word count: 1.31k
genre: comedy, fluff, golden age era, around maybe three to four years after they become kings and queens of narnia.
author's note: this was based off an instagram video i watched and it made me laugh so hard that i had to incorporate it into a fic. enjoy :)
edmund pevensie enjoys terrorizing his siblings with pranks.
it's not that any of them are easily gullible, far from it actually; it's just that he comes up with antics so bizarre and unpredictable, not even intuition could prepare them for what he has in store.
the practical joke he's planned for today, however, is so, so simple and perfect. that's why this time, he doesn't take several days to consider what to do in case his brother and sisters catch on earlier than he'd like, because he knows they won't be able to. as he stuffs his pockets with uncooked penne, he wonders why he hasn't thought of this before.
now, you and the bewildered cook in that kitchen might be thinking, "what the hell, what is he going to do with that?"
it goes like this.
peter and edmund are working on a proclamation draft in their shared study. nothing largely impactful, rather an overview of what to expect for the upcoming harvest and the festivities that come with it. they work on it dutifully, exchanging thoughts as to how to structure the proclamation, where to truncate or expand a section of the document, and sounding out the words to make sure that it all comes together grammatically.
but it's been two hours and frankly, edmund thinks, it's time to have some fun.
when peter looks for a new ink bottle to replace the one that has run out, the younger quickly sneaks in two pieces of the pasta behind the other's back and keeps them hidden in his cheeks as he yawns, stretching his arms and back upward.
it's innocent enough. who wouldn't be a little tired? he takes a silent breath.
well, it's now or never.
edmund hisses out a "shit!" as he comes down from his stretch, hand dropping instantaneously to grasp his neck. to further sell the pain, he clenches his eyes shut and groans. by then peter has turned around, ink bottle be damned. the quick shuffling of feet against the wooden floor only adds to the picture of peter's concern edmund has created in the back of his eyelids.
"ed! aslan's mane, are you alright?"
"i think i got a crick in my neck. must have pulled something while stretching."
"here, here, let me see."
edmund peeks through his eyes, and watches how peter's eyebrows furrow in worry, and how his hand barely touches the neck, not wanting to aggravate the muscle. it takes much inner strength for the younger to steel his face into a pained expression over a smiling one. oh brotherly love, how pure it is. he really doesn't deserve him.
"could you maybe help me crack it? i think it could relieve the tension," he suggests, fluttering his eyes open. peter leans back and looks up thoughtfully. hmm. he has done that for himself before. and it felt somewhat better afterwards, even if not entirely cured.
"are you sure? it might hurt."
"couldn't hurt anymore than it does right now, pete. just, be careful please."
"we'll do a countdown, okay?" peter affirms.
it's too easy, edmund thinks, shifting the rigid pasta in his mouth to rest right between his teeth. when his brother comes behind his seat and rest his hands on the top and bottom of his head, the younger prepares himself mentally for the chaos that is about to ensue.
"3... 2... 1!" edmund bites down.
CRACK!
"ow ow ow! what the hell, peter!"
with the way peter shouts "aslan have mercy!" and the nasty sounding crack that accompanies it, susan, poor susan who happened to be reading peacefully next door in her own study, wastes no time to rush into the room.
"what. did. you. do?" she starts, her breath becoming more labored as she begins to register the sight in front of her. oh no. oh no. peter searches for the right words to say.
"he- i- susan, susan look at me, it's not what it looks like!"
"it hurts, i can't move my head," edmund whines, letting his lips tremble to add more effect. peter, for no discernible reason other than hearing his brother's broken and shaky voice, lets go of the head in his hands. seizing the opportunity, edmund lets his head tilt awry once more, and bites again.
CRACK!
this time both peter and susan scream in unison and edmund starts shaking and breathing erratically. to the elder siblings, it appears he's sobbing. truthfully, he's struggling to stifle his laughter. this is, by far, the funniest thing he's ever done.
"PETER!"
"I'M SORRY, i'm sorry! he said it hurts!"
"so you let go?" susan asks incredulously. edmund lets out another wounded cry. peter tries to move again but freezes when susan widens her eyes at him. he throws his hands up, and surrenders. susan makes her way back to the door of the room and peeks her head out.
"guards! call queen lucy here, and tell her to bring her cordial. now? no, go on a picnic and frolic in the fields. of course now! make haste!"
it takes no longer than ten minutes when lucy finally arrives, elixir ready in hand. when the guards called her, she thought perhaps lunch was ready. she didn't expect to hear the heart stopping news that king edmund has been gravely wounded.
he was supposed to write a proclamation today. did he somehow accidentally stab himself with a quill?
"i came as soon as i heard. what happened?" she asks, looking to edmund. so far, no feather sticking out of his chest. that's a good sign. but the way his head is tilted...
susan crosses her arms and presses her lips into a thin line. "peter, here, broke edmund's neck."
lucy's eyes widen as she turns to her older brother. oh aslan have mercy, that's even worse. "you WHAT?"
"i didn't mean to! he had a crick in his neck and he asked me to crack it out!"
"and you took him at his word? he didn't want you to literally crack his neck!" edmund chokes on the pasta. aslan's mane, lucy; does she have any idea how funny she is? he coughs down the pieces stuck in his throat and groans again to cover for himself. lucy looks at him pitifully, interpreting his lack of communication to mean that he can't even move his mouth out of such pain.
"oh edmund, it's going to be alright. let me help."
she twists the cap off. honestly, she was hoping to not use the cordial for any instances other than during battle, but this is a definite must. she can't have him paralyzed like this! but before she can land a drop, edmund closes his mouth abruptly and tugs her sleeve.
"huh? what is it ed?"
he fishes out a piece of the penne from his pocket, and shows her. at first, lucy is very puzzled. aside from the fact it's very strange he has pasta in his pockets right now, what does that have to do with anything? she tries to push his hand away.
but when he hums out a fierce "MMMPH" and even shakes the lower half of his body, lucy definitely knows he means for her to stop. so she does. it's after that, edmund points the pasta piece to his mouth and clenches it in his fist.
CRACK!
peter, susan, and lucy all blink. oh. oh.
"you little shit, i am going to kill you!" peter remarks, as lucy caps her cordial. edmund gulps down the remaining tasteless mush of penne in his mouth and starts cackling, jumping out of his chair and making a beeline to the door.
if the narnians of cair paravel see the just king attempt a valiant escape with his horse philip, and the three other monarchs tailing him from behind, they pay no mind to it.
(This series is created using the prompts from @summer-of-whump)
Continued from here
@sparrowsage @painsandconfusion
CW: Wound care, stab mention
At dinner, Shea had hardly eaten. He had seemed uncomfortable with sitting at the table and eating the same thing at the same time as Killian. After dinner, Killian had Shea sit in the living room so he could examine his injuries.
To Killian's surprise, the gashes from before, while not better, were not worse. There were several new injuries, but most of them were inflicted by Killian under Nicholas's supervision. He cleaned and bandaged the wounds again before inspecting the stab wound in Shea's shoulder.
"How badly does it hurt?" Killian asked, touching the surrounding area lightly.
"Um... I-it's not too bad..."
"Can you give me a number on a scale of one to ten? One is no pain and ten is the worst pain you've ever felt."
"Uhh... May... Maybe a six or a seven..?"
Killian nodded. It seemed likely that Shea was underreporting his pain level, but Killian didn't say anything. He simply cleaned and bandaged that wound too. It looked like an infection was starting to set in.
Shea still didn't so much as flinch the entire time Killian worked.
"Alright. That looks a lot better." Said Killian, leaning away.
"You're welcome." Killian gave a soft smile and held out a hand. "It's the least I can do after I'm the one that caused so many of them... let me help you back to bed so you can get some rest."
Taking Killian's hand, Shea stood.
—
"There you go. Hey, tomorrow I'd like you to come with me to get you some new clothes if you're comfortable with that." Killian sat on the edge of the bed.
"O-okay..."
Killian thought for a moment. "... Actually, I don't know if that's such a good idea. I'm pretty sure you have a concussion. I don't want you to get stressed out."
"... Okay."
"I'll have to find someone to come stay with you while I go out though— you need some new clothes." Running his fingers through his hair, Killian stood, continuing to ramble as he walked to the door.
There was a tug on the back of his shirt and Killian stopped. Turning, he saw Shea, one arm outstretched towards him. His eyes held a glint of fear. "W-wait— Don't leave me—" Shea hesitated, almost taking his hand back. "I-I'm sorry... I didn't—"
"Do you want me to stay with you?" Asked Killian, ignoring Shea's apology.
Shea nodded and moved over in the bed. "W-will you..?"
"If you want me to stay, then I'll stay." Killian sat on the edge of the bed, smiling softly at Shea. "Is this because of the nightmares?"
Shea nodded. "When... when I was little, my mom..." He stopped. "N-no... Nevermind..."
"Do you still want me to stay?"
"Yes—" Shea answered quickly.
Killian lay down close to the side of the bed, giving Shea space and watching his reaction to make sure it was okay.
Shea gave the tiniest of smiles— the first Killian had seen— and then closed his eyes.
Here it is folks the five (5)-and-a-half page Odyssey fanfiction that I turned in to my English teacher my freshman year of high school
Hope you enjoy
Penelope stared at the two women. “I’m sorry, I must have misheard you,” she said. “Will you repeat yourself?”
“Of course. As I’ve said, both Lady Calypso and I met Odysseus on his voyage to Ithaca. He just so happened to be stranded with both of us for a time with no way off, so he decided to, well… enjoy our company until he found it in himself to leave,” the woman with curls repeated.
“And it took quite some time, too,” snickered the other.
“Please, my lady, let me speak,” Penelope said quietly. She turned to Odysseus, who wouldn’t meet her gaze. “What did you suffer that made you so lonely that you had to leave me for two women?”
“Actually, didn’t you say something about women in Troy?” the second woman interrupted. Penelope turned in her throne to face her.
“Women in Troy?” she asked.
The woman nodded. “Didn’t he tell you? He needed someone to warm his bed when he was away.”
The one with the curls laughed, filling the empty courtyard. “It turns out that ‘someone’ was a bunch of enslaved women.”
Penelope didn’t respond. How could this have happened? She’d been nothing but good to Odysseus even when he was away. She’d dealt with the suitors, raised Telemachus with no complaint. Why would he treat her like this?
She beckoned at a servant in the corner. “Aetha, would you be so kind as to show these women to a chamber and bring some wine and cheese to tide them over until dinner? I’d like to speak with Odysseus in private.”
“Of course, my lady.” The two women looked at Penelope, glanced at each other, then followed the servant out the door.
Odysseus, who had been unnaturally silent, now spoke up. “Penelope, listen to me-”
“No!” she shouted. “Why, Odysseus? Was it something I did? Something I said? Or did you just get tired of me? Did you only come back because of your riches and your son and to revel in your victory against Troy? Were the women you enslaved victorious enough? Were you-”
“SILENCE!” Odysseus rose from his chair and stalked toward Penelope, eyes ablaze. “I will not be commanded or doubted in my own home, much less my own kingdom, much less by my own wife, who claims that I am unloyal with no proof!” He shoved her against a nearby pillar, grabbing her shoulders. “Do you understand me?”
Penelope only stood there, trembling. His grip on her shoulders hurt. She didn’t think she could feel anything in that moment other than white hot pain. Slowly, she mustered out a nod.
“Good.” Odysseus turned away, leaning on Penelope’s chair. “Haven’t I suffered enough, dear gods? Why must this woman doubt my loyalty to her, after all I’ve done in your favor?”
Penelope slid down the pillar. Her breathing was ragged. Odysseus had never done this before. Not her kind, noble Odysseus. Although he wasn’t even that, was he? She gripped the folds of her dress tightly.
“I’ll… I’ll go check on dinner,” she said. Then, silent as a mouse, she snuck out of the courtyard.
***
The palace was normally alight with music after its dinners. Any local who happened to live close to the palace would tell you about the songs and shouting that went on hours into the night. But not tonight. Tonight, Penelope had heard, Odysseus would be eating and sleeping in his chambers alone. No one was to disturb him, not even his own son.
“It’s best you leave him alone,” Eurycleia had told her. “Something’s got him in a fury worse than the gods can muster.” Oh, gods, Penelope had thought. Is this because of me?
And now, here she was, staring out the balcony in her own private room, with the moonlight as her only company. It’s ironic, really. She would come here at this time of day to seek solace from her suitors, come to end her waiting for Odysseus, and now she was hiding away from her feelings of pain, of grief, of anger.
How could he have done this? she asked herself again. It wasn’t fair. Twenty years she’d spent in loneliness, waiting and waiting with no way of knowing if he was safe, running a kingdom of thousands on nothing but a well-wish and half a prayer. And now here was the payback- two women, an angry husband, and a broken heart.
Unloyal with no proof. The women themselves say otherwise.
Wait a minute…
Without a second thought, Penelope shot up from the window and ran towards the bedrooms.
***
The door opened to reveal the curly-haired woman wearing a white sleeping gown.
“It’s you,” she said. Penelope squared her shoulders.
“Yes.”
The woman looked at her strangely. “Well, what are you standing there for? Come in!”
As if spellbound, Penelope found herself walking into the lofty chamber and sitting at the foot of one of the beds. The other woman lounged on a nearby couch, holding a glass of wine.
“So, dearest Penelope, what brings you here?” she questioned.
It was as if the answer lifted itself off of her tongue. “I want to know if you had any children with Odysseus.”
She clamped her hands over her mouth. How…
The women chuckled. “And why do you want to know this?” the woman with the wineglass asked.
Penelope’s hands rose off her mouth. “I…” No. If she was going to tell these women anything, it would be her own decision.
“At the moment, it will be none of your concern.” Her refusal must have been more shocking than she thought, because the two women looked at each other, stupefied.
“How… how were you able to do that?” asked the curly-haired one.
“What, break the rules of hosting? Simple. I am angry.”
The woman shook her head. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”
“Other than one of Odysseus’ mistresses?” Penelope replied.
“Ha-ha. In the lands of the gods, I am known as Circe, my friend, Calypso. We are known for our magic, our potions, our beauty-”
“Your ability to steal my husband?” muttered Penelope.
Circe rolled her eyes. “My point is that few mortals are immune to our spells. Few except Odysseus, and now, you.”
Penelope’s eyes widened. “Me?”
“No, there’s some other person in this room we could be referring to,” Calypso deadpanned, sloshing her wine around. “What she means to say is that you are powerful, Penelope. Not only did you realize we were hypnotizing you, you broke free of a hypnotization! And surely if you could resist one, who knows? Perhaps you could cast an enchantment yourself,” Calypso thought to herself, then laughed. “I haven’t seen this much power in a mortal since Psyche!”
“Ah, Psyche,” began Circe. “She was a lovely one, wasn’t she? A shame she married Eros. She would have been a fine witch.” Something changed in her posture. “To answer your question, yes, Odysseus did sire a child in each of us. A son for me and a daughter for Calypso.”
The sting hurt, but she shoved it aside. “What else did he do with you?” she asked, a little eagerly.
Calypso laughed nervously. “Whoa, there, getting a little personal, don’t you think?”
Penelope almost started to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. She sighed.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. But all I needed is some sort of confirmation- some proof, but I suppose you can’t bring your children here and I won’t ask you to recount your-erm, experiences in front of an audience. Very well. Thank you, my ladies, for your time.” Penelope got up and smoothed out her dress. But before she could open the door, a hand grabbed her wrist.
“There is another way,” Circe said.
***
Dawn rose through the branches of the olive tree as Penelope waited the next morning, a slave woman waiting not too far away. She idly played with a fallen leaf.
Eurycleia had said that Odysseus would be here by seven. It was half past eight. Well, it was worth a try.
A cry in the distance stopped her from leaving. “Wife,” shouted Odysseus, climbing the hill to their bed.
“Husband,” she answered. The two stood there, neither blinking nor making a move. Finally, Penelope spoke. “Sit, will you?”
“You’re in no position to make demands,” he grumbled, but sat anyway. Then: “Why did you summon me? Is it another ploy to tell me how I am unloyal?” Penelope went to interrupt, but he continued.
“You do realize these women are witches? Women you’re warned to stay away from as a child? And yet was it not you who let their ships into our harbor? Was it not you who granted them shelter for the night? These women have been casting spells on you,” Odysseus concluded. He chuckled to himself. “Of course it would be a spell! There’s no way you would ever question my loyalty. You’re so patient and true, dearest Penelope. You would never doubt your own family.” Even though his words were kind, Penelope could still hear the hard edge laced through, like venom in a seemingly harmless snake. Or in the aftertaste of a potion.
Penelope played along and laughed with him. “You’re right, dearest Odysseus, it must be some sort of enchantment they’ve placed on me to lure me away from you and Telemachus, from sweet Ithaca. How could I have ever doubted you?” She fell to the ground, grasping his knees. “Please, oh powerful Odysseus, forgive me! I shall forget this incident and send a slave woman to the guest chamber where the women reside. She’ll tell them to pack their things, for a ship will be made ready- a small thing, yet luxurious enough to trick them into thinking they’re headed for home. Then, we’ll pray to Zeus, father of the heavens and Lord of the Skies, to send them to the island of Laestrygonians, where they shall be punished for the pain they have caused you! Please, my husband, find it within yourself to forgive me and carry out this plan!”
Odysseus remained silent for so long Penelope almost doubted if he was alive. Then, he smiled graciously and hauled her up by the arms. “Of course, dearest Penelope. Why would I ever doubt you?” He gestured towards the nearby grove, where the slave woman was standing. “Bring us some wine.” The bait was taken.
The woman came over with a wine kit and two glasses and began to prepare the wine.
“Why is she taking so long?” Odysseus complained. “Hurry up, will you?”
The slave woman bowed her head. “Yes, my king.” She poured the now ready wine into the cups and handed one to Odysseus, the other to Penelope. Or at least, that was what she tried to do before she spilled the wine all over the bedsheets. She bent over in a bow.
“Apologies, my lady. I’ll make you a new batch and clean up this mess.”
Penelope gave her a meaningful look. “Do not worry. Wine can be remade.”
The woman quickly made a new batch and handed the glass to Penelope.
“Would you like to toast?” Odysseus asked. Penelope nodded.
“A toast to new beginnings,” she said, “and to truthful vows.” They clinked their glasses together. Penelope took a small sip, but Odysseus hesitated.
“What’s the matter, my love?” she asked nervously. “Is the wine not to your liking?”
“No, my dearest. Something simply smells off.” He sniffed the wine. “Poison.”
“A-are you sure? Perhaps it is simply the grapes?”
Odysseus set the cup down. “No. This is a poison of truth.” He turned sharply on Penelope. “Someone thinks me unloyal.” Penelope sank to her knees once more.
“No, I swear it!” she begged. “It was never my intention to harm you!” Her cries had no effect.
“If you have so little trust in me that you would think to poison me, then maybe I should teach you a lesson!” Odysseus raised the wine cup over his head. Penelope braced herself for a shatter, but it never came. She looked up to see Circe, who had dropped her disguise as the slave woman and begun to grapple with Odysseus.
“Leave her alone!” But it was to no avail. Within a moment, Circe had been flung against the tree and dropped on the ground, unconscious.
“No!” Before Penelope could stop her, Calypso darted out of her hiding place in the forest, dagger in hand. She began to chant a spell, but Odysseus slammed a hand into the side of her face and she fell to the floor.
“I sail for ten years to get home to you, and this is what I get?!” Penelope backed up against the tree, closer to the other women. What could she use to protect herself? She could use the dagger? No, he would disarm her in an instant. If she could somehow distract him…
A plan formed itself in Penelope’s mind.
“Odysseus, I had no involvement in this,” she said, creeping closer to the bodies of Circe and Calypso. “Please believe me.”
“And why should I, after all you’ve done?” Penelope ignored his words, instead focusing on the pain Odysseus had caused her. Anger roiled through her veins, but she held it down.
“Because I’m your wife,” she said. “Husbands and wives believe each other, do they not?” Something changed in Odysseus’ eyes. Penelope kept going.
“Odysseus, I’ve waited for you for twenty years. Why would you ever doubt me?”
His hands dropped to his sides. “Because… because...”
Penelope grappled for the dagger. “Really, Odysseus? You’re known as one of the wisest men alive. Wouldn’t you have better judgement than this?”
“I… I would.” Penelope’s fingers closed around the hilt. She stood up and crept closer.
“Now, answer my question: did you love Circe and Calypso?”
The answer came out strangled, forced. “...yes.”
That’s odd. Penelope would have expected to feel the anger to rise at his truth. Instead, all she could feel was remorse. This was his fault, and he would have to face the consequences.
“Then I’m sorry,” she said, and stabbed the blade into his heart.
One year later
Penelope stood at the balcony, looking out to the mountains of Aeaea. With the sun setting above the forest surrounding them and the sea in the background, it almost reminded her of Ithaca. Well, the amount of pigs remained the same.
After she killed Odysseus, Penelope had fled to Aeaea with Circe and Calypso, leaving Ithaca in the hands of Telemachus. From word on the sea, it was now smaller, a simple trading town, its might and glory gone. But that was okay. Eurycleia had said in her letters that Telemachus was happier this way.
Happiness. Was that what Penelope felt, living on the island with Circe and Calypso, training their children and any other young woman who happened to be stranded on their shores how to use magic? Not that Penelope hadn’t benefited from the lessons. Now, if she tried, she could cast minor enchantments on animals. She’d vowed never to use that power, though. No use in harming living things that didn’t deserve it.
There was still no explanation for her powers. Circe had left it to being a favor of the gods as a reward for being loyal to Odysseus.
“Doesn’t explain why you still have it, though,” she’d mused. “Maybe they let you keep it out of pity.”
In the year she’d been here, Penelope had put good use to her weaving talents. The halls were now covered in tapestries depicting scenes of magic, the sea, and the gods themselves. Every other day, she would teach the children, who she considered her own, how to weave their own stories. Little by little, their artwork also lined the walls.
She, Circe and Calypso started going on walks in the mornings, exploring the forests and gathering ingredients for potions or ointments. Once, Penelope had found flowers and the latter two had spent the rest of the day covering themselves with them. They’d gotten a horrible rash later and it took Penelope a week to learn the recipe for the proper cream to heal them. Though they laughed about it now, it was probably the most stressful situation Penelope had been in in months.
And at the end of every week, the three of them would go up to the balcony in their room for a party. Sometimes they invited the children, sometimes they didn’t. Nevertheless, it was always fun.
Now, there she was, staring at the sunset in a gown Odysseus would have considered scandalous, drinking wine and laughing her heart out. The children played in the fountain below, small splashes rising up to the balcony’s level every so often.
“Penelope? Is everything alright?” Calypso asked from a bench nearby.
“Is it the wine?” Circe added. “Are you feeling sick?”
Penelope turned around, looking at the two women who had changed her life. Is everything alright? she asked herself. Odysseus was gone. Her kingdom was smaller. Her son was king, but not in the way that she’d planned. But it was for the best. For the first time in her life, Penelope was living her life in the way she wanted to, without the rules of marriage being imposed on her or being held to a standard. For the first time in her life, she was free.
my alternate, more violent and defenders-adjacent versions of peter parker: I HAVE AT LEAST ONE KNIFE ON ME AT ALL TIMES FOR SAFETY AND I WILL STAB YOU IN THE CALF IF NEED BE.
