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fickle-tiction · 10 months

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For Old Time’s Sake

“Ladies and Gentleman, I think Batman might be down for the count.” Clark was pretending to hold a microphone up to his mouth and speaking into it like he was an announcer. “Ohhhh! Nope! He’s up! That is going to hurt tomorrow.”

The corner of Bruce’s mouth pulls up into a smile at Clark’s antics as he circles Diana on the sparring mat. He dodges left as she makes a grab for him, grabbing her arm and using her own momentum to flip her over his back.

“And down goes Wonder Woman!”

Bruce drapes his body over Diana’s to try and pin her down, but she quickly reverses their positions and has Bruce in an armbar before he can even blink.

“I thought we said no powers.” Bruce grunts, trying to free his arm to no avail.

“I can’t help that I’m stronger than you.”

Bruce lets out a growl, but he doesn’t deny it. Instead, he uses every bit of training he can remember and slips out of Diana’s hold. He springs to his feet and is about to execute a flying kick when a voice catches him off guard and has him freezing in his tracks.

“You’re getting slow, old man.”

Bruce whirls around to see his second oldest son standing at the edge of the mat, arms folded across his chest as he watches the match.

“Jason?” Bruce asks before a strong pair of thighs wrap around his neck and slam him down onto the mat. Bruce wheezes as the wind is knocked out of him and doesn’t bother fighting the hold. He merely taps Diana’s thigh twice in quick succession and she releases him.

“Wonder Woman wins again! And the crowd goes wild! Ahhhhhhh!”

“Is everything okay?” Bruce asks, eyes on his son even as he accepts Diana’s hand up.

“Alfred said you were down here training.” That didn’t explain why he was at the house in the first place, but Bruce wasn’t going to push. “I couldn’t pass up the chance to see you get your ass kicked. I had no idea Wonder Woman would be here.” Jason barreled straight past Bruce to get to Diana, a charming smile on his face that Bruce couldn’t remember ever seeing. “It’s so great to meet you. I’m Jason.”

Diana let out a soft gasp of delight as she shook hands with Bruce’s son. “Diana. We have heard so much about you. It is wonderful to finally meet you!”

“Hey Jason, I’m Clark.” Clark also shook hands with Bruce’s son, reveling in this rare glimpse into their friend's personal life.

“I can’t believe you’re friends with Wonder Woman and Superman.” Jason directed at Bruce. “Seriously, why do you guys hang out with him?” This last bit was naturally directed at Clark and Diana.

Clark barked out a surprised laugh. “For his winning personality.” Bruce scowled, and Clark nodded in his direction with a grin. “Obviously.”

Jason snorted and Diana tsk’d, swatting at Clark’s arm even though she was clearly trying not to laugh too.

“Okay.” Bruce said loudly, clapping his hands together to capture everyone’s attention. “The three of you meeting is a terrible idea.” Clark and Diana’s favorite pastime seemed to be teasing Bruce, and them teaming up with Jason was just asking for trouble. It would be best to kick Clark and Diana out and herd Jason upstairs for tea with Alfred. “Break it up. Everyone out.”

Jason gasps, clutching his chest, and Bruce’s attention is once again zeroed in on him. “You’d kick out your own son?” Bruce’s brain temporarily goes offline when Jason says the S word, despite his teasing tone.

“I---” Bruce may be a man of few words, but he is never at a loss for words. Until now. He knows Jason is just teasing him, but things are still so rocky between the two of them and he’s always afraid of overstepping and scaring Jason off.

“Of course not.” Clark says forcefully, clapping a hand on both Bruce and Jason’s shoulders. Clark didn’t know Bruce especially well, but he did know that he wasn’t the best at expressing himself and he clearly didn’t mean he was going to kick Jason out. He probably just wanted some alone time with what was clearly a surprise visit from his son. Bruce kept his personal life close to his chest; Clark and Diana were surprised he even invited them to the cave to spar in the first place. “We were just finishing up here. You two go catch up. We can show ourselves out.”

“And miss me wiping the floor with him?” Jason’s grin is cocky but his posture is stiff, as though he’s afraid Bruce might really kick him out...or that Clark and Diana might leave him alone with Bruce. “That is, if you’re up for it Old Man.”

Bruce resists the urge to call for Alfred to check his blood for traces of toxins; even though this clearly must be some kind of hallucination. Jason is here. In the cave. And he wants to spend time with him. (Sure, by “Spend time with him” he means spar with him and inflict damage on him, but he would take what he could get.) This must be a new strain of Scarecrow’s toxin.

Bruce mentally shakes those thoughts off, knowing he’s being paranoid and that he is in real danger of chasing his son away with his paranoid thought process. “You really think you can take me?” He asks, mimicking Jason’s cocky smirk and throwing in a raised eyebrow.

“I’m not a skinny 15 year old anymore.” Bruce buried down the burning guilt that rose at those words. He knew Jason wasn’t trying to taunt him, and was just making friendly trash talk. Those were his own issues to deal with, and he would bury them until he had time to sort them out. Preferably in 20-30 years when he was a crazy old man wandering around the manor alone and could properly express his emotions.

“First one to tap out wins?” Bruce suggested.

“You’re on.”

They shake hands in the middle of the mat; Diana and Clark cleared off to the edges at some point in their exchange but Bruce couldn’t spare them more than a passing thought. Someone went “Ding ding ding” and then Jason was lunging at him.

“What the hell have you been eating?” Bruce grunted, rolling out from under Jason’s bulk and pressing a knee into the small of his back to try and keep him down.

Jason’s only response was a snort of laughter. He managed to get his arms under himself and surged up, sending Bruce toppling off his back. Bruce popped up before Jason had a chance to pin him down, and Jason had to throw himself out of the way of the foot that came flying at his stomach.

They danced around each other for the next few minutes, each throwing the occasional punch or kick. Clark kept up a constant stream of narration and Diana alternated who she was rooting for seemingly at random. Bruce couldn’t wipe the smile off of his face as he ducked and weaved.

“What was that move you used to do all the time?” Jason asked, ducking the fist that came flying at his face as soon as he finished speaking.

“Elaborate.” Bruce did a back flip to avoid Jason’s attempt at grabbing him.

“You know the one.” Jason’s tone should have been setting off warning bells, but Bruce was too busy trying to avoid being tackled to the ground by 250 pounds of solid muscle to pick up on it. “What if the mugger has a knife?” He asked in a passable imitation of Bruce’s Batman Growl.

Bruce’s eyes went wide and he just barely managed to dance out of Jason’s reach at the last possible second. “Jason.”

“Batman is bringing out the Dad Voice. Something serious is about to go down people.”

“You have to be prepared for anything, B.” And then Jason got his arms around him and Bruce’s life flashed before his eyes.

Okay. Maybe Clark and Diana were onto something when they called Bruce a Drama Queen.

“You’re dead.” Jason growls, jamming his fingers into Bruce’s ribs and wiggling them wildly. Bruce clamps his mouth shut, focusing all of his energy on trying to escape from what is essentially a bear hug from his hulk of a son.

“J-Jay.” He grits out, breathing heavy through his nose when Jason starts pinching around the spot where his abs faded into his sides. His whole body jolting when strong fingers start prodding at taut muscles.

“Come on Big Bird, if you can’t escape this how will you defend against the real thing?” Jason taunted, pinching up and down Bruce’s muscled sides.

“No way.” Clark breathed, the sound completely drowned out by the laugh being ripped out of Bruce’s lungs.

“Sh-hihihihi-it!” The dam breaks when Jason’s fingers find the sweet spot at the bottom of Bruce’s ribs. “Not-not there!” Bruce laughs, trying to curl his body forward. Jason’s arms crisscrossed over his chest don’t let him go anywhere, so Bruce does the next best thing his tickle-rattled brain can think of. He throws all of his considerable weight backwards, knocking Jason off-balance and sending the two of them crashing to the mats.

Bruce wastes no time catching his breath, flipping around and pinning Jason to the mat. “Oh-ho.” Bruce laughs at the alarmed look in Jason’s eyes. “You’re in for it now.”

“Who is this man, and what has he done with Bruce?” Clark whispers to Diana, neither of their eyes leaving the pair struggling on the sparing mat. Bruce looks ten years younger with the blinding smile stretched across his face as he taunts Jason. He let’s one of Jason’s hands go so he can burry his fingers into Jason’s armpit, sending the younger man into a fit of laughter, which is quickly joined by Bruce’s own laughter when Jason latches onto his side and starts squeezing.

“Jay, tag me in.” Clark Kent’s bare feet come into view, and Bruce abruptly stops his attack. He slowly looks up with wide eyes to see Clark’s cocky smirk as he holds out a hand for Jason to slap.

“Since when is this a tag team match?” Bruce knows running won’t do him any good, but he can’t help but glance around for an escape plan. He grabs Jason’s hand that was trying to sneak back to his stomach, pinning it back down to the mat.

“Since Jason was kind enough to show us a new side of you.” Diana purred into his ear and Bruce just barely refrained from jumping out of his skin as she dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around his middle.

“This is not how tag team matches work.” Bruce protests as Jason bucks up to remind him that he’s still being pinned down. Bruce looks down at his smirking son, and his mouth quirks up into a lopsided smile against his will. “Is this why you stopped by?” He asked, amusement bleeding into his tone despite the danger he’s in.

“Alfred said you’ve been down lately.” Jason shrugged, not quite meeting Bruce’s eyes. “I told him that’s just your personality,” Clark snorted at that. “but he promised me a batch of cookies if I came. Said he’d throw in some brownies if I could get you to smile.”

“And it appears the apple did not fall far from the tree, Master Bruce.” All 4 heads swiveled to see Alfred watching from the bottom of the staircase, a fond smile on his face. Bruce scowled at his butler, not missing the hastily concealed phone that meant he probably snapped a few pictures before making his presence known. “Master Jason heard you were training and said he’d like to “take a crack at you” for old time’s sake.”

“Wait, you really used to tickle him when you were sparing?” Clark asked, disbelief clear in his voice. He wouldn’t have believed that ten minutes ago, but after seeing how comfortable Bruce was with fingers trying to burrow their way into his muscles a minute ago he was starting to reevaluate the “no touching” signals Bruce threw off.

“He was 15!” Bruce said, as though that made any difference. “I wasn’t going to punch a child!” Did they think he was some kind of monster? Sure, he could pull his punches, but he wasn’t willing to risk slipping and giving his son a black eye.

Diana snorted. “You really are a big softy.” She cooed, squeezing him around the middle in a precursor for what was to come.

“Can we wreck him now?” Clark asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Are you asking my permission?” Jason laughed. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m the victim here.” He rotated his pinned down wrists for emphasis.

“You started this.” Bruce protested, narrowing his eyes at the smirking man beneath him.

“You started this 15 years ago. I’m just finally getting around to getting my revenge.”

“I am a grown man.” Bruce protested, as though that would change anything.

“Yes, but you have the emotional intelligence of a child.” Clark laughed again, and Jason looked pleased with himself.

“I like him.” Diana laughed, breath tickling the shell of Bruce’s ear.

“If I may,” Alfred spoke up again, immune to the death glare Bruce was sending his way. “I seem to recall Master Bruce griping about Master Kent’s habit of squeezing his thighs whenever he gets up from a seat.” Bruce goes entirely still, cursing the warm feeling creeping into his cheeks. “I believe the phrase he used was “It makes me want to crawl out of my skin, Alfred.” “

“I am not going to forget this.” Bruce growls, glaring daggers at his friend-turned-enemy.

“Just as I haven’t forgotten a little boy shrieking in delight as he begged his father to send the tickle monster after him.”

You could cook an egg on Bruce’s face, it was so hot. Jason was cackling beneath him, Clark was clearly trying to hide his laughter behind his hand, and Diana gasped softly into his ear.

“I was four.” Bruce murmured, blush racing down his neck and settling across his chest.

“That is the cutest thing I have ever heard.” Diana’s laugh managed to not sound mocking, but Bruce still bristled at being called cute.

“I was four.” He reiterated, a quick intake of air cutting off any further protests when Diana unceremoniously latched onto his upper ribs and started tickling with abandon.

Bruce had just enough presence of mind to not go crashing down onto Jason, instead trying to roll sideways as his arms turned to jelly and hoarse laughter was ripped from his throat. Clark wasted no time in joining in, strong fingers latching onto the muscle of Bruce’s thigh and squeezing them at random.

“Fucking he-hehehe-hell!” Bruce gasped, laughter pouring out of him unbidden as he tried to curl into a ball on his side. Diana and Clark were hovering over him, boxing him in so he couldn’t escape, but not cheating and holding him down so he at least had a chance at fighting back. Bruce kicked out at Diana when she slipped a hand under his shirt to tickle at the bare skin of his stomach. His foot connected with something and he had a second of triumph, before he squealed.

“Ooooh I think I’ve found a good spot.” Diana was holding his ankle in a steel grip while she dragged her nails across his bare sole, drawing swirling shapes into the vulnerable skin and driving Bruce wild.

“Dickhead is going to love this.” Jason laughed. Bruce cracked his eyes open, prepared for Jason to join in the fray, but shook his head when he saw his son recording the whole thing on his phone.

“Jason.” Bruce managed to get out, once Diana released his foot and let him regain some of his sanity. “Don’t you da-ha-dare!” He reached for the phone, but Jason just buried his free hand in Bruce’s armpit and sent him collapsing back to the mat with a bark of laughter.

“I think justice has been served.” Diana said, after another minute of tickling around and behind Bruce’s bare knees where his shorts had ridden up. Bruce’s face was flushed a healthy shade of pink, and his chest was heaving as he hugged himself around his stomach and shook with laughter, rolling side to side in an attempt to shake their hands off.

Jason’s phone disappeared from view, and Bruce rolled onto his stomach and pillowed his head in his arms as he caught his breath, trying to tamp down on the residual laughter still running through him.

“You know,” Bruce looked up at Clark’s teasing tone. “You could have asked us to stop earlier.”

“I did!” Bruce protested, pushing himself into a sitting position to glare at Diana’s tittering laugh.

“You did not.”

“Let’s watch the video playback, shall we?” Jason was gloating, wagging his phone over Bruce’s head. Bruce lunged for it, snatching it away and springing to his feet. “HEY!” Jason yelped, trying to grab it back as Bruce danced out of his reach, using one hand to open up the camera app so he could delete the video

Before he could get to it a facetime call popped up, Dick’s excited face plastered across the screen. “You didn’t.” Bruce groaned, letting Jason snatch the phone back and answer the call.

“Bruce is ticklish!?” Dick’s voice rang out, skipping right over the greetings to get to the important stuff.

“Yes!” Jason crowed, spinning so his back was to the 3 heroes and he could get them all in frame. “Old man’s been holding out on us all these years.”

“I can’t believe this!”

“Wait. They never got you back?” Clark asked, sidling up next to Bruce, who was clearly trying to scowl at the phone but he couldn’t wipe the lopsided smile from his face.

“Nope. I kept that secret for almost 20 years.” Bruce said, shaking his head with a self depreciating laugh.

“You know this changes everything, right?” Diana asks, slipping her arms around Bruce’s waist and resting her chin on his shoulder.

The muscles in Bruce’s jaw twitches as he clenches his teeth in thought, leaning back against her chest. “Do....do you two want things to change?” He asks, sounding hesitant even to his own ears.

“Only if you do.” Clark says, standing in front of Bruce and blocking them from the view of Jason’s facetime call. Jason seemed to have forgotten about them anyway, caught up in his excited planning with Dick. He almost felt bad for what was to come for Bruce, but he knew he could handle it.

Bruce is quiet for a few seconds, painfully aware that both Clark and Diana could hear his heart hammering away in his chest. He licks his suddenly dry lips as he searches for something in Clark’s gaze. He must find whatever it is he’s looking for, because he nods once. “I...would like that.”

“Wow.” Jason says, appearing at Clark’s elbow. “That almost sounded like a human emotion.”

“Out.” Bruce growls. “Now.”

“Geez.” Jason mutters, hands raised in front of himself in surrender. “Touchy touchy.” He mutters, but scrambles backwards when Clark turns to stare at him.

“Do you really want to stick around and see what’s about to happen?” Clark asked, eyebrow cocked.

Bruce sputters a laugh at Jason’s disgusted expression. He hightails it for the stairs, noticing for the first time that Alfred already took the hint and made himself sparse.

“Now,” Clark turns back to Bruce and Diana, a soft smile playing around his lips. “Where were we?”

“Right...about...here.” Diana says, dotting a soft line of kisses down the left side of Bruce’s neck. Bruce whimpered, lips squeezed shut as he tried in vein not to move. “You can move, Bruce.” Diana whispered into the skin of his neck. “That’s part of the fun.”

Bruce gasped, jerking to the side to escape the soft lips dragging over the delicate skin. Clark seized his opportunity to box him in, his lips latching onto the right side of his neck. He slowly made his way up towards Bruce’s ear, while Diana began her slow trek down to his collarbones. Bruce let out a mix between a groan and a whimper, going boneless between them as he felt a new level of pleasure previously unknown to him. He didn’t know if he was going to make it through this night, but what a way to go.

#BUGS SAID THE CHEESY ENDING WAS OKAY SO BLAME HER IF IT MAKES YOU CRINGE #tickling fanfiction #ticklish!batman #ticklish!brucewayne #ticklish!bruce wayne #superwonderbat #jason todd #Diana Prince #clark kent #alfred is the best traitor a guy could ask for

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aletterinthenameofsanity · 2 months

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Y'know I find it incredibly ironic that in my Chronicles of Narnia fic series, an interesting inversion in fate (and character development) finds the most rebellious among the most devoted to restoring Aslan’s kingdom, while the most faithful fell the furthest. Edmund turns back at the tree and becomes a king of Narnia alongside Caspian, helping guide it into a new golden age and earning the title of the Once and Future King, while Lucy literally becomes an eldritch goddess and is implied to have straight up killed Aslan at some point. Edmund gets his redemption arc and then some, becoming one of the greatest kings in Narnian history, securing the legacy of Aslan, while Lucy, the most faithful, falls further than even Lucifer and ends up usurping God himself, not because she desires power, but because she sees the way that Aslan uses it as unjust.

And yet...both of them are doing this for the same reason. To be a champion of the downtrodden. To correct injustice. To secure themselves and their own kingdoms so that it can never be stolen from them again.

Gotta love some foils/parallels!

#chronicles of narnia #edmund pevensie #lucy pevensie #hey anyone read “long and happy was their reign?”#or “even a traitor may mend?”#casmund #prince caspian #no i did not stutter #i said that lucy pevensie became an eldritch goddess #what's there not to get?#aslan #my fics #aletterinthenameofsanity #fanfic #ao3 #meta #listen it has been four-five years since I wrote these fics #some meta/re-analysis is well-deserved

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queenlucythevaliant · 1 year

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Once, Always

(Edmund has an abundance of birthdays)

“I say,” murmured Edmund sleepily as the fire burned low. “When do you suppose it is here? I mean—what time of year? Do you think it’s the beginning of September, the same as it was in England?”

“Summer,” said Lucy. “Certainly summer.”

Peter agreed. “I think it must be Highgrass, if I had to guess. Perhaps later. Greenroof?”

“If it’s Greenroof, then Edmund gets another birthday,” Lucy sighed. “Eleven or twelve, Ed?”

“Neither,” put in Susan. “A thousand, if you’re going to rationalize it that way. Now everyone hush, please, and get some sleep.”

Edmund’s birthday was the fifteenth day of Greenroof by the Narnian reckoning. Greenroof, late summer, when all the leaves were dark and broad. Narnian summers were long, but Greenroof was the last and best of the summer months. Greenroof was hunts through the dense foliage, blackberries heavy with juice, lazy afternoons, bonfires, wild romps, and the pleasant kind of sweat. Edmund’s birthday celebrations were always held on Dancing Lawn in the old days: the sort of long, laughter-bright nights that summer was made for.

The second time Edmund celebrated his eleventh birthday, it was just past three months since he and his siblings had returned home from the country. Their house was glass-strewn and battered, but still standing when they arrived home. By August it was beginning to feel really safe again, but sometimes Edmund still woke in the night to find his mother standing silent in the doorway, drinking in the sight of her two sons returned to her.

The professor sent one of Ivy’s famous spice cakes for Edmund’s birthday. It arrived tied in red string, which made Lucy reminisce fondly about dear Mr. Tumnus. Edmund’s siblings pooled their allowances to buy him the new Nero Wolfe detective novel, and his mother gave him a new cap and an electric torch.

“How do you feel?” his mother asked over dinner.

“I don’t feel any older, if that’s what you mean,” he said. “Eleven feels just the same as ten did yesterday.”

All four of them missed their birthdays the first year in Narnia. Too much else was going on at the time, and none of them was quite sure when their birthdays were supposed to be besides. The measurement of time was a thoroughly tangled issue.

The Narnian year had four hundred days even, divided into fourteen months of inconsistent lengths. Furthermore, the kingdom had only known winter for the last hundred years. The Narnians themselves were still remembering how the calendar worked in a world where the seasons changed. They didn’t have the words yet to explain it to their sovereigns.

“Eustace,” said Edmund, “your journal is wrong.”

“Give me that,” Eustace scowled at once. “I know it’s wrong, but there’s no need to rub my face in it. Aren’t I trying to make up for how I was?”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant. The month is wrong. You’ve got September written here, but time works differently in Narnia than it does in the Other Place. Haven’t you noticed that it’s summer, not autumn?”

“Oh.” Eustace shrugged. “I followed Occam’s Razor and assumed that the climate here was different rather than time itself.”

“Occam’s what?” This was Lucy.

“Occam’s Razor: the simplest solution to a problem is the most likely—never mind. Well, go on, what month is it?”

“Highgrass,” said Lucy.

“July,” said Edmund at the same moment. “More or less.”

They worked it all out one afternoon as the second spring of their reign was ending. Peter and Susan wrote out the English calendar on one stack of parchment while Edmund and Lucy sat down with the Narnian calendar and penciled in seasonal markers as best they could manage.

“The first crocuses came up right at the end of Cleardome, yes?”

“Yes, I think so. And the snowdrops were in their full glory that month too.”

“How do you want to deal with leap year?”

“Just forget about it. Narnia doesn’t have anything similar, so I think twenty-eight days for February is fine for our purposes.”

“Magnolia in Laceveil, yes?”

“Laceveil is a good marker in general. We ought to set that as May and go from there.”

Birthdays were guesses, no matter how much counting they did. Yet as memories of England receded and Narnia’s world blossomed into everything they knew, those guesses solidified into fact. Edmund turned eleven for the first time on the fifteenth day of Greenroof. He was the first of his siblings to celebrate a proper birthday in Narnia.

The fourth time Edmund turned twelve, he received another electric torch to replace the one he’d lost. He laughed for half a minute, holding that gift in his hand.

“Really, you should have expected it,” said Susan primly.

"I did."

Their mother tsked and added something about keeping track of one’s belongings, but that was alright. His siblings understood.

Edmund flicked on the light and watched the beam land on the far wall across the living room. Bright at the edges and dark towards the center where the bulb was. He moved his wrist sideways and watched the spot of light follow.

Edmund might have forgotten about his birthday aboard the Dawn Treader if Lucy hadn’t remembered. She conspired with the cook to have a spread of Edmund’s favorite foods at supper (such as could be managed at sea) and coerced Rynelf into playing jigs on his fiddle afterwards. While they were dancing, Caspian called for a cask of his best wine, and soon the ship’s whole company was making merry like only Narnians could.

“Didn’t you have a twelfth birthday the last time you were in Narnia?” Caspian asked curiously as the party was dying down.

“Yes,” Edmund replied, “and the time before that too. Confused yet?”

“Ed has all the luck,” Lucy pouted playfully. “We always seem to return to Narnia in the summer, so he gets all the extra birthdays.”

Caspian's face lit up. “How extraordinary! When’s yours then?”

“Cleardome. There’s a year and a half between Ed and me, and he never lets me forget it.”

“It’s really not as exciting as all that,” Edmund added. “We’re not living our lives backwards, or unstuck in time, or any such nonsense. It’s more like—our lives are folded in on themselves, you see? But never the same way twice.”

“I think it’s more like music than anything else,” Lucy said, a kind of fond wistfulness in her voice.

“Yes,” said Edmund. “I know what you mean.”

On the thirteenth of Greenroof, the Telmarines laid down their arms and surrendered to Old Narnia. The next day, messengers were sent forth across the land with news of the surrender and with terms for the Telmarines. Caspian’s coronation followed, and then Edmund woke and it was his birthday again.

Breakfast that morning was long and languid, for Peter and Susan knew that they must say farewell to Narnia, even if the younger ones did not. They lingered round the table with Caspian and Trumpkin and the rest, and presently Peter offered a toast.

“To my brother King Edmund, who is eleven and twelve and sixty-three and thirteen hundred years old today.”

Everyone raised their cups and repeated, “King Edmund.” Caspian nodded and added, “Long live the king,” with an almost ironic tilt to his head.

Naturally, Edmund nodded back. “And to you, King Caspian. Long may you reign.”

Another round of assent followed, and then Lucy cleared her throat. “But also,” she said, “To late summer and the rebirth of Our Narnia. And to the land, the sea, the hills, the trees, the sky, Cair Paravel-by-the-sea and Dancing Lawn and all the flowers that are still in bloom. And to the color green. To all of us here today, and to those who are gone. And to Aslan.”

“Here, here.”

There were tears in Susan’s eyes now. “Happy birthday,” she whispered, and squeezed Edmund’s hand tight. Edmund looked down at his plate, fiercely overcome with love for this place and these people. In a strict, chronological sense, it had been less than a month since his last birthday, but how did the saying go? Time was just a tangled string, or falling snow, or whatever else Aslan told it to be.

“Bother,” said Edmund, “I’ve left my new torch in Narnia.”

Everyone chuckled at this, but Susan said, “Wait a year. We’ll get you a new one for your next birthday.”

#Edmund has a late August birthday #which means that Lucy's must be early in the year if 'really there was only a year between them' holds #AND we still choose to go with the birth years from Jack's timeline #and idk i just really love the idea of the Pevensies repeating their birthdays and just kinda reflecting on it #not in an angsty 'adults in kids bodies' way (ugh)#but just in a sort of 'huh. what a neat opportunity to think about #who i am and who i've been and who i'm becoming' kind of way #that pulls out the growing up themes from the series and examines them #idk i hope that's what i've done here #this is a veeeeerrrrry loose re-write of a really old middle school piece about Lucy having multiple eleventh birthdays #it just makes more sense if it's Edmund given the setup with Prince Caspian #anyway #narnia #the traitor who mended #leah stories #pontifications and creations #working on crossposting to ao3 (hopefully w/i the hour)

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wh40kgallery · 18 days

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Followers of the Dark Gods

Artist Unknown

#chaos #daemon #daemon prince #heretic astartes #astartes #cultists #traitor guard #bionics #vehicle #tank #monochrome #grimdark #unknown artist #40k

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royboyfanpage · 2 months

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My reaction to DC vs Vampires

#this has 2 mentions of roy which means i can justify putting it on this blog #also yes my pfp is Garth I'm a traitor to roy my b #roy harper #hal jordan #diana prince #dinah lance #Oliver Queen #Bruce wayne #dick grayson #barry allen #grant emerson #dc vs vampires

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adancingkittensuniverse · 2 months

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#tdp rayla #the dragon prince #tdp #runaan #I know that Rayla is not a traitor #but I don't think Runaan thinks so #well he betrayed her too...in some way #moonfam

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grits-galraisedinthesouth · 9 days

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Charles is playing with fire. 🔥

"The Duke of Sussex is still eligible as he maintains a home here."

COUNSELLORS OF STATE

There are now seven Counsellors of State: the monarch’s spouse and the next four adult members of the Royal Family in the Line of Succession (those that have reached the age of 21 and are resident in the UK), The Duke of Edinburgh and The Princess Royal. They are authorised to carry out official duties on behalf of the monarch in the event that he is unable to or is unavailable (either due to illness or absence abroad).

Counsellors are authorised to carry out most of the monarch’s official duties with the exception of the following:

Commonwealth business; the dissolving of Parliament (unless the monarch instructs the Counsellor to do so); the creation of peers; appointing a PM

By law, the Counsellors of State are now:

Queen Camilla

The Prince of Wales

The Duke of Sussex

The Duke of York

Princess Beatrice

The Duke of Edinburgh

The Princess Royal

Counsellors have to be 21 (18 for the heir to the throne) and domiciled in the United Kingdom. The Duke of Sussex is still eligible as he maintains a home here.

Counsellors of State were first created in 1911 by George V and established by the passing of the Regency Act of 1937. The Counsellors of State Act 2022 allows The Princess Royal and The Duke of Edinburgh to act as Counsellors of State in the King’s absence.

Image, top: State Opening of Parliament, May 2022; Copyright House of Lords 2022 / Photography by Annabel Moeller

#Counsellors of State #megxit #spare us #waaagh #like a spare #york & sussex #birthright entitlement #british monarchy #brf #republic #charles is unfit #traitor princes

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backtonormallife · 3 months

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DEAR FLEET STREET

I know you're just trying to sell papers & get eyeballs on your website, but H+M should never be working royals again. You want them working, hire them. Report back to us what good employees they are. Not.

#prince harry #duke of sussex #meghan markle #duchess of sussex #british royal family #brf #the firm #working royals #traitors #long live the queue #king charles #united kingdom

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the-traitorous-prince · 28 days

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Happy April Fools Day!

#amv #memes #non canon #lmk nezha #lmk peng #the traitorous prince #ttp #lmk au

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summertimemusician · 7 months

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Linktober Shadow Day 5

Master Kohga

*slams this down* LATE AND WITH ONE HECK OF A HEADACHE BUT I MADE IT!

Also I feel like we also need to talk about that the reason the Yiga are such doofuses usually is because they're riding the high of a full 100 years victory, and that after getting throughly kicked in the ribs they're probably gonna commit more crimes and probably return to their even more brutal roots actually, Kogah probably being the most likely one to shift to that first.

This goes out to you Warriors fans and simps, because ooh boy is he a delight to write, I think the duality of his name and status as a soldier is neat even if he's not my favorite Link.

Though the regular Linktober one will have to wait after I'm a bit more rested though so either later today or tomorrow, sorry folks.

Also uh warnings ahead?

TW:

Some descriptions of violence, specifically wrist targeted violence, kidnapping, and Reader going a little feral in defense of Warriors, nothing too big, but as this is coming from a horror fan I advise anyone who is squeamish to skip this one.

On a scale of one to ten of intimidation wrought by enemies of the Chain has faced, you’re pretty sure Kohga and the Yiga wouldn’t make even a negative ten on a normal day.

You’re not sure if it’s due to Wild’s most blase attitude about having a literal clan of traitorous, murderous Sheikah at him, a mix of bafflingly phlegmatic and elated with amused delight when talking about schemes you’d more associate to slapstick comedy than anything, the way you’ve seen any Yiga members dive for any throw bananas like a starving Wolfos pack on a lone Stalfos even if there was a cliff right in front of them with even more single minded determination than what was given to their mission, the way he’d refer to them as “Look they’re technically insane menaces to polite society out for mine and Flora’s blood, but they’re our technically insane menaces to polite society out for our blood” with a mix of bemusement and amusement or a mix of all three but according to the resident cook they truly weren’t a threat compared to, say, the cultists of Hyrule’s time whose sole goal wasn’t even to kill him but simply make him bleed, or Majora whom indirectly inflicted endless torture on Time, or Demise who literally started the cycle all of your heroes inevitably went through (because you could never blame Sky, none of you would even if it took shaking the notion into his thick skull). And they’ve apparently gone even more docile and to ground after Wild had defeated their master.

“And THEN he apparently has the nerve to go through our base and raid our banana supply! The nerve of that pesky, insistently annoying pest- Hey, are you even listening?” The sudden call made you jump, hissing as your wrist restraints dug into your skin, because apparently shackles with spikes on the inside of them are a thing and you very much would not have liked the approximate feeling of barbed wire wedged into your skin, biting into your flesh with all the viciousness and brutality that ensured you wouldn’t move your hands without feeling agony, the tone indignant as the presumably dead man stomped his foot nearby, “This is serious! First he peels me and my clan members like a banana, greatly exaggerates the rumor of my death and then THIS?!”

You school your features, trying really, really hard not to act out again as it comes down dangerously close onto Warrior’s unconscious head. Nodding along with the seriousness and solemnity worthy of a funeral, “Talk about the pot calling the kettle black! Such disrespect, at least you guys didn’t exaggerate about his death. And you’re supposed to be the bad guys here?”

(Well, more like you couldn’t move, really, funny thing about spikes on one’s skin and having one of your legs broken to the point glancing at exposed bone makes you want to dry heave at the gory sight, it.is.agony. Funny, how pain is an effective restraint in keeping people pinned down better than any arrow.)

You quickly revised your opinion and reassess the threat given the situation you're in now, as after your patrol on Wild’s Hyrule with Warriors you’d gotten ambushed and kidnapped through a mix of a double Silver Lynel ambush and sheer element of the surprise as bait, Warriors going down protecting you with all of the ferocity of his namesake, and choosing to risk getting a little roughed up over being separated from him.

You’re quite proud of yourself really, what with the way that you almost fully tore a chunk out of a Blademaster’s throat with your teeth and before they gave up, leg broken and with the spikes on your wrist as you woke up first with the fury of Volvagia’s fire scorching your veins, overwhelming the icy chill of terror in your veins and only instinct driving you because who knows what they’d done to him. Worth it. You wouldn’t forgive yourself if you let something happen to your favorite soldier boy. At least now you’re both in the same place, even if it’s with the man running the doomsday show himself.

“I know right?! Once I get my hands on that little nuisance, I am going to kill him dead!”

It’s a bit of a pity, in a way. You’re sure that under better circumstances you’d be as amused as Wild by him and he’d be a lovely conversation partner, you doubt the Yiga would follow him if he wasn’t charismatic after all, like watching a wet cat get their head stuck in a jar you had to admit watching the man struggle and fail was just a bit hilarious.

Alas by the whims of the gods spinning the wheel of fate and making it be fully comprised of misfortune to the point you really would like to have a nice chat involving your fists and their faces and maybe one foot straight up Hylia's gash, twas not to be, but it works in your favor. You just needed to stall for as long as you could until Warriors woke up or had an opening stop feigning sleep, either works.

“I just had a thought, a truly magnificent idea worthy of someone as worthy of being the Calamity’s most trusted champion! You travel with that twerp and his companions don’t you?”, the man stilled, then swerved towards you, you contained a flinch in a sudden movement, just on the edge of cartoony, adamantly looking over his shoulder rather than the twisted, crimson eye of the cold mask of the leader of the people who joked about keeping one of Warriors’ eyes as a necklace for it worked just as well as gem, “You could work for us instead, we’d pay you quite well for the information.”

Adamantly trying not to look at Warrior’s behind him, you hummed, head tilted, pretending to think about it, then shrugging, “Eh, I’ll pass. You Yiga don’t take well to traitors no?”

The man crossed his arms, adamantly nodding, “Of course not! Any and all who forsake our god should be slowly watch as their body parts are fed to Moldugas while they’re still alive!”

Cool, cool, lovely imagery to have, you were going to have one serious talk with Wild about proper threat assement once you’re back in camp by the way. You smile a bit back, remembering Warrior’s and using it as a reason to force a grimace away. Of the way he could charm better than any prince, making people fall in love with him effortlessly for better or worse and how you or Legend would viciously defend him from the worse crowd even if it gave you both Time’s exasperation (and grief from the other Links, who are all menaces whom you wished were less perceptive at times). Of the way he amusedly shared with you he main advantage was that no one could ever tell wether he was being friendly or baring his teeth, and how he slowly let you notice wether the curve was sharp or soft as you got closer. Making a point of showing your bloody, bloody teeth from both the Blademaster and which dripped down your head from one heck of a Lynel kick, you did not have Warriors natural charisma but you’d make do with your mediocre charm. “Well, I’m not in the habit of liking traitors much either you see. Sorry to let you down on that, plus if I can turn on them I can turn on you right? Better we skip that, I can give you a banana cake and banana pretzel recipe from where I’m from as compensation though?”

(You did not, in fact, know a recipe for banana cakes and pretzels by the way, but at this point you'll say anything just to buy you more time. Nothing like the age old ancient technique of lying. Wars would be proud his lessons came in handy.)

To his credit, he didn’t flinch. You’d actually be a bit shocked if he did given his clans entire gimmick to be fair. Sliding away from Warrior’s prone form and towards the one actually open door, keeping his back to the soldier, although his attention immediately focused on you like a Guardians aim, completely missing the light twitch to Warriors’ fingers you could spot in the dim torch light, “Fair enough, though you’re missing out on a lot if you ask me. Now! Banana cake you say? Might you be a person of culture after all even with an horrendous choice of company?”

Would you look at that, looking like a horror show does have it’s advantages!

“I mean I’d write it down but you know,”, you make a vague motion with your wrists, wincing a bit at the spikes, those would be a pain to get out later, you’d much have preferred ropes or chains, “But if you get some paper or get me to a kitchen I can direct your folks how to make it? You’d be the first to get a taste of it if you’re there too.”

He hums, pacing back and forth, Warriors eyes lightly crack open, the sapphire clouding with shock at your state, you can’t look at him long enough to figure out the ensuing combination of emotions, flashing, but you do see when the gems are forged into cobalt blades, you quickly mouth to him ‘Get free’ as soon as Kohga isn’t looking at you, he closes his eyes as Kohga turns towards him and nods. Though the Poe flame azure of his gaze could have probably killed the leader of the Yiga ten times over as he addresses you, “You’re an awfully generous hostage aren’t you? Though I like the way you think.”

You shrug, “I mean I’m not being manhandled, plus I’m bored so why not make some good food to kill time?”

You can see him weight his options, unnervingly staring at you beneath the mask. You adamantly don’t look at Warriors’ as he slides his boot very lightly against the wall, a small blade springing from the small compartment, thanking the Three the Yiga didn’t check either of your shoes as he twists around as silently as he can manage to cut himself free as Kogah nods, “Anyone with an appreciation for bananas should be allowed to share their wisdom, can you walk?”

You give him a flat look, you think Warriors bites his tongue to keep from making an equally indignant sound as Kohga seems to have the dots, awkwardly coughing, “That was a retorical question of course you can’t! I shall however extend you my benevolence, and call on my subordinates to carry you-“

He doesn’t even get to finish his sentence when Warriors pounces with a snarl, you lurch back, hissing as the spikes make your wrists bleed and chocking down a shout at the pain that crawls through your leg like lightning, but it’s enough.

Warriors wraps the remains of his rope around the Yiga Clan Leader’s throat in a makeshift garrote, and make sure to use his momentum to slam his head against the cold, hard ground of the hideout, doing it again for good measure with all of the strength and ferocity you knew for a fact he kept as well sheathed as a hidden blade.

It all took but a second, he didn’t even scream. You doubt that killed him, but he isn’t getting back up any time soon.

You slump over, coughing blood from your mouth, it wouldn't help much but it was a start, “Welcome back to the land of the living, Wars.”

He rushes towards you as soon as he finishes tying Kohga up with the remnants of his own rope, gently wiping the blood from your sight, he was battered and bruised but the most beautiful thing you’ve seen in your life as he checked you over, and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch, relief ringing like a sword being sheathed, it would be alright. “Can’t say I’m happy to be fashionably late this time. What did they do to you?”

“Hey, none of that,” you gently touch your foreheads together, you smile, tasting rust on your lips though Warriors doesn’t mind as you lightly try to take his mind out of it, “You should see the other guy.”

He sighs, fondly exasperated as he shakes his head, you consider the quirk of his lips a win even as he pauses over your wrists, eyes flashing with rage before focusing on your leg, “I’m sure, that was a killer performance. Maybe after all this is over you should take up acting back home.”

You snort, “I mean I did learn from the best-“

it distracts you long enough for him to snap your leg back into place. And all you know is that you with pain, ripping through your throat as you finally, finally, feel safe enough to pass out.

(Warriors winces sympathetically, heart breaking a little at your pain but knowing it was the only way you wouldn’t focus on it, better than for . Holding you close and allowing you to muffle your scream into his shoulder as he wraps your leg in his scarf, guilty and fury carefully hidden behind the soldier mask, knowing that the only thing that would satisfy the flames of retribution in his chest would be to use the Yiga as kindling until they eventually burned the remnants of protective rage all away to ash.

But he could make do with taking you as gently as he could as you pass out in his arms, resolve himself to get the contraption on your wrists out as soon as you were both back at camp. And to kicking Kogah on the way out. It's not nearly enough but it's a start.

You protected him as best as you could, it’s his turn to return the favor as he can as well. Anything else can come later.)

#linked universe x reader #linked universe warriors x reader #out of all the links I wouldn't like to see angry I'd say Warriors is definitely right up there because he has such keen self control #that when he does get angry he's more vicious than almost all of them combined #he's seen some stuff in the war and likely is holding in just as much as Time Wild and Sky #so out of the Chain he's probably the best liar and the one who can hold his emotions in the most effectively #because when he does need to eviscerate someone he's unleashing all of his focused fury on them #plus it helps him multitask on the well being of his comrades better as well as on the mission #aka in this house we appreciate Warriors for managing to strike the duality of perfect prince #and protective soldier that does what needs to be done and will make it so not even his enemies dental records help identify their bodies #it's a fine line but the man can work it you can't share your soul with someone who was loved by a god killed a god #became a vessel for a good has a beast in their soul and was marked by many realms and live through a war your existence caused #and not be just a little feral methinks. helps that Reader also is a little feral and gets it when in survival mode lol #summer writes linktober shadow 2023 #summer writes #Warriors can feign sleep really well and always has knives on his boots due to the traitor purge in the war of eras #I have many thoughts on the Yiga Clan but not enough energy to dwelve into them all today sadly

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