tomorrow. the movie did nothing to deserve all this chaos and the fact i saw someone say margot and the movie started a ‘movement’… please.

[anika-ann]

Walpurgis Night

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader     Word Count: 9860 (oh, oh, dammit)

Summary: For the once wandering eye of the former King Howard of Starkerbürg, the kingdom suffered a terrible loss.

As winter blossoms into spring, the night of Walpurgis arrives and another man is chosen to bring the long-lost princess, sister to King Anthony, home. No one has ever succeeded in the task; another spring equals another life lost.

Steven was not meant to be selected; he volunteered, taking another man’s place. It is up to him to set foot into the woods where myths come to life and men of the kingdom meet their death.

A/N: for a challenge hosted by @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​​. Congratulation to your rightfully earned milestone. May you gain more loyal followers in the future. I thank you for allowing me to take part in your challenge. Prompt: Fairytale AU

Warnings: mentions of death(s), minor injury and blood, supernatural elements, fluff extraordinaire, a little bit of angst

Note: It’s not a habit of mine to inset links for music, but if anyone wishes to listen to the song responsible for this fic, link is in the text (and the non-Marvel pics above are from the music video).

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“May the Gods lead your sword and bring you home safe, my brave lord,” the Queen pronounced as she placed a cowslip to his collar and beckoned to him to stand up.

If Steven’s heart wasn’t beating its way out of his chest with a barely contained restlessness, he would have chuckled bitterly. ‘Lord.’ As if he was anything but a peasant, as if his life had any value to the King or the Queen; and yet, Queen Virginia’s gaze rested upon him and observed him with sorrow; as if he mattered to her.

As if she regretted her husband’s madness, one he had inherited from his father.

King Howard, passing away last winter, had never bothered hiding his wandering eye. Queen Maria, his beloved wife, had graciously tolerated her husband’s predilection for other women, seeing as he never acted upon it. Many ladies of the court had found themselves blessed when the King decided to spent an evening in their company; although never left alone with his highness, never granted even a gleam of hope of being taken as a lover, they cherished their moments with him and held no grudges.

However, an exception to the rule had always solidified its validity.

One of the King’s chosen companions had fallen for him, refusing offers of marriage which had been not scarce as she had foolish faith in king’s short-lived attraction. She – and her name could never be spoken in the land of Starks ever again, one of the most serious offences punished by death – deluded herself into believing he would leave the Queen, blind to the deep affection shared between her sovereigns. Oblivious until the second royal child was born.

The Princess, barely days old, went missing overnight, the very night of Walpurgis, when the powers of evil were believed to be most potent. With the ringing of tower bells, the King’s Guard saw to find the heiress to the crown.

Before the night was over, all they discovered was a laughing woman, having gone mad with heartbreak.

“You took everything from me,” she spluttered, spitting on king’s shoes as she had been forced to her knees, hands restrained; eyes teary and yet smiling. “Now you shall know how that feels.”

The woman had laughed and laughed as she burned at the stake, crying tears of joy at king’s torment. She had carried away the baby to the woods; left it for the malicious intentions of fauns, elves, dryads, nymphs, hulders and witches, all the evil spirits from myths much truer than prophesies read from the stars.

The Princess was lost ever since.

Steven had only learned this history from his mother’s narrative (Gods may grant her peace in afterlife) and from rumours spreading all over the Stark’s lands.

How could it not still be spoken of?

Every Walpurgis Eve, the night of the evil spirits’ power ruling and yet assumed to be most vulnerable, a brave man would rise and offer his service to the King, attempting to save the Princess from the claws of darkness.

Every morning after, all that was left of him was his armour; king’s armour, the finest quality, abandoned. With each life lost, the King turned more furious; with every life laid down, fewer and fewer lords were willing to meet their certain death.

Thieves and tavern brawlers were dragged to the edge of forest in their place, meeting the same fate; death cared little for nobility and wealth, greedily hoarding all souls offered.

Steven was no thief, had never been caught in a middle of a brawl. However, Pietro, the brother to Wanda, born moments apart from her as their mother left them before they were blessed enough to meet her, had not been as fortunate.

While King Antony had promised to end the never-ending madness of his father once he would inherit the crown, swearing that no other man would be coerced to try and complete an impossible task (as the people of Starkerbürg whispered of the Princess being long dead, eaten by wolves or the forest spirits), the day had come and he had chosen another innocent soul.

No amount of cries from the broken woman, who had no family left but her twin brother, had mollified the King. He himself had lost his mother to grief, his father to illness and his sister to pointless vengeance; why should he care for compassion when he could hold onto the senseless hope instead?

Steven could no longer watch the tragedy unfolding in front of him, less so having met the twins before. He had stepped forward and took Pietro’s place.

Steven had no family of his own, not anymore, not yet; not for the lack of sudden interest from women who had never as much as spent him a glance only few winters prior when he had been fighting all illnesses the kingdom had ever suffered. His mother had worked tooth and nail to keep him alive; and Steven wished to find himself a mate just as loving, not a fickle female who turned around for the man most impressive at given time.

Perhaps he was abandoning that foolish dream for his very recent actions. Perhaps, he wouldn’t live long enough to meet such kind soul who would care little whether his body was a fragile vessel (which it used to be) or as strong as a horse.

In the end, Steven had nothing to fear, barely anything to lose. Should he fail, he might encounter his father who had offered for the similar task many years ago.

Men had been laying down their lives, involuntarily. Steven was willing to do so if he could spare the poor Wanda suffering and gift her the life of her brother. If there had been one thing Steven craved more than a beautiful loving wife of a kind heart, it was him being a good man.

Returning to the present, Steven rose as the Queen had commanded, his fingers deliberately brushing over the yellow flower nestled in his collar. A cowslip; for protection from evil spirits. The castle, the towns, the villages… they were flooded with cowslips these days, fires lit long before sunset. The whole land feared the creatures of the forest.

His mother had always warned him from them, keeping the fate her husband had met in mind.

Sarah, Steven’s beloved mother who had worked herself to an early grave to put as much as a bread crust to his mouth, would have cried her eyes out if she learned her son was being foolish, coming voluntarily; her heart would have shattered with sorrow. Her heart would have burst with pride had she learned he had done it to save another man’s life.

With peace in mind Steven bowed to Queen Virginia and King Anthony once more before turning away. The Queen’s sorrowful eyes followed him as the crowd parted, forming an aisle for him to walk through; gracelessly stepping aside so he may walk towards his death.

A small hand curled around his wrist, forcing him to halt and meet a pair of familiar emerald eyes.

“Natalia,” he granted her with a reassuring smile and she sprang towards him from James’ side, throwing her arms around him in an unladylike manner, losing nothing of the warmth of her gesture.

“Steven. Trust nothing you see,” she warned him with a knowing glint in her eye, worry for her dear friend creasing the elegant arches of her brows.

Steven stiffened, taken aback by both her heartfelt assault and her words. He gently squeezed her waist, wary of letting people see their affection. She was to wed soon, to his best friend no less. James understood, however the people of the court and other commoners like himself might not.

“I shall return to you all, Natalia. Worry for me not,” he whispered, allowing her to slip from his arms, nodding at his friend who reciprocated the gesture, patting his shoulder covered in expensive cloak.

“Don’t do anything foolish, brother.”

Natalia shook her head, tight-lipped smile on her face, brief and too weak for anyone to believe that she had that much faith in him.

It wounded Steven, yes, but feeble-minded he was not. The truth was merciless; not one man had ever returned from the path he was about to set foot on. Not a single one.

“You are a fool,” Natalia lamented, her palm tenderly laid on his chest, as if she could feel his heartbeat under the many layers covering his torso, including the thick chainmail. “May the Gods protect you, Steven. Be careful.”

He nodded, only having taken a single step aside when another person appeared in his path.

Wanda. The sister. Realization dawned to Steven, for the first time since the unfortunate morning of Pietro being chosen, that she had barely reached the age of a woman, rather being a child still. Bending down to her as her frame seemed even smaller than usual, her thin shoulders scrunched in guilt, Steven could see clearly her tears-stained face.

Her petite hands, cold to touch and trembling, wrapped around his left one, watery eyes looking up at him. Steven didn’t hesitate to give her a smile, to assure her that she owed him nothing for taking her brother’s place.

The redhead didn’t seem to agree, seeing as her skirts swirled and she fell to her knees right in front of him in a gesture of subservience.

“My la-“ he exclaimed, alarmed, more so when she turned his hand in hers, her lips hovering above his leather-cladded palm, another sign of inferiority to him, leaving him horrified. Overtaken by shock, rendered speechless, he only observed as she took his other hand and repeated her action, clinging onto him like onto a dear life.

Only when she raised her teary eyes to him, he shook himself at last and kneeled to her level, regardless of the mud staining his attire. She had clearly cared not for her skirts either as the plain dress she was wearing were now soaked in dirt.

“My lady, Wanda-”

Her lips quivered, tears rolling down her pale cheeks as she released his hand and reached to the curve of her nape, unfastening a thin chain carrying a pendent.

Breath caught in Steven’s throat when she handed it to him without hesitation, curling her tiny fingers around his before he could even consider giving it back. Her whisper, peculiarly deep and so quiet he had to strain his ears to hear it, resonated in his soul, her gaze trapping him.

“Shall the kindness of your heart be your lifeline in the dark. May it shine and keep you warm, perish not its honest spark.”

Mesmerized by a red gleam which Steven would swear he saw burning in her eyes for the shortest of moments, he nearly missed the flicker of fire running through his veins.

Mind foggy, he blinked quite frantically to clear his vision. Wanda’s eyes welcomed him with their inviting brightness, her hands squeezing his. The illusion of the flame disappeared.

Snapping from his trance, Steven got a hold of her forearms and assisted her in standing up to her full height. She appeared unbothered by the state of her clothing, her gaze never leaving his face, focused and sincere.

“Blessed be your kind soul, son of Joseph,” Wanda whispered, voice as soft as her grateful smile.

Steven, feeling a strange tingle in his fingertips, at the base of his spine and in his very core, only nodded, his father’s name echoing in his ears. How had she heard of his father? How did she know?

Sensing the eyes of all onlookers on them, he swallowed his confusion and the unfamiliar feeling coursing through his veins and finally continued walking, the crowd closing behind him like sea. He readjusted the sword in its scabbard, the shield – a gift from the King himself for every man marching to find his own end in the woods – sitting heavy on the straps on his back.

The pendent from Wanda burned in his palm and so he secured it around his neck, hoping he would bring the precious piece of jewellery back to her.

Unknown to him, Wanda’s eyes followed him with content, an inconspicuous watery smile on her lips, a knowing glint in her eye as her brother placed a hand on her shoulder, pulling her into an embrace.

The glittering aura, now glowing bright due to her little enchantment, drawing sights of all powered creatures, just might mollify the spirits of the woods and cause them to spare Steven’s life as they never wished to harm a man of a pure heart.

The sun was nearly at the end of its path behind horizon when Steven walked through the city gate.

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♪

Steven couldn’t recall how he had found himself in this place of magic. His feet had led him of their own accord, the fire of his torch long gone; an absence barely acknowledged as the moonlight was shining bright, illuminating the scene unfolding in front of him.

A meadow soaked in silver, serene and yet bursting with life, laughter and music, men-like half-goat creatures romping in the middle, a circle of dancing women-- beautiful, beautiful women, light on their feet, nearly floating, their modest white clothing swirling with each movement---so exquisite that Steven forgot how to breathe, all coherent thought leaving his mind as his eyes remained hypnotized by the grace and joy of the dreamlike goddesses.

Laughing, voices as hundreds of tiny bells, two of the stunning women turned their head, spotting his lone figure standing motionless between the trees. Eyes sparkling, they sprung forward, bare feet barely touching the ground as they twirled around him, delicate fingers tracing the lines of his wide shoulders and his heart fluttered and begun to hum an ancient song he had never been taught and yet he knew.

His cloak pooled on the ground by his feet as their quick fingers unclasped the buckle and Steven was overtaken by gratitude, for the cloak had been weighting him down, a superfluous piece of heavy cloth, too warm, standing in the way of their pleasant touch—the chainmail was lost next, having him bound, suffocated---he only had the mindfulness of the precious doves to thank to for freeing him of his burdens.

His sword long abandoned beside the shield and his dagger, their giggle echoed in the open space, whispered back by the lindens and oaks, as they aided him to lose his boots too, those shackles preventing him from joining their joyful dance.

Each of the goddesses interlaced her fingers with his, pulling him into the whirl and twirl, his heart light and overflowing with happiness unknown until that very moment.

The sheer beauty of his female companions would have been enough to bring him to his knees, already growing weak from exhaustion; the delicate lines of their physique, hair he would serenade for its softness, lips lush, begging to be tasted, eyes sparkling with life—and one pair of the most dazzling eyes glassy with unshed tears, smiling, yet heavy with sorrow, never leaving his frame, never shying away from his fascinated gaze, her own boring into his very soul and weeping for it.

Steven truly ceased to breathe and his heart rose to the moon and stars themselves when she broke the circle and reached out to him the exact moment his legs gave out under a sudden wave of dizziness. Steven succeeded at staying on his feet only for her and the brief hint of a smile on her tempting lips.

Then, this incarnation of the goddess of beauty herself was drawn back to her place as the dancing and singing went on, weariness settling deep in Steven’s body. Too frantic, too swirly, too noisy—too little breaths, too little beats of his heart, his feet too slow, not even hoping to match the swift and elegant movements of his dance partners.

Glancing at the stunning woman-like creature following him with her mournful gaze, Steven had been offered a sight of her tears. His heart ached for he saw her sadness; he wished to dry the salty droplets, to wipe them with the pad of his thumb, to kiss them away-- but his hands were trapped in strong grips of his companions, not allowing him to as much as budge.

Darkness edged his vision and more and more tears escaped the wells of her eyes. Before Steve realized what was to happen, his worn feet tangled and he collapsed to the ground, grass and moss soft and damp under his cheek.

The music and singing didn’t cease, the circle simply shifting few feet away so his heavy body wouldn’t be in the way of the ancient dance, old as time itself.

Steven’s vision blurred; the last thing he felt before his mind abandoned the feast of the forest spirits was the woman – for whose smile to see he would both kill and die – cupping his cheek.

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From the moment the sunrays ceased to paint the sky in warm colours, your heart appeared to be called out by a presence unknown to you until tonight.

Tonight--oh, the precious night, the dreaded night, as every year, a man would appear in the middle of the celebration of the gods and joined your circle, only to leave it before the fire could even begin to be lit.

Too weak, your sisters always whispered, dismissing the human as a lesser being, consumed by the feast, the most cherished night of the year.

It is to be as the Gods wish, they would laugh, pulling you back to the circle, the dance swift to take up all of your attention.

It is as it was meant to be, they would assure you as another soul left its vessel by the dawn, their elegant fingers scattering cowslips all over the cold body, enchantment whispered in deep voices resonating in your very soul, until the corpse was swallowed by the sacred ground.

You’d only contribute by tears, watering the earth with salt and sorrow, until your sisters – in soul, not blood – would hold your hands, tugging you to join them in collecting the sweetest dew, healing all plant life and animals, the magic of the previous night persisting in its droplets.

And as day blended into night and night into another day and night—you’d be soothed by the beautiful circle of life, for until the Walpurgis Night crept in anew and the history would repeat itself.

But tonight, oh, tonight, Gods bless this night and curse it-! Let it never end—for that the man who had appeared this night was too good, too beautiful, his presence blissful and warming, radiant, his kindness as if glowing through his whole being--- basking in his light alone brought tears of delight to your eyes—turning to ones of sorrow and terror when your sisters pulled him into your dance, a dance macabre for every ordinary human being.

Every human being; except you. Mother’s magic sheltered you, keeping you safe, but oh, oh, if he was to die, then who were you to live--

His eyes barely ever left you, as if he could hear the trees whispering it was you, it was on your conscience; pointing their barky fingers at you, they accused you of every life lost and the truth they revealed. All the men, they had been seeking you, seeing to bring you to the castle where you had been stolen from and then left to die.

They don’t deserve you, Findling. You are ours to protect, ours to love. Don’t you love us too? Have we not given you home? You are safer in the forest than with them; they gave you up before.

And the truth they spoke too, your sisters; here you were welcomed. Only Gods withheld the secret of what would await you in the city. It could be death for all you had learned.

And did you not belong here?

Were you not grateful enough to stay?

Not tonight-- oh, tonight, you wished to leave, to redeem the kind soul trapped in the claws of death, ugly claws slowly dragging him away since the moment his strong body found its nest on the forest floor.

Breaking the circle was an offence, the greatest; yet, your heart begged you to do so, to hasten to kneel by the handsome and the oh, oh so good stranger, your fingers tracing his lovely features, gazing into his eyes – the colour of the sky meeting a glassy surface of the lake – watching you intently until they fell close.

Tears dampened your cheeks, the swirl and twirl of the wind and dance cooling them down, but only vainly hoping to sooth the burn in your heart, the pounding ache.

Your sisters let you, finishing their gift to the Gods, the exquisite dance of life and only then, Aeliana kneeled beside you, fingers curling around your wrist and pulling you away, your handsome stranger remaining motionless aside from shallow breaths, thin clothing over his body and nothing else; he had discarded it all, left at the mercy to the cold of the night. Just like every man before.

“Come, Findling, leave the fellow to his fate.”

Your feet moved unwillingly, step after step building a distance from him, your head spinning from the ache squeezing your chest.

Could she not see?

“He’s of such kind heart, sister. Should we not spare him? Do we not protect kind men from harm?” you queried, interceding on his behalf.

Such a handsome man he was. And his soul, so gentle-

“Kind as he might be, he shall meet the fate the Gods have prepared for him. Come now, little Findling, the fire is to be lit soon!”

Your vessel heavier than you remembered, you followed her back to the gyration of joy, sparing your stranger one more longing glance.

“May the Gods protect you for you are already dear to me,” you prayed for him, having no power similar to your sisters to keep him safe, your words nothing but simple sound. “May the Gods protect you.”

And should they not, then I will.

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Cold seeping into his bones was the cause of a rude awakening; his fingers and his toes hurting, a biting coolness blended into pain with how insistently it clawed at him.

A shudder shook his whole frame and for several moments, as he walked the thin line between wakefulness and the bliss of a dream, Steven remembered how he had once believed that the sensation would be everlasting. He thought so every winter, when due to ever-present cold, his weak body suffered from the illness with ferocity unknown to stronger men.

He grew up strong and healthy, yet the memories of icy cold remained, a reminder of how he had to be grateful for every little blessing in life. Steve didn’t recall feeling such cold for few winters now, certainly not when welcoming a new day; and a new day it was, the sun, lacking its summer warmth still, danced behind his closed eyelids.

A weight on his chest wasn’t feeling any more familiar, far from the sensation his covers ever offered and that, more than anything, caused him to open his eyes.

Steven was welcomed by green; a green of the meadow, a green of the lindens and oaks and… and a fading green of a wreath resting on the head of the sweetest creature lying – to his profound astonishment – on his chest.

His heart sang as he recognized her soft features at instant.

It was her. The beautiful woman with the mesmerizing regretful eyes was sleeping on his chest, covered in droplets of dew, sparkling in her hair and in the withered flowers of her wreath, causing her to look even more ethereal than the night before. She felt a warm feather-light weight on him despite the see-through spiderweb-thin fabric, only so-so covering her fragile body in places where Steven’s eyes shouldn’t even wander if he was to remain proper.

He observed her, perplexed and grateful to Gods; what for he wasn’t certain yet. For letting her live?

She appeared so dream-like, so fragile, yet her body kept its warmth as if not affected by the freezing cold biting into Steven’s own skin. He would have thought he had been the one to protect her from freezing to death; and yet somehow, it appeared as if it was the exact opposite. When he swallowed against the lump forming in his throat and found courage to trace the pads of his fingers over her bare arm, her skin felt soft and warm, unlike his.

The breathing weight on him shifted at his daring touch and Steven would have regretted disturbing her sleep hadn’t it been for her luscious lips parting, her small hand over his heart flexing in his shirt, the tinniest movement sending a strand of her hair tickling his face and wrapping him in a heady flowery scent.

Hadn’t he been lost to her the night before, he would have given her his heart the very moment her eyes fluttered open, thick eyelashes calling for attention, framing a pair of the most mesmerizing irises he had even seen.

Hours could fly by and Steven wouldn’t have noticed; not when her gaze lingered on his face, locked with his and then… then she smiled, a wide and yet soft curve of her lips and Steven, who might have suffered from cold gnawing his body only a moment before, felt his heart melt; wondering what had he done to be blessed by the Gods guiding this stunning fairy into his arms.

“You are to live,” her voice caressed him and his hand acted at its own will, curling around the smooth arm it had stroked earlier.

Only then, her words rang in his ears, their meaning, and he couldn’t but reciprocate her smile. A complete fool he was not; he had a solid ground for believing she was the very reason he was still breathing. All of his predecessors had caught their death, only for their armour and clothing to be discovered untouched; seeing as he had apparently shed his own as well, he hadn’t been meant to survive.

The stunning beauty on his chest had saved him from freezing to death.    

“Yes, my beautiful fairy. I feel like I have you to thank to for such blessing,” Steven whispered reverently, his heart swelling in his chest. What had led her to such action? Why had she protected him? And how was she not freezing? Was it her magic? “How is it you are not cold yourself?”

Seemingly unbothered by his touch, she brought her palm to cup his bearded cheek, as she had the night before. “It’s a gift, one of many from mo-- oh Goddess, you must go, now-!”

Ignorant to the dread in her eyes, Steven revelled in her tender touch, nearly crying out when she withdrew and went to stood up in one graceful motion.

“Fairy mine, of what-“

“You must leave! Surely Mother would be furious to see I have not left you for death to take! Go, run-“

At her words, Steven’s brows furrowed. He did not want the woman’s mother to be angry with her for she had helped him. Climbing to his feet, bare toes stiffened and almost blue, he barely found his footing. His suddenly fearful fairy took his hand and guided him to where he had left his attire.

“Hurry-"

Steven’s body listened, his fingers, slightly numb from the cold, reaching for his chainmail and cloak; yet, his eyes remained fixed on her, basking in the light of her presence. She truly was exquisite; for all she had been breath-taking in the moonlight, in daylight she glowed brighter than the sun.

“What may I call you, fairy mine?”

Her delicate hands, frantically aiding him with his cloak, ceased their movements, resting on his shoulders as she looked up at his face and while confused, she replied with a gentle shook of her head, sending her silky hair sliding down her shoulders.

“I do not have a name. Mother and sisters call me Findling. It is of old language, it stands for a-“

“- foundling,” Steven stole the last word from her lips, astonished. At that moment, he could be knocked out with a feather. She was-- his beautiful savoir, his stunning fairy--- his hands rose to her cheek to caress the skin, impossibly warm given her modest clothing.

She truly was still alive. The long-lost princess, believed to be dead for years by nearly everyone… was still breathing, a tragically forfeit daughter growing into a beautiful woman with a heart of gold.

Her eyelashes fluttered, shy gaze lowering to the sacred ground.

“You’re human,” slipped past Steven’s parted lips and her features, already tender, softened as she elevated her gaze, irises deep as a sea and sorrowful for whichever cause.

“Yes.”

“I found you—no, you found me. You are--- come with me-!”

As if a lightning struck her very being, she slid from his grasp and retreated several steps, heading towards the trees. Without hesitation, Steven followed her light footsteps.

“We must go. You must leave the forest before the wrath of Mother finds you,” she said, voice carrying nothing of its earlier softness.

Steven mourned its loss; his strides much longer than hers, he stooped in her path and carefully took a hold of her wrists. She appeared agitated now, frustrated that he was thawing her plan to lead him to safety as quickly as she could.

He cradled her jaw then, seeing as she halted in her steps despite her indignation. Even angered, she was the most precious thing he had ever laid his eyes on.

“Why wouldn’t you come to the castle with me? Your family mourns you,” he whispered, his thumb stroking her cheek unwittingly. “And I-I--“

I can’t even think of not seeing you again. Your smile. Gods, your smile…

Lost to the emotions swirling in her eyes, dancing across her features, a sudden thunderclap snapped them from their intimate conversation, practically causing his heart to stop in fright.

Steven instinctively stepped between her and where the noise had emitted from; the menacing sound had not been sent from the sky, he was certain of it as the sun still illuminated both him and the Princess.

“Mother,” his fairy whispered fearfully, easily slipping between Steven and the woman-like creature materializing between the trees, only few steps from them.

Steven liked little what his beautiful foundling had done for he was supposed to be the one to protect her. However, he could barely deny that he stood no chance against the Goddess, the Mother. His muscles could not even hope to compare to her magic; and could he feel it, the power crackling like a lightning in the air, a premonition of a death sentence.

Before Steven could as much as speak a single word, his fierce defender fell to her knees, head bowed in submission to her judge and jury.

“Mother, please, punish me for my insolence, for my felony—but harm him not. He is nothing but an innocent soul, too good to-“ she pleaded frantically, voice honest and trembling, striking Steven right in his heart, causing his chest to tighten.

His stunning fairy, the kindness incarnated, begged for his life.

No hesitation. No remorse. No care for her own well-being.

“No!” Steven blurted out, sidestepping her, only to freeze in his tracks when the Mother raised her hand, commanding him to stop without uttering a word.

Stunned, Steven didn’t dare to speak more, to move an inch; the creature carried herself a Goddess indeed, the Queen of the woods, the sovereign of magic itself. Purple and red twirled in her eyes, strict and yet somewhat kind, powerful. She walked measuredly to the pair of them, her outstretched hand slowly falling until she could reach the precious fairy, palm laying down on her head, caressing her hair, sliding lower until she forced her to raise her chin.

Then, the Mother smiled a gracious smile, seeing her daughter’s tears, tears which made Steven’s ribcage ache. She spoke in a voice deep enough to touch Steven’s soul, mighty and yet gentle.

“Did you believe I would punish you, Findling?” she questioned, sorrowfully almost. “For the love you carry in your soul, your kindness to strangers whose good heart you see even without ability to match ours? No, my sweet child. But you shall be reminded of the warning.”

Steven stiffened further. What warning?  Was a punishment still to be carried out? In contrary to her words- he could not let that happen, not to his little fairy he had only just found--

As if sensing his outrage, as if reading his thoughts – and for the briefest of moments, Steven wondered if the powerful creature possessed such ability –, she levelled her gaze with his, one corners of her lips twirling, her smile turning into something resembling a smirk.

“Be at ease, soldier, I do not wish to harm her, quite the opposite. We have her wellbeing in our hearts always,” she assured him, an army of women, actual fairies, appearing behind her back out of thin air, side by side, serene and beautiful. “You think us savages, son of Joseph. We are not. We would never abandon a child, crying and starving in the woods, left to die. Certainly not for a twisted vendetta.”

Struck by genuine surprise at both the sudden emerge of the ethereal creatures and the Mother’s words, Steven couldn’t let out a sound. He was rendered speechless, overtaken by the memory of Wanda addressing him the very name the Mother had, similar magic reflecting in her eyes.

What did it mean? What—how-

“If I should leave…” the former princess whispered, rising to her feet for her sovereign, only to be interrupted.

“You lose our protection, yes. You shall be an ordinary human again. Short of the joys our life brings.”

Steven found himself utterly lost in their conversation, a hunch nudging at his mind, an inkling of what the Goddess could mean by her words, painting a picture in his head he couldn’t quite grasp. Like a fool, he only observed the scene unfolding in front of him, feeling useless and ashamed for his inability to as much as move an inch.

“Thank you, Mother. Sisters,” his fairy bowed with a smile on her lips and tears sparkling in her eyes. “You have been kind to me. A true family. Perhaps the time has come for me to leave.”

The Mother smiled at her kindly, nodding and taking her hand between both of hers, squeezing gently.

“May your life rest in the hands of the good man tasked to bring you to your birthplace and tear you away from where you had found home.”

“May I… visit?” the Princess asked shyly, rewarded with a chorus of chuckles, thousands of tiny bells ringing in fine tune.

“You may always find a home with us shall you ever feel the desire.”

“I shall,” she echoed and turned to the awe-struck Steven, her shining eyes finding his gaze. “Shall we be on our way?”

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Your feet were on the verge of giving out; unfamiliar with the cold biting into your skin, every step a rough sensation, every branch and stolon hurting, each thorn felt like a dagger in your soles.

And yet… your body was floating, a hand, gentle fingers, curled firmly around yours; you had lost sense of who was leading who. It was you and then it was him, it was a dance you had never knew and it had your breath caught in your chest; slightly painful, endlessly blissful.

The absence of words bothered you not. The chime of the birds and the whispers of trees carried a lovely tune and all was well.

“What will happen to you?” he asked, your handsome stranger, the kind soul calling out to yours since before your first encounter. “What was the… Goddess talking about?”

Moved by his concern for you, a brief smile passed your lips. You did not have the heart to tell him of the sensations, so human, yet unknown to you. You could sense it already, a true weariness – and finally, the vivacity too. You were nothing but a human again, the protective spell, casted upon you to keep you from harm commonly deadly to ordinary men, fading.

“Oh, Mother? Do not wear your head, I shall be quite alright,” you assured him and he, the sweet man he was, raised your hand to his face, caressing its back with his lips ever so softly.

“It is my duty to wear my head for you, fairy mine…”

His duty was it not. A heart-warming sentiment? Certainly. Your smile widened, a hiss escaping your lips only a moment later.

A sharp pain cut through your sole again, a shiver running through your whole being.

Cold and pain; your life from now on.

Faster than you could hope to comprehend, your companion stopped in his tracks, kneeling in front of you, tender and rough fingers examining your left foot; to your astonishment, a red liquid stained your cold skin, thick and heady. Blood. You had never bled before.

Genuine worry creased his forehead, his bright eyes looking up at your face as your teeth sunk into your lower lip; partly to cover your pain, partly from guilt as he observed you with tender accusation.

Pulling out a knife, he released your shaky foot in order to cut off a band of fabric from his thick cloak, swift fingers wrapping it around your wound.

“Thank-- thank you,” you stuttered, taken aback by the strange sensation of the cloth against your skin, your world swaying to side for a bit. You were bleeding, the fluid of life leaving your veins. So strange.

He shook his head, rising to his full height; a peculiar thrill it gave you, tilting your head back to maintain eye-contact.  Mesmerized by the colour of his irises, you barely noticed he stripped the cloak, securing it over your bare shoulders.

Before you could utter a word of protest, he scooped you into his strong arms, cradling you as if you belonged there and nowhere else. A feeling of infinite rightness overwhelmed you, nearly rendering you speechless.

“Oh no, put me down. It only is a brief faintness and pain-“

Securing you in his hold as if he had not heard you, his embrace grew firmer and looked into your eyes with gravity.

“You are not to walk barefoot, let alone on such cold morning, in the woods no less,” he argued, his hands warm against your unusually cold skin, his fingers caressing you and effectively causing words to get stuck in your throat. Taking a notice of your sudden speechlessness, he smiled. “Rest, little fairy. I will protect you.”

“I am not a fairy, son of Jo-“

“Steven. You should call me Steven, shall you be willing.”

As delighted as you were to learn his name at last, your concern remained unshaken.

“You will tire yourself… Steven.”

Swallowing the peculiar sensation of thrill his name created on your tongue, you busied yourself with the matter of his wellbeing. He soon would exhaust himself should he carry you. Surely, he must know that? He was strong, yes, an impressive mass of a man, shoulders which could carry the weight of the world and the curses of all Gods shall it come to it… but-

“With what, my sweetness?” he questioned lightly and began to walk. “You barely weight more than a feather. And you do appear a fairy to me. Beautiful. Ethereal. Like a fairy from the tales told to the good children so they would dream a sweet dream.”

Charmed by the compliments, your heart felt like it grew in size, filling your chest with each beat, sweet and dizzying. Uncertain how to show your gratitude and favour, you reached out. Your palm cupped Steven’s jaw, a touch featherlight indeed.

His breath caught in his chest and for a moment, you worried you must have done something which was not to his liking. But then, he nuzzled your palm, eyelids falling shut, a soft smile painted on his lips and you understood you had merely surprised him by your actions.

“You are too good to me, Steven.“

“Oh, my sweet fairy… you are too. Know, I would lay down my life for you this instant if you asked me to.”

An uncomfortable lump grew in your throat at such admission, tears stinging in your eyes as you thought of how little would suffice for him to meet his death for you, only the night prior.

“I would never ask. So many have lost their lives for me… I am feeling the deepest regret-“ you sobbed and his arms wound around you tighter as if shielding you from grief and regret weighing both your heart and conscience.

“It is not for you to blame yourself for what your father has done to find you.“

“Steven-“

His lips—oh Gods, his lips, warm and tender, brushed your palm still laid on his jaw, then proceeded to your forehead, warm breath caressing your hair. You lost your voice at the affection gifted to you, a single silent tear rolling down your cheek.

“Oh, sweetness, my name on your lips is like music…” he whispered, voice low and thick with emotion that sent a shiver – this time somehow pleasant – down your spine. “Lay your head down now, fairy mine. We have a journey ahead of ourselves still. I shall watch over your sleep like you have watched over mine.”

Your hand hesitantly slid from his neck, settling on his chest, his strong and oh so kind heart humming under your palm. Obediently you laid your head into the crook of his neck, a scent unknown but pleasant curling around you, causing your head to spin.

You closed your eyes and laid your life into the hands of the good man who had come to bring you back where you had been born; precisely as Mother had said.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･

He had been greeted with delighted shouts full of excitement and surprise, people dropping whatever had they had on their hands only to follow him as he had carried his fairy, the Princess, to the castle, to her family.

The King and the Queen had been spending over a day with the long-lost princess, agreeing she truly was who she was, while Steven had been treated like a knight, provided with luxury unknown to him, luxury he found unnecessary; yet, who he was to refuse and offend the hospitability? Especially should it outrage the King?

Facing King Anthony now, he was asked to rise from his knee as he was promised to receive the greatest honours, enough food and money for a lifetime and a place at King’s Guard.

“You have done my kingdom an inestimable service, Steven. What else do you ask? Say the word and your wish should be granted,” the King of Starkerbürg offered generously, gesturing to encourage him to speak his mind.

And Steven wondered.

What could a man wish for? What more than he had been offered? For the people he loved to be treated in the same manner? Certainly, he could demand that? To give his friends a wedding they deserved, to ensure they would never have to worry about a place to lay down their heads, about feeding their children and themselves?

As his mind wandered to his friends, so deeply in love, he couldn’t but think of the Princess, of his beautiful, precious fairy. Oh, how had he already missed her, not having seen her for two days almost. His heart ached for her smile, for her soft touch.

However, a fool he was not. Asking for her hand would be unacceptable. The King would never allow it for Steven was nothing still; the King would never agree to wed a potential heiress to anyone but a lord, a prince of another land perhaps. Steven would be not surprised should the King already set plans in motion to offer her hand to his friend, Prince Thor of Asgard.

Steven couldn’t even dare to ask for what an insolence- a laughable demand would it be.

Swallowing his grief at that, his heart torn, a gaping wound in his chest, he asked for a fraction of what he desired. What more could he wish for that for being allowed to bask in her presence at least? Watching her afar, yes, but perhaps… he could speak a word with her, from time to time-

“My King… I—”

“Yes, Steven, please. Speak. I am listening,” King Anthony hurried him, short of impatient.

Shy and bold at the same time, Steven could barely raise his voice enough to be heard.

“Shall the Princess ever agree to it when she is recovered… may I—may I speak with her again?”

The crease forming on the King’s forehead meant nothing good and Steven stiffened, instantly scolding himself.

A fool! Natalia always told him he was one. The most foolish of all fools!

“Of what could you possibly speak with her? What motivation could you have? Perhaps… why should she ever as much as look at you, Steven?”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Steven lost all will to speak as his voice betrayed him. He shook his head in defeat.

“Oh no, please. Do enlighten me,” the King continued, slowly rising from his seat, towering above Steven due to the three steps which led to the throne.

Steven bowed, shaking his head again. “Forgive me, my King. I should never have asked such a daring question-“

“Oh no, colour me curious, I would like to know what you have to say to me to this matter.”

“My King, I do apologize, I—I-“

A suffocating silence fell on the Royal Hall when Steven trailed off, tension heavy and menacing as he could sense the realization dawning to his King.

A complete fool, Steven. For all he survived the journey to the woods, he returned only to be beheaded by the King for a moment of rash boldness. A damn half-wit!

A gasp left the King’s lips and Steven clenched his jaw, hanging his head, awaiting his sentence.

Blood pounded in Steven’s temples, growing in intensity with each moment no words were spoken.

Two sharp claps of hands, as loud as a thunder in the empty hall, bounced off the walls instead and a rustling of chainmail instantly followed, heavy boots rushing to King’s aid.

Without much decorum, brute force knocked Steven down to his knees, a sharp pain jolting up his joints as they dug into the hard floor, one pair of firm hands pushing him down, another grabbing his wrists to keep them locked behind his back.

“Gods protect us from minds as feeble as yours,” King Anthony snarled, awe-struck and outraged all the same.

A pang of longing gnawed at Steve’s heart as his suspicions were confirmed. While the indignation at being thought of as of a lesser human being flared in his chest, the injustice nothing short of irritating, he didn’t utter a word. A harsh hand gripped his jaw, yanking it upward, forcing him to look into King’s eyes where rage twirled with contempt.

“You foolish nitwit! How could you even think I would ever allow you to—to WHAT? Court her? Gods forbid wed her?! To put your—your filthy hands on her?! Oh my, MY! You will not as much as LOOK at her ever again, you UNDERSTAND?! Gods- you--- you- TAKE HIM! Dungeon! Right this instant! You fool, you scum, you PERV!! Get him off my sight-!”

Yanked up without fight on his side – because truly, what the point would be, he was in the castle, he wouldn’t escape the many men of King’s Guard –, Steven was dragged away, meeting the raged glare of the King for the shortest of moments. King’s much obvious disgust hurt, but not nearly as much as the thought of never seeing her again.

His beautiful, ethereal fairy.

Because he would never as much as get a glimpse of her ever again--- or perhaps he would, at his own execution? The King would make a huge spectacle of it, he was sure-

The heavy door to the hall were pushed open, Queen Virginia walking through them gracefully, the guards only bowing their heads frantically before they proceeded to tug Steven away.

Steven’s heart ceased to beat when his eyes fell on her; no, not the Queen, but her companion; and then it started singing, bliss and delight at his wish being granted not by the King, then by the Gods themselves.

She carried herself as light as she had when he had seen her the first time, the night of Walpurgis, shining brighter than the moonlight, than the sun itself, as exquisite in her royal blue gown as she had appeared in her modest attire of thin white fabric.

Gods, she appeared ethereal and where the Queen’s shoes clicked against the floor, hers tapped, causing Steven to smile. She might be wearing a dress worth a months’ living, but she remained barefoot. He would be afraid about her catching cold; however, he rested assured that her newfound family and servants would never allow it to go as far.

Where Queen’s brown furrowed, her face lighted up impossibly at the sight of him; and Steven knew he would die a happy man. Such delight in her eyes was the greatest gift he could be given and he shall accept it and take it to afterlife.

“My King,” the Queen greeted her husband shortly, apparently confused at the scene unfolding in front of her. Steven paid her no mind as the gaze of his stunning fairy followed him, the spark in her eye fading, clouded by bewilderment. Steven’s chest tightened at the loss. “What-“

“Wait!” the Princess piped up and Gods bless, the guards halted in their steps, hesitant gazes casted upon their king in question. “What is it we have walked into?”

The King instantly fixed a smile for the newcomers, not providing an answer to the guards on how they should proceed. Who should they listen to? The King or the Princess, an unfamiliar woman put on a pedestal?

“Oh, simply a little quarrel, dear sister. Worry not your pretty head.”

Steven grinded his teeth at the patronizing approach.

She was not a child; and naïve she might be, untrained in the procedures of the court, but feeble-minded she was not. She might have not grown up around ordinary men, but her eyes displayed wit and understanding of human nature deeper than of several people Steven had encountered.

Her gaze flickered between the King, the Queen and Steven and her face lost any resemblance of a smile for a moment long enough to bring sorrow to everyone present. Her eyes lingered on Steven the longest and while aware he should not, he basked in her softened expression, his chest heaving in pride.

A brief smile passed her lips as she turned to her brother, her long eyelashes fluttering. Steven couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She was a dream coming to life.

“A little quarrel? Then surely it can be solved without such violent behaviour, without handling a man, who brought me home, with brute force,” she said, innocence incarnated.

Her gaze flickered to Steven again, a spark of emotion he couldn’t hope to unravel in them.

King Anthony wavered, silent for a moment as expectant gazes of his wife and his sister were casted upon him. Pretending to be mollified by his sister’s remark, he beckoned to his Guard to release Steven; much to Steven’s surprise.

Upon that action, his brilliant fairy smiled brightly, her fingers getting a hold of her skirts to get it out of her way, scampering to Steven as the guards took a step back. And Steve truly could die a happy man at such gesture, feeling blessed. She chose to grace him with her attention; him, not the King, her brother.

Against his will, a smile formed on his lips, all ache disappearing from his chest, his knees, his roughly handled wrists. Her whole demeanour glowed with sincerity as she came to a stop only a step from him, her head tilted back a fraction as he stood taller above her.

From the corner of his eye, Steve could see the King stiffen, his hands balled in fists. Steven paid him little attention; how could he do any different with the breath-taking woman so close to him, looking up at his face with her full lips curled up in an inviting smile, eyes mesmerizing as always?

“You are not to walk barefoot,” he remarked, quickly catching himself and in hope to maintain at least some etiquette, he took one painful step back, bowing to her, “Your Highness.”

The grind of King’s teeth could be heard as Steven spoke up without permission. In all honesty, Steven had no care in the world. If he was to die, he might as well walk through paradise before meeting his end.

“Whatever has happened to ‘my fairy?’” she questioned sweetly, eyes full of wonder, the corners of her lips losing its happy curve.

In another world, a world outside the lovebirds’ little universe, the King was searing, nothing but a growl coming deeply from his chest. Queen Virginia laid a soothing hand over his heart, scolding him by one single look for his barbarian ways.

In his own paradise, Steven’s heart pounded and swelled, touched by his fairy’s hopeful question. He cleared his throat as a lump grew in it, torn between the need wrap her in his love and keeping his head on his shoulders rather than have it cut off.

As much as he was in her favour, surely the King would hate him should he as much as attempt to court her.

“It is not proper, Your Highness. I should have not-“

“But you should, Steven!” she whispered feverishly, her tender hands cupping his face, tears turning her eyes glassy. Steven’s breath hitched, his insides twisting painfully. “Or do you not feel for me what you have felt before?”

The very moment, Steven realized he could not care less about being a fool as long as he would be a fool for her. His shoulders hunching, he bended down to meet his beauty’s gaze properly, his palm covering the back of her hand on him, caressing affectionately.

“Oh, sweetness, fairy mine, I shall cherish you for as long as I live,” he declared. Which might not be too long, he thought, considering the King fuming as he watched them, prepared to tell the guards to pierce Steven’s heart with a sword right here and now, apparently.  

However, the beautiful smile reappeared, a single tear rolling down her cheek as one of her hands slipped lower to rest against his chest, feeling his heart hammering no doubt.

“Then I shall hope you will live long…” she whispered, inching away to look at the King with undying hope indeed. “Shall I not, brother mine?”

Oh, feeble-minded she was not and she very much did understand what she had walked into.

If Steven was bold enough to read anything into her actions, her gestures, her affection, he would believe she carried him in her heart, in her mind as much as he had been in his and truly-- when had he deserved such blessing?

“Oh, for Gods’ sake! You want to keep him?!” the King demanded, exasperated as he was aware his question was nothing short of pointless for her favour was evident.

“Keep him? In my heart? Oh, how I wish for it, brother dear!”

The King shuddered at the addressing, moved by her voice holding such joy and wistfulness. Oh, how she had him wrapped around her finger! Her persona was as enchanting as the night Steven had encountered her; a human and yet a fairy, her charms stronger than the magic of the forest creatures who could only wish to match its power!

“Husband. Anthony…” the Queen chimed in, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “Do you not recall your father’s disapproval? Fond of your choice was he not. Not fond of me in the slightest.”

“For he was a fool,” the King scoffed, meeting his wife’s gaze.

“Then do not be the same fool,” she retorted and despite himself, Steven couldn’t stop the corners of his lips twitching, more so when the King pouted at his wife’s remark.

Peace in his mind, recognizing his head was not to be chopped off in the near future, Steven feasted his eyes on the stunning fairy, her touch still soft on his cheeks, her smile illuminating the Royal Hall, nothing but pure love as she gazed up at him.

The King grumbled something incomprehensible, sighed and finally gave his approval.

The Princess’ laughter rang loud and joyful as she dropped her hands from Steven’s face in order to run to her brother, assaulting him with a fierce hug which caused the King to stumble backwards.

“Thank you, brother! Thank you! I would have come back to the woods should you not-“

“Whoa, whoa! No woods, you stay right here, even if it’s with this fo-“

“I am so happy, brother mine!” Her kiss smacked on the King’s cheek, his sudden panic resolving, an actual blush colouring his face, much to Queen Virginia’s amusement.

“Alright, alright, no need to smooch me, young lady-“

While was the King in fact basking in the affection from his long-lost sister despite his words demanding restraint, his eyes met with Steven’s. And for the briefest of moments, they shared a deep understanding; a similar knowledge of what was of the highest import.

As long it would make her happy, they would do anything. Even put up with each other’s presence.

Without a warning, the Princess left her brother’s embrace again and rushed back to Steven’s arms. Worrying not for being scolded and executed anymore, he smiled at her widely and welcomed her, hands locked on the back of her thighs, lifting her from the floor so she towered over him for once.

Awed at the heights she found herself in, she bent down to Steven’s face, her lips brushing his, loving and euphoric; her kiss sealed the deal and their happy beginning. 

No one – not the grumbling King or his Queen, not the delighted Princess Fairy or her beloved, let alone the still perplexed members of the King’s Guard – noticed the gust of wind dashing through the Royal Hall and the silent click of the door.

In a ramshackle house at the edge of the town, Wanda smiled when her brother brought her the joyful news and her fingers brushed the powerful pendent, a gift from her Mother, once more resting heavy on her chest.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Notes: Yes, it got away from me, AGAIN, and more than usual. Sorry?  

I hope you had not been repulsed by the possibly crappy and totally mixed up representation of old religions; then again I think all is fair in a fairy tale AU 😇 Also, sorry if the language sounds weird; I tried.

I’d like to thank @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​ once more for letting me participate in her challenge and I thank you all who have made it to the very end of this long-ass fic. Any feedback is always appreciated.

P.S. - if you feel brave enough, I’d be delighted if checked out my Masterlist

[badwolf-in-the-impala]

~The Absent Heart~

~Part 9~

Previous Parts:  ((~Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 -Part 8 - Part 9~))

Image credit: badwolf-in-the-impala

Chapter warnings:

A/N: I am so sorry I haven’t posted on this one in a while...writers block has been killing my soul on this one recently 0.0 and I’m a terrible person, I know...especially with the cliffhangers. I have issues lol anywho, the follow up to this chapter should hopefully be up sooner as I have this entire week off. Which means instead of adulting, I’m gonna write instead! **YAY**

As always, thanks for putting up with me and reading my stories. It means a lot <3

If you would like to be added to the TAGLIST, just let me know!

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As the days drug on, Ivar found himself growing only more and more impatient. Freya’s condition only seemed like it was worsening, meaning their journey was put on further delay. Torvi working tirelessly round the clock as he hovered, providing the care she needed to keep the infection from spreading, but she had yet to fully wake from the fever fueled slumber into which she had slipped; save for the night she had woken the whole camp with her screaming.

Lost in the violent throws of a fevered nightmare, shouting incoherently in her native tongue, Saxon -- language she had not spoken in years -- as she writhed helplessly in pain on the makeshift bed in her tent. It had taken both himself and Ubbe to hold her down while Torvi forced a concoction down her that put her back under. It was stressful to say the least...and Ivar couldn’t stop placing blaming himself.

Obsessing over every little detail of events leading up to where they were now. If he hadn’t of drug her to that feast, just let her work instead like she wanted to, maybe she wouldn’t have stumbled into that girl; Runa? Wouldn’t have protected her, wouldn’t have taken her place for the beating that neither of them deserved...if he had just made her stay behind? Hadn’t asked her to come at all? But then again, perhaps it simply had been fated to happen, like Floki keep trying to assure him.

But Ivar refused to let it go, obstinate as ever.

It was weighing heavily on the entire group, driving a wedge between brothers as they argued on what should be done, given the current situation. Sigurd suggesting that he and whoever so wished to join, should take Floki and venture ahead to scout and secure their location. The mere thought sending Ivar spiraling into a rage that took hours to calm him out of. Ubbe only adding fuel to the fire when he suggested Sigurd might have a point, and Hvitserk choosing to side with no one and remain out of the argument. Already knowing that neither party would be able to agree in the end.

“Maybe they are right, Ivar?” Floki had chimed in sometime later, once Ivar had calmed down enough to listen. Earning a menacing glare from the youngest Ragnarsson. Floki holding his hands up defensively. “We will have to leave sometime, my dear Ivar...with or without her, I fear will not be your decision.”  

“I do not wish to speak of it anymore, Floki...now leave!” Ivar snapped, dismissing the older man with a sharp gesture of his hand. Floki bowed, an air of sarcasm underlying his actions as he turned on his heel to leave; ignoring the frustrated scream that rang out down the beach behind him.

“As you wish, my Prince.”

The days had started to blur together in a repetitive routine of pacing the beach, scavenging what little food could be found, and sitting at Freya’s bedside...praying to the Gods that she wake soon. Patience was wearing thinner by the day among the men, and if circumstances did not change, and soon, Ivar feared there would likely be an uprising.

“Explain it to me again, Torvi. If the fever is gone, why has she not woken yet?” Ivar demanded impatiently for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“I have told you time and time again, Ivar, I do not know when or even if she will wake.” Torvi gave an exasperated sigh. She had expended every resource she had available in an attempt to help Freya; but to no avail. She remained lost in the grasp of what ever dream-world the fever had been pulled her inside of.

“I am not Helga.” She admitted with defeat.  “Perhaps if she were here, she would know if something more could be done...it just-- it does not make sense.”

“Her body is here, physically. But her mind? The Gods have pulled her mind else where.” Ivar stopped pacing just long enough to roll his eyes at Floki who had just seemingly materialized out of no where; interrupting the conversation.  

“I am not in the mood for your ridiculous analogies, Floki.” Ivar spoke harshly as he resumed his pacing, blue eyes staring at Freya’s motionless form as if she would wake up at any moment. Floki turned his attention to Torvi who simply shook her head at the boat builder, motioning for them to step outside. The conversation resuming once they were out of earshot of the tent.

“I am at a loss, Floki.” Torvi admitted. “I have done everything I can think of...everything Helga has taught me; and yet, she does not wake!” Floki nodded in answer, stroking his beard thoughtfully as he stared out at the vast sea before them.

“The Gods have a plan, Torvi...and while I may not know what that plan is, I do know that Freya is meant to be part of it.” He replied. “One thing I do know for sure, we can not stay here any longer.”

“I know.” Torvi replied. “I have done all that I can here...her fever is broke and the wounds seem to no longer fester. She can be moved, but she will be at the mercy of the sea once we set sail.” Floki nodded in return, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder as he turned back towards the tent in which Ivar still remained.

“It is a risk we are going to have to take.”

The seas had become increasingly rough, day after day, storm after storm; it made keeping course a constant battle. It also made caring for the unconscious Freya more difficult as they traveled. Most of the men were unnerved by her eerie appearance...so lifeless, yet still so alive. Many had even begun to blame the growing string of bad luck on her.

In the few weeks since resuming their journey, they had tracked off course, drifting for several days in the wrong direction before it was corrected. Multiple men had begun to fall ill from an unknown ailment, and three boats had perished to storms along with the countless men that crewed them. Many a whisper had spread of her body being cursed. Some even brave enough to dare threaten to throw her into the sea, in hopes that perhaps it would please the Gods? Though none dared come close enough to attempt such a reckless thing with Ivar sitting guard.

It was a death sentence in and of it’s self to challenge the Cripple, let alone try to take what rightfully belonged to him. Slave or not, he had already made it clear she was not to be harmed. But with rations running low and tensions running high, many of his fellow Viking brothers were starting to press their luck.  

“You tempt fate to freely, Cripple!” One man exclaimed, pointing a finger in Ivar’s direction accusingly. “That Slave bitch is cursed! I can feel it. She should be thrown to the depths as offering to Ægir; for the sake of everyone!” Many of the men and women on their boat cheered in agreement, arguing back and forth what should be done as Ivar seethed silently. Floki’s attempts at reason going unheard as the voices grew louder, drawing several of the nearby boats in as they took advantage of the eerily calm seas.

“You would do best to hold your tongue!” Ivar growled in a murderous tone, pointing a dagger back at the man who was making the accusations. Bracing himself against one crutch as he hovered protectively in front of Freya’s body, alongside Torvi and Floki.

“What in Odin’s name is going on?!” Ubbe yelled as himself and Hvitserk crossed over from their boat to Ivar’s; taking in the scene before them carefully.  

“Your Crippled brother has lost his fucking mind!” The same man from before shouted, pointing to Freya’s body that lie safely at the rear of the boat, just out of reach. “She’s cursed, I can feel it in my bone! Her body needs gotten rid of!”  Cheers of agreement erupted again into the evening air.

“Over my dead body!” Ivar roared over the noise as he lurched forward, dagger ready. Ubbe stepping in between his brother and the rest of the boat, allowing Hvitserk to take stance in Ivar’s previous place guarding Freya.

“Enough!” Ubbe yelled, the boat falling silent for a moment as everyone’s attention fell to him. “I know we have had some ill fated luck, but that does not mean we are to start throwing people overboard. So long as she still draws breath, she stays.”

“But--” The man started to protest, cut off by the sharp glare Ubbe gave in return.

“I would choose silence, if you wish to keep your tongue.” He stated, one hand still planted firmly against Ivar’s chest. The youngest Ragnarsson sneering after the man as he turned, retreating through the throng of people that had gathered, stepping onto the other boat without another word.

“Reign it in, Ivar.” Ubbe warned lowly as he turned to face his brother. “We are all on edge, but now is not the time, nor the place. Understood?”

Ivar remained silent as he narrowed his gaze back at his brother. Rage burning rampant through his sapphire eyes as he took his place back beside Freya protectively as Ubbe ordered everyone to return to their places.

The wind starting to pick up steadily as storm clouds grayed what little light was left in the sky. Hvitserk exchanging a worried glance with Ubbe as Floki rushed to the front of the boat. The atmosphere shifting abruptly as the swells started to grow and raindrops started to fall from the darkening sky. Lightning cracking overhead violently, followed by an ominous rumble of thunder that shook everyone into terrified silence.

“Drop the sails! Drop the sails!” Floki shouted franically, several men rushing to get it lowered as the surrounding boats followed suit. Ubbe pushing his way to the front, stopping short of where Floki was perched on the bow, clutching to the wooden serpents head like his life was about to depend on it. Watching helplessly as the eye of the storm barreled toward their fleet.

“What do we do?” Ubbe questioned as he looked up to the boat builder.

“We pray to the Gods that that mans superstitions aren’t right, my dear Ubbe...that is what we do.”

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

Additional Notes: In Norse mythology, Ægir is a sea jötunn associated with the ocean. He is also known for being a friend of the gods and hosting elaborate parties for them. He is the namesake for the exoplanet previously known as Epsilon Eridani b.

TAGLIST: @greennightspider r​ @captstefanbrandt @microsmacrosandneedles @irishhiggins @dmv49 @naaladareia @readsalot73 @terrainhead

[sibillascribbles08]

Red Blue Chartreuse

Little E and Frigidus drabble for oc x canon day in which I attempt to not massively spoil my fics lmao

(Title from the song Chartreuse by Capital Cities)

“Just what do you see in that nerd anyway?” Harumi asked him when he told her he was heading out to Borg tower yet again. They were jobless right now, after all. At least until Ronin found something else to steal from another realm.

And what else was E to do with his freetime these days? He could train, of course, but he always felt much better spending his afternoons hanging around Frigidus’s lab, watching him work, helping out when he could. Sometimes the hacker would ask him to hang onto some information and E would hold his hand against his face, wondering what it would feel like.

Frigidus still thought that was the only way to transfer data into his systems. E almost felt bad for lying but no harm no foul, right?

What did he see in Frigidus? It was as simple as the fact that he was always happy to see E, right?

Most people were frightened of him, probably rightfully so. The only exceptions were Dareth, Ronin and Harumi, all of which were his family now. He always did his best to give off a gentle impression in public but it never lasted. He had trouble emoting. His dark sunglasses were intimidating, but the red glowing eyes underneath weren’t any less so. Sometimes he thinks he has a chance, picking up things someone dropped or holding open the door. Their thankful smiles would always vanish when they caught a glimpse of his eyes underneath his glasses.

People still didn’t trust nindroids after all, even if Zane and Echo were an exception. Perhaps Pixal as well, but no one outside of the ninja knew the identity of Samurai X.

People were afraid of him. It was a fact E knew from the start, and one he accepted, mostly.

It was still frustrating from time to time.

But Frigidus wasn’t like that. The hacker’s face would light up whenever he entered the room, already prattling on about his current project. It was surprising how much he could talk, but maybe he just didn’t like the silence, as E mainly communicated with sign language or by texting.

There wasn’t a hint of fear or intimidation. He didn’t hesitate to get close, look him in the eye, complain that the sunglasses made it to hard to read what E was thinking. E would take them off, or put them on top of his head, wondering how the intense red didn’t bother him.

Even when they first met Frigidus hadn’t been scared of him. Nervous, of course, but anyone would have been considering the situation. Ninjago was falling apart and he’d suddenly been slammed with the responsibility to patch up a broken nindroid he’d never seen before.

It was a blessing he knew sign language, made it a little easier for E to communicate.

E entered Borg Tower with the visitor pass that Frigidus had finally gotten for him. Borg had been hesitant, but Frigidus said it was either that or E would keep breaking in by hacking the system or slipping in from the roof. E gave a polite nod to the receptionist at the desk, who just eyed him with caution.

The usual.

He got stuck in the elevator with another poor employee. The man stayed pressed against the back corner, never taking his eyes off E. If the nindroid turned up his hearing he’d knew he’d hear the man’s racing heartbeat.

When they reached the man’s floor, he scrambled out of the elevator. The pair of women who were waiting just gave him an awkward smile. One said, “We’re going down so we’ll wait for the next one.”

Probably a lie, E didn’t argue. He just let the doors close without a word.

When he reached his destination there was a crowd waiting. They completely split apart as he exited the elevator, giving him more than enough room to move down the hall. He didn’t glance at them, or apologize, it’d only make them more nervous. Every now and then he’d hear the people who worked here gossiping to each other, asking why he was here, what did he want. Today they were silent.

He used his pass again to open the door to Frigidus’s lab. The room was fairly impressive, huge, despite Frigidus’s insistence that he didn’t need all this space. He was a programmer first, inventor second. Anything he did with machine parts was out of necessity rather than curiosity.

Despite that it was fairly crowded, boxes of spare parts and old files. His work desk was littered with with his current projects, still trying to design weapons that could tap into elemental powers. He’d made breakthroughs with them ages ago, but still refused to release it.

“You know the villains of this country.” He’d said. “You build something like this and they flock to it like desperate parents during a holiday sale at the department store.”

E laughed at the analogy, and Frigidus’s face lit up at the sound.

“E!”

That same expression was on his face now as he slid his chair away from the computer.

“Man, you’re just in time. I’ve got a big surprise for you today.”

E tilted his head.

“Well, you know.” Frigidus got up and headed over to him. “I asked Ronin if you had some kind of birthday and he said not really? But he gave me the date he activated you after repairing you so I guess today counts? I mean, maybe you don’t really celebrate it but…” He was rubbing the side of his head, pushing his hair out of his face only for it to bounce back.

“You got me a present?” E signed.

“Well sure, I think you earned one if nothing else.” Frigidus smiled at him, blue eyes glittering behind his glasses.

E wanted to be happy but he was confused. He was still so confused. “Why aren’t you scared of me?”

Frigidus’s smile dropped. “Huh? Should I be? I mean, I know you have the whole death biker look going on.” He gestured to E’s jacket. “And I know you can tear the shit out of almost anyone, but you’ve been nothing but polite to me since day one.”

That was true but… “Most people are still frightened of me, regardless of how nice I act.”

“Cause they’re stupid.” Frigidus glared for a moment. “Did some other jackass from the engineering department talk shit about you? I’ll flood their email with awful heavy metal covers.”

E smiled and shook his head.

“Fine, just keep me posted on that. Don’t worry about it right now anyway, come on.” Frigidus grabbed his hand and pulled him to the corner of the room. There was a blue sheet covering something that was domed on top. “Now I can’t take all the credit for this, Zane gave me the idea, but I thought it could help you out, you know?”

Zane had the idea? What could that possibly mean? E prayed it had nothing to do with his ridiculous hairstyle.

“Alright, here she is.” Frigidus ripped the sheet off.

Underneath was a bird cage, a fairly large one, and perched in the center was a… vulture? No. E blinked, trying to get a closer look at it. The shape indicated a vulture, but not a real one. It’s black and red feathers were synthetic. It’s face looked more like a skull, eyes glowing red. Its head tilted with a click. It shifted on its mechanical feet, long claws curled around the post.

“I named her Cherry Berry, or just Cherry.” Frigidus snickered. “Not that you have to tell anyone that. Figured if Zane had a bird companion you could too, something more fitting to your style. I programmed her system to work almost effortlessly with yours. She’s built with heat vision, infrared, and can even shoot lasers out of her eyes.” Frigidus pointed to his own and grinned. “I tried to give her a flamethrower too but it kept causing her feathers to burn so I’m working on that.”

Frigidus opened the cage and gestured to her. The huge bird hopped out, landing on his arm. She seemed to be almost too heavy for him to manage.

“Claws are already sharp.” Frigidus cringed. “But they can extend some too, latch on tighter. Built her out of light material but still durable so she can take a few hits.” He tapped on her chest. “Go on, see if you can connect to her and communicate a bit, get her up and running.”

E wasn’t entirely sure about this, but he trusted Frigidus. He did a quick scan for nearby signals, picking the bird’s up right away. There seemed to be security clearance for it, but he must have already been added in as it let him through with no trouble.

“Hello, E.” The bird’s voice was soothing, gentle, far different from her appearance. “It is nice to meet you.”

E wasn’t sure what to do at first. Eventually he held out his arm, much how Frigidus was. Cherry hopped over to him immediately. Her weight didn’t mean much to him, but she was lighter than he expected.

“Let me know when you start taking her out for test runs, send me some data. I can make improvements from there.” Frigidus grinned at him. “Think she’ll be pretty handy next time you and Harumi stake out a place. She’s got a bunch of other features but I think I’ll let you figure them out as you go.”

“If you like I can go ahead and build a map of the city.” Cherry tilted her head. She moved so much like a bird.

E figured that was a good idea, and Frigidus’s eagerness to test her out only pushed him further. They rode the elevator up to the roof of the building. The hacker was practically skipping around before finally settling against the railing.

Dork.

“Don’t strain yourself.” E told the bird. “If something isn’t functioning correctly you should come back.”

“Of course.” She nibbled at his ear before she jumped off his arm and over the side. Her wings caught her, sturdy and well put together. The wind lifted her back into the air and she flew on over the city.

“Awesome,” Frigidus grinned. “We tested flying in the lab but it’s so much better seeing it out here. I was a bit worried how her wings would handle the outside air.” He opened the holoscreen from his jacket, taking a few notes.

E waved to get his attention before signing, “Thank you.”

Frigidus shut the screen down, still smiling. “No need to thank me. About time I returned the favor for all those times you saved my ass.”

E decided to be bold, taking a step forward. “I will save it as many times as I need to.”

“Come on, I can’t be that special.”

He shook his head. He wanted to tell him that he was, that he was wonderful, that E wouldn’t know what to do if he stopped being a part of his life.

But he wasn’t sure how, and maybe it would take too long to sign it out, so instead he just brought up his hand to say, “I love you.”

Frigidus’s cheeks turned pink, then his ears. His eyes glanced away but he was still smiling. “Yeah, love you too.”

“Just what do you see in that nerd anyway?” Harumi had asked. It really wasn’t anything thrilling or complicated. E just loved being around him, because the feeling was mutual, and that was that.

His hand moved slowly to Frigidus’s face, cupping his cheek, tilting his head up. E always hesitated with things like this because he didn’t want to spook him. He didn’t want to do something that would push Frigidus away for good. But maybe now–

A light clack interrupted them. They both turned to see Cherry sitting there, red eyes fixed on them.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account.” If she had the ability to smile no doubt she would be.

E felt his system heat up as he let go. Frigidus’s face turned even more red.

Cherry’s laughter echoed in the back of his mind.

[themillenniumscribe]

Yu-Gi-Oh!: Brilliancy (35)

Her name is Clarisa Swansea. She was born in Hong Kong to a wealthy yet loving family, a father, mother, and two older sisters. A competitive beast in women’s lacrosse with a pretty face to match, there was no mistaking that she was striving for greatness far beyond any expectations. But, when one accident took her family along with her mobility, her life took an intriguing turn into the world of chess.

Grass. Why did she smell grass? It was a stupid question to ask because she could feel the cold tendrils on her face. When she was finally able to open her eyes, the blurry green blobs sharpened into the stalks.

Clarisa could feel her muscles pulsing, a dull ache flowing through them. They protested even more when she pushed herself up from the ground, her fingers pressing down into the tan colored earth.

“Wait…wasn’t I just…?” Something wasn’t adding up right. She was on a blimp before. There was a card game tournament going on and they were on their way to the finals. Then, there was an aircraft carrier and a green haired child and a threat from Kaiba and…what?

Rubbing the back of her head, she could feel a slight headache on the back of her head. The strawberry blonde waves danced in her fingers, even more so when she got up onto her feet. Grimacing, she took her few first tentative steps forward while her blue eyes scoured the area.

“Tree…Tree…Another tree…Ooh! A tree…” She mused aloud, walking through the grassy knoll. She managed to find a pathway close by, weaving through a few of the trunks so she could get to the clearing. Once she got there, however, it was just as empty as the meadow she left, nothing but a flat, dirt covered path.

“Alright, Risa,” A sigh hissed through her lips, her brow furrowing. “I think it has been established that this is weird. We were on a blimp and now we are in the Forbidden Forest of yore. How did we get from blimp to wood?”

“RISA!”

That voice she recognized immediately. Turning on her heel, she just barely registered the vibrant yellow vest and mop of black hair before it hurdled itself around her waist. She was almost knocked over from the sheer force of the embrace. Mokuba began babbling, muffled into her chest so she could barely register what he was saying.

“So, Mokuba, do you mind telling me how I ended up here?” She mused, keeping her grin optimistic despite her uncertainty. “I didn’t fall off the blimp after Kaiba made good on his threat to tie me there, did he?”

For some odd reason, she still remembered that detail. There were soft mumbles in her memory of things happening there after but nothing that she was confident about.

“We got pulled in here when we confronted the Big Five!” Mokuba cried, pulling himself away from Clarisa. His vibrant hazel eyes were wide with disbelief, confused by how Clarisa didn’t seem to remember what was apparently an epic confrontation.

“Well, I don’t know who that is but I’m going to say yes because I have a feeling you might cry if I don’t.” It was an honest answer and one that earned her a fierce glare when Kaiba suddenly made his presence known.

He approached at a fairly brisk pace, keeping his duel disk level as he trotted. Once he reached them, he shared Mokuba’s wide eyed expression before shifting into his usual glare.

“Was anyone else with you?” Kaiba asked hastily, glancing around skeptically. Clarisa had a feeling that even if she admitted no one was with her, he would still be looking around for signs. She shook her head.

“No, I woke up in that field over there.” She indicated by pointing her thumb over her shoulder. “After I came to, I walked over here to the pathway.”

“You…what?” Mokuba’s face went wide and Kaiba stared at Clarisa in wonder. She didn’t know how to respond to their surprise.

“Yes, I walked over here.” She reiterated with a huff. “You know, on my legs?”

The last word rang out in her ears with such power that Clarisa’s snark disappeared. All that was left was a stupidly blank expression blinking away at her own ignorance.

“…Oh my god…” She breathed, glancing down at her feet. “I’m…walking…”

“We already established that.” Kaiba replied, looking Clarisa over. “The question is, how?”

“This is the latest in virtual reality software. Maybe it doesn’t register physical handicaps?” Mokuba turned to his brother, hoping for a confirmation on his theory. Clarisa shook her head.

“If this is the latest, then Risa should be crawling around on her hands and knees,” Kaiba crossed his arms, leaning to one side in order to get a better angle of Clarisa’s form. Instead, she took it as an excuse to check out her back side and gave him a stern look.

“And why is that, pray tell?” She snapped, adjusting so she was facing the CEO head on. He sighed.

“My Solid Vision system attaches to several systems of the body including the brain and nervous system.”

“So that players can feel things during gameplay, right?” Mokuba chimed in, receiving a stiff nod from his brother.

“Well then, your system must be broken.” Clarisa replied. “Because if it did have access to my nervous system, I would certainly have been crawling on the ground.”

“Seto!” Mokuba cried out, taking off down the dirt pathway. Clarisa made a reach for him in an attempt to stop him but she wasn’t fast enough. Turning her head, she saw what Mokuba was so desperately running to, a thick oak door with a bronze handle.

“What is that?” She didn’t get an answer. Kaiba was close behind Mokuba, doing that odd trot from before. Rolling her eyes, Clarisa followed suit, keeping a fair distance when the brothers stopped.

“This must be the program exit.” Kaiba replied, reaching forward to grab the knob.

“Are you sure that’s what this is?” Clarisa was uncertain and rightfully so. This was the first time she was hearing about an exit being programmed in. Her skepticism was met with irritation.

“I know the basics of the Solid Vision program and since that is what Noah is using, I’m confident that this is our way out.”

“Who is Noah?” She inquired, brow furrowing.

“We’ll tell you about him later.” Mokuba brushed her off as Kaiba confidently opened up the door.

A bright flash of white light consumed them, fading in pastel shapes of a building Clarisa did not recognize. The sharper details started to come in, revealing a slightly worn down structure complete with a barred gate. She could hear faint voices of children inside, bringing back memories of the hospital from her accident. But, she was fairly certain that no medical practices were going on in this building.

“Seto…That’s…” Turning her head, Clarisa could see the horror flowing from Mokuba’s eyes. He recognized this place. She turned her attention to Kaiba, noticing the same abhorrence but with a pinch of disgust.

“Do you two know this place?” Mokuba nodded stiffly, hands trembling.

“This is the orphanage that we were sent to after our parents died…” His voice was just as shaky. “When our family used up our dad’s inheritance, they dumped us here…”

“Mokuba, enough.” Kaiba barked sternly. He was more on edge than usual, stiffly glancing about as though he was trying to turn off the display. This memory must have been really something to put him in a desperate spin. Clarisa felt a twinge of sympathy for him.

“How old were you?” She asked softly, treading carefully with her words. Kaiba paid her no mind, still trying to fix the situation. Mokuba, however, was more than willing to fill her in.

“Seto was eight and I was five.” He replied sullenly. “We were really young…”

“So, you probably would have looked like that?” Clarisa pointed toward the barred gate. She almost regretted doing so.

A car was at the gate, speeding away to reveal two small figures. One was a little boy with a clean mop of chestnut hair and dark blue eyes. The other was even smaller, his hair in a rag tag mess of black fuzz and watery hazel orbs. They were holding hands, the younger of the two sheepishly glancing around to assess his surroundings. The older, however, had a familiar stoicism that Clarisa couldn’t ignore.

No sooner had she pointed out the two figures, the two Kaiba brothers were sent back into a feverish spin. Mokuba was particularly verbal, sputtering in a mix of Japanese that Clarisa couldn’t catch. However, it was Kaiba himself that really set the tone. His azure eyes were wild, shifting from denial to anger and back again. His lips were ever so slightly parted, struggling to find words let alone attempt them.

“They look like how you two would have looked at that time.” Clarisa murmured, approaching the Kaiba brothers carefully.

“It IS us!” Mokuba cried, his face going pale. “But, how?!”

“I don’t know…” Kaiba snapped, eyes narrowing. “But I’m going to find out…”

Clarisa remained silent, watching the two boys carefully. Pursing her lips, she walked over to the youngsters, barely hearing the protests from Mokuba. She stopped in front of them, putting on a smile.

“Hello,” She said gently. “What is your name?”

They didn’t respond to her. An escort came to their side, instructing them to follow. As they took their first tentative steps forward, the forms passed through Clarisa, barely registering that she was even there. Clarisa was shocked at how cold it felt.

“Apparently there were some glitches that this Noah couldn’t fix…” She remarked, brushing off her pants.

“They just passed right through…” Mokuba was just as curious as Clarisa was, his hazel eyes following his doppelganger.

“Well, it does put several things into perspective.” Clarisa eyed Kaiba and Mokuba carefully. Both brothers returned her gaze though Kaiba’s seemed to narrow more on her.

“Like what?” He asked firmly. Clarisa nudged her head toward the building.

“This particular system has somehow been connected to the memory portion of our brains, pulling them out and making them reality. I can walk because I have memories of being able to.”

“But why bring this up?” Mokuba challenged, gesturing wildly at the building.

“Because he wants us to see this…” Kaiba mumbled darkly, his arms crossing over his chest. His azure eyes were burning now, hotter than Clarisa had ever seen them. He clearly was unsettled at his past being put on display, especially with someone he wasn’t close to in their party.

“Why indeed?” Clarisa mused, a half smile curling on her lips. Without warning, Clarisa began to walk toward the building at a healthy clip, pursing the young boys.

“Wait, Risa! Where are you going?” She turned her head, beaming back.

“To find out why this is so important. There has got to be a reason why this Noah wants you to see this.” She didn’t bother telling them the rest of why she was curious to see more. However, she had a feeling that this wouldn’t be the last of the memories picked from Kaiba’s brain.

[hiriajuu-suffering]

My views on Heteronormative Feminism are...problematic?

I didn’t used to think this way, I used to think men and women were morally equal, that generally both genders had the same conceptions for happiness. Having gone through almost 90% of my 20s, I can’t feel the same. I’m unable to feel the same. I’m totally numb to feminine experience because it garners no empathy of giving value to others intrinsically. While I think toxic femininity is a direct result of patriarchal norms, ultimately, feminism itself champions these negative traits rather than highlight them as repercussions of the patriarchy.

Women don’t find men attractive beyond what they can provide. Women don’t want men, they want the additional 22% average earnings a man makes to be taken away from the man they’re with and be given (most likely unearned) to them. Women don’t want sex with men, they’re driven by the biological need for sperm to reproduce to think they want men but are nurtured into thinking women are more attractive than men, thereby making it such that their attraction to any masculinity outside of a normative conception be nullified. Women don’t like men, the natural tendency for any pending issue in their lives is diverting blame to those in power instead of taking responsibility. Women don’t treat men as equals, men’s social opinions are automatically deemed lesser due to what male privilege provides (though female privilege affords basic things social instincts like interacting with children and acknowledging feelings) whilst adding toxic masculinity to the act of sex itself by assuming men are devoid of attachment oxytocin.

Women are Hobbesian, men are Lockean. I’m, of course, referring to state of nature theories here. Men’s desire to promote conflict and strife for the advance of power/status is a direct result of what the women said men desire and the perceived deficits women have of a men. Why are all the shortest dictators in history the most violent? Why is one of the largest postmodern marketing tropes about penis size (arguably eclipsing cup size)? Why do men prioritize their physical appearance (meathead culture) in a contrast where the feminine narrative is body positivity? Why don’t we talk about how men feel and why men (not just attempting) killing themselves at higher rates? A woman can rightfully feel fulfilled by simply being a parent, but a man has to be a good parent, professional, provider, lover, advisor, counselor, and source of emotional support all in one. It doesn’t matter what’s in a woman’s bank account to anyone, but it always matters what’s in a man’s bank account to a woman. A woman is a more attractive public figure because men flock to her, a man can’t fly through the roof in the same way because masculinity caps at normativity (hence why women pull more than 70% of the views on twitch/youtube while being less than 10% of the content base and having a generally lesser level of expertise in their target niche).

Our crossroads is heteronormative femininity gets every social advantage imaginable which systemic barriers remain in place in which men get punished for. Feminism shouldn’t be at the expense of men, any decent feminist should tell you this. Yet, frankly, it most often is. OnlyFans culture is the exploitation of men’s desirability complexes, the model itself doesn’t function when you ask women to pay to see men at that level of intimacy (and no, that has nothing to do with the wage gap). Women have a unique advantage of having the option to sell their body, labor, or mind; men can practically only sell their labor with a small possibility of their mind. The unavailability for a man to sell ones body professionally means while men “get paid more on average,” they will always have less opportunity because society will always pick a woman first. Heck, if we were to take the wage gap literally, it’s economically advantageous to pay equal work for 82% of its worth, meaning women have more opportunity to partake in occupational freedom holistically. Alimony and child support law is a relic of patriarchal norms all feminism ignores for its own benefit.

I can’t find myself to be a moral agent force for good if my physiological need to reproduce is making me beholden to the desires of women. What women desire for my life is my suffering, to undermine my existence to the point of nothingness because I am a South Asian American man that can’t even normalize within his own hyperminority. I can’t think of a single woman in my whole life that looked at my welfare selflessly, not even my mother, sister, or aunt (S.A.W.), the three women in my life that are supposed to care more about me than any other women should even if I were to take a wife. At this point, I think it’s impossible. Not because of these ridiculously contrarian views I’m spouting, because I’m simply that repugnant to the feminine ire that I can no longer see myself as attractive to those I care about attracting. Don’t get me wrong, I have a general disdain for all of humanity, how it treats it medium of exchange (money) over the valuation of personhood (hence why people have been bought and sold from the beginning of time until now), but because women are in primary control of the social forces at play, women are primarily responsible for money coming over personhood. No one will like me, but because a woman’s perspective is just a kaleidoscope of social normativity, it especially won’t be a woman.

I don’t want a woman who hangs on my words and come away from this hating their own gender, but there’s a reason many empathize with the notion of a woman who prefers the company of men over women. Not because she finds them attractive, no-no-no, they’ve all been friendzoned, it’s because they’re less morally manipulative specimens in a social arena. There’s not a constant play for social advantage or social dominance. Whereas men show their pride by flexing more literally, women step on each other much more willingly to get ahead and feminine engagement becomes a status-chase (even if the status itself empathy/emotional quotient). Every woman, from a very young age, is taught they must always do one thing well: exploit a man for everything he’s worth but never show your appreciation for what he’s worth, otherwise, it’s a sign of weakness and submission. Maybe that’s why lots of men find submission attractive, they see it as genuine appreciation...when in reality it’s often an even greater social ploy because no self-respecting woman would ever submit to a man by choice, even if they are completely, profoundly, and utterly wrong. Feminine submission always comes as a tradeoff for something else, masculine submission is expected as a necessity for consent which ironically somehow makes the person less masculine (way to internalize toxic masculinty, btw).

It’s gotten to the point where simping has become so normalized, every single girl that ever shows an iota of interest in me is always trying to get something out of me before she’s placed any of herself to be committed. Women just expect $1,000+ to be handed to them for showing a physical interest in a man at all, not committing to be with the man in any capacity, mind you. Even then, for most women, it’s just not enough. It’s like they want every man to be destitute while creating the least amount of real pleasure on men possible. When they say “suck you dry,” they mean your wallet and bank account, not your prostate. They want all of us to die in our Mid-50′s of prostate cancer because of course they don’t actually want to have sex at all so they would rather see us die a slow and painful death than follow their base instincts to put out once in awhile. If I haven’t made this painfully clear already, I don’t hate women. I want to hate women because I recognize every foul way they treat me, but I have a physical inability to hate women because of my own heteronormativity. My core claim is every woman is demisexual and only a statistical blip isn’t completely asexual to me, so why should I seek out happiness by companionship with one? Every moment I’ve spent pursuing the experience of a woman has detracted from something comparatively more morally productive, but I’m bound to it because life is suffering. Exploitation is the worst possible way to dehumanize one’s experiences and women seek to actively do that in their romantic relationships on a diachronic basis.

I know how fucked my views are right now, and I’ll delete them and this post when a woman proves me wrong and restores my faith in femininity. A depersonalized proof has no bearing on my personal views because I have to live my truth (funny how men are often denied the ability to live their truth out of monetary constraints yet women will always have another to lean on). I have no faith in the woman I love the most to be able to retain strength in femininity and she’s the only one I’ve experienced to appreciate me intrinsically. Even as an exception to a lot of the general patterns, she remains steadfastly unwilling to act for my, and thereby our, welfare with those intentions, making her a rather pitiful exception to say my views are wrong. If women want to be seen as positive morality, they have to stop working within the realms of being a slave to the patriarchy. Actively breaking down those barriers, even when a gender stands nothing to benefit, is good on its own. Patriarchal norms, in fact, pinpoint my specific ethnic diaspora and gender as the most abhorrent in the world and actively seeks to exterminate me when I’m not properly segregated to the group I was born into.

I’m going to get so much hate for this if any woman deems worthy of even so much as a reply, I doubt it though.

[pyramidhead316]

On ‘Supergirl’ and toxic relationships.

So, I didn’t know about this sh*tstorm that was going on, until I came across it while reading one of my regular jaunts through Supercorp for the day, since I’ve been steadily working on my Star Wars/Supergirl/Persona crossover and my Silent Hill fic ‘Dark Descent’. (Yes, it’s as crazy as it sounds!  ;-D) And I’ve been shocked at the mess that this has turned into it. I’ve read accounts of it on Reddit, where people have blamed the fandom from Supergirl, and said that shippers are toxic to the series. Others have said that people are taking this way too seriously.

Yes, fans may be overreacting to this. I don’t condone threats or very harsh personal insults to the cast, since they have friends and family too. But here’s the thing. We’ve just endured an entire series of one of the worst relationships I have ever seen on screen, with a character that literally makes me, a bi-leaning man, want to see Bane break him. I really wanted Bane to just put in one appearance on ‘Supergirl’, break Mon-El in half, and then leave.  :-P  Chris Wood is a good man, but he’s been stuck with playing Mon-El, a character who is one of the worst and most boring love interests I’ve ever seen on screen, and who has sucked away nearly everything I loved about the series. He pales to some of the legendary love interests who have been presented for strong female characters in the past. Hell, he pales to James who came before him! And now we’re told that LGBT people, who don’t have enough representation on screen, have to feel diminished and that they’re not worth much to the show, that they have to accept anything thrown their way even if it’s insults, that they have to have their fantasies mocked, by straight people who can never understand even an inkling of what they’re going through (God, I really want to punch some straight people tonight, after reading through that thread on Reddit), and that it’s okay to have a formerly strong female be together with an absolute slime of a man, because God forbid you have another LGBT pairing on the show? Yeah, I don’t blame them for being pissed.

By now, I’m sure we all know what was done. Jeremy Jordan said something stupid at Comic Con, and used a song to turn it into a game. Thereby earning himself and Melissa the ire of about 500,000 fans. :-P Even Gail Simone herself has chipped in on this, bashing rightfully the cast for their idiocy. That we’ve pulled a legendary comic book writer from her important work to comment on this says a lot about this situation. The problem is not that Jordan said Supercorp was never going to happen. We knew it was never going to happen. The problem is that he then turned it into a game, using it to insult the very viewers that support him, and a partial portion of the cast was stupid enough not to shut him down. This would NEVER have been done for a straight pairing, and if you’re a straight person and you believe differently, then you’re a fool and deluded.

First off, let’s be honest: the way Kara and Lena are written on ‘Supergirl’ is queer baiting. I understand this happened a lot on another show, ‘Rizzoli and Isles’, to the detriment of that show’s cast when they personally took to mocking the show’s fans who were hoping for a pairing. A lot of people never forgave them for that. Another reason why I never watched that show, besides my disinterest for police procedurals. I don’t have time for that game. Kara and Lena could easily pass for best friends at first. But the dozens of flowers as gratitude for saving (or trying to save) her reputation? The increasing relying on Kara for support? The fact that Lena and Kara have more chemistry in their little fingers than Melissa and Chris have in their entire bodies, on screen? (Where is this supposedly hot action that Karamel fans see on screen? The words that come to mind are “cold fish”. Now John Crichton and Aeryn Sun – there’s a HOT pairing! And I’m not ashamed to say that as a man.) All this has to be intentional on the part of the writers. The chemistry can be accidental – that happens in sets, but the actors can only work with what they’re given. Mon-El never should have passed beyond his comic relief role as an almost little brother for Kara, and I think the writers realize this. They have no plans for what they want to do with him in the end, but he fits the traditional white bread image of a love interest. Lena and Kara have fantastic chemistry, terrific chemistry, but the writers already have an LGBT pairing on the show, and they can’t afford another one – the censors would eat them alive. So, they write this way, teasing glimpses of something that could be more, in order to keep the LGBT audience watching, knowing that there will never be more. That’s queer baiting. Writing teasing glimpses and touches, in order to give the appearance of a possible gay relationship, knowing that there will never be another gay relationship on the show all the while.

Secondly, some people say that why is it important. Do you wonder why so many fans pair together characters in lesbian or gay relationships? People flock to pairings because there is a dearth of representation on the television. Hetero relationships have NEVER been under-represented on TV, ever. It has been the norm for so long that people have accepted it as the norm, and don’t realize that it’s not everybody’s norm. It’s become so accepted for people to assume that a character is straight that a woman could come in on a show and start flirting with every woman imaginable, and people would still assume she was straight and just playing around, unless she outright said she was gay. The same goes for men. Jonathan Frakes attempted to destroy this with an episode of “Star Trek: The Next Generation” in the 90’s, by wanting a man to play his love interest, showing that love knew no gender, but big surprise, the writers never let him get it passed, out of fear of the censors. If you would just give us more LGBT pairings to root for, we wouldn’t give a crap who Supergirl was with! As it stands, you don’t and you pair her with a man that she would otherwise be advised to dump as soon as possible by most people. It’s the final insult, in a long line of insults. What do you expect to happen!?  O_O  You can’t keep pushing the LGBT fandom, teasing them and needling them whenever necessary, and not expect some fallback. Yes, sometimes it falls on the actors unfortunately, but you have to understand that a lot of people out there are getting sick of this ‘straight only, white only’ crap out there. I notice that you guys didn’t go deep into Maggie’s background in Blue Springs, because you probably didn’t want to traumatize white viewers watching it. What’s the matter, you don’t want to show how nasty white people can be in a small rural town?  o_O  (And I say this as someone who’s most favorite protagonists are mostly white (Solid Snake, Alessa Gillespie, Raiden, Anakin Skywalker, Kara, etc. The whities are strong in my fics. ;-P Yet it’s their stories I like, not their skin color.)

Wonder Woman is absolutely, blatantly acknowledged as bisexual in the comics. Why is she not portrayed as blatantly bisexual in the movie?  O_O  Are you that terrified of the few hundred Christians who will protest the decision, that you don’t want to risk ever giving a hint of it in the film? Oh no, other Amazons can be involved with women, and Diana herself admits that men are useless for pleasure, but God forbid you come out and say that she loves women. And this isn’t an attack on the WW filmmakers, they did the best they could. This is an attack on the mindset in Hollywood that says you can’t make a protagonist gay or bisexual in a strong Summer tentpole movie. Why don’t we have a major gay or bi superhero out there, in full display? Why are we letting the bigots continue to run our entertainment for us? And I hate to see this kind of crap filtering down to the television world, with its series.  :-(  Some people would say, that we should be grateful we got one LGBT couple, in Alex and Maggie. That’s exactly the point: we shouldn’t have to be grateful for only getting one couple, the scraps of whatever they deem fit to toss us? You may know more gay people in your real life than you see on TV! It’s ridiculous. When are we going to be able to see a woman loving a woman, or a man loving a man, and not have it called a perversion or “sickening” children’s minds? It’s the freakin’ 21st century. Get with the program!

Third, if it had been a man who was Lex Luthor’s brother or son, you can believe the Network would have wanted that they hook up and sleep together in three episodes into the season. You can better believe that would have happened. In fact, it would have been a demand: they would HAVE to sleep together, or the writers would be hearing from the network executives soon. Yet God forbid that a woman has something besides friendship with another woman!  :-P  Yes, it’s perfectly fine to have women be platonic friends: it’s completely ACCEPTABLE! But that’s not the whole story. Far too often, women’s love has been restrained only towards the friendly, while it was expected that any man they meet up with would immediately turn into the romantic. James, Winn, and Mon-El; three red-blooded men who fall in love with Kara, and want to be with her. Why is it that every time Kara meets a man, it has to be romantic? Yet with Lena, a woman, it’s like, oh no, she has to be a friend only! There’s a blatant double standard there, and you must be a blind man without Daredevil’s enhanced senses if you can’t see it!  :-P

What hurts about Jeremy Jordan’s words is that his character was (unfairly) characterized as a Nice Guy (™), and not the one you hope for but the other one (i.e. manipulative asshole), whereas he wasn’t that at all. I think he was a friend who genuinely fell in love with Kara, and then shifted out of it later on. He wasn’t trying to manipulate her feelings, by playing the sensitive companion. But the point is that he, out of all the cast members, should have learned that you have to be careful with what you say, and make sure writers give the right impression. It’s like the actor learned nothing from his own arc!  O_O  I can almost expect this from James’ actor, because then it would have been characterized as jealousy that his character never got a full romantic arc with Kara, and people are clamoring for one with Lena. But for this to come from Winn’s actor, who should have learned that you have to be careful with what you say, because of his own story, is just incredible to believe. I’m glad the actor who plays J’onn J’onzz is staying out of it. He seems to be the wisest of all the main performers there.

I just find this all sickening. The fact that LGBT fans still have to fight for even the slightest shred of respect, and that the smug straight people call them “immature” or “perverts”, or “toxic” or “obsessed for it”. F*cking bastards. It just makes me sick, and makes me wish to never interact with the ‘normal’ fans ever again. If this is what the ‘normal’ fans look like…I’d rather be with the shippers, thank you very much.  :-P

Why are gay people and bi people pissed all the time with TV shows? Because gay people ALL DIE in serious programs!!  O_O  The Clexa thing is an example. You have a 10 times greater chance of dying in a serious TV show, if you’re a gay person! No happy endings are allowed, no sirree. You have to satisfy the Network’s demands that gay people are a perversion, and deserve to die, even if it’s heroically. Whereas with a straight couple, God forbid they have some fatal trouble in their relationship.  :-P  Some people dismiss that as an insignificant detail, that some people are obsessed with Lexa. I used to think that way, too. Until they realized the truth. Many, if not most straight protagonists make it through their relationship intact. Gay people don’t.

I’ll be honest, I am not going to be watching the season 3 episode when it first premiers. Not just because of this, but because of all the crap with Mon-El, the lazily scripted arcs, the people acting completely out-of-character for the sake of the plot, the hints of Lena turning evil, and many other things. Mon-El sucked all the joy I found out of watching ‘Supergirl’, and the crap going on around him didn’t help. I didn’t care for watching ‘The Mon-El Show’ week after week, and it just became a chore to watch, week in and week out. Sometimes I even switched over to ‘Dancing With The Stars’, even though the lineup was the worst it had been in several years, because I got bored with ‘Supergirl’. At that point, I’d rather have watched a show about J’onn J’onzz and his little adventures, than turn to follow Kara and Mon-El. :-P  I’ll wait about six episodes in, until I make sure that it’s good, before tuning in. It wouldn’t be the first time I abandoned a series. I stopped watching ‘The X-Files’ way before the final episode ever aired, and I gave up on ��Farscape’ for a brief little while when it was obvious the writers had no idea what they were doing, until they got themselves back on track. (Which they did. Thank God.) I have no trouble easily abandoning a series for a few short episodes, until it sorts itself out. Kara’s strong characterization is gone. The strong sisterly bond she shared with Alex is gone. J’onn’s commanding presence is gone, thanks to being hijacked by Mon-El. Lena is set to be evil, from what it looks like, which would completely take away the grayness of her character and stupidly prove that “You are more than your family” just isn’t true.  :-P  Cat Grant is sorely missed, because James is no replacement, Snapper is sure as hell no replacement, and as cruel as she was, she brought something to the show which is lacking now. Getting rid of the “strong feminist tones” to satisfy the red-blooded American male, apparently means making it like everything else. There is nothing worth watching on ‘Supergirl’ at this time. That’s the simple truth. Besides the occasional guest starring character; those are always good (i.e. Superman, Mxy, etc.). Unless they’re Daxamite. Then they just suck.  :-P  I hate to put it this way, but maybe it’ll spur some clarity in some folks. ‘Supergirl’ has become a toxic relationship in itself, expecting you to take whatever crap it dishes out, because hey it’s tradition! – that’s what all the other shows do, and I’m cutting it right now. No one is forced to watch, not even if Melissa’s or Chyler’s acting is excellent, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do, I won’t watch. It’s that simple.  :-P  Unless the show does some serious redeeming, gets back to strong characterization, and forces Mon-El to show remorse for all of the godawful things he did and his godawful fratboy douchebag personality, I’m not going to come back for what is sure to be a sh*tshow of white privilege and faux-romantic arcs painfully grinding strong women down. I miss the way the show was when CBS used to run it.  :-(

The irony? I wished for it to be a part of The CW Arrowverse. I see now that my wish was horribly misguided.  :-(

*And I can assure you that Mon-El is going to get the most unholy of beatings in my fic. Nothing personal, but his clownish personality and incompetent fighting skills make me sick, and other heroes that aren’t Kara aren’t going to stand for this crap. Can you imagine Batman training this guy? Holy sh*t, Bruce Wayne would go ballistic!  :-P  As for Winn, I was going to give him a cute little obsession with Star Wars, once he realized the Jedi were real. Oh no, Serra is going to take him to task now, for some of his more annoying foibles. :-P  No mercy for the I.T. Hobbit. (And to think, I used to hate that nickname. No longer. You suck, Jeremy Jordan. Thank you for ruining my pure, innocent image of Winn.  :-P)

No anonymous messages bashing my views, please. I automatically delete any anonymous messages I receive on my inbox, on every site I’m on whether they’re positive or negative.  :-P