#i try not to get to hung up on the historical accuracy

[celestialscribbler]

Something that has been on my mind for a while what is pips reaction going to be when he finds out that Luz is bisexual

I think this would be a hard concept for him to even understand since gay, girlfriend, hand holding, kissing, dating and romance all had non-romantic meanings in the 1600s and words like bisexual and lesbian straight up didn't exist. Like as far as I can find romantic meant relating to romance languages or low brow action novels, so he'd think Luz is sad she can't privately read trashy books with her friend.

[izzy-b-hands]

random fic writing babbling and rambling below the cut. TW for discussions of babies, historical breastfeeding, birth, Ed's midwifery charge from his wanted poster (the inspo for these fic ideas that are being discussed below lol.)

I keep trying to write a fic based on the midwifery charge on Ed's s2 wanted poster but I keep getting hung up on the historical accuracy thing of 'where are they getting enough human milk to feed a newborn until they can get this baby to a new family.' Like. In theory, it is doable, but before I get into that:

to explain, the plot every time, even the times I've actively tried to write it differently, is that it's a thing of them choosing the worst time to raid another ship. Either they're mid-raid and hear this poor person still attempting to give birth while everyone else onboard is being killed or threatened by Ed and crew, or as in the latest draft, Ed and Izzy literally walk in to the room just as this person passes away post final push/baby fully delivered.

The baby doesn't fix jack shit between Ed and Izzy or Ed and the crew, bc that doesn't work irl and it ain't gonna work in fiction either.

But! The situation and how everyone pulls together to look after the baby does make Ed slow down and take a step back from the things that have been doing his head in abt himself and Stede and Izzy and life in general. Bc like. He didn't INTEND for this to happen, had he known someone on the ship was actively giving fucking birth, they would have passed it by and left that ship alone! That's too much extra risk/work, when he's intending to keep them on a briskly moving pace for raids. And he doesn't want to hurt a kid, so of course he's going to make their new mission finding someone or a family to look after the baby, and look after them well (god help them if he should find out that's not the case, even years in the future.)

In the latest draft, as in previous, I have it also highlighting Izzy's connection to his mum via midwifery and knowledge abt looking after kids/babies. in the latest draft in particular, Izzy is implied ftm who was absolutely being trained by his mum to take over as midwife for their village/town, had he not gone to sea with Ed instead. But it means he's still retained some knowledge of it all, so he takes on a lot of the baby care.

For example, the bassinet they steal off the ship goes into Izzy's room (which we've seen is small af, so like. He can't even close his door anymore with the bassinet there.) The bottle making kit (that was an interesting bit of research, to find out how the few bottles used might have looked if a wet nurse/someone else nursing that lived nearby/etc weren't available to just. nurse the kid directly) is in his chest at the end of his bed.

Izzy and Ed wind up, again at least in this latest draft, having a few late night, exhausted conversations as they feed the baby and take turns rocking/walking the hall with the baby, just generally so sleep deprived and focusing on the baby that they haven't noticed they're working together more again. It's still clear they have so many things to talk abt and unpack for both of their sakes, but that wax seal over their shared emotions for each other starts to crumble a little once the baby is onboard.

The conversations might not entirely evade the rest of the s2 events, but I can't say bc my drafts always falter right abt here, or when I'm trying to make it sound realistic that they are also, very much, now raiding other ships not just for loot but for anyone currently lactating to express milk for them to feed the baby

(honestly, i half wanna write at least one raiding scene in the fic simply to have Ed try and explain that demand. Yes, he's the dread pirate Blackbeard, the Kraken, your nightmare. Yes, he wants all the loot and money onboard. Yes, he's also currently an unintentional foster parent along with his first mate/husband and their crew to a newborn that needs more milk and as such, anyone currently breastfeeding is commanded to try and fill some of a bottle. Either way, you're giving up everything you have so stop thinking about it or asking questions, unless you know of anyone looking to adopt a baby, by chance. In that case, please give that information to Fang before giving up your expensive things and/or breast milk.)

There's a lot of tentative hope, among all of them re: the baby. All of them making little comments, here and there, that whether the kid winds up a pirate or not, they hope the baby will be happy. Looked after and loved, in the ways some of them either weren't or experienced a very unhealthy/dysfunctional version of.

I do know the ending pretty well, though elements of it could change.

But for sure, I'm thinking of a scene of the ship, dark, everyone quiet sitting on the deck after they've dropped the baby off with a new family (i keep hemming and hawing with it being Doug and Mary somehow having heard abt this kid some pirates are trying to unload, bc I like the idea of leaving a little room for a sequel in Mary being like 'huh sounds like this guy (Ed) is really upset over someone who sounds an awful lot like Ste-oh no' and letting Ed know what went down with Stede)

And as they sail into the night, Ed mumbles that they should consider the night as a night off, but be ready to fight tomorrow morning. He implies they can all go fuck off to bed or whatever then, but instead all of them, Ed included, wind up bunking together on the main deck. Sharing bottles of rum, taking turns at the wheel/making sure they're not about to run aground, and having conversations abt their childhoods, mainly the few happy things they remember.

Like, Archie reveals part of the reason she joined the snake cult was bc she just always has liked them. Even as a little kid, grabbing them gently and letting them chill on her arms/hands.

Ed talks abt his mum teaching him how to sew, and jokes abt him and Izzy having darned each other's socks for years, thank fuck they both sew fairly well.

That actually gets a smile out of Izzy, who mumbles out that his mum would be pleased to see he'd remembered how to keep a baby alive and that he'd maybe even done fairly well.

Fang makes a gentle, kindly meant joke abt Izzy keeping them all alive fairly well, that she'd be proud of that too, and we cut to Ed's face just. Destroyed as he realises yeah, that's exactly what he's been making Izzy do, now and before. And he's just stepped back from the Kraken and the feelings that make that up to have that make him feel terrible. They used to live for each other, each sunrise they saw a defiant, blinding medal in reward of their survival. But it hasn't been that way for a long time, has it? And he can't decide if he wants to explore that feeling or make it go away as fast as possible, or maybe both.

Cut back to Fang cheerfully telling everyone the story of how he wound up being named for his dad, becoming Kevin Jr, and we end on the implication that at least for the rest of the night, things will be calm for them.

Makes me mad as hell I can write this whole post out to discuss the fic, but I can't seem to finish a draft solidly enough to finally finish and publish lmao

[innsyn]

Powerclash is a steampunk world-building and writing project that's open to anyone. There are no stupid questions, so today we're looking at:

What is steampunk?

Why pick steampunk for this project.

So... I've heard the word before, but what exactly is steampunk?

That’s a good question, because not everybody means the same thing.

Some people consider steampunk to be a ‘literary genre’ - often described as “Victorian Science Fiction” - and while the Victorian era and early sci-fi are certainly big influences, that doesn’t really cover it.

Film played just as large a role in the development of steampunk as literature, and it's now a label covering games, fashion and music. It's definitely not just a literary genre.

There are plenty of steampunk works set before and after the Victorian era - or in parts of the Earth (or entirely fictional worlds) where Victoria’s reign was irrelevant.

Loads of iconic steampunk works have more in common with fantasy than sci-fi

Other people get hung-up on the specific words - it’s not real steampunk unless it’s got steam-technology on it, or it’s not proper steampunk unless it’s got a punk ethos behind it. But the name has always been catchy branding - riffing off cyberpunk - rather than a particularly appropriate descriptor. Neither steam nor punk are actually essential. 

Attempts to try and define it further by narrow time periods and type of technology - dieselpunk, atompunk, gaslamp fantasy, etc - miss the point that steampunk is about remixing history AND science AND fantasy into something new. You don’t need a different label for each new combination - they’re all flavours of steampunk.

I like the definition outlined by the Steampunk Scholar (Mike Perschon). He argues convincingly that steampunk is more akin to a style than a genre, which is why it has translated to films, games and fashion so successfully.

Perschon highlights the three hallmarks of the steampunk style:

Hyper-vintage (evocative of the pre-digital but post-Renaissance past in broad and fanciful ways)

Techno-Fantasy (looks like science but works like magic)

Retrofuturism (how we imagine the past imagining the future)

If a story ticks two of those three boxes, it can probably be called steampunk. That doesn’t mean it can’t be called other things too, of course. Steampunk is an adjective you can tag onto anything. Steampunk adventure. Steampunk romance. Steampunk RPG. Steampunk hat.

Powerclash is a steampunk project.

Why pick steampunk for this project?

I didn’t sit down at the start of this project and specifically decide to create a steampunk world.

The idea of the overarching plot - a global battle royale with superpowers - came first.

The part about the secret alien symbiotes who were behind it all - that landed second.

Third was the concept that this was an alt-history version of Earth, with multiple branching points - from Pangea breaking up differently, through to the outbreak of the choke epidemic.

At this stage, it didn’t feel very steampunk - I’d have said it was a sci-fi concept.

I was tempted to set it in the far future, but because advanced technology would offer solutions similar to some of our character’s superpowers, it felt like there’d be less influence associated with the powers and it would be too easy for civilians to take control of the Powerclash.

I didn’t want to set it in a modern world, because the project is already focused on characters with unique individual superpowers - a modern setting would make it far too derivative of the contemporary Marvel/DC estates. 

Similarly, I didn’t want to set it too far in the past, such as the mediaeval or renaissance period, because I wasn’t aiming for a classic sword and sorcery fantasy.

That landed me in the appropriate time period bracket for steampunk; post-renaissance, but pre-digital. And because it’s an alternative timeline Earth, where we’re free to mess-around with any sense of historical accuracy - it fits neatly into this concept of ‘hyper-vintage’.

At this point we get to technology. I wanted this to be a global story, with characters drawn from all corners of the planet, but they needed to get close and interact for drama to happen. So I needed to give them easy access to means of travelling around the world relatively quickly. I needed boats, trains and flying machines - staples of the steampunk aesthetic. 

Thinking of alt-history vehicles and machines really sparked my imagination. What if an outside force (such as our secret aliens) stopped these humans from taming electricity, or refining oil? How might other technologies have been refined if they weren’t replaced? It quickly became an essential part of the project. I was seeing beautifully mad clockwork and steam contraptions, many of which would need a helping hand to defy physics. I didn’t want to lean too far into outright techno-fantasy: no creating magical new energy sources or implausible materials - this is still supposed to be a realistic-adjacent alternative Earth. But we can certainly lean into that gap of what makes it ‘alternative’ and imagine geological, biological and cultural variations which could result in different resources for these people to work with. It may be a bit subtler than aether powered flapters, or adamantium claws, but it’s still an excuse for why X which wouldn’t work on our Earth, work here. It’s still techno-fantasy.

Having hit two of the three hallmarks, I had to admit that Powerclash was now a steampunk project.

But was it retrofuturist? Had I completed the steampunk clean sweep?

So far - no. Neither the overall concept, nor the worldbuilding as developed to date, are concerned with how the people of a specific time imagined the future. But that’s not to say that individual stories written within the Powerclash universe couldn’t tick that final box one day!

I didn't pick steampunk for the project - I just set about developing the concept, and then one day it stood up and told me that it was steampunk now - and I couldn't be prouder.

[the1975attheirverybest]

Hey lovely

I'm not sure if you got my good morning message earlier but i get that you're inundated with messages at the moment 😂

I hope you're having a lovely day, I've now seen the first two episodes of queen Charlotte and would definitely recommend. It's not historically accurate but neither is bridgerton and I love that too 😂

How is your day going??

🌷🌷

Yeah, sorry, amongst the incoming messages and the impassioned anon my app short-circuited and rebooted itself a couple times. i lost a few things, lmao.

BUT YES HELLO GOOD AFTERNOON, GORGEOUS!

Yeah, if I got hung up on historical accuracy in TV shows, I would never be able to enjoy anything at all, hahaha. I'll definitely check it out, then. cuz from the clips i've seen, it looks really fun.

My day's going alright. just some boring admin work. which, as someone with ADHD i find SO FUCKIN HARD to focus on. Gotta go grocery shopping at some point. I keep going, then getting lost in the snack aisle, and leaving without buying actual food, lmao. BUT TODAY IS THE DAY. I HAVE TO DO IT!

Unless......I go online and buy a bunch of books instead.

how about your day?

Sorry the sleeplessness is back :( maybe try and go for a short little walk just before sunset? i don't know the science behind it, but i know that being out in the sun helps your body to distinguish night from day or produce sleep helping hormones or something along those lines, idk. could be a total myth though lmao

[lec743]

How did you fall in love - A Freenoodles Story

I’m setting this story after season three and this is in celebration for Pride Month. Hope you have fun.

If you don’t like reading on Tumblr you can find it here on:

AO3

Fanfiction

*******************************************************************************************

           It was the slowest day MK feels like he’s had at Pigsy’s Noodles in a long time, but that doesn’t mean that it was quiet. MK was leaning against his broom as he watched Pigsy and Tang fight over the physical accuracies of Pigsy’s new Sun Wukong decorated dumplings at the bar. Mei was leaning against him as she was recording their silly fight with her phone.

           “How long have they been fighting about this now?”

           Mei looked at the timer of her recording, “Mmm, five minutes. Maybe six since they were fighting before I came in.”

           “How do married people fight like this then turn around and be all cuddly like they do,” MK asked.

           “How long have they been married?”

           He sighed and leaned into her saying, “I don’t know, but it’s definitely been longer than the three years I’ve been working here.”

           Mei gave MK a mischievous smile.

           He looked at her in confusion, “What?”

           Instead of saying anything, she disappeared into a whirlwind of green fire, then reappeared beside Pigsy and Tang.

           They screamed at her sudden fiery appearance beside them, and the pig demon yelled, “What did I tell you about using your fire powers inside the restaurant!?”

           Still recording the two middle aged adults, she said, “Not to do it. But hey, now that I have your attention; how did you two meet, fall in love, and finally decide to get married?”

           MK’s eyes sparkled with stars at the questions and when he saw that Tang and Pigsy looked like they didn’t want to speak about it because it’d be boring, MK immediately threw aside his broom and rushed to the two gentlemen’s sides at the bar.

           “Oh! Please! Please, please, please! Please tell us! We want to know.”

           “Yah! Second to my parents, you guys are the cutest couple I know,” Mei said.

           Tang cleared his throat and readjusted his glasses as he looked at Pigsy with a soft smile, saying, “We are adorable together.”

           Pigsy looked away from his human husband as his face turned a darker shade of pink. He immediately grabbed the Wukong inspired dumplings and started eating them.

           Tang chuckled at that, then said, “Okay. I’ll tell you guys my side of the story, and then we’ll see if Pigsy is up for not being too embarrassed to tell his side.”

           “I’m not embarrassed,” the pig demon insisted.

           “Yes. Yes,” Tang soothed.

# # #

           It was a bitter winter day at Wen Qu University and Tang was invited by Sandy to a group study in the Wénshū Library so that Sandy could introduce him to a new friend that he made.

           Tang was reading the text that Sandy sent him.

           I want you to try and be a bit patient with my new friend. He’s shy, but he’s a good guy and I think you’ll like him. You’ll find us on the third floor.

           Tang pocketed his phone as an icy wind stabbed into him. Ducking his head against the wind and holding his history books and Journey to the West volumes close to his chest, he hurried even faster to the library.

           Tang made it to the library relatively unscathed, despite feeling like a popsicle. Buddhist imagery and painted recreations of prominent historical figures in Buddhist history surrounded him in the lobby of the library as he made his way to the elevator.

           When he made it to the third floor, he looked through the many book aisles before finding a pig demon sitting alone at a large table that also had a bunch of items that Tang recognized as belonging to Sandy.

           The pig demon had a permanent looking scowl on his face as he scrolled through his phone. He was leaning back in his chair casually, his button up shirt wasn’t buttoned up all the way, and the jeans he wore were ripped at the knee. His winter coat hung on the back of the chair he sat on.

Everything about him screamed do-not-mess-with-me, but the way his leg bounced as he sat there by himself gave him a nervous energy.

# # #

           “Was it love at first sight,” MK couldn’t help but interrupt the story.

           Mei and MK were now sitting on either side of Tang at the bar. MK was excitedly tipping his bar stool side to side, waiting in anticipation for Tang’s answer.

           “Oh, heavens no,” Tang said, “When I first saw him, I thought he was one of those people who was taking advantage of Sandy’s kindness.”

           Pigsy was doing the dishes as he hummed loudly to himself, like it hurt to hear that.

           “That wasn’t true of course, but I didn’t know that at the time. I do remember admiring Pigsy’s chest in that moment. I remember wanting to test how his muscles felt before quickly getting rid of that thought,” Tang admitted, then with a smile he said, “Speaking of which I need a hit of that pig meat. Mind topping me off?”

           Mei and MK groaned as Pigsy rolled his right sleeve up and flexed at his husband, smiling at him over his shoulder.

           Tang immediately started wolf-whistling and playfully cat calling his husband, which made the pig demon smile even more and flex his other arm at Tang. The two young adults pleaded for the end of their torture

           “Okay. Okay,” Pigsy said as he rolled his sleeves back down and went back to doing the dishes, “Keep telling the story.”

# # #

           Tang silently sat down at the table and started arranging his little area to his liking. When he looked back up at the pig demon, he was staring intently at him like he wanted him to go away.

“Hello. I'm Tang. I'm sure Sandy told you about me.”

The pig demon nodded, then said, “I'm Pigsy.”

Tang nodded. Then waited for him to say something else or do something like start talking about his major but he just kept staring at him, then he’d look at his phone, then back up at him again.

Tang was contemplating bailing on this whole study group thing when the blue skinned and orange haired river demon, Sandy, appeared holding a tray with tea for them to drink.

“Oh, good! You're here. Did you to have a nice conversation while I was out?”

“No,” Tang said matter-of-factly and Pigsy said gruffly.

There was a pause then cheerfully Sandy said, “Well, nothing some tea won't fix.” Then he passed out everyone's drinks and started up different conversation points.

Tang learned that Pigsy was in college to get a Bachelor's degree in food science so he can better understand what he's cooking. And Sandy got Tang to info dump onto Pigsy about his Master's degree and the intricacies of history and myth, but the scowl on Pigsy's face made him feel like he wasn't wanted there.

# # #

“And that was my first impression of Pigsy,” Tang said as he cleaned his glasses, “It wasn't the most romantic first encounter, but I did admire his dedication to his cooking and as you can see I’m still his biggest supporter.”

Tang put his glasses back on.

“Well that's kind of sad,” Mei said.

MK nodded.

“Don't be too sad about it,” Pigsy said, “He knows that I was nervous.”

Tang giggled, “Yes, in hindsight it's actually kind of funny.”

“So then what was it like for you when you first met him that day,” MK asked Pigsy.

Pigsy nervously cleared his throat then as he rubbed the back of his neck, refusing to look anyone in the eye, he said, “Uh… That wasn’t when I first met Tang.”

All three humans looked at Pigsy in shock and Tang asked in disbelief, “When did we first meet?”

# # #

           Pigsy was in the library at the start of the school year, trying to find a copy of a book that he could freely get a loan on instead of buying the expensive copy that his teacher was requiring him to get. In the beginnings of his search for said book, Pigsy noticed a young man with long black hair and golden glasses and in a nice looking traditional red robe, surrounded by piles of books.  Pigsy also notice that the handsome man seemed to be reading four different books at the same time.

           Pigsy couldn’t help but smile at the sight, thinking how much of a mad-lad the guy must be. Probably put off a bunch of his summer homework and is trying to do it all in one day. The pig demon shook his head at the thought and went back to his search.

           After two hours, Pigsy managed to find the book that he was looking for and was making his way to check out when he noticed the handsome young man again. He had a completely new stack of books and all the ones he saw him reading previously were neatly stacked and looked like they were categorized. He read all those stacks of books in two hours, and Pigsy couldn’t help but be impressed.

           The next time he was in the library, it was to use the computers to take a quick test. Now he didn’t mean to, but Pigsy was looking out for the dark-haired stranger again. Maybe to ask him what he’s studying. Or maybe to ask him what books he might recommend. And find him again he did, but he wasn’t alone. A tall and buff river demon was sitting with him at a table. The two of them were quietly talking and laughing with each other.

The tall demon made Pigsy feel a bit inadequate about his short stature, but also, he rationalized that the handsome stranger didn’t need some rando interrupting his fun time with his friend, or possible boyfriend. So Pigsy left to go take his test and maybe try again later.

Each time Pigsy saw the dark-haired stranger, in the library, he kept contriving different reasons for why he shouldn’t go talk to him even though he wanted to. The guy looks too tired. The guy looks too stressed. The guy’s having fun I don’t want to interrupt that. Oh, he’s eating, better leave him be.

Honestly, Pigsy didn’t know why he was having such a hard time going up to him. He’s just reading, that’s the least intimidating thing a person can be doing when you first try to talk with them.

“Hi.”

Pigsy managed not to scream in surprise as he jumped back from his hiding spot between two bookshelves.

Pigsy turned around and saw the blue skinned and orange haired, tall, buff river demon.

“Hey, I’ve been noticing you hovering around my friend a lot these last few months. You’re not one of these demons that kidnaps humans, are you?”

Pigsy, in shock for being viewed as that creepy, turned away from the river demon and crouched into a ball, hiding his face.

“Hey, little man, are you okay?”

“No,” Pigsy grumbled, “I am not. Why is it so hard for me to talk to him?”

There was a pause, then he said, “Oh! Ooooh. You’re just shy.” Pigsy then felt a comforting pat on his back as he said, “I promise Tang’s not as intimidating as his “focus face” implies him to be. Just step up to him and start talking.”

Pigsy looked up at the river demon in disbelief and said, “I don’t think it’ll be that easy.”

“Sure it is,” he said, unswayed by his discouragement. Then he picked him up by the biceps and started walking him over to the pretty human man.

Pigsy hung limply in the demon’s grip because fighting would cause a scene and he would rather not be seen right then.

The river demon planted him beside the human, then silently encouraged him to talk.

Pigsy was immediately drenched in sweat as he stood there before the dark-haired man. He hasn’t noticed him yet as he was deep in thought as he was reading his book.

Pigsy turned to the river demon who was giving him a smile and a, you’re-doing-great double thumbs up at him. He looked back down at the reading human.

“Uh-um… Excuse me…”

“I’m not a librarian,” he said confidently without looking at the pig demon, “Usually you’ll find one at the front desk. Just go that way,” he said pointing towards the stairs.

“Thanks,” Pigsy quickly said.

Then like a tin soldier Pigsy marched awkwardly away. With the river demon following after him.

# # #

           “I mean sure, when I first saw you it wasn't anything but vague admiration for your reading prowess but the more I saw you the more small things I noticed about you that made me want to know more, but I just over thought things a little too much,” Pigsy said with a nervous smile.

Tang was gripping the bridge of his nose like he couldn't contain all the love he suddenly felt for his pig demon husband.

Mei sat down her phone to coo at Pigsy, saying, “You are so cute. Now I know where MK gets it.”

“Hey! I am not that bad,” he defended himself.

“Oh, yah? Well, I already confessed to Red about my feelings and we’re still waiting for you to do the same,” Mei teased.

MK slammed his hands dramatically on the bar’s counter. Making Pigsy give the young adult a verbal warning about breaking his things. Then pointing accusingly at her MK said, “He is a fancy man, and you know it. I can’t just say it, I have to show it too.”

“Excuses. Excuses,” she said, smiling playfully at him.

MK rolled his eyes at her as he slumped back into his seat, then he turned back to Pigsy and asked, “So what was it like for you then, when Sandy helped set you and Tang up on that group study?”

Pigsy opened his mouth to say something, but Tang interrupted him and asked, “Can I tell him?”

Pigsy bowed to Tang with a little flourish and said, “Be my guest.”

Excitedly, Tang looked to the two young adults and said, “So, the point of the group study was to finally get him to talk to me, but because he was so nervous, he was reading a, How to Speak With Strangers for Dummies, on his phone. He was reading it the entire time, just trying to “A” get some confidence into himself and “B” give him some idea for what to say. It always warms my heart hearing how much he was just trying to talk to me.”

Tang’s smile was infections as he told the two young adults this.

“How far into the book did you get,” Mei asked Pigsy.

“I’ve only ever managed to read through chapter one,” Pigsy said as Tang giggled maddeningly to himself, “To this day it’s still an unfinished read and honestly Sandy was a better help than the book.”

“How do you even have a business at this point, Pigsy. You deal with strangers almost all the time,” Mei said.

“Hey! That’s different. I know what people want when strangers come here. They are here to eat, and I know how to fill them up well… It’s just anything outside of my cooking and business, it is a bit out of my personal understanding at times.”

“But were you in love with him at that point,” MK asked Pigsy.

“Enamored is more like it,” Pigsy said.

“Well, when did you realize that you were in love with him,” Mei asked.

# # #

           Pigsy was behind the booth at the Club Fair, representing his club The Noodle Dynasty. He was angry. Not because he had to run the club’s booth, but because it seemed that he was the only one in the club who genuinely wanted to do anything in it.

           There weren’t any talks about family recipes. No talk about food history. No outward attempts at networking. He doesn’t think he’s seen anyone cook. He had to decorate the booth himself. Make the pamphlets and he had to cook all the food himself, bought out of pocket, just so that they’d have food for display, sales, and samples.

It was frustrating. He joined the club to be a part of a community. Food is something everyone needs and is a fundamental connector to their past, their families, and to the people around them. He would have felt less lonely if he wasn’t in the club.

“What’s the matter Pigsy?”

The pig demon looked up from scowling at the floor to see a standoff-ish Tang walking up to him. They’ve gotten to know each other, but unfortunately, Pigsy can’t seem to get on Tang’s good side. Pigsy gets the feeling that he’s only tolerated because Sandy likes him.

“With a scowl like that, no wonder you haven’t had anyone come to your booth.”

Pigsy patted his face and said, “I was scowling?”

“You didn’t notice?” Tang asked as he stood in front of the booth.

“I was a little lost in thought. What are you doing out of the library?”

“I came to support Sandy’s booth with his new tea club,” Tang said as he made a sweeping gesture across the crowded room to Sandy’s booth.

Sandy’s booth was water themed and had a lot of flowers and fruits as accent decorations. He was smiling and talking and showing pamphlets to a group of girls that seemed more interested in the demon than in his tea.

“Sandy was actually worried about you, so he sent me over… You have a lot of goodies,” Tang stated.

He was eyeing the Ma Po Tofu and Chow Mein.

Pigsy got out a sample cup of Chow Mein and handed it to Tang, saying, “You can be my first taste tester.”

Not one to pass on free samples, Tang took the little cup and downed it. Then he froze.

Pigsy was concerned that Tang was having an allergic reaction or hated it and was fighting the urge to throw up. He became even more concerned when Tang had a few tears slipping down his face as he started rifling through his purse.

Tang then slapped a handful of bills on to his booth’s table and said, “I’ll take one serving of each dish.”

“Yah? Okay then!” Pigsy said excitedly as he started dishing up a bowl of each meal he made.

Tang ate all the food with great gusto, eating like a man who hasn’t eaten a proper meal in months, but considering they are in college, that could be the case. It brought Pigsy great pride that he liked his cooking so much, but he was worried that him eating it so fast would make him throw up.

“Hey, maybe you should slow down a bit,” the pig demon recommended as Tang threw away his fifth empty bowl.

Groaning a bit, Tang leaned against the table and said, “Pigsy, I’ll be so mad at you if you don’t get a restaurant. Your cooking is like stealing from the gods. It’s so good.”

Pride, embarrassment, giddiness, happiness all rose up in Pigsy as a thick blush on his face as he looked away from Tang and started patting his stomach nervously.

“Thanks.”

“Hey,” Tang said and Pigsy looked at him, “I should be thanking you. Now, you’ve got to tell me, did you learn to cook on your own or are you descended for a long line of amazing cooks?”

The pig demon perked up at that, smiling wide, he started explaining how he learned all his cooking know-how from his mother and how she’d tell him stories of what her grandmother was like since Pigsy’s mother’s grandma was the one who taught her how to cook. Pigsy continued to explain how he loved cooking as a way to honor his family’s memory because even though he doesn’t know all of them as well as he’d like, he still feels connected to them through the food he makes and how happy that can make people.

Tang nodded at Pigsy, then said, “I see. Thank you for sharing your story and food with me. I’ll see you around.”

It was the first time Pigsy saw Tang give him a genuine smile and the sight made his heart flutter.

# # #

“So yah. I think that was when I realized that I was in love with Tang,” Pigsy concluded.

Mei and MK awed at that.

Tang was looking at Pigsy lovingly.

“Ugh, stop it you three,” the pig demon pouted.

“We love you too, Dadsy,” MK and Mei choired.

Pigsy waved off their giggling and went deeper into his kitchen to do prep.

“That must have been when you also fell in love with Pigsy,” MK stated to Tang.

“Well, I certainly feel in love with his cooking, but not with the demon himself.”

“Then what was your big, oh-I-think-I’m-in-love, moment,” MK asked with Mei nodding at Tang to answer.

“Weeeeelllllll,” Tang drawled.

# # #

           Tang was walking from the library to his dorm room in the middle of the night. It was a warm spring night. On his walk he could hear a distressed kitten. Tang walked towards the sound into a cramped alleyway and saw a kitten in one of those cages meant for pests, sitting under a lamp post’s light.

           Tang immediately went to the kitten and started unlocking the trap to get the poor thing out. It hissed and yowled at him, but he didn’t stop until the poor thing was out of there. Using his long sleeves, he held on to the struggling kitten as it bit and scratched him.

           Sighing, Tang said to himself, “If only I could speak to animals.”

           “How would you like to speak with the dead,” a voice from the shadows said.

           Tang bristled as he turned and looked around. Three demons stepped out of the shadows. One that looked like the leader of the trio was a dark-yellow furred tiger. One looked like a black bear with more teeth and claws than a bear should have. And the last one was a yellow furred buffalo with a missing horn.

           “We can help you with that,” the tiger demon said, his jaw dripping with saliva.

           The cat clawed its way out of Tang’s grasp and ran away as he slowly reached for his purse.

           “There goes our appetizer,” the bear demon said.

           “Who need’s an appetizer when we have the main course,” the buffalo demon said.

           Tang managed to grip the miniature air horn he has and used it. The three demons covered their ears in pain and Tang ran down the long alleyway. It wasn’t long before the three demons were running after him.

           Tang was in panic mode. All he could do was scream and run and use the air horn to discombobulate them for enough time to keep ahead of them. Eventually though, he ran himself into a dead end. Tang used the air horn. If he’s going to be a meal, he’s going to at least cause them some pain before he goes down.

           Sharp claws ran down his forearm as the tiger swatted the air horn out of his grasp.

           Chuckling, the tiger said, “Thanks for the entertainment.”

           “I call the legs,” the bear demon said.

           “I like eating the heart and lungs,” the buffalo demon said.

           Tang curled up on himself waiting for the inevitable, but then there was a dull thud, like the sound of a wok hitting a firm but softly padded object.

           Tang looked up to see the bear demon fall to the ground, passed out. The other demons turned and saw Pigsy standing there, eyes red like they were on fire and steam coming out of his nose.

           The tiger and buffalo demon didn’t pause for long as they went to attack Pigsy.

Tang sat there in shock as he watched Pigsy brutally beat up the other two demons with his wok. Tang didn’t even know Pigsy was capable of such violence. Shaking himself out of his stupor Tang went rifling though his pockets to look for his phone. He got it out and called the police.

By the time Tang hung up on the police, Pigsy had managed to knock out the buffalo demon and now it was just the tiger demon.

“You’re not going to take our meal away so easily,” he snarled.

In reaction to his hungry words, Pigsy threw his wok at the tiger demon like a metal frisbee, hitting him hard in the shin and causing the tiger demon to trip. Pigsy ran at him with great speed that not even the tiger demon seemed to think he had, then with one mighty punch to the nose, Pigsy knocked out the tiger demon.

Tang couldn’t help but think that was super-hot as he watched the tiger demon fall to his face.

Tang watched Pigsy pick up his wok then he turned to Tang all worried and grumpy looking, “Sir! Are you okay? Do you need a ride to the hospital?”

Wait, Pigsy doesn’t know that he was Tang? He just decided to help a stranger? That’s really noble of him.

Tang got up on his wobbly feet and said, “Boy am I glad to see you.”

“Tang!?” Pigsy said and he came onto the young man with less caution and more worry. He grabbed he head, examining him, saying, “What happened? How’d you get caught in a situation like this?”

Tang laughed humorlessly then said, “Oh, just tried to save a cat that was most likely a trap.”

Tang was then surprised by Pigsy suddenly hugging him. He felt sweaty and smelled of grease, like he was in the middle of cooking something before saving him. His hug felt soft and kind and safe. They’ve been friends together for a few months now, but this was their first hug together. Tang thought that it felt nice and the relief he felt made a few tears slip from his eyes.

“Hey. You’re okay now,” Pigsy said. Then he pulled back from the hug and saw the blood dripping down Tang’s right hand, “Okay let’s go fix that up.”

Holding Tang’s other hand, Pigsy lead him away from the scene as cop cars started heading for where they left the three unconscious demons.

# # #

           “He bandaged me up and let me stay in his dorm room that night,” Tang said, “I was very lucky he was up and about trying to get his fried rice just right when he heard my airhorn and screaming.”

           “That was the day you knew you loved him,” Mei asked.

           “Yah,” Tang confirmed, “Then a week later I asked him out and we became boyfriends a month later.”

           “Nice,” MK said.

           “Was that surprising for you Pigsy,” Mei asked.

           “I was very surprised. So much so that when I first said yes, I only said it in my head and not actually out loud,” Pigsy said from deep in the kitchen.

           That made the three humans laugh.

           Pigsy came back to the bar and started taking out trash.

           “So when did you guys get married,” MK asked.

           “We got married as soon as I opened my noodle shop,” Pigsy said.

           “Incidentally enough, we both planned on proposing to each other on the same day,” Tang said with love.

           “That was such a disaster for both of us,” Pigsy said with a fond smile, “Our plans kept crashing into each other, making nothing go right.”

           “I wouldn’t say nothing went right. We did propose to each other in the end,” Tang said.

           “True,” Pigsy said as he started heading out to take out the trash.

           The shop’s phone rang, and MK went to pick it up. The young man wrote down the order and when he hung up Pigsy came in.

           “We’ve got an order,” MK yelled at him.

           “Alright! Let’s go,” Pigsy said with passion as he got to work on making the costumer’s food.

           Tang and Mei watched their two boys work as they quietly talked with each other at the bar.

[newtonsheffield]

I feel a little bad because I sent so many of these... but also thank youuu for goose, that was incredible, whoever is the love interest of edwina is s2 better live up to that 👏🏼👏🏼 I would loooove to see some Edwina/Matthew fluff, they are so CUTE, if I don’t meet a cute man at next time I am at the museum I will be very disappointed. also Francesca and Michael next week?? cannot wait!! thank you thank you thank you

Whyever would you feel bad? I obviously don’t know exactly which messages are yours butI loveeeee getting messages! And I’m very lucky that I currently have 95 of them sitting here! I know! I’m terrible but I’m getting there!  

Oh Edwina’s love interest has a lot to live up to in my mind because Matthew Goose Bagwell is a very special man who makes his own Jam because Mary said she wanted to make Bakewell tarts. And who tags along to Edwina’s functions and had absolutely no idea who Simon Basset was when he met him because he doesn’t follow football. But who went bright red when he met Francesca Bridgerton because he is an avid Kilmartin fan. For the historical accuracy of course. Edwina privately asked Francesca if she and Michael would sign Matthew’s Kilmartin blurays which of course Frankie did with a bemused little smile. Anyway Matthew Goose Bagwell is a gem whom I love and adore and he and Edwina deserve to be so happy. 

I’m VERY excited to be writing Michael and Francesca’s story this week! Which! I’m very excited to announce will be called Dangerous! Oooooo!

Anyway! Let’s check in with Edwina and Matthew and Umm... Meeting the parents?

Edwina Sheffield was not a person who got nervous very often. She gave interviews and met people, and smiled, and it took a certain amount of confidence to let your picture be printed on a billboard in the busiest section of London, and yet here she sat, in the passenger seat of Matthew’s car nerves clawing at her stomach. Matthew had sat at her kitchen table a week ago nervously adjusting his glasses, clearly considering his words carefully.

“I really like your sister.” He said gently, and Edwina had raised her eyebrows, surprised by the odd turn. “Though her husband is a little... scary.” He’d finished, swallowing nervously. Edwina felt her brow furrow. “I’m glad. Kate’s my favourite person. We were really close growing up. Still are. And don’t worry about Anthony. He honestly didn’t even like Kate at first, or he at least pretended not to, and you’ve seen them now.” She’d said chuckling quietly, and Matthew had smiled, and then taken a deep breath, his question coming out in a hurried breath. “Umm... Eddie I’d really like it if you met my Mum.” And Edwina had stilled, a slice of toast halfway to her mouth, her mind racing. It was a natural progression of their relationship, this was how relationships were supposed to work, she knew, two people slowly intertwining their lives. But she’d never done it, all of her previous boyfriends keeping her at arms length. Even after months and months. And yet here Matthew was, barely a month in, holding out a piece of string, asking her to take it. “i’d like that as well.” 

“There’s no need to be nervous, She’s really excited to meet you.” 

Matt said, smiling his little crooked smile that always made her heart beat a little faster. Edwina forced herself to nod, her hands clutching the flowers she’d brought a little desperately, her knuckles turning white. Because she knew Matthew was wrong. There was plenty to worry about. Would Mrs Bagwell think she was a vapid, self obsessed woman? Plenty of people assumed she was. Would she think she wasn’t good enough for her son? She probably wasn’t. She’d been thinking about it all week, playing the possibilities over and over in her head until they’d come spilling out of her when she’d called Kate last night in a near panic. 

“Eddie, come on, Matthew’s mum is going to love you!” Kate said gently, and in her panic Edwina had scoffed. “That’s easy for you to say, Anthony’s Mum adores you.” Kate had hummed contentedly. “Violet and I do get along well, because I make Anthony happy. And I know you make Matthew happy, I saw it last week. You’re amazing just as you are, Just be yourself.”  “Thank you, Kate. Just be yourself? Are you feeding Edmund this terrible advice?” Edwina had said snappishly. Kate had hung up the phone with a snappish For Fuck’s sake 3 seconds later. 

“Here we are!” Matthew said pulling the car to the curb, kissing her cheek before he slid from the car. Nerves twisted Edwina’s stomach as he opened her door, her hand clutching his desperately as they walked up the drive, his thumb rubbing slow circles into her hand. They’d barely taken three steps before the front door burst open. “Matty! There you are!” A small woman called, leaping forward and wrapping Matthew tightly in a hug, motherly affection shining from her as she pulled back patting his cheek affectionately, smoothing his hair with a warm smile on her face. “Oh you look skinny Little Goose.” She said tutting as Matthew blushed. The sight made Edwina’s heart flutter happily. A surge of affection for her boyfriend who said

“Mum, Please!” A little embarrassedly, his eyes flicking to Edwina who had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Mrs. Bagwell’s eyes followed his, and her smile widened impossibly more and Edwina was temporarily startled by the similarity between Matthew and his Mum, the same kindness radiating from them. “Mum, This is Edwina.” Matthew said Smiling proudly as he continued “Eddie, This is my Mum!” Edwina took a deep breath and held her hand out. “Mrs. Bagwell it’s so lovely to meet you.” She said, smiling as naturally as she could manage. And Before she could react Mrs. Bagwell had leapt forward, wrapping her arms tightly around her. Warmth flooding through her chest. 

“Just Judy is fine, sweetheart.” She said pulling back, Her eyes flicking over Edwina. “My goodness you are even more beautiful in person.” She said, her eyes a little alarmed as she tugged Edwina into the house, leaving Matthew smiling happily on the driveway.  “It’s a little startling actually. Goodness, that smile. No wonder my Matty’s so taken with you.” She said, forcing Edwina down on the sofa in the living room, and Edwina felt her cheeks burning.  “Oh, umm..” She started, unsure what to do as Matthew settled beside her, his arm around her waist still grinning happily. Judy shook her head. “Oh no, I don’t mean anything by it, never mind me. How do you take your tea sweetheart?” She said looking back at Edwina expectantly as she left the room, Edwina’s mind racing to catch up with the startling turn. “Oh umm Black, Please. If it’s not too much trouble, No let me help you!” She said trying to stand but Judy shook her head disappearing down the hall. 

“She likes you.” Matthew said his lips brushing her cheek softly. Edwina stared down at the flowers still in her hands a little stunned.  “I’m not sure how you can tell.” She whispered back a little urgently. Matthew hummed  “She knows how happy you make me, that’s all she wants.” And Edwina felt her heart stutter, a surge of something she was growing more suspicious every day was something a little stronger. Their gazes getting tangled together for a second.  Judy bustled  back into the room, the sound of a kettle whirring in the background.  “Now I made this for you, I thought it would look lovely with your colouring.” She said brightly, thrusting a Small package at Edwina who looked around a little helplessly still holding the flowers. “Oh are those for me? You’re sweet.” She said before Edwina could stutter out that they were, “There’s no need to be nervous dear, I can see how happy you make my little Goose. Now Open your gift.” She said dismissively, taking the flowers and gesturing to the gift. 

Edwina looked down at it nervously, her fingers shaking slightly as she unwrapped an emerald green scarf, a tiny goose embroidered in flight. Edwina felt tears prick at her eyes. Silence engulfing the room. “You don’t have to wear it of course but-” Judy started but Edwina cut her off “Mrs. Bagwell, I love it.” She said wrapping the ends of the scarf around her neck. Judy smile happily, satisfied. Edwina felt Matthew’s arm nudge hers  “Now we match. What a pair hey?” He said, his eyes shining happily behind his glasses. And Edwina felt her breath catch  “Yeah, What a pair.” 

I’m very sorry, this got away from me!      

[dearamericaroyaldiaries]

Get In Losers. We’re Going Witch Hunting

I Walk in Dread- 1691(-1692), Deliverance Trembly

By Lisa Rowe Fraustino

Don’t judge the picture. Google had no images that I felt comfortable using license wise so I took a (bad) picture of my copy.

Age of Protagonist: 12

#ReadingThoughts

-Before I even start I am digging the Puritan names. First Remember Patience and now Deliverance (and I would come to find ANOTHER MEM!!).

-My edition looses points or not having a ribbon even though it’s hardcover. This negatively impacts my reading experience for Reasons.

-Hold it. Is her uncles’ name really Razor Strap? I know Puritans were big on using random phrases from the Bible for their naming, but is that really a phrase in the Bible? Also, Sister Mem had me confused it was Mem from the last book for a hot second.

-SO do Mem and Deliverance just live with their uncle? Just the three of them? (The answer I quickly found was yes.)

-I appreciate the lesson on town politics. That's important for the Salem area in 1692ish.

-I am confused by what’s happening with the year. Why is it Dec 31, 1691, then Jan. 1, 1691, and then Jan. 2, 1691/2. There is a bullshit explanation in the about the author section. If you’re worried about Accuracy when it comes to the Julian vs Gregorian calendar, put something in the text. You’re average grade schooler isn’t going to jump to that . If I remember correctly, there’s something about the Gregorian calendar differing from the Julian calendar in the Anastasia book that is handled better. Liv explains other things to the reader, why not this?

-Why is a 12 year old more responsible than a 17 year old? Especially in 1692. Mem should at least have a higher opinion of herself in the family hierarchy and be preparing to keep her own house as a wife.

-Again, I feel Mem should be more mature than Liv.

-Liv can use her sister’s boy-craziness to her advantage. Mem is willing to shovel shit if there are attractive members of the opposite sex in the vicinity.

-Allergies=Witchcraft. That explains so much about me and my life. Though I suppose it makes sense from a 17th century Puritan POV.

-Mem wants to be a stepmom to 9 kids all of whom are most likely closer to her age than she would be to the potential husband?  The last part might not be a big concern in the time period but good gracious that’s too many kids for my liking.

-Age update- some of the kids would be older than her or her age.

-I feel the average target reader would need an explanation of what “God’s Elect” means. Most 12 year olds don’t have a strong grasp on post-Reformation Protestant Theology.

-Poor Liv. She wants to fit un but is failing spectacularly.

-Is Liv going to be among the accused? She’s not on the best of terms with the accusers and has been or will be associated with at least three people who were accused and killed.

- They used the strong trick for loose teeth in the 17th century? I have no evidence or data to argue one side or the other but I am suspicious. Somewhat amused, but suspicious.

-I find the tithing man hilarious. I want a stick with a fuzzy rabbit foot on one end and a knob for whacking people on the other. Also, he deserved getting thumped back by the one guy,

-I am calling bullshit on Goody Corey sniffing out only girl scent. Either it’s a bit or she’s a witch, not her husband. (Spoilers: He’s accused and refuses to confess so the town can’t take his land and is pressed to death while trying to get a confession. Post reading note: I totally forgot/didn’t know that Goody Corey was also accused and killed.)

-I don’t know really anything about the real Goody Corey, but she seems like a stand-in for an enlightened modern person, above the provincial notions of witchcraft and the commonplace racism toward Amer Indians. I’m not saying everyone thought they were the devil, but a majority thought that they were superior to the indigenous peoples of the American colonies.

-Mr. Cooper’s letter is too vague! We need deets!

-Because this is told through Livs’ eyes everyone asking about their uncle and checking in on them comes off as invasive and nosy but as an adult, a twelve year old and a seventeen year old have been left on a farm by themselves for almost two months at this point is an issue. Is he ever coming back?

-WHAT!? Goody Corey has a bi-racial son born when she was estranged from her first husband? Prepare for a wikipedia tangent because I had to a a google to corroborate this. Wikepedia backs this up but what it doesn’t back up is the timeline. I read her as in her 40s or 50s in the book. According to wikepedia (don’t judge me, it’s good for basic facts and a starting point) she was 72ish in 1692 and this biracial son was her first child who would have been 50ish at this point and was born before Martha Corey was ever married. *End Tangent* Good for her though if she did indeed five her husband an earful after Liv left.

-Hold on. Mr. Cooper wants to talk to Uncle Razor Strap about Mem marrying Darcy, not him. Mem is gonna be devastated.

-Would electricity have been a concept a) known in 1692 and b) be well enough known that a random 12 year old in the colonies with little formal schooling would be comfortable enough using the phrase “electrical lightning.” No, I will not be googling this. Googling historical facts is one thing, googling sciencey things is another thing entirely,

-Did the girls hear the stories and then claim to have witnessed ZYX or did they independently corroborate the stories? One is much less suspect than the other.

-At this point I wonder will we ever meet Uncle Razor Strap? Is he dead? Is he trying to get back to Salem? Is he abandoning them?

-I feel the leap to “Am I a witch?” after having a weird dream about nursing a baby Sarah Goode is sensible as someone who has been about to call the Vatican several times when their period was late. In those cases clearly the only explanation was pregnancy, even when physically impossible just as being a witch is Livs’ conclusion here. 

-Hopefully the girls can just get out of the Salem area soon and the landlord giving them to the end of the month is a neat enough excuse.

-So Mem thinks that Goody Corey is a witch but is okay with Liv going over there?

-How scary it would be to worry that the one family member you have in the area, who should be protecting you because you’re 12, might accuse you of witchcraft.

-I am delighted the the horse can act as a chaperone. Really? Okay.

-How does the horse give permission to whisk a fainted person into the house? It’s a horse.

-So now Mem is forcing Liv to read her diary to her. Rude.

Thoughts on the Afterward

Meh. Mem marries Darcy but dies young so Liv gets her man. They return to Salem. They don’t go West like they talked about. Liv has a gagillion great grands. No one ever fount her journal. Meh. I’m happy she was happy and all but meh.

Overall Thoughts After Reading

It took almost 200 pages to get through four months. I think I just don’t care for the author. I should have liked this book. It ticks multiple boxes that should be my jam but something about it just... is a no for me. Maybe it’s because I have zero nostalgia for this book. It took me about 4.5 months to get through this book and finding it boring is one of them. No one seems like a well rounded character who has any growth. Last book Mem had a whole arc where she came to terms with losing her mother  but this time Liv didn’t really seem to change or grow.

I had high hopes. This book came out right as I was aging out of Dear America but I remember the hype around it on the Scholastic website. (Yes I was a wee nerd who hung out on the Scholastic website.) Sadly I was disappointed.

Also, we nope out of the actual trials. The first trial wasn’t held until JUNE. The book ends on April 30. Yes, we get to see the initial hysteria and flurry of accusations and arrests, but this was just the beginning. This seems like a cop-out.

Rating: 3/10 Sisterly Cat-Fights

Other contenders included False Accusations (this one seemed unfair because while I believe no one who was accused of witchcraft during the Salem Witch Hysteria was actually practicing witchcraft, I can’t say with confidence that the accusers were all lying. They may have believed honestly that they were afflicted by witches so calling them false accusations seem disingenuous.) and Bible Verses because Puritans. In the end, I had to honor the brutal way Mem and Live went after each other. Apparently in addition to being sickly, Mem was also small because how else could a 12 year old take her 17 year old sister like that. 

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Resol’nare - Part Five

A/N: Oh look I’m a day late. Apologies, I made some changes to the overall outline of this story, so I had to make a few tweaks to this chapter before I could share it to make sure that things stay consistent. ;) 

*this story will regularly be using words in Mando’a. for a good list of references click here.*

Summary: The Mandalorian has some questions for the thief he apprehended on Nevarro. But when extenuating circumstances force them to work together, he starts to see that there might be more to her than the common criminal that he first thought. 

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: violence, talk of death

The Promise 

Night fell quickly on Nevarro, the planet plunging into darkness as soon as the sun began to sink beneath the horizon. With no moon the only celestial light came from the stars, but the amount of ash in the atmosphere made it difficult for the silver pinpricks to penetrate to the ground level. By the time the Mandalorian and his captive reached the Promise, the only natural light was coming from the orange glow of the lava rivers in the distance, snaking through the crusty, black volcanic surface. Along the bank of the nearest molten stream, a reptavian’s wings spread wide as it rose from a craggy cluster of porous rock. If there’s one there are more. He knew from experience that the beasts hunted in flocks. Its screech ripped across the empty landscape, and before he could count to three the call was answered by two more shrieks. We need to get inside. 

“Osi'kyr!” The woman behind him hissed under her breath as she stumbled over her feet at the sound of the reptavians. “What the kriff was that?!” 

The Mandalorian stopped walking as she spoke, turning his head so that his chin was in line with his right shoulder. She just... That was- Though he was still learning the language himself, he recognized the Mando’a word immediately. Her pronunciation was clear and correct, the tricky syllables rolling off her tongue with the comfort and confidence of a fluent speaker. He had never heard the language used outside of the covert though, and certainly not by an individual who had not sworn the Creed. She said she wasn’t given the chance to. Each new thing he learned about her only brought up more questions. 

The woman stepped next to him before he could swivel his head back around and he was met with her sharp gray eyes, visible through the smashed visor of her helmet. After meeting Bo-Katan and the Nite Owls he had stopped trying to understand the way that other Mandalorians interpreted The Way. He knew that not all of his people adhered to the more rigid beliefs and traditions that he did, and that most were far more free when it came to removing their helmets and showing their faces. But this is… different. He narrowed his own hidden eyes, focusing on the way that the shattered remains of her visor hung like stalactites across her field of vision. That was done deliberately… but why? 

Beyond the language and the armor, there was also the Mythosaur pendant and the short dagger she had shown him. The pendant itself wasn’t unusual. He had seen plenty of them in his lifetime and had owned one once. Although he no longer wore it, the Mandalorian would always remember how heavy the thing felt the first time it was draped around his neck, how determined he was to carry the weight even as a small child. Each time he held it in his palm or felt it pressed to his skin beneath his armor he was reminded of the words that the man who had given it to him had sworn. To protect him and raise him as a warrior, as his own. 

He hadn’t sworn any vows on the day he’d thrust the necklace into Cara’s hand with the instructions to deliver Grogu to the covert. He didn’t have the time or the strength. Convinced that he wouldn’t make it out of the fray alive, he only wanted the child to be taken care of. And to have my name. To know that I wanted him to be safe. He wondered if Grogu felt the pendant’s weight around his tiny shoulders and understood what it meant. I’ll always be there for you, kid. I promise. 

But no matter what the kid thought when he clutched the pendant in his small hands, the fact remained that it looked like every other one he’d seen before. The sleek silver beskar was sculpted into the skull and tusks of the fabled creature, and there were no added embellishments or adornments. It wasn’t jewelry, it was heritage, and that is what set the one this woman wore apart. At the heart of hers was a bright purple stone visible through the carved eyes that seemed to emit light. Or was it energy? Something about the stone and the way it glowed reminded him of the weapons he’d seen Ashoka use,  or the blade wielded by the Jedi that came to retrieve Grogu from the Mandalorian’s care on Gideon’s light cruiser. It reminded him of the Darksaber in the way that it seemed to crackle with power. So why is it in her necklace? 

The kal, too, had been unique. Like the beskad the Armorer had given him, it was an ancient weapon, one not typically carried by modern Mandalorians in favor of more advanced blades, blasters and rifles. Though it was short the blade was lethal, designed to move swiftly through the air and slice accurately into its target. Historically, the kal and beskad were meant to be used together in two-handed combat, and up until extremely recently he had never seen either. What are the odds of-

The reptavian shrieked again, this time the sound coming from much closer. “Hey,” the woman brought her bound hands up to place them on his arm, the contact jarring him from his thoughts even more than the carnivorous creature’s hunting cries. “Whatever that thing is, it’s-”

The rest of her sentence was drowned out by the whooshing sound of enormous leathery wings flapping just a few paces behind her as one of the beasts swooped low, claws extended and jaw open wide. “Get down!” He saw her eyes widen through the jagged maw of the crack in her visor as he grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her to the ground, falling on top of her to shield her with his body. Razor sharp talons scraped at his shoulder pauldrons as he dove, the beskar doing its job despite the gnashing sounds and the slight pressure he felt as the creature tried to snatch him as its prey. 

Grunting, he rolled off of the woman and onto his back once he was sure that the reptavian had soared up into the air again. Lower the ramp. Get inside. Flipping open the panel on his wrist, the Mandalorian pushed a series of buttons to unlock the Promise’s pressurized cargo door, the release of air behind him letting him know that it was dropping open. Good. He swiveled his head down to the woman as he slammed the panel on his vambrace shut again. “Get in the ship, n-” 

A second winged assailant came screeching in from his left to cut him off, jaws closing around the wrist he had just been operating the locks with and pulling another grunt from him as it tried to thrash him free of his metal casing. He was vaguely aware of his captive scrambling to her feet in his peripheral vision, and once he saw that she was clear he engaged the flamethrower on his opposite wrist, attempting to scorch the creature that was dragging him to his knees. The reptavian wasn’t deterred though, responding by twisting its jaw to damage the vambrace, extinguishing the flames and decommissioning the device. Swearing under his breath, he hurriedly tried to use another weapon, flicking his other wrist down to charge the payload of whistling birds. They hummed as energy coursed through the launcher, but another powerful rush of wind hit him as the first beast turned to swoop back down, and he realized he wouldn’t have time to release the missiles before the creature descended. 

“Don’t move!” The woman’s voice was loud and clear as she called out from somewhere behind him. He froze just as two blaster shots zipped through the air on either side of his helmet, hitting one of the creatures squarely in its broad chest and the other in the soft tissue where the wing joint connected to its body. The first one dropped heavily on the crusty ground, wings curling around its dead carcass as the second gave a piercing painful squeal, spinning in the air before fleeing into the darkness, leaving the Mandalorian panting in a heap. 

He stood, brushing himself off as he turned to face her. Hands still bound, she clutched the blaster that she had holstered to her thigh, the barrel still smoking. Impressed with the accuracy she was able to achieve while restrained, he blinked as she lowered her weapon and stowed it back on her leg. “Nice shooting.” 

She scoffed. “Would have been quicker but I’m a little tied up at the moment.” Sighing, she shifted her weight as he checked to ensure that the reptavian’s bite didn’t penetrate his armor. “Are you...did it get you?” 

Circling his hands around each wrist in turn, he took a few beats to catch his breath and looked up to answer her. “No, the armor held up.” Looking down at the dispatched creature, he recalled the last time that he had an encounter with the venomous predators and how quickly their poison could spread once they sunk their teeth into flesh; how quickly they both could have been killed. “Thank you.” 

The woman shrugged. “Well, you saved me first. So I guess we’re even.” He nodded. “Are you going to tell me what that thing was?” 

“Reptavian,” he answered. “And they’re poisonous, so-”

Her eyes widened. “So what are we still doing out here? There are more of them out there.” As though on command, several high pitched screeches sounded in the distance. 

“Yes,” he agreed, stepping up onto the ramp and walking ahead of her. “There are.” Once they were both inside, he pressed a large white button near the door and the ramp lifted. “We’re safe in here. The Promise is reinforced with-”

“Hey,” she lifted her hands as she cut him off. “That’s great and all, I’m glad that those things can’t attack us in here, but, if you could maybe tell me why I’m handcuffed or why you dragged me all the way out here instead of turning me over to the Marshal? That would be swell.” 

Her voice sounded different as it bounced off the metal floors and walls of the hold, lighter, more vibrant, and before he could answer her it dawned on him that she was the first passenger to board the Promise who wasn’t sealed inside a frozen slab of carbonite. He’d owned the ship for nearly six months, and not even Cara Dune or Boba had set foot inside of it. Before Grogu had come into his life, he had gone years without a second person seated in the cockpit or sleeping in the crew bunks, but once the child came along he’d traveled with plenty of beings. Without him the Mandalorian had been alone again, until this moment, until this woman and all the questions that surrounded her. Shaking those thoughts from his mind, he flipped a switch to turn lights on inside the dark hull, answering her over his shoulder. “You wanted to be turned over to the Marshal.” It wasn’t a question, it was an observation. As a man who had spent his life tracking and hunting down criminals, he had developed the observation skills necessary to know when his quarries were setting traps of their own. “If I turned you over to her I would have been playing into your hand.” 

She huffed as she dropped her hands in front of her, leaning back into the cool steel wall as he turned to face her again. “So, what? Am I your prisoner now?” Her shoulders tensed then. “Did you run my chain code?” No, but I wonder what I would find. 

“I’m not here on Guild business,” he answered, the woman visibly relaxing. She must have a record. 

“Well if this is about borrowing that Imperial ship then-” 

“It’s not.” I don’t care about that. In truth, the fact that the New Republic had left the abandoned base still sitting there stocked with weapons and vehicles just waiting for some Imperial remnant to come back to reclaim them had made him uneasy. That a common smuggler had made off with a ship and some speeders didn’t bother him. Better in the hands of a thief than the Empire. 

“Then why d-”

“Why were you trying to get yourself captured?” Crossing his arms over his chest, the Mandalorian mirrored her stance and leaned back against the ladder to the cockpit. 

He heard her take a deep breath in through her nose, letting it back out slowly as she narrowed her eyes, and he could tell that she was trying to decide how much to say. “I needed some information,” she said finally. “And I heard that the Marshal might have it.” 

Information. That makes two of us. “And what kind of information were you looking for?”  

There was another pause followed by a second huff of air before she spoke again. “Look, we can talk but can I-” she brought her hands up to the bottom edge of her helmet. “I need to take this thing off, it’s...I don’t usually…” 

He swallowed and tightened his jaw, giving her a nod. “Sure.”  

“Great.” Her fingers curled around the beskar, but she paused before lifting it up. “And don’t think you can take it just because I’m in these kriffing binders. You saw me shoot those flyers, I won’t hesitate to-” 

“I’m not in the business of stealing other people’s family heirlooms.” Though he had agreed with Cara and Karga that this woman was likely an imposter wearing Mandalorian armor, she had since changed his mind. What had started as a beskar reclamation had evolved into something else entirely. I just want to talk, see what she knows. If he was to be the one to unite the Mandalorians under one banner, he needed to understand all of the branches of The Way, all of the paths that the clans of Madalore could walk. 

She seemed to accept his spoken agreement that her helmet was safe, finally lifting it up and over her head with very little difficulty. It dawned on him that she was likely proficient at a great number of tasks and skills while in binders, that this was far from her first time being detained in this manner. A professional. Bending down, she set the helmet on the floor with a dull thunk, then stood, letting out a breath. “There, that’s...more my speed.” 

She tossed her head sending a long, complicated black braid struck through bright blue strands over her shoulder where the pauldron he’d sliced still hung limply by one strap. Her eyes, no longer shaded by the helmet, were far lighter than he had originally thought, more silver than gray, sharp but not hard. She appeared to be the same age as himself, faint creases around her mouth indicative of thirty some years of smirking the way that she was now. The moment that he took her in completely, he was struck with a sensation that was completely unfamiliar to him. 

Trust her. 

He bristled at his own suggestion, straightening his spine. Why would I? His first instinct had never been to trust, even with Kuiil. Not that he hadn’t learned to, but it was never something that he gave so freely upon first meeting someone. Especially someone who he knew was a liar and a crook. But the thought proved difficult to root out, twisting deeper into his mind until it found the word connected to the feeling. 

Ruusaanyc. Trust her. 

He wasn’t sure why the word came to him in Mando’a or why it made him more inclined to give in, but as soon as it cropped up he felt himself relaxing. That’s… He flinched, glad that his expression was still concealed. I don’t… The comfort made him uncomfortable and he wasn’t sure how to handle it. Clearing his throat he pushed the trust aside. “What information were you looking for?” 

Her smirk twitched to one side and she let out a small laugh that he wouldn’t have heard had she still been wearing the helmet. “Well, how about those manners, huh?” She laughed again and gestured to herself with her joined hands, a teasing tone to her voice as she continued. “I’m Navina, nice to meet you. Who, may I ask, do I have the pleasure of being detained by this evening?” Her casual nature made his nostrils flare.  No, she’s not getting my name. “I guess I’ll just keep calling you Mando, then?” She sighed as he remained silent. “Well I was hoping for something a little more personal after saving your skin from those things out there even though all you’ve done is destroy my armor and take me prisoner.”

He took a step closer to her, reaching for her hands and grabbing the center of the mechanism that held them together, roughly tugging on it to pull her forward. “You’re not my prisoner.” He unlocked the binders, swinging them around his gloved finger before tucking them back in place in one of the pouches along his belt. “I told you I just want information.” 

He hadn’t stepped back and neither had she, clearly not intimidated by him anymore if she ever was in the first place. That’s… new. Just as he wasn’t used to giving his trust freely, others regarding him as they would any other passerby simply never happened. Jutting out her chin as though to prove his point, she challenged his claim. “So if I decided that I didn’t want to give you that information afterall, you’d just...what? Let me go?” 

The Mandalorian shrugged. “Sure. But I doubt the reptavians will cut you the same deal.” 

Navina hummed a laugh. “No, probably not.” Releasing a breath slowly through her nose, she squinted her eyes and widened her smirk. “Alright then, Mando. I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.” 

Realizing that it was better to keep things on civil terms, he agreed. “Fine.” His eyes shifted over to the weapons locker, directly next to where Navina had previously been leaning, and decided that despite what his intuition was trying to tell him, he didn’t trust her enough to be near it, even with it sealed and locked. She’s still a thief, remember? “We’ll talk in the cockpit.” He cocked his head at the ladder beside him. “After you.” 

“See? I knew there were manners in there somewhere.” With that she winked at him and started climbing. 

Shaking his head, the Mandalorian followed her up the ladder. He stepped ahead of her to open the sliding door that led to the ship’s controls, entering the cockpit and turning his seat before sinking into it. When she made to sit in the seat directly behind and to the right, he stuck his hand out abruptly. “No.” That’s the kid’s seat. Even though it wasn’t. Swallowing the thick lump clogging his throat, he pointed to the passenger seat on the other side. “You can sit there.” 

Ignoring his abrupt aversion to her seating choice, Navina did as he asked and spun the other chair around, sinking into it. She let out a whistle as she looked around, taking in the ship’s multitude of monitors and instruments. “This is nice. Auzituck?” She ran her hand over the switchboard, nodding at her own question. “Yeah, the Wookies know what they’re doing, that’s for sure.” He watched her as she slowly turned back towards him, the light from an overhead screen finding the blue strands of her hair and causing them to shine. “So.” Taking her hands off the panel she’d been inspecting, she dropped them heavily into her lap. “You want to know why I came to Nevarro.” 

“Yes.” He let his shoulders drop and rested one elbow on the armrest of his chair, waiting for her response. 

Navina tapped her left knee three times with her pointer finger before taking a breath. “I heard a rumor in the Core Worlds that I wanted to follow up on.” 

“What kind of rumor?” 

She shook her head from side to side. “Uh uh. I answer one, you answer one.” Raising one eyebrow in an arch, she waited for him to comply with a nod. “What is a Mandalorian doing working with a Marshal?” 

“I don’t.” When it was clear that she wanted more than a two word answer, he sighed. “Marshal Dune is a... friend. She got in touch with me as a courtesy because she saw your armor and figured that you had stolen it.” Navina weighed his answer, tilting her head as though agreeing with Cara’s initial assessment of her. “What kind of rumor?” He asked again. 

“I heard…” She wet her lips and sucked in a breath, letting it out as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “I heard that there used to be a pretty sizable Mandalorian covert here on Nevarro and I,” she released her lip, her brow furrowing. “I’m looking for someone. Someone that might have been there.” 

What? Who? That nagging feeling was back, telling him to relax, not to assume the worst of her. “There-” he sighed. “There was.” 

She winced at the way he said the last word, and he internally recoiled at the idea that she was able to hear the emotion in his tone even with the modulator in his helmet. “What...what happened?” 

He closed his eyes as the image of helmets piled too high flashed in his memory. “The Empire happened.” It wasn’t a lie, it was just the simplest truth. Without giving her time to ask for more on that, he took his turn at interrogating. “Who are you looking for?” 

“My f-” She paused, and for the first time since he’d pointed his beskad in her face he saw a flash of something other than defiance in her silver eyes. What was that? “My family.”

Her family? But she said that… She had told him that the helmet and kal she owned had belonged to her parents, and he had assumed that meant that they were no longer alive. Too much time passed in silence, but he wasn’t sure what to say next. It wasn’t the answer that he had been expecting. 

Navina broke the quiet first, her voice slightly smaller than it had been previously, the sound of it pulling his features into a frown. “With my mother I-“  

She paused and something in the silence between her words and the breath she took made him turn toward her. Her right hand was wrapped tightly around the pendant she had shown him, her chin tilted down and away. 

“I know what happened to my mother, I know she’s…” 

She let go of the necklace then, letting it fall against her chest as her shoulders dropped, and he didn’t need her to finish her sentence. She’s gone. He knew what it was to lose a parent. He had lost three. Navina flattened her palm over the Mythosaur hanging from her neck, pressing it against her chest, and he stared down at the blue triangles on his handplates. 

“But my father and the f-“ 

He picked his head back up as she cut herself short, her eyes waiting for him to look her way. Not for the first time he got the feeling that she could see through the visor, even though he knew it was impossible. Was she going to say…

“My family was caring for a foundling.” She shook her head, one cheek lifting into her eye in a half-hearted smile. “We were split up and I...don’t know what happened to them.” She shrugged and sniffed, blinking her long lashes rapidly to clear away any tears before they could form. “So when I heard that there was a covert here I…” Another shrug. “Wanted to come and...see.” 

Grogu. Kid. Foundling. Family. Clan. Aliit. 

Each pound of his heart brought a new word to mind. She’s...alone. He knew what that was like, to confront loss or uncertainty. But at least he had the rest of the covert. He had Cara and Karga and Fennec and Boba Fett. He had the Armorer and the survivors of the covert here on Nevarro, Paz and the foundlings that he’d rescued. “I’m...sorry.” They seemed insufficient but they were the only words he could conjure. 

She gave him a smirk, or tried to, and shook her head. His eyes were drawn again to the blue strands of her hair as she moved under the lights. “I’ll find them.” I hope you do. “Is it my turn?” He nodded. “Okay. Well, since you took those broken vambraces and you wanted my helmet, too, I assume that you know an Armorer?” 

“I do. There’s…” He thought about how best to answer, wanting to tell her the truth, wanting to tell her that there was a thriving Mandalorian population on Tattooine, hoping to tell her that perhaps she’d find her family there. But she hasn’t sworn the creed. 

She watched him, for what, he wasn’t sure, but she seemed to find it, her tongue flicking out to lick at her lips again. “But they won’t craft armor for me because I’m dar’manda, right?” The word made him flinch. Like the Mythosaur pendant, he could feel the weight it carried, too. 

“I… could ask, but-” 

Navina shook her head. “No, it’s alright, Mando.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s just a bantha brained idea I had.” It’s not...I understand, it’s just… “Can I… if I tell you my family name, would you…tell me if you know anything? Or-” 

“Sure.” He didn’t know many of the names of the Mandalorians that had joined the new covert, but he couldn’t see how it could hurt to make this offer. 

“Harsa,” she replied. “My father’s name is Gavil Harsa.” 

The Mandalorian nodded. “When I regroup with my covert I’ll put the word out that his daughter is looking for him.” 

“Thank you, Mando.” She sighed, a look of genuine gratitude and relief coming over her face. 

Before she could say anything else though, a crackling sound came from a pocket in her flak vest as a comm link sparked to life. “Nav? Nav! Can you hear me? Come in, Harsa.”  

Her eyes grew wide and she gritted her teeth, sucking air through them and reaching under her armor for the device that she must have hidden at the onset of her mission at the base. “Oh. Yeah. That’s…” 

“Your friend?” He crossed his arms as she nodded sheepishly. “You better answer him, then.” 

Her thumb hovered over the button to respond, but she stopped. “If I tell him where I am and he comes to pick me up, are you going to let us go without any trouble? He’s…” She inched towards the front of her seat. “I don’t want him in any trouble.” 

“I told you before, you aren’t my prisoner.” He understood though, that she was trying to protect her friend. She may not have sworn the Creed herself, but he couldn’t help but recall what the Armorer had told him just a few days ago. She spoke the language, upheld the duty to family and, though unconventionally, wore the armor. She is Mandalorian in everything but oath. “But you should tell him to wait until morning, when our flying friends are asleep. They’ll attack small ships as they take off.” 

“That’s… yes. I will tell him that.” Her thumb pressed down over the button and she spoke into the receiver. “I’m here, Firo, I read you.” 

Instantly the other man’s voice rang throughout the cockpit. “NAV. Dank Farrik, I was worried.” Nav? The Mandalorian looked at the woman across from him. It was short for her name, obviously, but it didn’t seem to fit her. Why do I care about that? He blinked. I don’t. 

Rolling her eyes again, Navina smiled. “I’m okay, Firo. Gonna have to sit tight where I am tonight, but,” she glanced up at the Mandalorian. “But I’m safe. I’ll send you coordinates in the morning, alright?” 

Safe. Trust. Ruusaanyc. 

It was easier to give into that word after speaking with her, even just for a short time, but it still made him wonder. Why? 

There were more things that he wanted to know, more questions that he wanted to ask. But just as she ended the communication with her associate, his own communication device began to beep from the third pocket on his belt and he sighed, knowing who it was before he even answered. 

Bo-Katan had arrived to meet with him on Tattooine. And she wouldn’t be happy to find him missing.

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Thank you for reading! Please feel free to let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the tags! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor​​​​​ @alraedesigns​​​​​ @pheedraws​​​​​ @valkblue​​​​​ @malionnes​​​​​ @gollyderek​

[leviskokoro]

Christmas in The Devildom | Home Alone Edition

desc :: Mari tells a tale of what happened during her Christmas during her exchange student program.

word count :: 2247

note/s :: I got this idea about Mari having to defend herself from demons while she’s alone on Christmas. But then I realised... “Hey! This is literally just the premise of Home Alone!” so I decided to write it.

relationship/s :: implied fluffwings | jack x mari / implied greedwings | mammon x mari

art credit :: KEMM01 on Deviantart

edit credit :: me

Holiday season was a lovely time of cheer and giving for most people. Mari gave a sigh of relief, finally done giving her last gift of the day. Yes, seeing the generally happy reactions of the people she cared for brought joy to her weary heart, even if those people didn’t necessarily care for her back. Now it was just time to relax during the NRC Christmas party.

Everyone from every dorm had gathered to the cafeteria to partake in the festivities. Every nook and cranny had been decorated to perfection. But maybe that was pushing things a bit since Mari was the one that had to decorate everything after Crowley pushed the work onto her for the hundredth time she’s lived in Twisted Wonderland at the last minute when he just decided that a Christmas party might help bring students together more. At least she can rest while the first years talked about how they spent their Christmas at home.

“Mari.” The girl looked up to see Epel looking at her with a curious gaze. “What was Christmas like for you when you were in your world?”

“Yeah, we’ve been the ones talking here but you haven’t shared anything the whole time,” Ace spoke up as he bit into some cookies.

“Ah, sorry—”

“Didn’t you live in Hell for a year? What’s Christmas there like?” Deuce asked, placing a finger to his chin in thought.

Mari was silent for a moment, trying to get her thoughts and memories in order.

“Um… it’s kind of a long story. Are you guys alright with that?” She glanced at each of their faces for confirmation.

“You’re an excellent storyteller, Mari. It’d be wonderful to hear it,” Sebek chimed in, placing his food on the table and sitting with them.

She nodded, relieved that they seemed to be alright to tell them.

“So… I was mostly left alone during the holidays—”

“Eh? Left alone?” Ace raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah… We were going to celebrate but the demon brothers and the folks at Purgatory Hall were called to a meeting and had to take care of some business in a farther area in the Devildom. I wasn’t able to come because that place had particularly deadly air for humans…”

“Why do I have to go?! There’s gonna be a whole bunch of Christmas special limited edition figurines for Rurichan and all my favorite idols!” Levi had complained as he stuffed his fifth Rurichan figurine into his luggage.

“I was planning on eating a Christmas feast…” Beel had also whined, rubbing his stomach. In his hands were three gigantic bags filled with snacks and snacks only.

“Is it really okay to leave Mari here?” Asmo asked, who was mostly just clinging onto her body; She’s had to swat his grabby hands from touching her more intimate parts a couple times but cuddles with him were generally still quite lovely. Among them, he had the most packed luggages that was all dedicated to his beauty and fashion.

“Yeah, lesser demons might take this opportunity to sneak into this place and eat Mari.” Satan at least had a reasonable amount of bags. Though, he held one novel in his arm.

She sighed, running her hand through her sift chocolate locks. “Guys, no offense but you were the ones to put me in the most danger here during my exchange program here.”

They all seemed sheepish now. “Uhh—“

“Enough whining. We’re going to be late already,” Lucifer spoke up. “Mari should be fine. No one would be stupid enough to harm her if they knew the consequence will be being charged with treason and being tortured for eternity.”

Mari gave a thumbs up. “Yeah. There’s nothing to worry about.” Her eyes widened, noticing something rather odd.

She looked around. “Where’s Mammon?” She asked.

“He said he had something to do,” Satan answered.

Lucifer turned around and started walking. “We’ll leave him behind. He can catch up,” he spoke. His shoes made light clicking noises against the floor as he left the premises, the rest of the brothers followed him.

“Hey! Wait up!” Mammon yelled as he darted out of his room, carrying a bunch of stuff with him.

“Hey! Are you guys telling stories?” Kalim’s bright voice interrupted her speech. A large grin was plastered on his face.

“Kalim, don’t just barge into conversations like that,” Jamil scolded him. He carried two trays filled with food, one for him and one for Kalim.

“It’s fine! I was getting to the interesting part.”

“Très bien! How wonderful to see you all spending quality time during this festive party! It touches my heart,” Rook’s voice appeared from behind them, causing some of the first years to jump in surprise.

“Your bodyguards left you alone during Christmas? That seems rather irresponsible of them if they knew there was still a chance of you being attacked by demons,” Vil spoke as the two also sat down at the table next to theirs.

She nodded, looking down and biting her lip. “Well… The house did end up being attacked.”

“EH?!” Their eyes were as wide as the plates they were eating from.

“How did you manage to survive?”

“During the last day of school, a bunch of lesser demons had whispered about taking the opportunity to come by and eat my soul after classes. Little did they know, I had overheard their conversation and that gave me some time to prepare…”

Mari rushed around the House of Lamentation, rope and other sorts of equipment that she hastily purchased from Akuzon in her arm. Knowing that this house had a variety of magical items that even she could use despite having a lack of it.

Satan’s room had all sorts of cursed books and Levi’s room had magical merch. If worse comes to worst, she’ll use the grimoire underground. It’s more of a last resort since she knew what happened when Luke was lost and ended up there. Lucifer would’ve killed her if it weren’t for Diavolo.

She stopped in her tracks when she looked into Mammon’s stuff in case he had anything that could be used. Her eyes widened to see a murder of crows in his room.

… What?

One of the crows flew up and landed on her shoulder. “Hey there! You’re Mari, right? We’re Mammon’s familiars! He told us a lot about you. He had us stay here to watch over you.”

“That idiot is so reckless that she’d probably get herself into trouble without me so make sure nothing bad happens to her!” … were his exact words.” A different crow spoke up, imitating his voice and tone with such perfect accuracy that it startled the girl.

A grim pulled at her lips. “Great! A bunch of demons are coming here soon and I’ll be needing your help to defend the place.” She explained her plan to them.

“Wow! You already got this thing planned out,” the first crow commented. “Just give us the order and we’ll do our best!”

Mari nodded, smiling in gratitude for them. She turned around and rushed out the room to start setting everything up.

Using her knowledge of the items in the House of Lamentation, she set up a bunch of traps around the place and sat in the living room, waiting for them to trigger. Near each trap was at least one crow to lure the demons into the traps. In one hand was a controller for one of Levi’s consoles. The other held a specific book that was just titled “Void”.

“Really hope this works…” The girl muttered, her grip around the items tightened.

A cacophony of screams echoed throughout the place and several crows flew to her from different directions, signalling that the traps were successful.

She gave a sigh of relief, happy that they worked. There had been this worry that gnawed at her heart when she thought of the possibility of her ropework being too weak. Fortunately, that seemed to not be the case.

Mari checked the bands she put on their feet. Each crow had a different color so that she would know which traps got triggered.

Red, white, yellow, and green… Ah!

Red was in charge of luring the demon into a tripwire trap where if they triggered it, it’d pull the pin from a makeshift grenade she made out of Ruri-chan’s Extra Devilish Spicy Powder that she got from Levi’s room. Levi described it to be so spicy that it can cause a demon to pass out as soon as it comes into contact with their nose and eyes.

White was in charge of watching the catapult. If the door with the trap gets opened, the demon would get Asmo’s “special rope” launched at them. It would completely immobilise anyone if it makes contact with someone’s skin.

Yellow was the one watching over the gun trap. If the window was opened, it’d pull the trigger on the replica gun she got from Levi’s room. It had been from “I Got Isekai’d To A Fantasy Historical Drama But I Didn’t Expect To Find Out That 7 Generals Would Fall For Me”. The bullets weren’t lethal or anything, but they were the magical sort that could knock out a demon with one bullet.

Last but not least was green, who watched over the back door. She roped up a bunch of cursed books from Satan’s room, careful not to touch them with her bare hands, and hung them over the door. If triggered, it would drop all the books and curse the demon into 5 months of deep slumber. 5 months felt a bit excessive, but it was probably better than being charged of treason and being tortured for eternity.

However, it seemed that the other two crows didn’t return just yet.

Then, rushed footsteps started approaching the living room. She looked up to see the last crows flying and two demons running towards her. The looks on their faces oozed with murderous intent as they neared her.

… Shit, looks like the last two traps either didn’t get triggered or they found a way around them.

But all she did was bite her lip and opened the book with the pages facing them.

The room started shaking as a dark aura covered the book. The demons screamed when they started getting pulled into the pages of the book, scrambling to keep their ground. However this was in vain, as they ended up getting sucked into the book anyway.

And with that, Mari gave a loud sigh of relief, dropping her body onto the couch. She pressed a button on the controller.

Nothing around her really happened upon pressing it. But the other demons that were immobilised were put into Levi’s game. She had to know their identities first, which was surprisingly easy to find on Devilgram. She should be able to let them out later. Hopefully they don’t die in the game. She had set it to easy mode, after all.

“Yay! We did it!” The crows cheered, gathering close to each other and even doing a little dance in the process.

“... And that was the end of that story. After that night, the demon brothers came back and we spent a lovely Christmas together, the Devildom way.” Mari’s story came to a close. She looked at all the students that were immersed in her story.

“You were able to defend yourself against a whole group of demons in a single night?!” Ace’s eyes were wide open. His expression was mirrored by the others.

“Très bien! You’ve displayed such wonderful resourcefulness against opponents who are much stronger than you!” Rook praised her in his own fashion, gazing at her with his amused hunter green irises.

Jamil nodded, placing his hand to his chin in thought. A small smile could be seen on his face if one were to look close enough. “Using what you had around the house to use as traps… How clever,” he mumbled.

“You’d be a great fit for Scarabia!” Kalim grinned.

“You were able to set all those traps in such a short amount of time. With that sort of workspeed, Pomefiore could make use of your efforts,” Vil retorted, crossing his arms.

A new voice spoke up, “Oh, but her cunning wit should be further honed in Octavinelle. I’m sure I’d make better use of her skill.”

Jamil’s expression turned sour at the sight of the dorm leader of Octavinelle.

“Nonsense! She belongs in Diasomnia with the young master!” Sebek’s voice boomed across the cafeteria.

“Oi! Quiet down, you noisy brat,” Leona spoke up from another table beside them. He glared at the first year.

And that was the start of a rather chaotic argument between all the dorms.

Jack and Mari looked at each other with exasperated expressions.

“You wanna get out of here?” She offered.

All he did was scratch the back of his head and nod. “Yeah, it’d be better if we just went somewhere else.”

The two of them got up and sneaked away from the group that was too absorbed in their fight.

Although, Mari couldn’t help the smile creeping on her face as she processed the fact that they had complimented her. At the time, she didn’t think it was all too special. But it felt really nice to receive such validation.

Perhaps they saw her better now. Someone who isn’t weak all because she had no magic.

The thought soothed her.

[staygold-ponyboycurtis]

Halloween, 1966.

A very overdue one-shot about how our favorite spooky greasers celebrate Halloween 🎃 I wanted to wait until it was a bit further into spooky season to post this, and I also procrastinate like you wouldn’t believe (or be surprised about, I’m guessing lol)... but here it is!!! 

Also, can I just acknowledge how difficult it was to find a scary movie to reference in this one-shot?! All of the good scary movies were made post-sixties! Halloween, Friday the 13th... even the classics like The Exorcist and Jaws were made well past the timeline of the book. The 60s was pretty bleak for good horror movies. But I’m nothing if not a stickler on historical accuracy, so here we are. 

ANYWAY. Enough from me. Enjoy & let me know what you think :)

-

Halloween, 1966.

“I think that’s the last one,” Darry says, flicking off the porch light. “Good thing, too. We’re out of candy.”

“You can thank Two-Bit for that,” I say. “He went through and picked out his favorites as soon as I opened the bag.”

“I resent that, kid!” Two-Bit hollers from the kitchen. “Only a fool would put candy in my line of vision and not expect me to eat it all.”

Darry chuckles. He picked up extra candy knowing the gang would snag some here and there. He remembered everyone’s favorites. Two-Bit’s were M&Ms, Steve’s was Swedish Fish, mine were peanut butter cups, and Soda loved anything with sugar. 

Absentmindedly, Darry had also grabbed a bag of Hershey’s bars. I’m not sure he had even noticed until I pointed it out to him. They’d always been Dally’s favorites. And, subsequently, Johnny’s. I think he liked whatever Dally liked. 

This year was our first real Halloween without them. The last was filled with so much grief and disbelief, our favorite holiday passed in a blur. Sitting on the couch watching scary movies wouldn’t feel the same without Johnny and Dally there. Second only to the first Christmas without my parents, it was the most barren feeling I’ve ever felt. A reminder of the life that was steadily moving on without them. 

Sodapop and I hung fake spider webs all over the house, taping Halloween decorations on the walls and windows. Most of them were ones we’ve had since we were young, which brought its own nostalgic sadness. I tried to hang onto the bitter sweetness of loving memories so tender that they could break your heart. It was something, right? 

After work one day, Darry walked in with pumpkins under his arms for all of us to carve. Sodapop made the best pumpkin seeds every year with the innards we pulled out of our jack-o-lanterns. Generously coated in sugar and cinnamon, they were a candy in and of themselves. Two-Bit even brought over a fake skeleton to hang on the porch. Though I reckoned he swiped it from the general store in town, the gesture was nice. 

“Psycho is starting soon,” I say to Two-Bit and Darry. “Hurry up.”

“You sure you want to watch that movie, kiddo?” Darry asks. “Last time, you couldn’t use the bathroom without the door open for weeks.”

Darry’s right. I shudder at the memory. It was weeks before I could take a shower without peeking behind the curtain every few minutes. Whenever he’d see me, Two-Bit would reenact the movie’s shrill soundtrack, stabbing the air. 

“I’m not scared, Darry. I’m fifteen. I can handle scary movies.”

“Whatever you say,” he says, his hands up in surrender. “But you’re not running up the electricity bill by keeping the lights on while you sleep.”

Just then, Sodapop’s truck roars into the driveway. When him and Steve stumble on the porch, he rings the doorbell incessantly. 

“Trick or treat!” he yells in a high-pitched voice, much to Darry’s annoyance.

“Nobody’s home!” Darry yells from behind the door. Though Sodapop is surely obnoxious, his antics can’t help but get a rise out of Darry. Even when he acts like a child, Darry always humors Sodapop’s attempts to make things fun for us. He tries to hide his smile when he opens the door. 

“What’d I miss?” Sodapop asks breathlessly, barreling through the house with excitement.  

“Three Supermen and a Mighty Mouse,” I muse.

Soda smiles. He’s dressed in one of his red flannels, with some fur from an old stuffed animal sticking out of the sleeves and collar. He messed up his dark hair every which way, making him look like a madman. To finish his ensemble, he drew a dribble of blood out of the corner of his mouth with mom’s old red lipstick. He always likes to play it up on Halloween. 

“You sure look festive,” Two-Bit says with a laugh. “Be careful, I think there’s a full moon tonight.”

Soda laughs his infectious laugh - full of glee and amusement. “My boss brought his kid by the DX to get some candy and asked us to dress up, for your information.���

“So, you’re a werewolf…” I say with a wry smile. “What did Steve dress up as?”

“A pizza boy,” Steve says sarcastically, entering the house with the three large boxes Darry ordered in his arms. 

“Good one,” I say.

“And you?” Steve asks. “You dressed up like a cocky little shit again? Gee, kid. You’ve had the same costume for years!” 

I roll my eyes, turning back to the television. “Hurry up, will ‘ya? The movie is starting.”

The gang hastily grabs slices of pizza and walks over to the couch. Two-Bit flicks off the lights and hops over the couch, taking up his token position on the floor in front of the coffee table. I sit in the middle of Darry and Sodapop, who shove a piece of pizza in my lap. Steve stands aimlessly, watching the television while trying to appear aloof. He, too, jumps when the shower curtain is pulled back. 

So much has changed, but this moment resonates with me. I look around at the gang, filled with nostalgia, thinking of how this moment will look when I think back to it ten, twenty, or even thirty years from now. Just a couple of hoods, huddled together in a ramshackle living room watching scary movies. A solemn - but happy - Halloween. 

-

We luv a corny Halloween one-shot :’) I had to make it sweet and sad, but also include a lil sass like I love to do when I write these characters.

[feynavaley]

right so. i used to be hardcore in the hetalia fandom. but it was not mentally or physically healthy for me trying to roleplay because i'd get all hung up on the historical accuracy aspect. i want a fresh start with y'all in the hetalia fandom, but i don't think i'll be roleplaying, just writing on my own and independently, because much of the problem was i felt i couldn't set my own pace. if you'd kindly direct me towards resources about the NA brothers and Nordics, I'd be eternally thankful.

Hi! I’m sorry to hear to you had a bad experience in the past, but I’m glad you feel like you’ve found a way that could work better for you. I hope it will, and welcome back!

Coming to your question, if you want resources on the canon characterization I would recommend you to have a look at @ellawritesficssometimes’s posts (you can find all the links in her directory), they’re very detailed and she generally made clear which parts were clearly canon and which her own interpretation.

I have also written quite a lot about the NA brothers in the past. Everything that is more under the analysis than headcanon category is collected under the tag ‘feyna talks about hetalia’, but for some specific posts:

Some meta posts about how Canada is characterized in the manga [x] [x][x] [x] [x]

On America and Canada’s relationship [x] [x] [x] [x]

Some posts where you can find my thoughts on aspects of America’s characterization [x] [x] [x] [x] (they aren’t as detailed as the ones about Canada, though)

Always about America and Canada, some posts that are a mixture of analysis and headcanons [x] [x] [x] [x] (but it should be clear which are considerations on the canon material and which my own headcanons).

America and Canada in the context of the “FACE family”: a brief overview of the canon material [x]

I’ve never written any in-depth analysis about the Nordics, instead, as they aren’t characters I’m particularly interested in so I generally don’t dwell much on them… Ella’s posts would probably suffice, though.

I honestly wouldn’t know who else to point out as ‘resources’… Many people do write headcanons, but not many analyses based on the canon material (regarding these characters, at least). I have to admit that my main resource is reading the manga. 😅 Kitawiki also has character pages that summarize pretty well the most important things you need to know – but in general, I would recommend re-reading the manga if you want more hints on the characterization of specific characters. After all, even an analysis based on strictly canon material is tinted through the writer’s personal interpretation of the same material and isn’t going to be fully objective… Different people will read the same scene in different ways and result in different views of the characters. I think the best way to have a solid characterization would be to first read the manga on your own and only after that posts written by other people. Only this way you’ll be able to truly decide whether you agree or not.

Edit! To find all the issues where a character was featured (so you can read them), you need to go through that character’s tag on Hetarchive.net – for Canada, for example, it would be http://hetarchive.net/tag/canada/. This will provide you with a list (and links) of all the webcomic chapter Canada appeared in. What isn’t on hetarchive can be found on the translated mirror of Bamboo Thicket, always selecting the right character tag.

All this is considering the canon characterization, though… as in, the characterization extrapolated from how the characters behave in the manga rather than historical/cultural consideration. If, instead, you want to stray from the canon characterization in order to achieve historical accuracy, I’m afraid I can’t help you much as I’m personally not interested in that approach. All I can say is that @stirringwinds has written very interesting posts that are close to a more ‘historically accurate’ interpretation without completely dismissing the canon characterization. If you’re interested in this, I think they would make good, if not resources, at least starting points. 😊

Anyways, I’m publishing this so if anybody has any more recommendations for blogs who write analysis/resources about these characters, they can add on!

[paperwayne]

snapshot.

50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You” ➡ 23. Taking a picture together to print and hang later.

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader

Word Count: 2,095 words

Warnings: Mild violence

“Nightwing! On your left!”

“Got it!” Dick shouts, twisting out of harm’s way. A split second later, he spins around and lands a blow on the screaming android.

Two more come your way. You leap onto the shoulders of one and slap an explosive onto its chest, jumping onto another android right before it goes off. Hot shrapnel cuts into your cape as acrid smoke fills your nose.

“I gotta say – hah! – this is not what I had in mind when you invited me to the mall,” you yell over the chaos.

Dick skids over to your side. His escrima sticks crackle with electricity – and in a moment, he stuffs them into an android’s eye sockets. “Trust me, this wasn’t on the agenda. I wanted to sh – oof! – show you the new photography studio. It’s Wild West-themed.”

“You don’t say?” You link elbows with Dick and he swings you into a robot feet-first. “That’s cool. You know I always want to party with you, cowboy.”

“Aw, you flatter me, Blackfinch.”

Pain shoots through your shoulder right before you can reply. Grunting in pain, you reach up and grab the android behind you, heaving it over you and into the ground. The white tile shatters.

“You okay?” Dick asks. You tear your attention away from the throbbing in your arm and see that he’s fighting the last android; it’s barely standing.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply. “Gonna have a nasty bruise, though.”

“Hm –” Dick crouches low and knocks the android down with a sweep of his leg. A well-aimed stomp to its neck ends its rampage, and you watch intently as the neon green of its eyes fade into gray. Guarded relief washes over you the same time your adrenaline rush begins to die. 

After surveying the ransacked left wing of the mall, the two of you make your way over to each other.

“You didn’t break anything, right?” Dick asks, brow furrowing.

“Believe me, I would know if something was broken.” You pat his chest, gesturing with your chin at the blaring lights outside the exit. “Look like the police finally arrived.”

While he glances over at the police cars parked on the other side of the doors, you gingerly rub your shoulder and bend over to inspect one of the hunks of metal. “So – I’m guessing this is Glass’s work.”

Dick’s mildly concerned gaze quickly narrows when you show him the patterning on the interior. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“Wanna bet how quickly we can track him down?”

You raise a brow underneath your cowl. Putting away his escrima sticks, Dick looks down at your outstretched hand and smirks.

“Nope,” he replies. “Not gonna risk it all this time, Blackfinch.”

—

“You know, there’s an old-time photography studio uptown. Not Wild West, but close enough.”

You catch a falling drop of melted ice cream, looking over Dick’s shoulder as he scrolls through his phone. It really is admirable, how determined he is to find a good studio, but you’re quickly distracted by the tangy creaminess of blackberry cheesecake. (You think this particular distraction is well-deserved, though – what was meant to be a one-hour skirmish ended up being a two-hour long battle against Glass’s toys, and by the time the two of you managed to turn him in, both you and Dick were pretty damn sore).

“You really want this photoshoot done, huh, Grayson?” You pause to bite into your ice cream, letting out a pleased hum as it coats your tongue; so expensive, but so worth it. “What’s with the sudden interest?”

He shrugs. “I just think it’d be fun. A ridiculous photoshoot’s a pretty good idea,” Dick reasons, showing you the route to Bearon’s Studio. “See? It’s only a few blocks away.”

“Okay. Let’s go, then.”

Your companion nods just as an explosion rocks the ground. Your ice cream scoop falls to the ground as you stumble and regain your footing, looking up to see smoke billowing from a nearby building.

“Seriously?” Dick groans.

As if on cue, a cloaked figure jumps out from a window and hits the ground running. There’s a maniacal cackle, and you sigh.

“Guess we’re going in a different direction, Dick.”

—

The runaway criminal ends up being a petty thief-turned-pyromaniac due to some street drug with a name too vulgar for public ears. You would have been glad that he wasn't a big-time villain with ulterior motives, if it wasn’t for the fact that it was an absolute pain in the ass to finally get him cornered and secured. To add to the picture, you now have teeth indentations on the same arm that got bruised in the first fight.

At least it's over now, though. Maybe if you and Dick hurry, the studio will still be –

“Closed?” Dick exclaims, hands gripping the door handles. The interior of the place is shrouded in darkness, and right near Dick's shoulder on the other side hangs a sign that reads “CLOSED” in dark, red print. “It’s not even close to six yet!”

“Guess they closed early.” You press your forehead into the glass and squint inside. Nothing happens. (You’re sort of relieved that nobody jumps out of the shadows at you and Dick.)

Dick’s hands drop down to his sides, and his head soon plonks against the door next to yours. “Man,” he sighs.

You turn to look at him. There are many expressions that look lovely on Dick’s face, some more than others, but disappointment is not one of them. It prompts you to think, and you tap on the door in thought, lips puckering.

Finally, you stand straight and snap your fingers. Dick raises an eyebrow.

“I’ve got it. Follow me.”

“Uh … okay.” Dick runs across the street after you, catching up in two quick strides. “Where are we going?”

You flash him a quick smile. “My grandpa’s house.”

Dick’s noise of surprise turns your smile into a smirk. The relationship between the two most important men in your life isn’t sour by any means, but your grandfather never really cared about social cues, and the most uncomfortable moments of your teenage life had resulted from his comments whenever you and Dick stood in the same room. You’ve gotten more used to his ways by now – which is nice – but still, you’re glad you don’t have to think about what he might say today.

“Don’t worry,” you assure Dick, running down the stairs toward the subway. “He’s out on business.”

Your childhood home was a penthouse suite. Fifteen years living the high-class life there, and not once had your grandfather renovated the place in any way, shape, or form; so after you and Dick finally reach the top floor and greet Miss Paula, it doesn’t take too long to find The Room.

“Okay,” you murmur to yourself, keeping ahold of Dick’s hand as you walk past your old bedroom, feeling your way down the hallway. Eventually, you reach a door with a keypad. “Aha.” Six digits, all in quick succession. “Behold.”

“… No way.” Dick walks over to the far corner as you flip on the light, gazing up at the array of hats hung onto the wall. Carefully, he takes one of them and examines the dark leather, lips curling into an incredulous grin. “How come I’ve never seen this place before?”

You take the hat from him and place it ceremoniously onto his head. “Grandpa’s way protective of his cowboy stuff. He only let me in here once I turned eighteen, and only responsible family and the closest of our friends can come in here.” Reaching around him, you grab a lasso off its hook and give it to Dick. “Here.”

The two of you spend the next few minutes trying on different combinations of hats and boots, modeling for each other and laughing your heads off like a pair of teenager. You tie a red handkerchief around Dick’s neck and fit him with a vest. He finds a giant wagon wheel hidden behind some crates and has you pose in front of it, expression deadly serious for historical accuracy. Finger guns complete the outfit.

“We don’t have a camera from the nineteenth century, but a filter’s the next best thing,” you state, rotating your camera around for a selfie. It takes a bit of stretching to include your enormous hats, but you manage. “Smile!”

Dick squishes his cheek against yours, and you can feel some stubble scraping against your skin as you take the shot. Your phone flashes and you bring it back down to check the result.

“Heh, you’re blinking.”

“You’re blurry.”

“It’s cute anyway,” Dick concludes, arm still wrapped around you as he favorites the picture.  “Text it to me, will ya?”

“I’ll do you one better and get it printed out at Walmart. This one should be framed and hung up,” you reply.

“You’re right.”

While Dick takes a moment to send one of the pictures to his siblings, you take off the two ten-gallon hats stuffed onto your head. The boots and spurs follow after a bit of difficulty. Your handkerchiefs go back into the drawers, the lasso back on its hook. It doesn’t take terribly long to put everything away, and when the two of you finish, the room looks exactly like it had before. (Who said that attention to detail was only applicable in the field?)

“Well, that was fun,” Dick laughs, hands on his hips as he surveys the hat collection one last time. “I’m actually glad we did this instead of the studio, to be honest.”

“I agree.”

Miss Paula is still, oddly enough, dusting the furniture when you and Dick come back to the foyer; she raises an eyebrow as the two of you walk to the elevator, all twin grins and muffled snorts.

“I hope you kids enjoyed yourselves,” she calls after you as the doors slide open, pointing her duster suspiciously in your direction. Her lips are pursed, but a twinkle shines in her eye.

You beam innocently. “We did. Send Grandpa our regards, please.”

“Mmhm.”

The doors close. Dick turns to you, eyes alight with mirth. “I hope your grandpa won’t be mad that we used his stuff for a photoshoot.”

“Nah, he’d have a heyday if he caught us. He’d probably want to hire a photographer and everything,” you snort, shaking your head.

He chuckles. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Glancing over at him, you will your next words to be light. “I mean – he always thought we looked cute together, remember?”

“He did.”

Dick’s reply is a mix between a question and a statement – you’re not sure which one it is, and when you try to read his face you don’t get much of an answer. His eyes flit to meet yours, and the slightest of smiles graces his lips for a moment before it’s replaced by a thoughtful look.

You instinctively turn your attention towards the steadily decreasing floor number above the buttons. There’s no elevator music, so now all you can hear is the sound of your breathing and Dick’s breathing, and god, the awkwardness is back again. Geez Louise. Why did you have to say that? That was years ago. Your grandpa probably only liked pairing you up with Dick because he thought it’d be funny.

“I think he was right.”

Your brain short-circuits. “… Huh?”

Dick leans back with his elbows against the rail, staring up at the floor number with you. Six, five, four. “We would be cute together. Hypothetically, you know.”

“Hypothetically.” You swallow, bracing yourself against the wall when the elevator suddenly stops at the ground floor. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Pause.

“Hey, remember when your grandpa made all of us ride on his Fourth of July float that one summer?”

His voice cuts through your fretting. You cling onto the new subject, and it’s thankfully easy to laugh once you refocus. “How could I forget that? God, he embarrassed me so much when I was in high school.”

“It was Wild West-themed, wasn’t it? I forgot that part until today.”

“It was. Damn, that actually makes it more embarrassing.”

“I need to look for pictures of that parade – oh, speaking of which, remember. To print out the photos.”

His expression’s solemn, and you roll your eyes and nudge him with your shoulder. “I’ll remember, Grayson. First thing after work tomorrow.”

“Alright,” he says. “I’m counting on you, partner.”

“And I’ve never let you down,” you respond.

Dick grins. He gives you a squeeze around your waist, looking down the street as you both walk towards the subway.

“Nope. Not once.”

__

[50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You” prompt list (requests using this prompt list are openCLOSED)]

[skyewilversteanbooks]

“You’re only a Witch if you have a vagina.” Proving that claim wrong. or at least trying to.

Hey guys. Some of you may be familiar with a male witch known as “Mystic Dylan.” I personally enjoy his content, and the accuracy, availability and truth in the information he shares. With that being said, I stumbled across this video where he is interviewed. And when asked about being a male witch, and if there’s a difference in gender-exclusivity in regards to that term, his answer was backed up by historical information.

To narrow it down, in which I paraphrase to the best of my ability: Back in the times where witches were burned, hung, drowned, whathaveyou, the society was very patriarchal. Everyone followed a patriarchal religion. And if you were seen, rumoured to or suspected of doing anything that was different to this religion, you were automatically assumed to have been “Consorting With the Devil.” And who got the most accusation, oppression and slander? Women. And why? Because big-dick patriarchal Christianity didn’t want women to be powerful, and the fuckery of men during these times... well, you get the point. So, really, the word witch isn’t inherently a female term. Men were persecuted, too. But women were the main culprits, because of a patriarchal society and belief system. Witch, originally, means “to bend, or change.” That is it. It describes a person of magickal practise.  Here’s the video in which Dylan is interviewed, as I feel his answer is more valuable than my paraphrasing:

Please note, I understand the source channel of this video is controversial and rather mainstream. However, the highlight of this video is Dylan. That is the sole reason I am sharing it. If you send hate my way because of this, it will be met with love. Or just silent blocks and ignorance. Thank you <3

[freyjawriter24]

Advent Omens: Warmth

My response to Day 22 of @drawlight‘s excellent advent prompt list. Yes, I know it’s February. But I’ve been being surprisingly productive recently, and wanted to channel some of that into cutesy stuff outside of my focus on Someone New, and this seemed a good, shorter way to do that, so here we are. I hope you enjoy (even if it is a little out of season... It’s still winter, though, and I’m only two months and a day late for this one! There are more coming that will be even later...).

-----

Crowley had never been a fan of the cold. Probably something to do with his being a snake or something, he figured, but whatever the reason, he hated it. Why on Earth he’d ended up mostly settling in a climate where it was never particularly warm, he couldn’t quite work out (ignore the angel-shaped reason, that can’t be it), but the winters were at least the reason he didn’t stay in New York more regularly – if it got cold in London, it was far, far worse across the pond.

The Bentley, it seemed, had acquired some of its demonic owner’s characteristics, one of which was very firmly hating the cold. The car flatly refused to move the first couple of times Crowley had attempted to drive anywhere when it was cold enough for frost to have accumulated on the windscreen, even when the demon exasperatedly pointed out that moving around would actually make the damn thing warmer. After that he simply miracled it to always feel the temperature of a warm spring day, which had the added bonus of meaning the windows never frosted up again.

Not that Crowley drove much when it was really cold, anyway. He preferred to hide away inside on days like that, curled up in a pile of blankets in his flat or the bookshop, a hot drink or a hot water bottle nearby.

Today, though, was an exception. Because he’d promised to take Aziraphale out, as a treat.

“Ugh, why did it have to be today?” he muttered as he started the Bentley. “I take it you think you’re funny,” he said in the vague direction of the sky, and then swore under his breath.

At least the drive itself would be warm. Not that that would make getting out of the car at the other end any easier, but still.

He rang Aziraphale from the kerb when he got to the bookshop. “Angel, I’m outside. Hurry up, or we’re going to be late.”

“Coming, my dear!”

The happiness in his voice was palpable, and Crowley groaned as he hung up. Why had he agreed to this again? What on Her green Earth had he been thinking? Even without the miserably cold weather, this was going to be an experience comparable to Hell.

The passenger door of the Bentley opened, and an angel appeared, wrapped up warm in a thick coat and matching tartan scarf and mittens. Crowley rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, but couldn’t help feeling a little flutter of affection all the same.

“Ooh, it’s lovely and warm in here,” Aziraphale said brightly.

“Mmm,” Crowley said, pulling away as soon as the door was shut. “Bentley doesn’t like the cold.”

The angel nodded sympathetically, and settled himself into the warmth of the car as they drove off into the gathering dusk.

It took them far less time to get there than it should have done, of course, what with Crowley’s tendency to go double the legal speed limit on most smaller roads and attempt to push the needle past 100 on motorways, but the drive was still a small, peaceful haven of heat in an otherwise freezing and unfriendly world.

They listened to Beethoven on the way, which gradually morphed into Queen’s ‘A Winter’s Tale’, followed by ‘Body Language’, presumably because it was part of the ‘Hot Space’ album, and the Bentley thought that would be funny. Crowley had to try very hard not to look at Aziraphale during some of the lyrics, and tried not to wonder whether the angel’s pink cheeks were anything to do with the song or just the temperature.

He was inordinately grateful when they finally found themselves on a series of tight back roads and he had an excuse to turn the music off. “Should be around here somewhere. Keep an eye out for signs, they said there should be some.”

Iced-over puddles crunched under the Bentley’s wheels as they drove down one particularly narrow country lane, and then there they were. They’d made it.

“Oh good, looks like they haven’t started yet,” Aziraphale said happily, motioning to a group of humans who were milling about in a dark field together.

The angel hurried out of the car and over to someone who looked like they knew what was going on to sort out being let in. Crowley groaned, then sighed, then eventually clambered out of the warmth of the car and into the cold night air.

“Come on, my dear,” Aziraphale said, gesturing for the demon to join him. Crowley pulled his jacket tighter round himself, pushed his hands into his pockets, and sloped over in a striking impression of a stroppy pre-teen.

“Remind me why I agreed to this again?”

“It was your idea, Crowley. Something about ‘taking the mickey out of all the inaccuracies’, I believe.”

“I wouldn’t have said ‘mickey’, I would’ve said ‘piss’,” the demon grumbled, accepting his fate as one of the in-charge humans glared at him.

“I’d like to remind you that this is a family event,” she said pointedly. “Also we don’t allow flash photography or filming of any kind.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said, smiling.

“Sure,” the demon grunted.

“Right then,” the human said, smiling brightly. “Come on in!”

The two celestials thanked her and went through towards the group of gathered humans.

Everyone was dressed in warm clothes and gloves against the cold, some with bobble hats on or brightly-coloured scarves visible beneath their thick coats. About half the group were adults, apparently mostly parents or grandparents of the other half of the group, who were children of varying ages and irritability. The adults were talking in hushed tones to one another, the kids either messing about together or complaining about the cold or stood in sullen silence, waiting for the main event to start.

Then a voice came from out of the darkness.

“Two thousand years ago,” it said, with the clarity of hidden speakers and a good microphone, “a child was born that would change the world. He was the son of God, and he was called Jesus.”

Crowley was about to lean over and mutter something snarky in Aziraphale’s ear, when there was a sudden rush of bright light and the associated gasps of several of the people there. The demon froze.

God, he’s beautiful.

Aziraphale was gazing upward in wonder at whatever had been suddenly illuminated in a nearby tree. The light had lit him up, too, bouncing off his pink cheeks and spellbound smile, and Crowley couldn’t help but just stare for a moment.

Eventually, he realised he was meant to be paying attention to whatever it was Aziraphale was watching, so he turned to see a human stuck up in a tree, dressed in flowing white robes and apparently playing an angel. He’d missed most of the dialogue, but it soon became evident that this was supposed to be the moment where the shepherds were told about Jesus. A swell of singing sounded from the trees – a poor imitation of an angelic choir – and the spotlight on the ‘angel’ vanished as the crowd were ushered towards a nearby barn.

The humans filed politely – Britishly – into the barn and took seats on the rows of hay bales that had been arranged for the occasion. Crowley looked around, a little confused and intrigued by this arrangement. But it all became clear in a matter of moments.

The performance was, Crowley grudgingly admitted to himself, actually quite good. Not necessarily in terms of historical accuracy, mind, but for the drama of it – yes, that was all pretty solid.

He watched the angel’s face soften into love when Mary and Joseph came on stage, accompanied by an actual real baby playing Jesus – a real baby! He was impressed by the dedication to realism when the shepherds ushered in real-life sheep to meet the child – real sheep! And (not that he’d ever admit it) he actually gasped along with the rest of the crowd when King Herod and his men came in – which, to be fair, anyone would have done, if suddenly confronted with a galloping horse screeching to a halt amidst an indoors crowd – a real horse!

He also watched Aziraphale’s features harden as the King threatened the death of the Messiah and enacted the murder of all infants in the area. I know, angel, I know. At least you didn’t have to see it.

The three wise men were fairly dramatic just in their looks – again, a decent production value, regardless of any relation to actual fashion of the time. And all the main points of the story were there, all the important stuff that always got retold at this time of year. It was a solid show.

At one point, Crowley looked over to see the angel crying – making no sound, but tears glistening on his cheeks in the candlelight of the barn. He wanted to reach out, to comfort him – an arm around the shoulder, perhaps, or even a soft squeeze of the hand sat on the angel’s knee. But no, that would be too much – they’d barely known each other for six thousand years, after all, that date ticking past only a handful of years ago. And more to the point, the incident at the church was only sixty-four years ago, the exchange in the Bentley in Soho barely thirty-eight years ago. Don’t go too fast. Don’t make him uncomfortable. Let him come to you.

Which is why all the demon did was nudge Aziraphale’s arm gently with his own, and when the angel looked at him he mouthed ‘you okay?’. Aziraphale nodded, and reached a mittened hand up to wipe at the tears on his face. The other hand found Crowley’s and squeezed.

The demon didn’t pay much attention to the end of the performance after that. He was too focused on the angel’s hand on his – in his, as they gently rearranged their grip to be more mutually-entwined – and on imagining what that would feel like without layers of fabric in the way. Warm, he thought softly to himself.

All too soon, it was over, and Aziraphale carefully slipped his hand out of Crowley’s as he stood up to leave. The demon felt the loss of the contact keenly, like a kitten suddenly thrown out into the cold. But he said nothing, did nothing, just stood too and followed the angel out into the freezing, dark night.

But as they left the field and headed back to the car, thanking the in-charge humans as they passed them, Aziraphale caught his eye and gave a small smile. Thank you, that look said, and that alone would have been enough. But then the angel spoke.

“I was thinking,” he said slowly. “That perhaps we could... do more things like this, together. Perhaps, in the New Year, we could... ah, well... dine at the Ritz?”

Crowley recognised the offer for what it was instantly, and felt every atom of himself set alight at once. He struggled to maintain outward composure, but by the suddenly-increased pinkness of Aziraphale’s cheeks, he could tell he had reacted him some way. It was only when he tried to speak that he realised his jaw had dropped open.

“Uh, ngh, yeah,” he garbled, mouth moving like a goldfish with only the occasional sound escaping, none of it in any way sensical. “Of course, angel,” he finally managed. “Whatever you want. Sounds lovely.”

Ohshitohshitohshitohshit.

Is this actually happening?

Crap. Shit. Fuck.

“Good,” Aziraphale said, and even soft and subdued as it was, shy and uncertain, his smile was as blinding as a million suns.

They reached the Bentley and climbed into its haven of warmth. Neither mentioned what had just been said for the duration of the drive back to London, and Crowley kept the music firmly turned off for fear of what the car might decide to play. But the silence felt companionable, warm, relaxed, not at all strained or awkward, and it was all Crowley could do to stop himself from saying something wholly inappropriate in light of it, like I love you, or this is the best day of my life, just for that, or you are the most incredible being I have ever met and just to hold your hand for so short a time is an honour greater than any other and one I most definitely do not deserve, so please feel free to take your time, I can live off this feeling from tonight for as long as you need.

The demon dropped the angel off in Soho, and drove to his own flat in Mayfair, and left the Bentley in its usual parking spot. And he didn’t even notice the temperature change as he climbed out of the car and into the frozen air, because right now, every inch of him was warmed with pure and simple love.

[brookylnboy]

Pirates - Part One

Suggested by Nony (Thank you again dearie!)

Summary: Tom Hiddleston and female!reader work together on a Pirate movie (playing characters similar to Will and Elizabeth). While both of them have developed crushes on each other through filming, Tom is unsure about dating the reader due to the age gap and past exs. 

Tom Hiddleston x Female!reader

A/N: I’m excited to work on a multi part imagine again! Hope you guys enjoy! Also I wrote this with two hours of sleep and on a plane. 

"I didn't expect you to be so good at sword fighting darling," Tom said in character as the two of you rehearsed.

"I'm awfully found of pirates," you smirked going along and trying to figure out the right way to play the line as you focused on the movements making sure you seem calculated rather than completely rehearsed.

"Have a certain pirate in mind," Tom paused for a moment his amusement leaving him defenseless for a second and your character takes advantage of the slip. Holding the sword up to his heart the shirt lifting up with the tip, you gave him a glare.

"Even if I did, it wouldn't matter. Now why are you here?"

"Rescue you of course."

You let your face drop and Tom takes advantage of it getting away from the danger of your sword and dropping his in response. "Rescue me why?" You let the sword drop and cringed at the sound.

"Jane," you heard one of the crew members shout. Meanwhile, you stared at Tom.

"Under the bed." You had to practically shove Tom down. "I'm fine! Just clumsy."

"Are you sure darling?" You rolled your eyes before turning towards where you know the half opened door will be.

"I promise. Good night!" The crew member loudly walked away to emphasize the sound for you. Letting out a breath, you crouched down to see Tom. "You need to leave. Now."

"Not without you."

"Daniel, I'm getting married tomorrow."

"Tell me that you don't like me and I will go." You bit your lip trying to not make eye contract at Tom knowing that he is right.

He moved closer to you and lifted your chin up. "We always wanted to marry each other. Run away with me Jane."

You looked up at him conflicted before agreeing. "Okay."

"Perfect," the director yelled breaking the two of you up. "I think we are ready to film the scene after lunch. Wonderful work really. Go enjoy break before costumes and such."

"You are really good at sword fighting," Tom told you with a soft smile

"Well I am fond of pirates," you joked. "I learned when I took theatre classes when I was 16. Learned with both hands too." The two of you headed back to where your trailers were.

"What do you have planned?"

"Nothing. Why?"

"I was going to see if you wanted to do something."

"Like," you asked. You felt your heart pick up just as it did anytime Tom wanted to do something. 

You started to have a crush on him. It started after he started hanging out with you every chance he got. You could handle on set because you were professional and it was easier to control but watching movies, going out to eat, day trips around the city, and napping together did anything but help. Although, you enjoyed all the time you got to spend with him.

"I was gonna say watch that new show you wanted to watch but I know I will fall asleep and I'm sure you will as well."

"A nap sounds perfect." You offered him a smile. Your trailer came into sight and you quickened your pace Tom easily matching you with his long legs. He arrived first opening the door for you. "Pretty soon my body is gonna become used to a long midday nap." You stepped inside and grabbed your laptop

"And whats wrong with that." He closed the door behind him and stood there watching you walk. You could practically hear his eyebrow raising.

"I thought I could throw something on for us to watch in case we don’t sleep."

"You say that every time darling." He sat down on the couch grabbing the blanket from the back and draping it over himself. You quickly pulled up Netflix hitting a Disney movie and set it on the counter tilting the screen at the perfect angle. You’ve done it so much that you've perfected it.

Tom had his eyes closed as you slipped in beside him. "You better not be asleep."

He smiled not opening his eyes. "Not without you." Pulling you closer to him, you wrapped the blanket around you making sure that Tom still had enough.

It didn't take you or Tom long to fall asleep just like every other time.

"Aren't you two adorable," Evans said as he stood at the now open door. You groggily opened your eyes.

"What are you doing here?" You slipped off the couch making sure not to disturb Tom.

"I was told to get you to get ready for you scene." You followed him out of the trailer making sure to close the door softly. "So Tom finally told you. I told him he should. But honestly I don’t know how you didn’t realize it earlier."

"What are you talking about Evans?"

"Tom liking you."

Your shocked face made Evans realize that Tom didn't say anything. "Shit he didn’t tell you." You shook your head. "Don’t say anything. I prefer to be alive."

"I won't," you told him trying to process it.

"What," Evans asked soft. Having known you your entire life, he knew that you were thinking a little too hard about something.

"I like Tom."

"And you didn't tell me??"

"Oh yeah because that’s a great thing to share. I like my costar. Cause that doesn’t get awkward when you have make out scenes."

"Good point. But this is great! You like him. He likes you. You make out with him. He makes out with you. You-"

"I don’t wanna hear anymore Evans. Tom is obviously confused about this and I’m not going to do nothing about it and you ain’t either." You said repeating what you have since you were five to Evans. The two of you stopped walking.

"Okay sweetcheeks." You rolled your eyes at the nickname. "But I don’t think friends cuddle."

"We have."

"When we were kids with our siblings."

"But we did."

"Look, I’m only going to say this once. Tom doesn’t just spend all his time on set with a coworker. He only napped a handful of times with Hemsworth on set and that happened after knowing each other for five years not five weeks. I assume you have hung out more than I know so please think about talking to Tom. I can see that you like him more than you are letting on." You sighed before walking on, Evans following you. The trailer for makeup quickly came into view. "Go get beautified and I'll see you later."

You hurried over to it leaving Evans. Before opening the door you called back. "Alright poopy. Don’t mess up okay?"

"Oh fork you. That was one time."

"I’m sure its happened since," you shouted back before popping into trailer.

After makeup and costume, you went to set reading script along the way to refresh the lines. Once there, you spotted Tom.

"You left me."

"One of us has to spend lots of time in hair and makeup."

"I don’t know why darling. You're beautiful."

You felt heat rise to your cheeks ans prayed Tom didn’t notice. "Historical accuracy."

“Ah. Well, I guess that’s a good reason.”

“Are you two ready to go through the scene for the one take,” the director asked. The two of you nodded your head before getting into position. 

You hoped it turned out as well as it did in your head even as you slowly decided to join Tom. 

“We better hurry,” he said as you watched him closely. He grabbed your hand and hurried back through the open window and onto the ledge. You kept your eyes focused on him. “Jump down and I’ll be right behind you.” You could hear movement some distance away as Evans paced around slightly waiting to bug you again. “Go.” You just stood there. “Jane you really should-”

You leaned in and gave him a quick kiss before holding onto your dress and jumping the right now four feet down and crouched as you did to make it out of view. 

“Cut! Amazing guys. Two more takes and then we will do individual shots.” You got up and climbed back up with Tom offering a hand. 

“I thought it’s what Jane would do in the heat of the moment.”

“No need to explain darling.” 

After two more takes and a few more hours of shooting take after take and many different angles in case the one takes don’t pane out as well. Tom leaned towards you. “I’ll meet you in your trailer.”

You turned towards him surprised. “Okay?” You were both done filming for the day and you always went out or just went back to your hotel filming so you had no idea why Tom was meeting you in your trailer. 

Before he could respond, the director came over to talk about the filming for tomorrow and you were whisked away from Tom by Evans. 

Part Two 

[forkanna]

[AO3 LINK] [EF LINK]

NOTE: Trigger warning for racism. To be historically accurate, I should have used a certain word other than "negro" but I can't bring myself to type it.

This chapter and the ones following were hard enough to write as it was. Apologies to anyone who might feel offended or upset by parts of this chapter, but as I said, I was trying for historical accuracy, and sometimes that means writing awful, difficult, uncomfortable things.

Also, I was listening to American McGee's Alice soundtrack while writing these chapters. Seemed to fit.

They made sure to bring the Magic Picture down and have it hung in Ozma's chambers. That way, it would remain safe in the safest of rooms in the Palace, and be somewhere easy to view at anytime. Nessa had expressed a worry that it wouldn't function if removed, but that turned out to be groundless, for it continued shifting to show prairies and lakes and mountains all the way down the stairs and halls to its new home. A few times, it shifted to show someone they were speaking about during their idle conversations while moving it — including Ozma, and it was a strange sight indeed to see Ozma carrying a painting of herself, carrying a painting of herself, carrying a painting of herself, ad infinitum.

"You'd better come back to me," Glinda told her as they got ready for bed. Her eyes were drawn to the smooth green skin that she so often had to force herself not to caress. She didn't always succeed.

However, Elphaba was so uncomfortable going any further that she refrained. It had begun to worry Glinda. She knew things would function differently between two women, and she was past the point of worrying about it and ready to embrace finding out what those differences might be. But her sweet artichoke was not ready. To snuggle, and kiss, and occasionally caress, yes, but not to explore beyond those activities. She understood, even if it was a bit frustrating.

"I will, you worrywart," Elphaba sighed impatiently, tossing the dress onto the bureau and reaching for the nightgown. But before she could catch hold of it, two arms slid around her stomach. "Ooh… wh-what is it?"

Leaning her cheek against the bare back of the woman who had come to mean everything to her, Glinda urged, "You'd better." Then she kissed her shoulderblade. It only took a moment before Elphaba turned, and she kissed again, from collarbone up to neck. Fingertips were ghosting over her back through her own dress.

"Want some help with this?" Elphaba asked in such a soft tone that it was like a shower of eider down, caressing her cheeks as it fluttered past toward the ground.

"Yes. I do, so much…"

In no time, they had it off and resting next to Elphaba's. Her gaze was fixated on Glinda's as she reached for their nightgowns again, as if knowing she would be stopped. So when she was, it was not nearly as much of a surprise as the first time. Hands touched, eyes met. Stomachs brushed against each other as they began to slowly spin, wrapped up in each other so deeply that all else fell away.

"Elphie… do you ever regret… any of it?"

As was her way, she never spared Glinda's feelings. "Parts of it. But not this."

"You don't wish… Fiyero…?"

Even if it might have been a slight fib, Glinda couldn't pretend she wasn't pleased with Elphaba's response. A green thumb and forefinger pinched her chin, and a soft voice whispered, "Fiyero who?"

The next kiss lasted nearly twenty minutes. And led to many more, and a few other experiments besides. It certainly made her leave-taking that much more memorable.

                                        ~ o ~

"Make sure you remember her name is 'Dorothy Gale'," Nessa was fussing the following morning as Elphaba checked and rechecked her pack, making sure she had a few basic essentials. Mostly spare clothing, apples, some bread and cheese. They had found a few drab old dresses in one of the shops in town, which Elphaba was wearing now; they all remembered too well the hideous thing Dorothy had been wearing when she arrived, and the only slightly better one she had changed into for travelling. The Grimmerie most certainly couldn't be taken along, but Elphaba had a fair bit of it memorised already; that was her best line of defense.

"Yes, Mother."

"And that they might not have our level of magical understanding; a lot of really normal magical things seemed to shock her when she was here."

"Yes, Mother."

While Nessa was rolling her eyes and tutting at that, Ozma was sizing her and Glinda up. She had been helping prepare, of course, but was distracted during the work.

"Something's different."

"What's different?" Glinda asked innocently.

"You two. It's like you have this kind of… extra energy."

"Oh, don't be silly, Little Ozzie! We're just nervous about sending Elphie into another country, that's all."

"No… no, I don't think that's it." But she couldn't seem to quite place her finger on the real cause of the healthy glow in their skin. Glinda decided that the sooner they got Elphaba sent off through space and time, the less likely the virgin girl would be to catch on. All in all, she had to thank her lucky stars that their queen was so very young, and Nessa so very inexperienced despite her age.

"All set?" she asked Elphaba, as they exchanged a bemused glance when the others couldn't see.

"I am, Sugarsnap. Ready as I'll ever be."

Ozma rounded Glinda and embraced the taller witch, head falling to her shoulder. "Oh… I feel like such a bad ruler, letting you run off! Doesn't it make more sense to send a guard? N-not that their lives are worth less, but you just… these past months, I've really…"

Glinda had to giggle at how affectionate she was being. Once they had gently wafted away that brusque bravado Tippetarius had blown into the Emerald City with, there was such a sweet, caring, earnest girl underneath. If she and Elphaba ever had children, she wished for a dozen or more, and for them all to be exactly like Ozma.

"I'll be fine," Elphaba reassured her, pushing her back gently to arm's length. Nessa put a hand on her shoulder to help reassure. "It's no use sending a soldier to do a friend's job, and a friend's job is to look after other friends. Even ones who tried to kill her once bef-"

"Oh, enough, Fabala!" Nessa grumped. "Learn to let it go, or we'll all spend the rest of our lives sighing when you bring it up!"

The use of her childhood nickname was what silenced Elphaba, and it was a dirty tactic… that tended to work when coming from Nessarose. Glinda only got smacked for it, so she had ceased to try.

"Alright, Ozma," Glinda said in a voice of forced cheeriness. "Do the belt-thing! The sooner Elphie takes care of business, the sooner we can put all this behind us."

"Now, you remember the signs," Nessa said firmly. "If we look in on you this time tomorrow and see you holding up a hand, palm-out, we'll know you want us to wait. Otherwise, when the hour comes…"

Elphaba nodded. "Yes. You'll wish me back, I know. Alright… whenever you're ready."

As Ozma wrapped her fingers around the magic belt, Nessarose stepped to the Magic Picture and said, "Show me Dorothy."

This scene was no better than the one before. She wasn't reading, but curled up on the bed, no blanket to cover her. There was some small comfort in seeing her pink feet twitching against each other, for it meant she had found a way to prise loose the golden shoes, but that was more or less the only heartening aspect of the scene. The creature in the bed was forlorn and wasted, her gown a little grimy from not having been washed recently enough. Glinda could bear to look at it no longer, but she forced herself to do just that; this was their friend, the one who had helped defeat Morrible and oust Elphaba's father. And this was what had become of her. It was unjust and offensive to her Gillikin sensibilities.

"Alright," Ozma said, widening her stance. "Just now… I think you will see something interesting."

And they did. For this time, Ozma only screwed up her lovely emerald eyes and glared at the painting, as if it had made a jest about her weight. And with no more than that, no uttered word, Elphaba vanished from the real world, and appeared in the one comprised of tinted oils.

                                        ~ o ~

The first thought that came to Elphaba was that something felt wrong. If asked to explain what, she would have been unable to come up with it off the top of her head at that moment. However, if asked later, she would know she felt constricted somehow. Heavier, as if her bones were comprised of lead weights. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, but somehow, even though she didn't know why, she knew it was because of Kansas, not something within herself.

After a moment to try getting used to that sensation, she noticed Dorothy had not even stirred. It took a few seconds, during which she had begun to hesitantly walk toward her bed, before Dorothy even blinked. Another few steps, and her eyes found the visitor.

"Nnnn?"

"Hello," Elphaba whispered. Not that she fully understood why she was whispering; just an innate feeling that she should be that tingled up the base of her spine. "Dorothy… do you remember me?"

Her eyes drooped a little more. "Nnn… don't remember… any negro woman…"

Those words made no sense to Elphaba, but she had other matters that were of pressing importance. By now, she was standing by Dorothy's bedside, hitching a pained smile into place. Her roommate was always better at that sort of thing. "Glinda and Nessa and I, well, we've all been very worried about you."

"Glinda? Nessa?" Her eyes focused a little more, and she rolled her head so that she could look up at her. The sunken eyes and standing-out cheekbones were a lot easier to see from this angle. "Oh… is that you, Miss… Elphaba? Only you don't seem… the same… what are you doing here?"

"Trying to talk to my old friend, if you can believe that. Not that you're much for conversation. What in Oz is the matter with you?"

"Oh… that's the… medicine…" Her eyes flicked to a small metal cup on the floor near the bed; it reminded Elphaba of an overlarge thimble. "It makes me… tired, and not feel like… doing anything…"

The word 'medicine' certainly sharpened her focus. "Are you ill? Come now, what's happened to you since you got whisked back here?"

Her sunken eyes filled with sorrow, making her appear haunted. Perhaps she was. "It's… dreadful… but I don't… they've just given me another…" This time, she couldn't seem to get the word out because it was quite simply too difficult for her to voice. "Ooh…"

"That's alright," she hurried to reassure her, petting up and down her side through the dingy gown. "You don't have to come up with all the gory details. Just answer me this: are you happier here? Did you find what you wanted to find in Kansas?"

That only seemed to make matters worse. Tears swam in Dorothy's eyes, even if she couldn't quite articulate why. However, before Dorothy could find her voice again, the door to the room creaked open noisily, filling the air with the sounds of metal scraping.

"What are you doin' in here, girl?!"

Elphaba looked up at her, stomach tightening. It was a woman about twenty or more years her senior, if the wrinkles and bags under her eyes were any indicator. She knew she couldn't trust that people of Kansas aged quite the same as people of Oz. She was somewhat plump, and her messy brown hair was pulled into a taut bun at the base of her skull. Over her plain, pale blue dress was an apron, and in said apron's pocket bulged several small articles.

"Begging your pardon," Elphaba began hesitantly. This was a difficult situation; she didn't want to alarm the woman. "This girl seemed very upset, and I wanted-"

"Ain't your job to look to the patients' health, girl! That's for the doctors! You're only here to tidy! Now go on — git!" She shooed her hand toward the door, stepping to one side. Elphaba didn't much care for being spoken to as if she were no more than a pet, so she bristled as she stood.

"I haven't any right to ask how she's feeling?"

"You mind your place! Y'know, I told 'em — I told 'em we can't emancipate the coloureds and give 'em jobs, they just ain't trained for any such thing, and here I's right. Can't even think to mind y' own business. I'll have you out on your ear if I catch ya sittin' on a patient's bed again, y'hear? Now the sheets'll hafta be bleached!"

Now, she was far more incensed than she had been before. How dare this woman who spoke so bizarrely treat her, a complete stranger, as if she were some sort of unclean animal? But she didn't have much choice but to take it; if she riled up the locals too much, she wouldn't have a chance to ask Dorothy the question again and try to catch hold of an answer.

But there was something else she could do. Raising one hand, she chanted under her breath a little sleeping spell she knew; it was as likely to simply make the other woman yawn as to drop her to the floor, but it bore testing out.

Nothing happened.

"Whatta you mutterin' there?" Then the woman began to look vaguely panicked, swallowing hard, her double-chin bobbing up and down. "Don't you try that- that voodoo on me! Unchristian nonsense! Get on outta here, girl, g'wan!" She snapped her fingers and gestured swiftly at the door.

So Elphaba had no choice. It was either capitulate, or find herself in the kind of serious trouble that might have consequences for one or both of them. She muttered, "Yes, ma'am" and took her pack, heading for the door. The woman definitely eyed the pack with some suspicion, but didn't stop her; now she was too focused on Dorothy, on getting the unwilling girl to stand so she could strip the bedclothes off to be laundered.

What on Oz had she landed herself in?

Once out in the hall, she saw another woman with dark, smooth skin like that of some of the Vinkan regions, scrubbing the floor with a mop. She only hesitated a moment; it was much too important that she have answers than to worry about upsetting another local. Besides, now she might have a bit more success because she was more mentally prepared to meet one than before. She walked up to her and kept her voice low, for fear of incurring the plump matron's wrath.

"Excuse me, I'm afraid I'm a little lost," she whispered. "I thought this was…" What excuse could she make? "I thought this was the apothecary."

"Apothewhaaa?" the woman asked back, eyes widening and eyebrows shooting up. "Lord, I ain't never heard o' nothin' like that, miss!"

"My mistake. Then… where might I be now? If not there."

The woman stood back and whistled low. "You talk mighty fine. One o' them educated coloureds what the Union likes to brag about. Ain't expected of us, don't have to put on airs 'round me none."

The way this woman spoke confused Elphaba as much as the other woman. Did everyone from Kansas jumble up their words in such a strange fashion? Dorothy had as well, to a lesser degree, but the longer she had spent with Glinda and Elphaba, she had seemed to lose that strange tendency to let her tongue wander. Shaking the thoughts free of her mind, she put her pack down and sighed.

"Nevermind my diction, friend. What's your name?"

"Angeline, miss. An' yours?"

"Elphaba." Another whistle, and a slight chuckle. "Something funny about that?"

"We ain't supposed to carry on with those old names! Not that I heard that one before. Y' mama musta been stubborn, or proud on account of bein' a free negro. But fine, fine, I like the sound of it. 'Elphaba'... mmm-mm. Like a cousin o' mine, named Phoebe."

Feeling distinctly confused by whole concepts within that response, she then repeated, "Where am I, Angeline? I wouldn't wish to upset anyone if I'm in the wrong place."

"Why, Topeka Insane Asylum, Miss Elphaba. Ain't you seen the sign above the door when you came in?" Then she looked a little suspicions, shrewdly squinting at her. "Y' did come in the front door… right?"

"I didn't notice any sign," she said truthfully. Simply leaving out the part that she hadn't used any door, either. "My apologies. Did you say… an asylum for the insane?"

"Yes'm. All kind that ain't right in the head here. Some worse than others."

"What about that girl whose room I came from just now? She seemed… tired more than anything."

Her eyes lowered to her mop handle in regret. The kind of vague regret a person holds for a total stranger in a dire situation, but whose life doesn't affect their own. "Shame, that girl… runnin' her mouth all the time about flyin' brooms an' houses, talkin' lions, an' I don't know what else. Been through the talkin' cure, and put her on medicine to keep her all calm-like. An'..."

The specific way Angeline went quiet told Elphaba something worse had happened. It was obvious as anything could be, but she was trying to do a good job of pretending it didn't affect her. She suspected the woman spent a lot of effort pretending the goings on within the asylum were not, in fact, going on.

"Angeline…" Maybe she shouldn't, but she reached out and laid a hand on the woman's shoulder. "I can't stand idly by while an innocent girl is hurt."

"What's it matter t' us? Some white girl sees crazy things. Maybe… maybe it really will help her…" Those words, she definitely didn't believe, even as they were coming out of her own mouth.

"What will?"

"The shocks." She swallowed hard, her multiple braids bouncing as her head swung back toward the door, then she leaned in to whisper to Elphaba, "Y'ain't heard none o' this from me. But they beat her, miss. Not too bad, not like a man come home from a bash, but I seen the bruises. Talkin' doctor couldn't make her see sense on his own, an' musta tried to beat the crazy outta her. Slapped her once or twice, I reckon. Blacked her eye. Then… they went on with 'lectricity. Been tryin' to use that over in Europe, I hear tell, and this fancy talkin'-doctor said to try it on li'l Miss Dorothy. Ain't right, I think, but… I ain't get paid to speak my mind. Lucky to have work with pay, now, ain't I?"

A long moment of pure horror kept Elphaba from answering. An insane asylum. They didn't have such things in Oz, but they did have the occasional person who was too mentally unstable to be allowed to live amongst the other citizens. Their usual method of treatment was isolation, and to have a doctor check in on them and speak with them at length. Hopefully untangle the knots within their mind. It sounded like they had tried that with Dorothy, as well, and had not been satisfied with the results. The beating was horrendous enough; she wasn't sure she wanted to know what 'shocks' meant precisely. The worst part was…

It was all their fault. If Angeline was right in her assessment, or in what she had overheard at any rate, the reason they locked Dorothy up and tried to "treat" her was because she had mentioned the many things she saw in Oz. Though she had often remarked that they didn't have talking lions, or a good portion of other wonders she marvelled at that Elphaba thought mundane, she'd never given any thought to what the reverse meant. That Kansas was a place without such wonders, and speaking about them would be perceived as madness.

"How… how many times?" she croaked.

"Only once, so far. Ain't heard if they plan for more; she still a little shook up from the first time. Poor girl."

"Listen," she went on in a whisper, eyes pleading. "I've got to have time to speak with Dorothy. At least a few minutes. Is there any way you could help me arrange that?"

The woman's eyes squinted again. "You some reporter? I ain't never seen one of us workin' for the papers. Then again, you pretty light-skinned; some kinda poster child for education." Still, she let that line of questioning go easily enough, gaze sweeping the corridor. "Come back at nine, miss. They ain't check the patients again 'til come up on ten. An hour enough?"

"Bless you," she whispered urgently, squeezing her shoulders and making the woman laugh at her again.

"You're the craziest one here, I reckon. Stickin' a negro nose in where it don't belong. But…" Her eyes softened slightly. "I also reckon you the only one who might care what happens to that poor girl. Lord wouldn't have me ignorin' that, would He?"

"Daresay he wouldn't," she agreed, even though she wasn't sure what Angeline meant. But she'd often heard Dorothy mention "the Lord", so she supposed he must be in some position similar to that of Wizard or King. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me for nothin'. 'Cause I ain't told you nothin'… remember?" She tapped the side of her nose before going back to mopping. Elphaba wasn't sure what the gesture was supposed to mean, but regardless had figured out that the entire discussion, officially, never took place.

Not knowing what else to do with herself until she could speak with Dorothy again, Elphaba found the nearest washrooms and went inside, staring at her face for a few seconds. It took that long for the reality of the situation to fully register.

Her skin wasn't green.

A few of the comments Angeline had issued made more sense now; her skin was a brownish tint, though not so deep as her new acquaintance's. It took her fully five minutes to remember why she was there and what she was doing, so distracted was she by the sight. Oh, how many times she had wished her green away! It was a dream come true!

"I'm beautiful," she breathed as she gazed into the mirror at the chestnut skin, fingers probing her cheek gently, watching the skin dimple and flex. Proving to herself that this was real. Of course, there were still a dozen minor things about her face and her body that she would change if given the chance, and she was vaguely worried about how she had lost her verdant hue… but in that moment, none of those mattered. She was finally degreenified. Free!

Then she shook herself from this vain lapse in judgment to refocus on the task at hand. There would be plenty of time to indulge in that later. She glanced into her pack as she thought furiously about what her next move would be. It occurred to her at some point that she had no idea what time it was, so she couldn't exactly know when nine should strike… so she had to venture out into the hallways prematurely.

Except the moment she did, she had another grand surprise awaiting her. In light of that, she was starting to think she may have had her fill of surprises for a good while.

"Oh my- HELP!" screamed some young woman in a white outfit, wearing what Elphaba could only think of as an entirely stupid hat that served no aesthetic or functional purpose. "Th' toilets… a coloured girl-!"

After a second or two, she noticed more murmuring around her. This wasn't going well. Even though she couldn't understand what had happened, or why some of the gathering staff and patients looked highly affronted, she flashed them a pained, embarrassed smile and pushed through the crowd. Belatedly, she heard a few men shouting the words 'whites only', and that they should follow her-

But she had already taken up refuge in a closet. Elphaba had seen plenty of unruly mobs before, due to her two-year stint as Wicked Witch of the West; she knew what the forming of one was like, the shape it took before evolving to a higher form of ugliness. Much better to spend an uncomfortable stretch of time sitting on a stack of dirty old rags than to have to run for that entire time, instead. Footsteps sped past, but none of them ever so much as hesitated in front of the closet door.

"What in Oz was that supposed to mean?" she muttered to herself once the commotion had died down. "What are 'whites only'? Was that a laundry room? Imagine, having a laundry room for each different colour of clothing. How pointless! People in Kansas know how to squander their resources."

As she gazed down at her blue dress — apparently the 'wrong' dress — she tried to recall if she had seen what time it was. She hadn't. Then she remembered something else that had been bothering her.

She had no magic. Of course, now she knew what the strange sensation she had been feeling when she first entered the world of Kansas was: her power leaving her. Or perhaps it was being suppressed? Either way, there was something about this country that separated her from the magic that she had so long enjoyed. Even before enjoying it, she had thought it a burden, but it had been a part of her. For the first time in her life, it was a part cut off entirely. Permanently, or temporarily? That terrified her even more.

But either way, she had a job to do or she'd never get out of Kansas. When all was quiet, she slipped back out into the hallway and took a few steps; there was no sign of the mob. A little further along, she spotted another such room that said "COLOREDS", so she nipped into there.

The difference was striking. It was an indoor toilet, as she had thought the first was until all the laundry talk took place. But this one was more rudimentary. A lot of the surfaces were made of old wood, and the floors were dingy and unpolished. And the commodes themselves looked distinctly less comfortable.

"Now I'm glad I don't have to go," she muttered to herself.

"OH!" gasped another woman as she entered, clutching at her heart. "My goodness, you- why…" Then she squinted. "You new here? Ain't seen you around before."

"Elphaba," she said shortly. "Do you have the time?"

"Time for what? Oh-" She smiled when she caught the meaning before needing Elphaba to explain. "Yes'm, it's… well, it'll be half past eight now."

"Thank you," she sighed, turning to enter one of the toilets. She didn't have to use it, but figured it was easier than engaging in a full conversation with a total stranger. Those had varying levels of success thus far.

As she listened to the other woman washing her hands, perched on the closed lid of the commode with her elbows resting on her knees and chin resting on her clasped fists, she tried to make sense of what she had been seeing. People being angry about laundry, which was done in toilets. Lack of magic. An entire building purely for those who were mentally infirm, and one that seemed to believe they were fragile as glass if the padding on the walls and ceiling were any indication. And for some reason, she had this sense that she wasn't welcome by some people. Whatever the division was, maybe it had something to do with her clothing.

Some time later, she heard another person enter the washroom. It had been roughly the right amount of waiting around. Stepping free, she again asked for the time, and found it to be just a few minutes after nine, so she nodded to herself, took up her pack, stopped to briefly drink from a water fountain, and again forged her way down the darkened halls to Dorothy's room.

It was locked.

"Curse this infernal place," she muttered, jiggling the handle. The door was reinforced with metal of some kind, so she knew she wouldn't be able to break it down. This was going to put a serious crimp in her plans!

Then she heard a tinkling on the floor next to her. A key. Big, ugly, and rusted, but it looked like it might fit the lock. By the time she looked over, Angeline was already pushing her mop further down the hallway, barely even glancing over her shoulder to make sure Elphaba had noticed. And that was all. She had to wonder just how connected this member of janitorial staff really was if she had such an easy time coming up with keys to locked doors… but now was not the time.

Once the key was in the lock, it rasped loudly as it turned, and Elphaba cringed. But at that moment, Angeline was the only one in the hall, so she quickly slipped inside and shut it behind herself. All she could hope was that no one came to investigate.

Dorothy was basically exactly as she had left her, except facing the other way. Even having their attention forcibly drawn to her, the so-called caretakers hadn't thought to change her gown yet. Didn't they bathe the patients? Didn't they care about them at all? This time, Elphaba crossed the room and crouched on the other side so that she could look into her face — and perhaps duck out of sight if anyone came to check on her. It was a vain hope, given that there was practically nothing to hide behind, but if someone were rather careless, they might miss the second person in the room.

"Dorothy."

It only took a moment for her unfocused eyes to flutter open. Then she smiled. "Miss Elphaba. It was you… I didn't dream… the whole thing."

"Can you speak to me?"

"A little better today, I reckon. On account of…" Her hand opened, showing that there was a large white oval in her palm. It looked as if it had been partially dissolved. "Spat it out when the… old hag left… more ornery than a goat."

"You haven't taken your medicine? Won't you get worse if you don't take it?"

Dorothy frowned across at her, swallowing thickly. Her breaths were slow and laboured. "Nothin'... wrong with me, Elphaba. They think… 'cause I wasn't very bright and told them all about Oz… that I'm… that I lost my marbles. Don't know why I… wasn't very bright… almost believed 'em, that I was crazy, but… I know you was no hallucination, or whatever they… say you were."

It was clear to her now that she had been right about the reasoning behind Dorothy's incarceration in this institute of insanity. She only hoped Angeline had been wrong about her treatments. A vain hope, perhaps, but she didn't want to think about something so ghastly befalling her young friend.

"Are you happy here?" she asked bluntly as she took what was left of the pill and stuck it in her bodice to hide the evidence. It was best to ask the question immediately.

"Am I…?" Her face screwed up as if she might cry, though she was too weary to manage the feat. "Oh… I don't believe I am… m-my Aunt and Uncle, they came and got me… once they heard tell I turned up again. Only they didn't think I was in my right mind, they… looked at me like… I wasn't kin to them anymore, sent me away… and nobody here'll believe me, Elphaba…"

"I believe you," she told her earnestly, without any hesitation. Not since she heard of the plight of the Animals had she felt so strongly about something. "I have an important question for you, Dorothy. Please try to focus. I know, after what they did to you…"

She couldn't finish, but Dorothy didn't need her to. "Go on, ask me."

"Do you want to come back to Oz?"

Her eyes leaking, she whispered, "I would. Ain't any point in staying here anymore, is there?"

Elphaba caressed over her hair. It was matted and dirty, and not braided as Dorothy would usually have it fashioned. More than ever, she felt protective of the child in a way she never thought possible after the way they had met.

"Then that's where we'll go." Glancing at the door again, she leaned in to kiss Dorothy's forehead, and she heard the girl sigh, saw her smiling weakly when she sat back. "It won't be until tomorrow. For now, just… keep quiet, remain here and try not to worry so m-"

The door burst open. There was the annoying matron again, looking flustered and carrying a dressing gown. Elphaba did duck down, and at first it seemed to work.

"Dorothy, turn around. I plum forgot 'bout your dress. Change out of that for me an' y'can have a clean one. Hurry up, now."

"Nnnhhh," Dorothy feigned. It was a pretty good feigned groan for a novice actor.

"Nuh-uh, none o' your sass, now. Up we get, li'l missy."

Hiding beneath the bed, but not directly beneath it so that the matron wouldn't catch sight of her underneath, Elphaba watched as her feet swung off the bed and sank into the padded flooring. There was shifting of cloth, and the view of her legs was partly obscured by the dirty gown being draped over the bed. Dorothy made a ghastly noise a second later.

"Ohhh, look at that there. Have ta change your bloomers, too. Bad little mutt."

"I… didn't… can't stop that from happening… the m… medicine…" She feigned her own droning way of speaking when medicated quite well, also.

"Sit, girl. Be right back, doncha put on that gown yet!" Sighing as if put upon, the woman spun and headed straight for the door, slipping out and into the corridor.

"Elphaba!" Dorothy hissed a moment later. When she poked her head up and over the bed, she saw Dorothy's soft back dotted with a few freckles and moles, the hair falling around her shoulders, but she wasn't moving.

"Should I make good my retreat?"

"Surely would be smart," she went on softly. " I… w-well, I bought you some time to get out. She'll be mad as hops if you're still here when she gets back! S-so go now. I'll see you soon?"

Elphaba curled her lip. She hated to think of Dorothy having to do something so repugnant as dirtying her undergarment on purpose to help her flee, but she knew if she was caught, they might attack — and though she was rather strong, she had no spells to ensure her survival. So only stopping to kiss the top of the girl's head, she sprinted for the door.

And bowled over the matron. It seemed she had been quicker about retrieving a clean pair of bloomers for Dorothy than either of them had hoped she would be. The only good thing was that she really did knock her all the way to the ground, so she could rush off in another direction.

"STOP HER!" the woman was screaming behind her as she tried to find an exit. She first spotted the toilets she hadn't been allowed in before, and tossed the key in through there so it wouldn't be missed. Then she pelted around in the direction she hoped would lead to the entrance-

And into the waiting arms of two large men who were only too ready to capture the offender. Of course, running hadn't helped her case any.

"Let me go!" she snapped at them. And they laughed. They laughed as she struggled, and as they hauled her into a room. She clawed and bit, but they were a little too familiar with the procedures for holding down patients to fall for any of that.

And then she felt a cloth being pressed into her mouth. Before she could demand to know why, she was already losing consciousness.

                                        To Be Continued…