#Blizzard of Hops

[firkinron]

Releases and Events - November 2nd

Releases and Events – November 2nd

Beer releases, music events, food happenings and so much more! Releases and Events – November 2nd   Enter to Win a Ninkasi VIP Brewery Experience Releases and Events – November 2nd Enter to win an ultimate VIP Ninkasi brewery experience in Eugene, OR. Ninkasi will bring one lucky winner to Ninkasi Brewing HQ for a full day of tours, meals, bar games with the Ninkasi team, and plenty of beer…

[tygerland]

[fibula-rasa]

Favorite New-to-Me Films

February 2023

(in no particular order)

The Bell Hop (1919) [letterboxd] (seen on Silent Comedy Watch Party)

The SuperGal / ザ・超女 (1986) [imdb | letterboxd]

Zora Neale Hurston: Claiming a Space (2023) [imdb | letterboxd]

A Tough Winter (1923) [imdb | letterboxd]

The Blizzard / Gunnar Hedes saga (1923) [imdb | letterboxd]

The Treasure / Der Schatz (1923) [imdb | letterboxd]

Bed Time (1923) [imdb | letterboxd]

The Rafter’s Bride / Koskenlaskijan morsian (1923) [imdb | letterboxd] (available on Elonet with English subtitles)

[mrbawbdobalina]

MF DOOMFIST

[daylightcommand3]

I can’t play Overwatch 2 on my main switch anymore. Not enough space. The updates are killing me.

[gebbzsteelo]

Book Club in Rotterdam , Netherlands , 2023

[corroded-hellfire]

Prompt Day 17: "This One's For You."

Word Count: 1k

Rating: G

Pairing: Eddie x Reader

CW: None

Summary: Snowed in during a blizzard, Eddie’s daughter Eliza proves just how like him she is.

@corrodedcoffinfest

[As You Wish masterlist]

Eddie hasn’t taken many classes in his life, let alone any philosophy ones, but he couldn’t help but ponder one philosophical question these last three days: how long can someone be locked in the same house as two teenage boys and a four-year-old girl before they go absolutely insane?

The blizzard outside had sealed the five of you in the house together for the third straight day now and it’s becoming maddening. There are only so many activities one can do with a four-year-old that will, one, hold their attention, and two, not make you want to tear your hair out after an hour. 

Some of the things you’ve done as a family have been very entertaining, like when you all played Pretty Pretty Princess and somehow Eddie kept winning and Ryan and Luke were having a great time adorning him with the pink plastic jewelry. The pictures you took of that will forever be cherished—as long as you can keep them out of your husband’s hands. 

Having Luke and Ryan try to teach you how to play some of their favorite video games was amusing as well. The boys more so than the game, though. It quickly became apparent to you that your sons do not possess the patience to teach anything to anyone—let alone a first-person shooter game where they expect you to master the use of a dozen buttons on a controller that you’ve never held before. 

“I don’t think this Hollow game is for me,” you say after “Master Chief,” as your kids called him, gets killed for the fourth time.

“It’s Halo!” both boys shout, one on each side of you so you get it in stereo.

It takes all your willpower not to laugh as you press your lips tightly together to suppress a smile. You remembered the name of the game the second time they told you, now you’re just messing with them. 

An afternoon of you and Eliza looking through an old photo album springs to life an idea in her little mind.

“That Daddy?” she asks, pointing to a picture of Eddie in action up on stage. He’s in the middle of headbanging, so his curls are flying wildly around his head.

“That’s Daddy,” you tell her. “Being a rockstar, showing off in front of everyone.” You smile down at your daughter before playfully poking her in the belly. “Reminds me of you.”

Eliza’s eyes light up at the comment and you can’t help but wonder what sparked in that head of hers. 

“Be back!” she shouts as she hops off the couch. Her tiny feet make thunderous booms as she runs down the hallway, calling out for her brothers. “Ryan! Luuuuuke!”

After dinner, the four-year-old instructs you and Eddie to sit on the couch and to stay still and wait for her. Keeping quiet, you and your husband trade amused looks until the door to the pink princess room opens, and Eliza re-emerges, decked out in her Tinker Bell costume from Halloween. On each of her small legs is a black sock that clearly belongs to Ryan. They are also clearly meant to be knee socks, yet they go up the small girl’s thighs. Finishing up her ensemble is her pink Piglet sunglasses. 

Gripped in her tiny fist is the music player with a microphone that she was gifted as a toddler. The way she enters the room with all the gravitas and confidence of a model walking the runway almost makes you think you’re the one who’s dressed unconventionally. 

Behind her, Ryan has a toy guitar that has been passed down through all three children tucked under his arm and Luke carries the gray garbage pail from the bathroom in one hand and a CD in the other. 

While Eliza takes her place front and center before you and Eddie, Ryan positions himself behind her, yielding the spotlight. 

Luke steps over to the stereo and pops in the CD he was holding before following his big brother’s lead and assuming the position behind the star of the show. Ryan tugs an ottoman over to sit on, the toy guitar resting on his knee while Luke sits on the floor and flips the garbage pail over so he can use it as a drum.

“Are you ready?” Eliza asks, mouth right up against the yellow plastic of her microphone.

“Yeah!” you exclaim.

“Woo!” Eddie cheers. 

“Hit it!” Luke says. 

The music begins, notes floating over from the stereo to this impromptu performance space. It takes a moment, but you recognize the song before Eliza starts singing Part of Your World.

The CD turns out to be a compilation of different Disney songs covered by Disney Channel stars, and Eddie makes a mental note to ask you why the hell you bought that for her. 

Ryan and Luke are surprisingly into it, having fun performing while their little sister hams it up. They’re like their own little version of Hanson. 

The instrumentals of the next song drift through the air and Eliza tosses her pink sunglasses aside and points at Eddie.

“This one’s for you!” she shouts, which is very mismatched with the slow, melodic tune that’s playing. 

You rest your head on your husband’s shoulder as your little girl starts to serenade him with her rendition of Go the Distance from Hercules. 

Once she sings the last note (and you hide your wince as best as possible), Eliza lets the yellow microphone fall from her hand. She bends at the waist, bowing so far down that her curls flip over her head and brush the navy carpet. 

It’s your cue, so you and Eddie both clap, cheering for the adorable performance.

Luke stands and takes a bow next, and Ryan figures he might as well follow his lead. 

Eddie whistles and a rare blush tinges Eliza’s cheeks. 

“Thank you!” she calls, arms raised over her head, addressing her crowd.

The true daughter of a rock star. 

“Goodnight!”

[miguelhugger2099]

Snowfall

Summary: You, the Goddess of Life, visit the God of Death in the forest during a snowstorm. Next Miguel x Fem!Reader, Proofread but I was half-asleep, Fluff, A smidge of angst, Word Count: 1,458 This song is what caused this fic to form in my brain.

A blizzard had made its way to the village, its cold and harsh winds slamming against wooden cabins and tiny snowflakes that only piled up into mountains by the hour.

However, by his lonesome, stood a man in the forest. A forest that had once been flourishing with soft green grass, and a gentle blue lake in the middle with the sun's warm rays peeking through the leaves of the giant pine trees.

His black coat and black shawl around his head was a stark contrast to the pure white snow on the ground and in the sky. But it matched perfectly with the splatter of blood that tainted said purity.

He bent down, kneeling before the creature that had spilled blood: a baby deer wounded by its ribs. It was shot for food by hunters right before the blizzard hit, leaving them to abandon the animal.

The fawn wheezed softly, its beady black eyes staring up at the man. It weakly twitched, its hind legs failing to push itself up. The baby had squirmed the closer the man approached it with a gentle hand. Despite the cold weather, the man never shivered when a particular gust of wind blew through the branches, making his shawl slip off his head.

He gently caressed its head, rubbing his thumb comfortingly under its eye. He felt an ache for the poor baby, lost and alone in the bitter cold.

The baby had bleated softly, perhaps a cry to its mother before falling limp–marking the end of its life. His frown deepened, flinching his hand back to his chest and standing up again. The soul of the animal ripped itself from the confinements of mortality, stretching its limbs. He watched it flail around in small hops, before staring at him for a moment, its nose twitching and scurrying away to the afterlife.

He then turned his head down to glare at the dead body until a kind voice interrupted him.

“I apologize for the intrusion, Miguel.” He turned around with his eyes widening slightly. He saw you stand a few feet away from him, your usual soft smile on your face. Quietly, he whispered your name.

You wore a white cloak over a warm thick white cotton dress–he assumed with many layers underneath– and a crown made of branches atop of your head. You seamlessly fit into the background of the snow with your outfit. Your hair was the same, perfect as ever, free and let down from any hairstyle. The cold had gotten to you, snowflakes on your eyelashes and you held yourself close to keep a bit of warmth.

You approached him, the crunch of the snow underneath following you. When you met with him face to face, you gingerly reached over to place his shawl back over his head to protect him from the cold even though you both knew he didn't really need it.

“You shouldn't be here.” Miguel worried, fussing over you as he held you by your forearms. “You're supposed to be resting.”

Every year for a few weeks, you would take the time to sleep after a couple of months caring for Mother Earth. Miguel, the God of Death, offered to help you by taking care of Mother Earth while you slept. So instead of flourishing crops, warm sun and bright scenery, Miguel's cold hands left trees dying, more opportunities for illness, and an even bigger chance of death–the season many humans know as winter.

“I wanted to see you.” You smiled at him which made Miguel scoff at your ridiculousness. He took off his shawl and placed it around you to keep you warmer. Miguel stopped you before you could protest.

“You and I both know that I wear these just so the mortals don't ask questions,” He grumbled, successfully wrapping the fabric in a snug manner. Since you were the Goddess of Life, you were more used to the warmth of the sun shining down on you and the blood pumping through your veins and to your beating heart. For Miguel, all he knows is the coldest feeling there is, so a storm like this could never harm him. You stared up at him with adoration before yawning. Miguel pointed it out. “I knew it. Go back to bed.”

Despite his warning you slip past him to stare at the deer that had fallen into Miguel's care. Your eyes glazed over its body, resting a moment longer on the gunshot wound that was still seeping red into the plush snow, the blizzard slowly covering its body in a white blanket.

He stands behind you as you bend down on your knees to kneel beside the deer, nervously awaiting your reaction. “You tried saving its life, didn't you?” You asked, never turning away from the animal. You began petting it gently as if it were still alive.

Miguel frowned, looking off to the side. “I was putting it out of its misery.” You huffed a small laugh through your nose and got up again on your feet. You turned to him again and reached up to cup his cheek. He melted into your hand, the only source of warmth he could ever get the chance to feel. His eyes softened down at you.

“Thank you.” You whispered. Miguel's face hardened again but he did not stray from your palm.

“For what? For killing your creations?”

You sighed. No matter how many times you've had this conversation with him, he always seemed to put himself down. “You don't kill, Miguel.” You assure him.

“My life's work is to kill. It's my duty.” He retaliated, his eyes glancing at the fawn before looking back down at you.

“You think lowly of yourself.” You slip your hand down to his chest. “Your work is beautiful.”

“There's no beauty in death, my lady.” Miguel placed his hand over yours on his chest. You don't feel a heartbeat drumming inside. “It's grotesque and heartless.”

You scrunch your nose, not believing a word he's said. “And who has told you this? The mortals?” You ask. His jaw clenches.

“They adore you and not me.” He says.

“Are you saying you're jealous, my lord?”

“I'm saying what is true,” He says firmly, not wanting to amuse your upcoming antics. “You are beauty. You are perfection. You are divine,” He cups your cheek and you shiver from the coolness of his fingers.

“Look around you. Mortals are struggling to stay warm, to find food and shelter. I've caused this. They…they curse my name,” He comes closer to you, tilting your head up to meet his ruby eyes. “I fear you shine too brightly, my lady.” Your breath hitches as you look up at him. You shake, not knowing if it's from the puff of wind passing by or your heart stuttering in your chest when he inches closer.

“What are you saying, Miguel?” You whisper.

His eyes dart to your lips, stopping the urge to kiss you. “I want to shine with you. But I'm not worthy. Not with the acts I've done. Not with the blood I've spilled alongside mortals and destroying your works of art.”

“Miguel,” Your heart speeds up, quick to calm the self destructive thoughts he's producing.

“My life has no meaning without you. What good is appreciating life if there is no death? You make living precious. You make it sacred. And when the time comes, you make it merciful,” Your other hand comes up to his hair, running your cold fingertips through his strands. “That is your true nature. Whatever humans do to abuse your power is not a part of you.”

Miguel leans his forehead against you, closing his eyes. You mirror his actions, pressing against him and simply feeling him. His hands move around you, bringing you closer by the waist. The wind passes by with a high pitched whistle. “So…warm.” He breathes out softly.

He pulls away from you, bending at the waist to pick up your hand and kiss your knuckles. You feel your cheeks heat up while he looks up at you through his eyelashes. “You must be tired, mi reina. I'll take you home.”

Miguel reaches down to pick you up bridal style. You wrapped your arms around his neck and nuzzled closer to him despite his freezing exterior. You feel him hold you tightly to his chest protectively as he walks out of the forest to bring you home.

The fawn's dead body lies underneath a pile of snow now, hidden from the world. Its remains will seep into the ground, nurturing the future plants that will grow in its place once the winter is gone and spring returns– the cycle of life and death– an eternal harmony.

A/N: man i fucking love anything to do with gods and goddesses. i might make this a mini series of just snippets of their relationship but ahhhh i dunno if anyone will even like this tbh. i did have fun writing it though

[camtoons16]

What do you mean there wasn't a third main character?

Noticed a small trend and figured I'd hop in with my favourite moment from @ohnoitstbskyen 's playthrough of Song of Nunu! (screenshots taken from his video "Blizzards and Storms" easiest place I could find backgrounds :p )

[makethatelevenrings]

Western AU - Bruce Wayne x f!reader

Warnings: period typical misogyny, kidnapping/ransom, canon-typical violence, blizzards?

This is part of my 5k Follower Celebration! THANK YOU!

Mama wasn’t lying when she said the West was entirely different from the life you grew up living. From the moment you stepped off the train and into the blossoming town of Gotham, you were transported into a world you had only read about in the papers. When you first read the ad in the paper for a teacher, you hadn’t paid it any mind. But when suitors came calling and your father gave you a pointed look when Mr. Luthor came to dinner, you knew you needed to get out of town and fast.

The Gotham town council read your letter and sent their approval by telegraph three days after receiving it. You packed a trunk with books and clothes, but left behind the more sentimental and fragile items. This was your chance to escape your life for a year or two before you returned home to finally be tied down with a ring on your finger. With your trunk and carpet bag packed, you waved farewell to your parents and boarded the train out west.

It took four days before the train slowed to a stop at a small platform in the middle of a dust-filled street. You kept one hand on your straw bonnet as you stepped down, bag in hand. Two porters scurried down and dumped your trunk onto the wooden platform and promptly darted back onto the train. The train let out a shrill whistle and puffed out black smoke before it pulled away and headed out to its next destination, leaving you standing there like a fool.

The town council said one of their members would meet you at the train station so they could drive you to your accommodations, but you saw no one in front of the train station looking as though they were waiting for someone. Everyone in this small town moved slowly, something that was so different from life in the city. Panic rose in your throat and you glanced back at the train that was far gone at this point. Had you made a mistake?

“Woah,” a loud voice called. Two horses stamped to a stop in front of the train platform, pulling a flatbed wagon. A man pulled the reins one last time and then tilted his hat up. He peered up at you with bright blue eyes and a mischievous smile. Young, you mentally remarked. Younger than you, but certainly old enough to drive a wagon like a regular old pro. A much younger child sat beside him on the wagon bench, but he focused solely on the horses before him.

“You the new teacher?” he asked.

“I am.” You jutted your chin out and regarded him coolly. “And you are?”

The kid, because he was a kid, really, grinned and handed the reins to the child. As if he would be able to restrain two fully grown mares. The older boy hopped off the wagon and climbed up the stairs. He grabbed your trunk and hefted it up as though it weighed nothing and then lowered it onto the wagon bed before turning and offering his gloved hand to you.

“Dick Grayson,” he introduced himself. “My pa sent me to retrieve you. He’s stuck in a meeting, but wishes he was here to give you a proper introduction to the town.”

“And your pa is?” You gave his hand a firm shake.

“Bruce Wayne.” Ah, the richest man in Gotham. He had been the one to send the confirmation telegram and set up all of your accommodations for the year. The newspapers had spoken at length of the Wayne legacy and his wealth, but you were surprised to find out that he was located in such a remote town such as Gotham rather than New York or Chicago.

“C’mon, I’ll drive you over to the Gordon’s. That’s where you’ll be staying. They’ve got a spare room that most teachers stay in.”

You followed him down the steps and gratefully accepted his help into the wagon, sliding in beside the young boy. He peered up at you with a suspicious gaze and you merely raised a brow in response.

“Teach, this is Damian, my littlest brother. Don’t worry, he’s harmless.”

“I am not a baby, Richard.” His words were betrayed by the squeaky voice that escaped him and you smothered your smile with your hand, pretending to wipe dust out of your face instead.

“I’m sure you aren’t, Damian. Will you be taking classes this year?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He adjusted his hat and his green eyes darted towards your lap before back to your face. Your fingers twitched and you reached to the side he looked at and calmly extracted the frog he had placed on the bench, most likely in an attempt to scare you.

“Is this your pet?” you asked calmly. His eye twitched, just barely, and he extended his hands for the frog. It hopped from your gloves to his bare hands and let out a quiet croak. Settling back against the wooden beam of the wagon bench, you sniffed delicately and pointedly ignored the way Dick’s body trembled with laughter beside you.

“I’m excited to be your teacher this year,” you informed Damian. “All I ask is for you to respect me and I’ll respect you.”

He cradled the frog close to his chest and nodded, a little spark of begrudging respect growing between the two of you. You might be a city girl completely unused to this land, but you had dealt with your fair share of mischievous children. This wasn’t your first teaching bid, and you wouldn’t be scared off by a little frog.

The Gordon’s greeted you warmly. The father, Jim, was the sheriff of the town and Sarah, his second wife and stepmother to the children, helped him out sometimes as an informal deputy. When their oldest daughter, Barbara, wheeled out of the spare room and greeted you, you didn’t blink an eye. James Jr. was somewhere chasing lizards with some of the other school-age boys, Sarah explained, but you would meet him later. You and Barbara would be sharing a room, but that was fine by you. She was a pleasant girl and smart as all hell, you could tell just in a short conversation. Dick carried your things into the house and tugged Barbara’s braid like a brother teasing his little sister. The Waynes must be close to the Gordons, you determined.

“You must be tired,” Sarah said once the boys’ wagon pulled away. “I’ll let you get settled and Barbara will come get you once supper is ready.”

You thanked her and disappeared into the small bed. The mattress along the far wall would be yours and there were a few nails already put up in the wall where you could hang your bonnet. For the first time since you stepped onto that train, you had a chance to truly sit with your decision and breathe. Mama and Papa would write, but you weren’t sure how reliable the mail service was here.

Well, you decided. No turning back now.

The first day of classes would not resume for another week while families finished up their harvest and then moved closer to town for the incoming winter. You took the time to familiarize yourself with the town and its families, especially those with children you would be teaching, and your new school. The schoolhouse was a ten minute walk from the Gordons and it had been closed for the harvest season so there were a few things you needed to do in order to prepare. Cobwebs and dust seemed to take up every inch of space in the small one-room school so you located a broom tucked in the corner and opened every door and window to let sun in as you swept furiously. You were so focused on your task that you didn’t hear the approaching footsteps on the stairs or the gentle knock on the doorframe.

You did, however, hear a man clear his throat and greet you.

A surprised yelp escaped you and you spun around, raising the broom as some sort of makeshift weapon. The man raised his hands to show he was no threat and didn’t step further into the schoolhouse.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” His voice was a rich, silky baritone and you swallowed as a shiver ran down your arms. He was tall and broad, his shoulders nearly taking up the entire doorway. His suit was expensive, you could tell by the cut and fabric. It was the latest fashion from the East, so he must be rich. His eyes captivated you for just a brief moment. They were bright blue and, despite his charming smile, his eyes were cold.

“No harm, no foul.” You set the broom against the desk beside you and clasped your hands in front of you. “How can I help you, Mr…?”

“Wayne. Bruce Wayne.” His eyes darted around the empty school and he stepped back from the doorway and extended his arm out. “Apologies, I’ve been cooped up inside all day. I’d much rather chat out in the sunshine.”

It was a polite way of protecting both his and your reputation and you appreciated. The schoolhouse sat on the far edge of the main road and the front yard was in full view of all the townspeople that walked to and fro the various buildings. There would be no danger of you being alone in a room with an unmarried man.

“I could use a bit of sun myself,” you assented. He moved back so you could walk out of the school without touching him and he followed you down the steps and onto the grass.

“I just wanted to come by and see how you were settling in,” he explained. “I’m sorry for taking so long. I had business in the next town over for the past few days.”

You nodded and focused your gaze on the folks walking into Isley’s Mercantile. “I understand. Everything is well in hand. The Gordon’s are exceedingly kind and the town is wonderful.”

“And is there anything I can do to help prepare for the school year? Any repairs needed on the building?”

“No, not that I’m aware of. If I come across anything, I’ll be sure to inform you so you can find the suitable tradesman to complete the job.” It was a fair assumption because surely, this well-off man wouldn’t be the one to climb to the roof to nail on a new shingle.

“Have you been made aware of the yearly schoolyard picnic?” The whole town gathered at the schoolhouse to ring in the new year the second Sunday after school began. It wasn’t a ton of time to prepare, but there seemed to be more work and less down time out here than there was back home. You spent your nights sitting by the fire at the Gordons working on decorations as the steady thrum of Barbara’s sewing machine became a familiar drone. The girl had a wicked way with any new technology her parents handed her and she could sew anything, it seemed.

“Yes, Sarah told me. I’ve already begun preparations.”

He gave a perfunctory nod and looked out onto the plains. “Well, I’m glad I was able to make your acquaintance. My children will all be attending school, so I’d like to apologize in advance.”

As if on cue, a squawk of indignation came from behind the school and two kids appeared from behind it. One was tall and gangly, as if he hadn’t grown into himself yet and only grew up, and the other appeared to be around twelve. The younger one held a book in front of him as he dashed away from his older brother. Mr. Wayne sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as the two boys sprinted past, one gleeful and the other shouting for him to come back.

You merely reached out and caught the back of the younger boy’s coat. He stumbled to a stop and you reached down to pluck the book out of his hand before you released him. He opened his mouth to say something and you raised a brow in response.

“Tim,” Mr. Wayne said with a sigh. “Stop stealing Jason’s things.”

“That little fuckin’ brat,” Jason snarled when he joined the three of you. Mr. Wayne let out a pained wheeze at his language as you turned to look at the older boy. He was younger than Dick and older than Tim, so you’d place him around fifteen.

“I better not be hearing any language like that in my classroom,” you said sharply. He ducked his head and offered you a sheepish smile.

“Sorry, miss.” You accepted his apology by handing him his book. It was well-worn and well-loved by the way some of the pages clung to the peeling spine. You inclined your head to the object and then looked at Jason.

“Do you like to read?”

He shrugged his shoulders in that teenager way, as if having interests would automatically make him lose all credibility. “I guess.”

“I brought some books with me. I’d be happy to let you borrow them.” You turned your attention to Tim who was staring up at you with big blue eyes. “And you better not steal them from your brother. I’ll ask Mr. Wayne if you’re behaving at home or you’ll be stuck inside during recess with me. Do we have a deal?”

“Yes, miss,” he squeaked. You smiled to show him that you weren’t really that scary. “Alright, boys. I best get back to cleaning. I’ll see you all next week?”

“Go on to the wagon. I’ll be there in a moment,” Bruce ordered and the boys trudged off with minimal jostling and poking between them. He waited until they were out of earshot before he turned to you. “Usually my butler is the only person able to wrangle them.”

“You hired me for a reason, Mr. Wayne.” Turning back to the school, you glanced over your shoulder at him. “Have a good day.”

“Good day.” He waited until you were back inside before he headed towards the wagon. Alfred was the one to thank for hiring you. His butler truly was the smartest man alive.

It was easy to fall into a routine once the school year started. You were up with the sun and joined Sarah outside to collect eggs and milk the cows. She appreciated the help because it gave the chance for the kids to tidy up the house for her. After a quick breakfast of eggs and biscuits or hotcakes, you and the two children would start the ten minute trek to school. Barbara refused help with her wheelchair and you knew better than to keep bothering her about it. She clearly was able to move quickly without any help.

You balanced a few pails and baskets on the way to school. Books, lunch, sewing supplies, and more spilled from your bags. As you approached the town, kids dashed out of their homes and joined you three as you walked. You learned quickly that dust was a part of life here and you would be covered in it by the time the day ended, but you were also learning to get used to it.

The class came together in a boisterous, rowdy nature that you didn’t stop until your watch read that it was precisely nine in the morning. Then, you wrangled them all into the building with the clang of the bell at the front and a few shouted words, usually directed at the Wayne siblings who seemed determined to ruin their clothes before the day officially started. You counted the kids as they stumbled into the building and hung any scarves and caps up on the pegs nailed into the wall. Arithmetic, reading, writing, and science was on the docket for the day. A thirty minute recess would split the day, enabling the kids to eat lunch and also help out a bit with preparing for the picnic.

By the time the school bell rang at four, courtesy of Jason lifting Duke up to pull the rope, you resigned yourself to staying late tonight. Barbara and Jim Jr. went home with the promise of letting their parents know so James wouldn’t think the teacher got lost. Artemis wanted help with her recitation and Garfield needed assistance with his arithmetic. You also had a stack of slates to review handwriting practice before tomorrow and individual spelling lists to draw up for each student. You could probably do the last two back at the Gordon’s, but by the time the students left you in the quiet little schoolhouse, you were in the zone. You barely registered the sun setting until you finished your tasks and looked up to see the furnace had burned out.

Well, shit.

Gathering up your belongings, you figured that if you put a little pep in your step, you could avoid the drunks spilling out of the saloon and the coyotes that prowled at night. You turned to shut the door behind you, because there was no need to lock anything here, and promptly let out a scream of surprise.

“I haven’t got any money, if that’s what you’re after,” you exclaimed. A man in all black stood by the stairs, half-obscured by the shadows. A black stetson hung low across his brow and a bandana obscured the bottom half of his face, leaving the only thing visible were his eyes. All in all, he looked like the outlaws described in the papers.

Your eyes darted to his empty hands and then his waist. No gun.

Huh.

“It’s late,” he said sharply. His voice was rough and grating and deep, like the endless night sky. You let out a high-pitched laugh laced with incredulity and turned on your heel, stamping down the stairs and marching towards the Gordon’s.

He followed.

“I have no money. I have no jewelry on. And I certainly have no intention of going down gently so if you are so desperate, the saloon is over there,” you hissed. He didn’t reply but fell in step beside you.

“It’s late,” he repeated. “You shouldn’t walk alone.”

“So you decided to just tag along? Because I feel so safe right now, you nincompoop.”

When you whirled around to glare at him, he was gone. But you still felt as though someone was watching you the entire walk home. Sarah was seated by the fire when you blew in through the front door looking like a cat dragged out of hell.

“My god, what happened to you?” she exclaimed.

“Nothing, except some outlaw following me around like a bad omen. What’s that all about, huh?”

“An outlaw? You don’t mean the masked man, right?” She stood to make you a plate with the food still warming on the stove and you gratefully accepted it.

“Does he frequent these parts?”

The older woman chuckled. “Yes, but no need to worry. Don’t say anything to Jim, but that man has done more for this town than a lot of the so-called sheriffs who controlled the town before we moved here. This town used to be a lot worse. I was scared everyday when the kids were out of my sight.”

You settled in at the small wooden table and spooned some of the stew onto your spoon. “What do you mean by worse?”

Her eyes darted towards Jim Jr.’s sleeping form by the fire and sat across from you. “Like they were keeping girls captive at the saloon. Shootouts nearly everyday. The mortician could barely keep up. Gambling, embezzling, you name it, we had it. Gotham still has its problems, but Jim’s job is a lot easier with this outlaw out there.”

You blinked down at the bowl in front of you and considered her words. That man was known for his ability to take down criminals, and you called him a nincompoop.

Well, the west certainly was different from what you were used to.

The day of the picnic found you seated with the Gordon’s in their pew. You didn’t pay a lick of attention to the sermon and instead found yourself sending warning glares to the gaggle of Wayne’s who kept turning around to make faces at their friends. Good heavens, Mr. Wayne must be exhausted keeping up with all those kids. Well, his butler must be. You figured Wayne was too busy being a rich man to take care of all those kids, adopted or not.

The picnic went off without a hitch. You balanced helping serve food from the potluck the ladies of the town so graciously helped with and wrangling kids to make sure they didn’t scuff up their clothes or knees. You loved this job. It was only two weeks in, but you knew it to be true. You loved this job, these kids, this town, and the town welcomed you with open arms. The mothers adored the way you were eager to help while also making sure the kids behaved. The fathers loved hearing your tales of home back east, peppering you with questions about how the cities were booming with the fruits of the Industrial Revolution.

“You plan on going back at all?” one of the mothers asked. She loaded your plate up with cornbread and greens and you gratefully took it from her with a smile. Your gaze moved to track the movements of the kids playing with a rugged, ratty old soccer ball.

“After this year, who knows? I like teaching and if I go back east, I’ll have to get married and he certainly won’t let me be a teacher. If that’s the case, maybe I should just be a spinster.”

Before she could ask another question, a throat clearing caught both of your attention. Bruce Wayne offered you a tight smile and nodded to you both in greeting.

“I just wanted to commend you on an excellent event,” he said. You smiled politely in response and waited for him to say something else. The two of you stared at each other for a bit until he cleared his throat once more, said a farewell, and walked back over to his children where Dick Grayson appeared to be nearly choking on his laughter.

That night, with all the excitement over and done with, you finally felt like you were settled here. You finally felt as if you could breathe. Sarah and James sat by the fire and you excused yourself to step outside, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders to ward off the chill. You wanted to just take a moment to breathe in the fresh air and listen to the world around you. 

That was the biggest difference between here and home. In the city, there was a constant stream of noise, whether it was wagons rolling over the uneven brick roads or the shouts of laborers and drunken men walking through the streets. Out here, sometimes the only thing you could hear was the chirping of crickets and cicadas, the occasional howl of coyotes, and the wind.

It was starting to get a bit colder from the blazing summer heat and you tightened the blanket around your shoulders. Sarah said it was only a matter of time before a blizzard swept over the plains and blanketed everything in snow. She took you to the mercantile to purchase some warmer clothes and also some yarn so you had a chance to knit some more socks and mittens. You weren’t a stranger to cold weather by any means, but Sarah said it could be both beautiful and dangerous if you got caught in it with no shelter nearby.

In the distance, a horse huffed and stamped its hooves. You looked in its direction and saw him slowly walking across the land. By him, you meant your outlaw. You hated that your mind instinctively called him “yours” because there was nothing about him that you could claim. 

Despite the fact you weren’t making any noise, his head turned towards you. What a sight you must be in your day-worn dress, no shoes, and no hat. You didn’t care about impropriety at that moment. Who would gossip? It was just you and him.

The outlaw reached up and tipped his hat. You couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your lips.

Your eyes fixed on the stars above and when you looked back, he was gone.

The first blizzard held off just in time for Christmas. On one hand, the kids were safely at home with their families when the wind first picked up. On the other hand, Jim was stuck in town and Sarah had injured her ankle the week beforehand. So that meant morning chores fell to you.

“Keep a hand on the rope at all times,” Sarah repeated for the thirtieth time. You nodded as you wound a fourth scarf around your head and checked to make sure your mittens were snugly on. All you needed to do was follow the clothesline rope to the stables and barn, put out feed and hay, check to make sure the troughs hadn’t frozen over, and get back before you lost feeling in your fingers. The mercury in the thermometer said that it was below freezing out there and snow kept falling.

“If you don’t come back in thirty minutes, I’ll come for you,” she said as you moved to the door.

“No.” You glanced back at the kids behind her. “It won’t do them any good if both of us get trapped out there. I’ll be fine.”

And you were. The walk to the stables took maybe two minutes on a good day, but you were pushing eight minutes by the time you made it across. Snow whipped across your face and stung your eyes but you pushed through. Your skirts were getting wet and heavy by the time you stepped into the wooden structure and you were grateful for the reprieve from the elements. The animals greeted you with various cries as you made the way around their stalls, depositing food and a few snuggles as you went. There were enough eggs in the larder that Sarah told you not to bother collecting them. 

Now came the return trip.

The snow seemed higher in just a few minutes, which was impossible, but your boots sank into the thick drifts and made it difficult to walk. Your skirts were dragging you down and at one point, you stumbled an-

Your hand slipped.

You blindly felt for the rope above your head and tried to quell the panic that rose in your chest. Each turn of your head was met with blustery gusts of wind and snow that veiled your sight with white and disoriented you. This was what Sarah was worried about. Getting caught in a blizzard can get you killed and they wouldn’t be able to find your body until the snow melted. Oh Christ, how would they tell your parents? A telegram? A letter? Or would someone ride with your body back home and tell them in person?

Something sturdy crashed into you and you stumbled into the snow but was quickly righted. You gasped as arms encircled your waist and hauled you up against a body. Your face pressed against a thick, black wool scarf that moved when the owner spoke.

“We gotta get you inside!” the outlaw shouted over the wind. You let out a startled, breathless laugh, and clung to him as he pushed his way through the snow. It was as if he were superhuman, the way he led you without fail directly to the Gordon household. He slammed his fist three times on the door and Sarah opened it, her mouth parting in surprise at the sight that met her. You were a sight, you bet, clinging onto your outlaw and soaked to the bone.

“Get her out of these things and get her warmed up,” he ordered. Sarah stuttered something out and ushered you quickly in. You hesitated though and looked back at the outlaw.

“Shouldn’t you be inside?” you asked. He was bundled up in as many layers as you were, but he wasn’t flinching from the cold like you were. He merely tipped his head towards you, turned around, and headed back into the blizzard. Sarah shut the door behind him to keep the snow and wind out and then focused her fretting over you.

“How did he even know I was out there? I couldn't see hide nor hair!”

“Came by the house to see if we needed anything, saw you were missing, demanded to know where the hell you went, and was back out the door before I finished speaking,” she explained. She unwound the various scarves off of your head and you blinked at the sudden wash of light over your eyes. “He comes by every blizzard to check on folks, but by golly, he moved out of here like a bat out of hell.”

He saved your life, you told yourself, but you didn’t want to say it aloud and give her a heart attack. Was there anyone out there waiting for him? Who was looking out for him?

As your frozen fingers began to warm up, you considered the empty expanse of your skin. You hadn’t even told him thank you.

The blizzard quieted down two days later and you thought you would never be so grateful to see the flat expanse of land that was the prairie. Getting to the stables and back was much easier now and you didn’t mind doing the chores now that there wasn’t a threat of death looming over your head.

However, snow still piled in drifts around the ground, causing school to be canceled for a few days. You sent along the message with Jim when he came by after the storm died down. That meant you were settled in by the fire with the two Gordon kids instead of trying to trudge through waist high snow to teach an empty classroom. Barbara leaned her head against your lap as you read Lewis Carroll aloud. Jim Jr. pretended to not listen as he played with some toy soldiers, but you saw him perk up a few times as the story progressed.

Your voice faltered as the sound of jingle bells filled the air. Sarah looked up from her sewing and shot you a confused look but you shrugged in response. The bells stopped and she got up just in time for a polite knock to sound on the door. Sarah opened the door to reveal Bruce Wayne himself standing there.

“Apologies for the intrusion,” he said in greeting. “But I figured I should make the rounds before another storm picks up.”

“Ah.” Sarah welcomed him in and you folded the corner of your page before setting the book down. Barbara huffed a little at your reading being disturbed but you ruffled her auburn curls and grinned. Mr. Wayne must have noticed her dissatisfaction as well because he looked back at the wagon behind him and whistled. A head of dark hair popped out from the wagon bed and Dick Grayson practically launched himself over the wood to get to his best friend.

“Mr. Wayne is kind enough to give each household a sack of flour and some shoes for Christmas,” Sarah explained. “It really eases the strain off of a lot of families in town. I’ve told him a million times that he doesn’t need to do it for us, but he insists.”

“Would you like some coffee and a cookie?” you asked. You didn’t even wait for his answer before you were moving to the kitchen to pour a cup for him. Mr. Wayne had been nothing but polite to you since you came to town, and you loved teaching his rambunctious kids, but you could tell that he was attempting to court you and you were having none of it. If you wanted to be a housewife and nothing more, you could go back home. Marrying the richest man in Gotham, maybe even the richest man in the state, would lock you in that gilded cage far too soon.

“Thank you.” He gratefully accepted the coffee and passed the cookie to Dick who promptly broke it in two, passed half to Barbara, and continued chatting with her like it was nothing. You hid your smile behind your hand at his kindness. Teen boys typically clammed up if you mentioned their manners and you knew from experience that he could be just as much of a hellion as his little brothers when he wanted to be.

“I actually have a gift for you as well,” Mr. Wayne said. You blanched as he extended a slim box in your direction and he saw the hesitation on your face. “It’s from the town council as an appreciation for your excellent teaching.”

Okay, that made it slightly better. You carefully accepted the box and opened it to reveal a lovely hat pin. It was simple but perfect for you. The slim black pearls would go well with most of your hats and you loved the way it reminded you of…

Well, it wouldn’t be well to dwell on him right now.

“Thank you. I love it,” you said quietly. He nodded in return and then checked his watchpiece.

“Dick, we have to head out. You’ll see Barbara and your teacher in a few days.” The teen sighed but complied without argument, something you figured was a feat considering he loved to argue with you on everything in the classroom. He was smart, quick-witted, and a pain in the ass sometimes, but he was also a great help with the younger kids. You relied on him and Barbara to help the others stay on top of their lessons, and he was great at tutoring.

“I have some books coming from home on the next mail train,” you told Dick as he started to head out. “I’ll let you two have the first look at the new science catalogs.”

He thanked you with a beaming smile and dashed out to climb back onto the wagon bed. With a polite nod in your direction once more, Mr. Wayne followed. You waited until their wagon pulled away before you closed the door and then leaned against it, a heavy sigh escaping you. Sarah snickered and you shot her a half-hearted glare.

“Jim didn’t tell me anything about the council pitching in for a gift,” she whispered when you joined her next to the stove. You nudged her ankle, the one not recently injured, and huffed out another sigh. At least he saved face by not admitting that it was, essentially, a courting gift. You opened the box once more and examined it. It was rather pretty, you thought.

Blasted man.

You returned to school once the snow started to melt. You were half a month into the new year and teaching the children about the proper usage of a participle phrase when you first heard the hooves. It was a common thing to hear horses and wagons riding by the school so you thought nothing of it until the horse stopped in front of the school and heavy footsteps sounded up the clapboard stairs. The door had a bit of a lean to it thanks to the crooked hinges and it scraped along the floor as it opened. You inhaled deeply and turned around to come face to face with a bandit.

This man wasn’t like your outlaw. No, he was something a lot more dangerous. A scruffy bandana hung around his neck, revealing his dirty and sun-leathered skin. His spurs clicked as he walked down the aisle between the desks, creating an ominous thudclick thudclick that sounded oddly like your heart.

“Now, this ain’t personal, miss teach,” he said in a soft, quiet voice that was so unlike the air of fear that dripped off of him. “I’m just hurting for some money and rumor has it, you got rich parents back east.”

Your eyes darted to the six-shooter on his hip and then back up to those dark eyes of his. The kids could run, but that would mean risking one or more of them getting injured. Bandits operate usually with a partner so even if the kids did get out, there was probably another armed man outside.

“If I go with you, you won’t hurt them?”

“That’s right. You and I will take a little trip to a nice cabin where we’ll wait until your parents pay the ransom.”

“I live with the sheriff. Surely he’ll notice me missing.”

The bandit grinned, a crooked and fearsome thing, and shrugged. “There’s a mighty big fight at the saloon right now. He might be late getting home.”

You accepted your fate then and there. “May I grab my hat?”

His smile quickly turned to a scowl. “Hurry up.”

Rushing around your desk, you grabbed your bonnet and hair pin, easily sliding them both into place before he grabbed your arm and dragged you towards the door.

“Now, kids,” the bandit addressed the children. “If you want your teacher to live, you’re going to wait until the little hand points at the six.” He gestured to the grandfather clock behind your desk. “Before you go and tell your mommy and daddy. If not, you’ll never see your teacher again. Can we do that?”

“They’re kids,” you spat. He chuckled and disregarded your concern, instead forcing you out to where two horses stood before the stairs. One man sat on the chestnut gelding, a shotgun resting over his lap, while the bandit hauled you up and onto the horse. As he settled himself behind you on the saddle, the first man leaned over with a strip of fabric in his hands.

“My ‘pologies, ma’am,” he said. “It’s for your safety, after all.”

You knew better than to argue as he stuffed some of the dirty fabric into your mouth and tied it around your head. Next, they tied your hands together with rope and you also knew better than to try and jump off a galloping horse with both hands tied.

The two men kicked the horses into a start and headed for the empty plains outside of the town. The air was dropping temperature and quickly, a sign that you knew meant an incoming blizzard now that you experienced one. Would the kids get home safely in time? Even if they didn’t, you knew the townsfolk wouldn’t let them freeze in the schoolhouse. Despite your best efforts, tears built in your eyes and dripped silently down your cheeks as they carried you further from the place you had started to consider as home.

The wind was starting to pick up when the horses slowed. A dilapidated old cabin sat abandoned, half shadowed by a craggy outcropping of rock. Its roof was caving in and you knew that, if a blizzard struck while you were here, you would truly freeze to death this time.

“Easy does it, miss. We mean no disrespect.” The man behind you helped steady you as the second man lowered you to the ground. You saw no need to fight considering you would get lost in the desert and either die of dehydration or freeze.

Wonderful.

But you had another plan in mind.

The man shoved you to sit in a chair that wobbled when you moved on it. He removed the gag now that there was no worry about you screaming and alerting anyone. He muttered something under his breath as he extracted a cigar from his pocket and lit it, sucking in the smoke with a heavy breath.

“Frankly, I thought this was a stupid idea,” he explained to you. “But Theodore seems to think you’ve got some money and frankly, we’d be much obliged. We’re trying to get to San Francisco and get us some gold.”

“There’s no more gold,” you muttered. “So you’re sore out of luck.” Your gaze darted around the dark little cabin in search of…there.

“What’d you just say?”

“I said there isn’t any more gold in California. Surely you’ve heard.”

He mulled over your words for a moment and then headed back outside, hollering something about “did you know there ain’t no gold in California?” Now was your chance.

You leaned forward and grabbed the shattered shard of glass from what you assumed was a mirror. Adjusting your grip, you hissed as it nicked your thumb. Blood trickled down your skin but you couldn’t worry about that right now. You used the glass to saw the ropes that bound your wrist and nearly wept in joy when it gave way. Reaching up, you grabbed the pin out of your hat and examined it for a moment. It truly was beautiful.

It’s a shame you were going to have to break it.

“Fellas? I think there’s a snake in here,” you called as you moved to stand by the door. You waited with bated breath for the door to open, the man’s hand curling around the wood and giving you a perfect chance to jam the hat pin directly into the top of his hand.

A howl of pain erupted from him and you dashed forward to grab the pistol from his holster. He lunged for you and you ducked under his arms, scrambling further into the small cabin and fumbling with the gun. You had shot only a couple times with your father, but you hoped the knowledge was still somewhere in your mind.

You cursed under your breath as you tried to get the hammer into place. The man was getting back to his feet and his buddy appeared in the doorway, his eyes widening at the sight of you holding a gun. He reached for his own when he was suddenly bowled over by a flash of black. A startled shriek escaped the man and you would have laughed if the situation was humorous at all.

But when a two hundred pound man with a hat pin is the only thing blocking you from the door and the horses and safety, there’s little to laugh about. A shot fired somewhere outside and you instinctively ducked, giving the man a chance to rush at you. You made a valiant effort at jumping over the broken wooden table, but the legs gave way and you tumbled to the ground. He hauled you up, yanking the pistol out of your hand, and dragged you outside where his buddy was currently getting his face beat in by-

“I’ll kill her!” The cold barrel of the gun pressed against your temple and a strong hand kept you firmly in place. Your outlaw stood, his blue eyes narrowing as he took in the sight before him. You looked to his hip.

No gun.

Well, how the hell does someone have a gun battle with no gun?

His gaze darted to the man’s right hand, his dominant hand that held the offending weapon, and you realized what he was piecing together. The same hand you had shoved a metal rod through minutes earlier. Which meant it was weak.

 With a shaky hand, you extended three fingers. Your outlaw raised a brow and you let your eye twitch. Now was not the time for his attitude. Two fingers. He dipped his chin in an almost imperceptible nod. One finger. His feet shifted, his stance widening, and you clasped your fist shut and promptly went limp in the bandit’s arm.

He was so surprised by your sudden weight that he stumbled and dropped the gun. Your outlaw barreled forward, kicking the gun far away, and slammed into the bandit. You fell with them and went rolling along the ground, but by the time you were able to pick yourself up, both bandits were unconscious and bleeding in the dirt. Your legs shook as you finally got them under yourself and started to stand, but a hand grabbed your shoulder and stopped you from rising. Unlike the bandits, this touch was firm but warm. You met his steely blue eyes and swallowed against the sudden dryness in your throat.

“Your hurt,” he said quietly. He brushed his hand against the blood on your hand and you let out a breathy laugh.

“I accidentally did that. I was trying to use the mirror and…it’s not important.” His hand enclosed around yours, silencing the words from your mouth.

“You’re shivering.” He looked at the gathering clouds and cursed quietly. “We need to get you somewhere safe.”

“What about them?”

He didn’t pay the men any mind. “Sheriff Gordon knows where they are. I just got here first.” His hand moved to enclose around your bicep and he gently led you to his horse. “A blizzard is on its way and you need to be checked by Dr. Quinn.”

“What about you?”

Your question made him pause and he fixed his gaze on you. “What do you mean by mean?”

Despite the cold air, heat flushed to your face and you shrugged. “You could be hurt too. And you shouldn’t be in the blizzard, either. You deserve to be safe, too.”

He considered you for a moment and then his gaze softened, his hand coming up to touch your chin. “I’ll be fine.” With that, he bent down to help you onto his horse. Unlike your earlier ride, this was a lot more comfortable. He grabbed a blanket out of his saddle pack and then climbed onto the saddle. Your outlaw wrapped it around you and then grabbed the reins to direct his horse towards town.

You were too late, though. The snow started to fall only a few minutes into the ride. With no coat, hat, or layers, you were quickly growing cold. You tried to stop your hands from shaking but the tremors rose into your arms and jaw, creating an audible rattle that caught his attention. Your outlaw raised his hand and pressed your head under his chin to get you closer to him before he raised the edge of the blanket to cover you. He then wrapped his arm around your waist and encouraged you to get as close as possible, but it still wasn’t enough.

“There’s a cabin about a mile away,” he shouted over the wind. “A family that stays in town during the winter. We can stop there.”

You nodded, the cold making your brain feel a little numb. He shook you gently and pressed his lips against the shell of your ear. “Hey, stay with me. Keep your eyes open for me.”

“‘M sorry,” you slurred. “It’s cold.”

“I know. Just a little bit to go.”

You were barely aware of him pulling the horse to a stop and helping you down. All you could recall was the sudden warmth that bloomed from the fire as he tossed wood in. Your outlaw had laid you on the small threadbare rug by the fire and settled a few blankets over you. He crouched next to you and explained that he would put the horse in the stable and be back but to not, under any circumstance, fall asleep.

Stay awake. You can do that.

Or was this all a dream? It had to be. The whole day seemed unreal. Kidnapping, ransom, almost escaping, and then your outlaw showing up. It had to be a dream. But the rough wool under your cheek and the softness of the fur felt very, very real.

“Alright, up you get,” your outlaw said once he came back inside. He brushed the snow off of himself and kneeled down next to you to help you up. You leaned against the wood frame of the bed and glanced up through your lashes to study what little of his face you could see. He gently took your hand out from under the blanket and searched for any sign of frostbite. When he got to the small cut on your thumb, he left and returned with a small bucket of snow. Letting it melt by the fire for a bit, he used it to wash away the blood before he tied a small rag around your thumb to slow the bleeding.

“It can’t be too comfortable with that bandana on,” you said, voice soft and careful. His touch stilled at your wrist and you cursed yourself for being too forward. You turned your face away from his. “I’m sorry, forget I said that.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his hand raise and you inhaled sharply as you realized what he was doing. The bandana fell away and you blinked away any remnants of this dream. You had half a mind to pinch yourself to double check.

“I…I’m sorry I lost that hat pin you gave me,” you blurted out. A smile widened on his handsome face and you were struck by how real the smile looked compared to the tight, perfunctory grins he gave the townspeople.

“I think I can buy you a new one,” Bruce Wayne replied. He removed his hat as well and you took in his face as though he was a well and you were dying of thirst. You had seen him plenty of times, but you saw him as Bruce or as your outlaw. Now they were both one in the same and it made your head spin a little. You reached out and then hesitated, but he nodded to encourage you. You brushed your hand along his jaw and then cupped his cheek, studying the tiny scars you could now make out against his skin.

“Why?”

He was expecting that question, you could tell. He let out a long breath and then explained it all. How his parents died in a wagon robbery, how the sheriffs in Gotham were so corrupt they did nothing to catch the men who did it. How he lived this double life while adopting orphans who stumbled into Gotham from various backgrounds. You listened intently. There was no judgment held against him. From what you had gathered from Sarah and others in the town, the vigilante was feared by criminals and welcomed by the townspeople. Gotham’s crime cleared up after two years of him patrolling the prairie and enforcing the laws in the saloon when the sheriff couldn’t.

“And why me?” The question poured out of you before you could stop it. His lips curled into one of those genuine smiles again.

“Only three people can wrangle my kids. Alfred, me, and you.”

“So that’s why you courted me?”

His lips pressed against your palm and you softened, your body becoming pliant as warmth, both literal and figurative, buzzed through your veins.

“No, that’s just what made me know it was the right decision.”

“Can we expect you back next year?” one of the mother’s asked as she filled a plate for another person. It was the end of school year picnic and you welcomed the chance to take a break from wrangling forty children everyday.

“I hope so,” you replied evenly. “I don’t have any plans of leaving.”

“We’d really love to keep you on,” she continued. “I know you said before that-”

“Jason Peter! Richard John!” You set the plate down and planted your hands on your hips. The two boys spun around with innocent smiles plastered on their faces. Damian and Duke wobbled dangerously on their shoulders and you leveled the boys with a glare that could melt ice.

“Do not drop your brothers,” you ordered. The older boys both nodded in unison before dashing off, the two littlest Wayne’s bouncing on their shoulders the entire way. You pressed a hand to your heart just as a little head of dark hair pressed against your waist. Curling an arm around Cassandra’s shoulders, you hugged her close to your side.

“Having fun?” you asked. She nodded but kept close, her nimble fingers playing with the ties of your apron. You smoothed a hand over her head and leaned down to kiss her hair.

“Nice try,” you whispered. “What is Tim and Steph getting into?”

She merely grinned and slipped away to follow her brothers. You apologized to the other ladies and headed into the school, somehow sure that the source of chaos had to be in here. But the schoolhouse was empty, aside from your books scattered on the desk. You took a moment to take in the room with a heavy heart. Gathering up your books, you stacked them up and left them on the desk. Maybe the next teacher would need it.

Two strong arms wrapped around your waist and you sagged back against your husband’s chest. Bruce pressed a kiss to your temple and frowned when he saw your face.

“Do you need the kids to carry these?”

“No, I figured the next teacher could use them.” He leaned back to see your face fully, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Are you quitting?”

“I’m married, Bruce. For such a brilliant man, you do have your moments.”

He let out a huff of laughter and shook his head. “We have Alfred to take care of the house, dear. You can teach if you want to.”

“And Alfred’s okay with that?”

“I think we will have to physically pry him from the kitchen when it’s time for him to retire.”

A brilliant grin spread across your lips and you turned fully in his arms so you could fling your arms around his neck. “Oh, thank you! Thank you thank you thank you!”

Your husband, your outlaw, laughed and accepted your kiss with no argument. “Come along, Mrs. Wayne. It’ll be here next fall.”

You didn’t expect to stay in the west longer than a year. You didn’t expect to end up married with a gaggle of adopted children. You really didn’t expect to marry the richest man in town who moonlighted as a vigilante who didn’t carry a gun.

Well, Mama wasn’t lying when she said the West was entirely different from the life you grew up thinking you would live. You didn’t seem to mind.

[hcdragonwrites]

Cozy (a @jttw-monkeybusiness Drabble )

So I made another one- this one was inspired by this ask (I suck at Hyperlinks I’m so sorry)

It rolled a bit in my brain and kept begging to be fleshed out, so I decided to give it life ! Enjoy!

Snow

Snow fell in white flurries, chasing away the blossoms and birds that had been sitting in the trees just moments before. The storm was in a full frenzy now, peeling petals from overeager trees who had budded too soon, and throwing the birds from the sky. The wind whipped up the cold powder to spray back in the face of the pilgrims as they continued on their journey. They had left the warm subtropical forest only hours ago, where Sophie had rolled her sleeves up to relieve some of the excess heat. Now however, she was shivering.

None of the group, save for Wukong, was truly equipped for the snow and cold. Pigsys ears were turning purple from the temperature as he tried, and failed, to hide from the worst of it behind Sandy. Sandy silently continued on, carving a path for Sophie (who trailed farther behind) to walk through. The snow was already deep, coming to her knees as they continued to follow the tiny path up the mountain. Black rock jutted upward and outward like broken teeth into the white air. Horse and Monk both were struggling ahead, Yulongs sides shivering in the wet as the snow melted on his fur. Tripitaka called Wukong over, asking him to scout ahead to look for a place they could shelter for the duration of this storm. Sophie could see there heads bent together as Master and pupil discussed. Wukong, for once, didn’t reply with a snort or a quick jab at how Trip should be lucky for him to be his disciple. Instead he had somersaulted off, gone in a flash of fur and tiger stripes, into the air.

“Would be nice if I could just somersault out of here.” Sophie muttered.

A freak blizzard had not been on the list of things Sophie was ready for. She had faced shape-changing demons, women that turned to great tigers to devour Tripitaka, mountain gods throwing stones down into their path and the like. Sophie was prepared for any person or creature - or at least- expecting it. The weather however? She was severely underprepared for. She had the travel clothes she had bought with the coin purse she’d been given. They were meant for light rain and mild heat. Not for a snowstorm. Sophies hair was getting wet and the cold was starting to chill her ears from where it melted.

“It’s so cold…” she muttered. She kept following Sandys footpath, thankful for the giant of a river demon and his slow shuffling walk. If he was walking normally he would have left her far behind in the snow.

Her foot hit a rock and slipped, sending her flailing into a rapidly growing snowbank. “F-f-f-freezing! AH!” Snow had gone down her shirt, sending a chill up her spine. Faster than a wildcat she had hopped from the bank, shaking herself.

“Hate snow hate snow hate snow—“ she chanted her mantra as she slapped off the powder, trying to prevent it from melting and wetting her clothes. Wet clothes would only spell disaster. Sophie could recall all the cold born illnesses from one special National Geographic did on Everest and the extreme exposure the hikers faced there: pneumonia, Trench foot, frostbite, hypothermia, flu, Chilblains, bronchitis —

Her foot slipped again as her mind was listing all the things that could happen. Sophie would have been in the snowbank a second time except something caught her by the midriff and hauled her up.

“Stupid women stay on your feet!” Wukong snarled in her ear, setting her down. Sophie nodded, teeth chattering and nose turning red as the cold began to chap it. “Of all the people here I thought at least you had the common sense to be aware of ice!”

From up ahead came the faint cry and heavy fall as Pigsys fell face first in the snow. Sandy had to quickly turn to hid a chuckle as the drenched demon began wilding swinging his rake around in rage.

“S-s-sorry.” She mumbled, shoving her hands beneath her armpits. “Slipped.”

“What’s wrong with your speech? You sound like a squirrel.” Wukong cocked his head, an eyebrow raised. He rolled his eyes when Sophie didn’t banter back irritated she wasn’t snapping back at him. That agitation grew when he felt something like worry begin to itch his pelt. Of the pilgrims, the two mortals were in his charge of care and were the most delicate. While Wukong could fight off monsters and Demons and wicked minded mortals he could not fight a storm. Well- he could if he really wanted to find the celestial body responsible for its creation. But that would take time- and time was not on his side on this.

Tripitaka had put on a brave face when he had asked the Monkey King to find shelter. That didn’t mean Wukong had not noticed how his Masters hands had turned red at the growing cold, how his body shivered and his nose sniffed. Wukong would have teased, poked and prodded at his master- it was his nature to rile and cause mischief. But when he had seen the half awake expression on the mortal man’s face, Wukong had bit his tongue (with great effort) and had instead nodded.

Seeing Sophie in a similar state made the itch beneath his pelt grow worse as fire ants had begun to bite his skin.

“Damn it.” He cursed beneath his breath. He snatched her arm, avoiding her hand, and started dragging her behind him. “Come on just a bit farther you softie. I found a cave up ahead where we can get out of the worst of it. You mortals are ABSOLUTELY worthless when it comes to weather —“

Sophie was only half listening to Wukongs ranting. She allowed herself to be dragged up the mountain pass, trusting the Monkey King to find a better route than her own dimming senses. The cold was like a blanket she wanted to escape out of. Or escape into? She couldn’t remember clearly. If she closed her eyes… she was so tired. The snow looked inviting, comforting. Like the best downy comforter. Like the fluffiest pillow.

Maybe I just … need to lay … down in the comfort. Just close my eyes for a few minutes.

They had been walking for hours before the storm blew in. Her feet hurt, her hands shook and it was so cold. Cold. She just wanted to sleep.

“SOPHIE LOOK AT ME!” Wukong yanked her and she was rattled enough to open her eyes wider in surprise. Sun Wukong was right in her face, leaning so close she could see every line of his facial markings in detail. His breath came from between his teeth like some dragons as he glared.

“Ye-es?!”

“Stay awake- we're almost there. If you fall asleep while I’m dragging your ass up the mountain I will bite your pretty nose clean off!” The demonic monkey spat, then, half carried, half dragged Sophie the rest of the way. Leaning against his back Sophie sighed. Through the clothing she could feel it- like desert sand warmed by the sun. Delicious heat. Sophie - who wouldn’t in normal circumstances have cuddled so close- practically melted against the warmth. What else could she do? Wukong was dragging her up the mountain- practically carrying her. She could see the bend in the mountain pass- a steep cliff where the road cut itself around and hugged the mountain as a snake would do climbing along a vine. Almost there.

“How come you get to be so warm?” She grumbled, not realizing she had said it aloud. Wukong had heard however, and his face became a storm cloud as his heart took a shuddering beat.

“Maybe grow some fur or ask for the Buddha to make you some furry creature. Bet he would too.” Wukong grumbled back.

Stupid fucking women.

They reached the curve in the mountain where Pigsy and Sandy- mostly Sandy since the pig demon kept complaining about how cold his snout was- were setting up three tents. The tents were simple, the leather treated against wet weather and solid. All pigsy had to do was drive the stakes into the stone which, it seemed, he was failing at.

“It’s so damn cold!” Pigsy snorted angrily stamping his hands together, having missed the spike for the third time. “Blasted Heaven and whoever ordered a storm now of all times! Don’t they know who’s crossing these mountains?”

“Less talking more working.” Sandy angrily chided. He had finished setting up the second tent all on his own. When Pigsy went to open his mouth to make another comment and the usually peaceful Sandy shoved him across the shallow cave to the last tent and the one closest to the entrance.

As Wukong walked past, Pigsy lifted an eyebrow at the strange sight. The Monkey King could see the pig beginning to lift a lip in a smirk only to stop when he noticed Sophie’s shivering.

“What did you do?” Those were the last words Wukong expected to come out of his fellow brothers mouth.

“WHAT DID I DO?!” He bared his teeth, fangs on display. He didn’t have time for Pigsy or for his own feelings to confuse him. He knew Sophie was practically clinging to his back like the newborn monkeys did to their mothers back on Flower Fruit Mountain. He was very aware of it. The last thing he needed was for this thick pink idiot to start shit with him.

“I DIDNT DO SHIT YOU THICK HEADED BOAR.” He spat, continuing past. “THIS IDIOT STARTED FALLING ASLEEP IN THE FUCKING STORM. NOW SHUT UP AND GET THE OTHER TENT SET UP.”

Wukong left Pigsy behind, angrily chattering to himself and feeling embarrassed all the while. He couldn’t let that thick womanizing boar know any of Wukongs feelings. If he did, the damn brute would only press his nose to it and route deeper. The sooner he got Sophie off his back the better. Even though he didn’t entirely want that.

He reached the back corner of the cave, setting Sophie down. She huffed, letting go with some reluctance to his warm back. The Monkey King knelt, leaning in. Sophie’s shivering was less. Good.

“I’ll be back- I have to make sure the pink ham doesn’t fuck up the last tent. Once I’ve tended Yulong and seen to my masters comforts I’ll be back to check on you.”

Sophie pulled her knees to her chest. She was still so cold. She wanted nothing more then to curl up and sleep- to find something warm and hold onto it. She heard Wukong from far off - but she nodded.

“S-S-sure… just gonna fall .. asleep.”

“Don’t fall asleep you idiot.��� He snapped.

“Why not?” Sophie groaned. She was tired

“Remember. You are in wet clothes. Wake up just to remember - Think. Use that reading brain of yours.” He flicked her between the eyes. That woke Sophie up enough as the pain cleared her head.

“Ow, what the hell Wukong?!” Sophie felt like she had come out of a daze. Her fingers started rubbing at the pain. It wasn’t terrible but … she felt like a child be scolded. Sophie glared up into the smug monkey face.

“Awake? Good. Now fucking listen before you nod off again.” Wukong smirked just a bit. The itching beneath his fur had eased just enough upon seeing her get mad. He spoke slowly, for her sake but also to press in how much he enjoyed giving her orders- and being right about them. “Your clothes are wet. You can’t sleep in them. Change to new ones. In fact, bundle up as much as you can. I’ll be back to check on you.”

Wukong stood up, then turned back around to flick her on the forehead again.

“Ow! I’m up, I'm up!” Sophie rubbed at the space between her brows.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes yes …” she uncurled herself and stood as well, looking down at the Monkey King. “Get out of wet clothes and get new ones. Bundle up. That really hurt you know.”

“If you are still in wet fucking clothes, I’ll do a lot worse then just smack you between the eyes.” And then he was away, already cussing Pigsy out who had, somehow, managed to rip the tent.

It was a only about twenty minutes later but Sophie had managed not to fall asleep. She had gotten into the tent and had peeled the worst of the wet clothes off. Her poor shoes were the worst for wear- the socks and the soles were soaked. She would have to wear her spare shoes tomorrow and let these ones dry. Sophie had set the wet clothes to the farthest side of the tent. She was now dressed in a pair of gray sweats, a long sleeve and her hoodie of bright orange with clementines decorating the front. She felt much warmer and absolutely exhausted. Her fingers were red where the cold had gotten them, her lips felt chapped from the dry air, and her body just kept shivering.

Sophie had retreated almost completely into the hoodie- only her face was viewable.

The tent flap lifted and Wukong stepped in, a bowl of some sort of wild berries and cold rice in one hand. He took one look at her huddled there on her sleeping mat and snorted.

“You look like some orange orangutan.”

“Hahah very funny. See how you like the cold when you don’t have fur.” She shot back. Wukong offered the bowl to her and she took it, digging into it with gusto.

“How’s Trip?” She asked between bites.

“Alive.” Wukong leaned back, putting his arms beneath his head as he stared up at the tent ceiling. “You two would have frozen if not for me- you were both starting to look pinker than yangmei fruit.”

“Thank you.” Sophie said.

“Mm? What are you thankful for ?”

Oh he was gonna ask her for all of it then? Sophie looked at him. Wukong had propped himself up enough to stare at her, waiting.

“Thank you for the food.” She lifted the now empty bowl- she had been famished - to him. “Thank you for finding a spot to rest. And … thanks for dragging me out of the snow.”

“You almost died I hope you know that.” He smirked, laying back down, eyes closing. She followed suit, too tired to sit up anymore or even bicker back with him.

“Yeah I did …” Sophie yawned. Usually she wouldn’t admit so readily to Wukong just how certain situations had made her dependent upon him. He was always, in some way or other, saving the lot of them. When Tripitaka was snatched up by some Goblins belonging to some chieftain of a nearby mountain, when Pigsy had boasted that they didn’t need Wukong and then (almost immediately) failed to find food when Wukong was sent away. He had stopped the dragon horse from foundering and taken to the care of his hooves and coat many a time. The Monkey King had seen to restoring the missing supplies from Sophie pack when a group of mischievous raccoon spirits had taken it. Wukong had even replaced Sandy’s teakettle when it was smashed in battle (Sophie was pretty sure he had stolen it).

He may act aloof and pompous but deep down, this big old brute cared for them. Even Pigsy.

Sophie felt her eyes grow heavy as Wukong kept talking about how she had stumbled in the snow like some “dumb struck fawn” until he came to help her.

As she relaxed to the sound of his voice rumbling on and on, it almost felt … cozy. Yes Wukong may like to slide the occasional wriggly salamander into her water skin, he may thumb through her things like they were his, he may call her idiot, stupid women, and softie. But. There was no real malice behind his actions.

He was also kind of … warm. She scooted closer, half listening to the Monkey ramble on about the idiocy of mortals and the greatness of beings such as him. He was rambling on about his natural prowess over mortals and how he had mastered the arts of immortality and Tripitaka couldn’t even master warding off a cold. Sophie fell asleep before he could get to the part about her looking like a slack jawed idiot in the snow.

Wukong was only a quarter way through his regaling of the story of how he had saved everyone this day when he felt hands wrap around his chest.

His heart nearly flew into his throat as he stopped dead in his speech. His mouth was open, voice cut off halfway through his speech. Sophie curled into his side, face buried in the crook of his neck and so close to his ear he could feel her breathing against its shell.

Electricity shot threw him, fur standing on end as if he had been in a thunderstorm.

He was suddenly very aware of many things. Of Sophie’s hands that had escaped that ridiculous orange sweatshirt and were now burrowed into his fur. One arm was across his chest. The second one was now, somehow beneath his head and tugging on his shoulder. Sophie’s face rested on his arm and in the curve of his neck, her face rubbing back and forth like a cat. As if … she was enjoying the feel of it.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Sophie moved just a bit, mumbling in his ear and Wukong felt his tail lash like it had just been bit. She didn’t say anything coherent but — the proximity alone—

Fucking Hell and all its Judges.

Sophie was … cuddling him.

She was practically twined around him.

And she smelled fantastic. Her scent always changed- sometimes it held a hint of lemons and the sweetness of grass, other times it floated like rain clouds and smelled of stones. But all of it together had a larger perfume beneath it. It was just her. Yes there were moments when her scent changed just enough that he felt like he was adding new spices onto his favorite dish. The essence of it, however, was just Sophie.

And now that cloud was all around him, filling his nose.

He looked at her, turning his head just a fraction to see.

Big mistake.

She was asleep, passed out completely. She looked so … fragile asleep. The dark circles beneath her eyes spoke of how she hadn’t been sleeping well. Her nose was stupidly pink like a Red Pika in her pale face. The cold must have chapped it. His eyes darted to her lips …

Mistake number two.

Wukong looked away, feeling his face flame. Fuck. Shit. He was stuck in a predicament now. He hadn’t meant to chat away about himself for so long that Sophie would fall asleep. Wukong was at war with himself. On one hand, he needed to get out of here. To leave before Pigsy and the others found out- before Sophie found out.

He couldn’t let anyone be that close to him- couldn’t let anyone be as close as Sophie was right now. It was a liability to his pride, to his reputation—

To his heart. Because if she rejected him it would ruin the friendship they had. And the feeling he had building in his chest- he would crush it in his fist before he let it jeopardize that peace between them.

I have to leave —

Wukong tried to move-

Only to feel Sophie’s fingers tug in his fur and her sleepy voice grumble “m’no don’t go.”

Jade Emperor flay me and boil me alive again.

In all the hundreds of years of living, Wukong had only felt trapped like this but once before. The first time he had lost his wager to the Buddha, having been unable to somersault out of his hand. The second time? He was trapped because he allowed it. He was trapped in a way no one in Heaven could have predicted- or had thought to do. Wukong had been placed in vats to be boiled, had wormed and tricked his way out of every trap and net that had attempted to keep his mischief managed. It had taken Buddha and his wager to finally end Wukongs terrorization of Heaven.

Wukong couldn’t move now. He was tethered here by frail fingers and the steady beat of a mortal's heart.

He could hear her heartbeat, feel it against his side. It was steady, soft. Like the steady roar of Water-Curtain Cave. Like the wind through the trees of the orchards on his mountain.

She was mortal. One day that steady beat would stop as all mortal hearts did.

That set his tail to lashing just a bit.

Hasn't she been afraid of dying? Of growing old? He remembered hearing a conversation late at night- when Tripataka and Sophie had those rare mortal conversations where he was explicitly not allowed to sit in on. He hadn’t known why it was such a secret conversation. So of course, since it wasn’t an order, Wukong had pulled a hair from his tail and made a doppel and floated somewhere nearby but out of sight to eavesdrop. The Monk and Reader had been chatting about death, about Sophie’s future.

Well her fears were unfounded. Doesn’t she know I would take care of her? Sophie shifted a bit closer as a gust of wind slipped beneath the tent flat he had left unsecured. Damn it all. Wukong carefully, o so carefully, shifted himself. He slid his body so he was now lying on his side, setting Sophie’s head beneath his chin. It was all the invitation Sophie needed to cuddle closer and escape from the wind.

“You stupid women.” He angrily whispered into her hair. He wouldn’t let her die. He would just fix that. He would fix a lot of her problems. She just had to tell him. He was Sun Wukong, Great Sage Equal to Heaven. He knew of a hundred different ways to achieve immortality. He could fix them all. Like her problem right now of being cold.

He was too tense to relax fully- too aware- but he grew just a fraction larger. His size now dwarfed Sophie’s a good bit and gave her a bit more to tangle into. And she did. Sophie curled her knees up, shivering slowing. Wukong waited. Watching. When finally the shivering had ceased he allowed just a fraction of tension to slide off of him. This stupid softie is gonna make me soft. The thought didn’t bother him as much as it would have months ago.

Maybe he wouldn’t get much sleep tonight but…

He could make her life Hell in the morning. It was something that she owed him on. His face was screwed furiously into a scowl because all he wanted to do was enjoy this moment but if he did- if he really truly did- he didn’t know if he would be able to stop.

She was most assuredly going to be bombarded tomorrow with the most annoying and snappish teasing and toying a King of Monkeys and tricks could give.

Sophie woke with a start as something cold and wet slapped her in the face. She panicked as any person would.

“GaH! DEMON!” She cried, grabbing at her face and throwing it aside. It was a wet rag.

“Relax.” Wukongs voice laughed at her. “Unless cloth can become possessed and has gained a hunger for red nosed mortal flesh, you're fine.”

He was at the tent flap, grinning ear to ear in a grin that promised problems. Really so early in the morning and he already wants to play games ?

“You could have woken me up in a number of other ways- why did you pick that?” Sophie rubbed at her face, feeling … huh. She didn’t feel as sore as she usually felt. When Sophie woke up there was almost a constant crick of pain in her neck from whatever odd angle she had slept in on the ground.

Maybe I had been so tired my body just finally didn’t care.

He shrugged. “You stink. Next place we stop at you better demand a bath of some sort or other.”

“Thanks….” She grumbled, letting the sarcasm drip off her words. She took the cloth up, rubbing the sleep out of her face and the worst of the dirt off her face and arms. She would kill for a warm bath, one that would wake up her bones and chase the last of the cold from her body. Once clean, she checked her wet clothes, bundling them away in a separate part of her pack to avoid them dampening the rest of her stuff. Then she stepped out of the tent, smelling the fire and the promise of breakfast being made.

Only for her feet to slip right from beneath her as a monkey foot stuck out and caught her ankle.

“WUKONG!”

He laughed, face full of malicious mischief as Sophie gathered herself up to chase after the errant Monkey. To do what, she didn’t know. He was a mystical demonic creature born of stone and she just a mortal women. As the morning light cut into the cave and Tripitaka had to order his disciple to calm down after he once again tripped her and she almost went sprawling into rocks, the pilgrims ate breakfast. They broke down their tents. And they were once again on the road.

None were the wiser of Wukongs happier mood. He hid it beneath a storm of frowns and a game of teasing torture as he became partically insufferable to Sophie. The threat of the hoop tightening spell was the only true damper to his mood when Tripataka heard Sophie scream as snow was dropped down the back of her shirt.

As the sun rose higher and the word was cast in a frosty flash of refracted gold, Wukong made a decision. He would solve Sophie problem of growing old. It was easy. And if Buddha couldn’t send her back…

Well she was a great sport for pestering and heckling. The least he could do as a benevolent King is give the poor women a roof over her head.

Maybe a few dresses down the line...

Girls liked dresses right?

“Hey Reader!” He called.

“What?”

“Dresses or suits ? What did you wear in that fake time long after this one ? Or whatever fake dimension you fell out of. What did you prefer ?”

And thus began the long hour debate that somehow pulled every one of them: Pigsy, Sandy and Tripitaka, into what was a heated discussion on the best attire for the best occasions.

[cu7ie]

the rubdown. | freeloader!toji

cw ☆⌒(>。<) toji being genuinely unhelpful unless it is for his own gain. he's a pervert, and a mooch. reader is wearing a bikini, has tits and cooch, but no explicit use of she/her or feminine prns. suggestive material. reader putting up with a parasite. sexual references and thoughts courtesy of toji. mentions of sex. an: hi! i wrote something for the @bastardblvd collab! enjoy. ☆⌒(≧▽​° )

It's fucking beaming out.

So hot that sweat dries on his temples as soon as it forms, and Toji is a sweaty, sticky mess - and fuck, he can't stand the beach. 

But you wanted to 'enjoy summer', and even though Toji thinks it better spent with your air conditioner and fan, getting to see you half-naked is nice too. You said you'd bring drinks, and the snacks, and the sunscreen, and although you didn't tell him to bring anything - (because you knew he wouldn't, anyway,) - he mentioned bringing some water guns, if only to get you to hop up on the balls of your feet like you usually do.

He doesn't have shit on him but skin, sweat, towel folded under his arm, swim shorts clinging loosely to his hips, a fat ass and a big dick. Oh, he can only carry so much.

The sun (perhaps serving as his retribution,) blazes higher in the sky.

The sound of his flip flops on concrete is really starting to eat into him, the sun edging his peripheral pissing him the fuck off. Oh well. You’re the one with the sunglasses anyway. You always have everything. And Toji might have the sense to feel shame if you were any less gracious with him than you are now.

Lord knows why you’re so fond of a freeloader. A rude one too. He’s thinking so hard he almost stumbles right past you. “Hello-o-o! Over here!” He flicks his head over sharply, and there you are.

Toji couldn't get you to cover up in a blizzard - nevermind if there's an occasion for it. Imagine his surprise then, when he struts up thinking he's hot shit, and there you are, big sunhat, skin and all smiles.

If you wouldn't have popped him in the mouth for it, he'd say you look like a slut. (So he thinks about it instead.)

Toji hopes you got your bikini at a discount, because it's barely there. Two lucky triangles pin up your pretty tits, skimp lines of cloth tied with cute little bows and easy enough to undo, he thinks. One pull and it all spills out.

You've got bikini bottoms with the thin string that hug onto your hips just so that your chub puffs and bulges cutely around it. Your little swim shorts are just a shitty self censor, cause this isn't a nude beach and he's sure that thong is cuddling with your clit. 

"Toji?" You blink at him, and now that he's paying attention, you're rolling along a small cooler, a bag folded under your opposite arm. "You good?" 

"Yeah." You look good. So much so his mouth waters and he barely saves himself from drooling in front of you. He’s eyeing you up like a dessert tray, trying some of this, some of that. How’d your nipple taste in his mouth, lightly damp with your sweat, laid out bare on the beach. Your pussy in his face, your tasty slick dripping down his lip and chin…

He stiffens his back, steels his jaw and glowers at you like he's got a problem and it's somehow your fault. “Let's go." He brushes past you. Doesn’t even offer to take the cooler, kicking up sand as he goes.

"Oh, okay.” The cooler makes a noise as it rolls, though it’s mostly muffled by sand. “Did you bring the water guns?" The absence of any bag in his presence might have alerted you to the fact that no, he didn't, and the sound of cooler rolling is muffled as you two trek onto the sand. "Didn't bring shit but me."

You visibly deflate. "Oh. Okay." And trod a little ways behind him still, your amiable presence soured for a moment as you continued walking, silence filtering in between the pull of the ocean and whipping of wind.

"C'mon, you don't gotta be a baby about it." He taunts, flicking up your sunhat enough it nearly whips away. "But I didn't say anything!" You’re kicking up sand, stomping now, making faces like he can even see you, like he has a reason to care. It’s just you. “I’m getting real tired of you y’know - always putting words in my mouth…” Putting other things in your mouth, too.

"N I’m a little tired of bringing all the stuff! I don't know why I even let you drink the drinks that I paid for …" Yeah, it's truly the eighth world wonder. "And the one thing you promised-" Promise is a strong word. "Hey, you got that in print, sweetcheeks?” He pokes into his ear. “Cause I can’t seem to recall…”

You’re swinging, clapping your sunhat against his shoulder, scowling. “Don’t piss me off, Toji. The sun’s already doing too much.”

The beach is sparsely populated, umbrellas dotting the sand a little ways away in every direction. Toji grabs your wrists and tugs you still, nearly making you trip over your feet as you come to find yourself in the middle of the beach. “Here,” He says, and he starts pulling the chair you were carrying out of your arms - setting it up and claiming it as his own, folding his towel over the back of it. You roll your eyes. “You could help, you know.” He waves his hand, regarding you with your hands on your hips and bag still folded under arm. “You look like you got it all covered.” He grins, self-satisfied and smug. “Please, don’t let me distract ya’.”

The ass he is - just sits there - pops open the cooler to take out a beer, but sits otherwise, cracking it open and wearing your hat atop his head and shades from your bag.  You don’t know where he’s looking, appearing impassive as he takes a sip. Another. A brief pause.

You situate your blankets on the sand, rolling the cooler over a corner to prevent them from being flapped away in the wind.

While you’re busy doing that, Toji’s getting in a nice gander. At the dip in your waist and each roll of fat, the backs of your thighs as you bend over and adjust the blanket again, the dip of your bikini into your ass as you kneel down to affix the umbrella in the sand. The shades kind of fuck up the view, so he has to ensure you’re turned away so ya don’t catch him staring. (Although, it is quite hard to miss the feeling of eyes poking at you. When you turn to eye him up, he’s better than you thought at playing dumb.) 

Just before you lay down, you (finally) shimmy out of those sad excuse for shorts. They’re so tight on you they threaten to drag down your bikini bottoms, but you’re not so forgetful that you moon him and a bunch of other (lucky) strangers. It’s slow, methodical, and he really shouldn’t be looking so hard as they slide down your thighs and drop to your ankles. Using your foot, you flick the article aside, aiming for your bag but missing by a margin.

You’re hot and sweaty and annoyed. He sips his cool drink and watches you crawl onto your blanket on all fours, paying too much attention to the worry your ass wiggles and shakes as you clap sand off your feet and get comfortable atop the thin sheet.

It’s silent for a few moments longer. You don’t seem to want to talk to him much. Expected honestly - so he keeps on sipping his beer, looking over every now and then to see if your demeanor changed any. 

Nah. Your cutesy pout is edging on scowl, the sun in your eyes not doing much to soften you up. “Hey asshole.” He grunts questioningly. “Hat. Give it to me.” “Since when did we start demanding shit?” He snorts. You squint, unamused. “The hat. Gimme.” He tosses it over and you put it back on, finally able to look around proper now that the sun isn’t wrestling your brow. You lean over into your bag and fumble for the bottle of sunscreen. “What’s that?” Man’s is so fucking nosy.

“Sunscreen.” The top opens with a resounding pop, at home amongst the sound of the pull of the tide and the occasional seagull screech. You squirt a glob onto your hand, ready to start rubbing it in when Toji stops you. “What?” “Lemme help you with that.” The way he runs his tongue over his lip makes your heart pound, but you ignore it for the time being. He’s already scooping the screen out of your hands. “You’ll be mad as hell when your tan comes out patchy. You just need a good rubdown sweetheart, and don’t worry - Toji’s gonna give you exactly what you need.”

“Oh oh oh, so now you wanna help? I thought I ‘had it covered’?” You purse your lips and Toji makes an ugly face at you. “You want a patchy tan? Who else is ‘sposed to get your back?”

“But that’s my leg Toji,” His rough palm smooths across your calf, not so discreetly crawling up your knee and palming up your thigh. “I coulda done that.” 

“Well it’s just your turn to relax, then.” Toji grits his teeth when you smile up at him so smarmy, having laid flat on your back at this point. “Yeah, yeah. Have fun feeling me up you old coot.” His fingers dig into the meat of your thigh at your jest, making heat rise to your face unbidden. “And you let this old coot put his balls in your mouth,” Toji rolls his eyes, his grin grimier than ever. “Crazy.” “Toji!” You snap, irritated all the sudden. He can never let you win, can he? “The sunscreen.” 

“Don’t worry. I didn’t forget.” His arms lift your legs with ease, starting low near your ass and making his way to the tips of your toes, massaging every little patch of your skin with the utmost care. His hands aren’t a roughness you’re unfamiliar with, just as comforting and soothing as the cool sunscreen. Then he’s at your tummy, massaging in circles near your ribs, feeling up your sides, applying more to his hands, rubbing again. 

It’s … nice. The one thing Toji’s done in a while you’ve had no complaints about. He lingers sometimes, like when he was getting the insides of your thigh and near your hip, a little too fixated on the reveal of the bikini and warmth of your pussy. Eventually he backed off. Opted to bide his time instead, working his way all the way up towards your collarbones and cute face.

Which he offers to massage, too.

“I think I can do my face myself…” Toji clicks his tongue. “Just lemme do it.” 

You don’t really argue with it. He holds your delicate face in his big hands, dwarvish in comparison. He’s even gentler then, hardly tugging or pushing, but very much thorough.

He gets you on your stomach easily after that. Good thing you don’t have eyes on the back of your head - cause he’s feeling of the impish sort, spreading more sunscreen across his hands before kneading it into your back. He’s way too good at this.

It’s a little embarrassing how easy he’s got you. But the intimacy of moments like this are absolutely unmatched. You moan and sigh under his skilled hands, and forget for a moment how you’d regretted asking him along not even ten minutes earlier.

He starts at your shoulder blades, then goes down, down to the small of your back, finger testing the waters by plucking gently at the strings on your bikini. You’ve relaxed enough under his ministrations that you don’t notice his hands swiftly undoing the knot on the bra top, massaging in more sunscreen where his hands had ghosted over earlier. He’s panting a little. It actually is hot as fuck and no beer to drink feels like a death sentence, but he sticks it out til he gets to your bikini bottoms.

He sucks in a deep breath, and in one smooth motion, tugs the bottoms down. There’s no hitting or yelling or pouting or whining. The uninterrupted sounds of the beach, the two cutest cheeks he’s ever seen��

This beach day is turning out to be well within his favor. 

[cryptidclaw]

Cryptidclaw's WC Prefixes List!

Yall said you were interested in seeing it so here it is! 

This is a collection of mostly Flora, Fauna, Rocks, and other such things that can be found in Britain since that’s where the books take place! 

I also have other Prefixes that have to do with pelt colors and patterns as well!

Here’s a link to the doc if you dont want to expand a 650 word list on your Tumblr feed lol! the doc is also in my drive linked in my pined post!

below is the actual list! If there are any names you think I should add plz tell me!

EDIT: I will update the doc with new names as I come up with them or have them suggested to me, but I wont update the list on this post! Plz visit my doc for a more updated version!

Animals

Mammal

Badger

Bat

Bear

Beaver

Bison

Boar

Buck

Calf

Cow

Deer

Elk

Fawn

Ferret

Fox

Goat

Hare

Horse

Lamb

Lynx

Marten

Mole

Mouse

Otter

Rabbit

Rat

Seal

Sheep

Shrew

Squirrel

Stoat

Vole

Weasel

Wolf

Wolverine

Amphibians

Frog

Newt

Toad

Reptiles

Scale

Adder

Lizard

Snake

Turtle

Shell

Birds

Bird

Down

Feather

Albatross

Bittern

Buzzard

Chaffinch

Chick

Chicken

Coot

Cormorant

Corvid

Crane

Crow

Curlew

Dove

Duck

Dunlin

Eagle

Egret

Falcon

Finch

Gannet

Goose

Grouse

Gull

Hawk

Hen

Heron

Ibis

Jackdaw

Jay

Kestrel

Kite

Lark

Magpie

Mallard

Merlin

Mockingbird

Murrelet

Nightingale

Osprey

Owl

Partridge

Pelican

Peregrine

Petrel

Pheasant

Pigeon

Plover

Puffin

Quail

Raven

Robin

Rook

Rooster

Ruff

Shrike

Snipe

Sparrow

Starling

Stork

Swallow

Swan

Swift

Tern

Thrasher

Thrush

Vulture

Warbler

Whimbrel

Wren

Freshwater Fish 

Fish

Bass

Bream 

Carp

Dace

Eel

Lamprey

Loach

Minnow

Perch

Pike

Rudd

Salmon

Sterlet

Tench

Trout

Roach

Saltwater fish and other Sea creatures (would cats be able to find some of these? Probably not, I don't care tho)

Alge

Barnacle

Bass (Saltwater version)

Bream (Saltwater version)

Brill

Clam

Cod

Crab

Dolphin

Eel (Saltwater version)

Flounder

Garfish

Halibut

Kelp

Lobster

Mackerel

Mollusk

Orca

Prawn

Ray

Seal

Shark

Shrimp

Starfish

Sting

Urchin

Whale

Insects and Arachnids

Honey

Insect

Web

Ant

Bee

Beetle

Bug

Butterfly

Caterpillar

Cricket

Damselfly

Dragonfly

Fly

Grasshopper

Grub

Hornet

Maggot

Moth

Spider

Wasp

Worm

Trees

Acorn

Bark

Branch

Forest

Hollow

Log

Root

Stump

Timber

Tree

Twig

Wood

Alder

Apple

Ash

Aspen

Beech

Birch

Cedar

Cherry

Chestnut

Cypress

Elm

Fir

Hawthorn

Hazel

Hemlock

Linden

Maple

Oak

Pear

Poplar

Rowan

Redwood

Spruce

Willow

Yew

Flowers, Shrubs and Other plants

Berry

Blossom

Briar

Field

Flower

Leaf

Meadow

Needle

Petal

Shrub

Stem

Thicket

Thorn

Vine

Anemone 

Apricot

Barley 

Bellflower

Bluebell

Borage

Bracken

Bramble

Briar

Burnet

Buttercup

Campion

Chamomile

Chanterelle

Chicory

Clover

Cornflower

Daffodil

Daisy

Dandelion

Dogwood

Fallow

Fennel

Fern

Flax

Foxglove

Furze

Garlic

Ginger

Gorse

Grass

Hay

Heather

Holly

Honeysuckle

Hop

Hyacinth

Iris

Ivy

Juniper

Lavender

Lichen

Lilac

Lilly

Mallow

Marigold

Mint

Mistletoe

Moss

Moss

Mushroom

Nettle

Nightshade

Oat

Olive

Orchid

Parsley

Periwinkle

Pine

Poppy

Primrose

Privet

Raspberry

Reed

Reedmace

Rose

Rush

Rye

Saffron

Sage

Sedge

Seed

Snowdrop

Spindle

Strawberry

Tangerine

Tansy

Teasel

Thistle

Thrift

Thyme

Violet

Weed

Wheat

Woodruff

Yarrow

Rocks and earth

Agate

Amber

Amethyst

Arch

Basalt

Bounder

Cave

Chalk

Coal

Copper

Dirt

Dust

Flint

Garnet

Gold

Granite

Hill

Iron

Jagged

Jet

Mountain

Mud

Peak

Pebble

Pinnacle

Pit

Quartz

Ridge

Rock

Rubble

Ruby

Rust(y)

Sand

Sapphire

Sediment

Silt

Silver

Slate

Soil

Spire

Stone

Trench

Zircon

Water Formations

Bay

Cove

Creek

Delta

Lake

Marsh

Ocean

Pool

Puddle

River

Sea

Water

Weather and such

Autumn

Avalanche

Balmy

Blaze

Blizzard

Breeze

Burnt

Chill

Cinder

Cloud

Cold

Dew

Drift

Drizzle

Drought

Dry

Ember

Fall

Fire

Flame

Flood

Fog

Freeze

Frost

Frozen

Gale

Gust

Hail

Ice

Icicle

Lightening

Mist

Muggy

Rain 

Scorch

Singe

Sky

Sleet

Sloe

Smoke

Snow

Snowflake

Soot

Sorrel

Spark

Spring

Steam

Storm

Summer

Sun

Thunder

Water

Wave

Wet

Wind

Winter

Celestial??

Comet

Dawn

Dusk

Evening 

Midnight

Moon

Morning

Night

Noon

Twilight

Cat Features, Traits, and Misc. 

Azure

Beige

Big

Black

Blonde

Blotch(ed)

Blue

Bounce

Bright 

Brindle

Broken

Bronze

Brown

Bumble

Burgundy

Call

Carmine

Claw

Cobalt

Cream

Crimson

Cry

Curl(y)

Dapple

Dark

Dot(ted)

Dusky

Ebony

Echo

Fallen

Fleck(ed)

Fluffy

Freckle

Ginger

Golden

Gray

Green

Heavy

Kink

Knot(ted)

Light

Little

Lost

Loud

Marbled

Mew

Milk

Mottle

Mumble

Ochre

Odd

One

Orange

Pale

Patch(ed)

Pounce 

Prickle

Ragged

Red

Ripple

Rough

Rugged

Russet

Scarlet

Shade

Shaggy

Sharp

Shimmer

Shining

Small

Smudge

Soft

Song

Speckle

Spike

Splash

Spot(ted)

Streak

Stripe(d)

Strong

Stump(y)

Sweet

Tall

Talon

Tangle

Tatter(ed)

Tawny

Tiny

Tough

Tumble

Twist

Violet

Whisker

Whisper

White

Wild

Wooly

Yellow

[pupsmailbox]

CAT ︰FELINE ID PACK

NAMES ⌇　abby. aina. aislin. amaris. apricity. artemis. aspen. aster. aylin. babi. bell. bella. ben. bennett. benny. boo. bristle. buddy. buttercup. calico. callie. cat. cataka. catalyn. catarine. cataura. cate. catelynn. caterina. catherine. catlyn. catnip. catra. catriel. catrin. catriona. charlotte. chat. chatters. cheshette. cheshire. chompo. citrie. claw. clawrina. clementine. cleo. coco. cole. cozie. critter. dessie. diana. diona. dippin. ditzy. dots. dreametta. drowsette. edur. eira. elara. fang. fausta. faustette. faustina. felicity. felina. feline. felisha. felix. fennec. ferri. fluff. fluffie. fluffles. fluffy. fortune. freya. fur. furayah. furina. furona. gato. gatto. gianna. gigi. ginger. hiraya. hissan. holly. hyacinth. hypnoticesse. iris. izzy. jett. jinx. kalico. kat. kataka. katalyn. katarina. katashi. kate. katelinn. katelyn. katharine. kathayani. katherina. kathi. kathirah. kathita. kathleen. kathrine. kathryn. katika. katilyn. katinah. katinka. katlin. katrina. katsen. katte. kattie. katzchen. katze. kelly. kettlingur. kismet. kit. kitti. kittie. kitty. kizzy. korat. kot. kote. kuting. kyathi. lawler. layla. lee. leo. leon. leonardo. lil. lilith. lily. lioness. lionette. liora. loki. lola. lottie. luckitty. lucky. lucy. lumi. luna. lunar. lunette. lynx. maine. mao. maola. maoli. maolia. maolmin. marie. mau. meowesse. meowli. meowy. mew. mewlina. mewy. midnight. milka. milo. missy. mist. misty. mitten. mittens. mizuki. mona. moonie. morphius. nala. napolean. narcyz. narkissa. neko, nemuri. neoma. neomi. nepeta. nevada. noir. nyamu. nyasia. nyx. olwen. onyx. oreo. orpheus. owen. paris. pawelek. pawleen. pawline. paws. popoki. poppy. prince. princess. pumpkin. purresse. purrette. purriette. purrlina. purrse. ragdoll. ravae. river. ruby. scar. selene. selenia. shade. sleepesse. stitch. stripe. sunny. sunrise. sunshine. sylvester. sylvie. tab. tabby. tabitha. thimble. tigris. tilly. tiny. tom. treat. valorie. vulpes. whisker. whiskers. willow. yue. yume.

PRONOUNS ⌇　(=^･ω･^=)/(=^･ω･^=). /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\//ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ. :3/:3. >:3/:>:3. >:3/>:3. >ww<. ^^/^^. ^^/^^. ^w^/^w^. ado/adore. ash/ash. aw/warm. bell/bell. bit/bit. bite/bite. ble/bless. blizz/blizzard. bow/bow. box/box. ca/cat. calm/calm. candle/candle. car/caracal. carni/vora. cat/cat. cat/nip. caterwaul/cayerwaul. catnip/catnip. cha/chase. chan/chance. chase/chase. chatter/chatter. cheer/cheerful. cher/cher. chew/chew. chom/chomp. chub/chub. cla/claw. claw/claw. claw/clawed. cli/climb. collar/collar. cookie/cookie. cozy/cozy. cu/cute. cud/cuddle. cuddle/cuddle. cute/cute. cute/cutie. dark/dark. des/destiny. dream/dream. drow/drowsy. eep/eepy. ey/em fa/fate. fang/fang. fay/fem fe/line. fel/feline. feli/dae. feli/feline. feline/feline. fi/fish. fish/fish. fleur/fleur. fli/flip. flick/flicker. floof/fluff. fluff/fluff. fluffy/fluffy. for/fortune. fri/friend. fu/fur. fur/fur. fu/fuzz. fuzz/fuzz. ga/to. gloom/gloomy. happ/happy. hi/his. hiss/hiss. ho/hop. hope/ful. hu/hunt. hunt/hunt. hunter/hunter. hy/hymn. hyp/hype. intro/vert. jagu/jaguar. ju/jump. kat/kat. kit/kit. kit/kitten. kit/kitty kit/kitty. knea/knead. kya/kya. lawl/law. lawl/lawl. leap/leap. lion/lion. lu/luck. luv/luv. lynx/lynx. mao/mao. me/meow. meo/meow. meow/meow. mew/meow. mew/mew. miau/miau. miew/miow. mil/milk. milk/milk. mimimi/mimimi. mlem/mlem. moon/moon. mrow/mrow. mrr/mrrp. mrreow/mrreow. mrrp/mrrp. nap/nap. neko/neko. night/night. nip/nip. noct/noct. nom/nyom. nya/nya. nya/nyan. pa/paw. panth/panthe. panth/panther. paw/claw. paw/paw. pawpad/pawpad. pessi/pessimist. pet/pet. petal/petal. pi/pink. pitter/patter. pla/play. play/playful. pou/pounce. pr/prr. pra/prance. prowl/prowl. prr/prr. pup/paw. purr/purr. quiet/quiet. ribbon/ribbon. ro/roll. roll/roll. sca/scratch. scra/scratch. scratch/scratch. sha/shake. shade/shade. shadow/shadow. shy/hyr shy/shy. skit/skitter. slee/sleep. sneak/sneak. sniff/sniff. snooze/snooze. snow/snowflake. soft/soft. spe/speak. spi/spin. squi/squish. sta/stare. swe/sweet. sweet/sweet. swi/swipe. ta/tail. tail/tail. tig/tig. tig/tigri. tiger/tiger. tire/tired. tired/tired. toy/toy. tre/treat. tri/trick. trill/trill. vae/vaem vix/vixen. waf/waffle. warm/warmth. whis/whisker. whisk/whisker. wonder/wonder. ya/yarn. yarn/yarn. yaw/yawn. yawn/yawn. yip/yip. yowl/yowl. zoomie/zoomie. zz/zz. 🍣 . 🐅 . 🐆 . 🐈 . 🐱 . 🐾 . 💤 . 😺 . 🥛 . 🦁 . 🦴 .

[weirdmarioenemies]

Weird Mario Enemies presents

The Mystery of the Cabin Proprietor

It was a cold winter's day. Super Mario had found himself atop a frigid mountain, nothing but the abyss surrounding it. Right before him, a cabin. A convenient respite from the cold. How lucky! If Mario were to knock on the door, surely he would be invited inside to warm up for a bit. Maybe he would even be offered some tea! Wouldn't that be nice?

But there is no door! There are not even any windows! The only access point is an oversized Minecraft-looking chimney, and a sign from a supposed "Cabin Proprietor" invites visitors to enter it. Suspicious! Scary! What if you fall further than you expect, and get hurt? What if the fireplace is lit? Yeowch! And if you do get inside, there's no telling what waits within... there could be a murderer, a monster, inviting victims into this shack with no escape! There are many ways in which one should be like Mario, but entering suspicious buildings like this is not one of them!

So what's the big idea? Who is this "Cabin Proprietor", and what are their motives? Let's go over the suspects...

The Big Penguin

This is PROBABLY the most likely answer. Big Penguin is the only creature ever found within the cabin, and addresses Mario as a friend. Big Penguin loves to slide, and wouldn't you know it, the cabin leads directly to a massive slide in the void! For all we know, Big Penguin could have previously invited Mario to this cabin for some fun! We wouldn't know. Mario is not obligated to tell us anything! What are you gonna do, check Mario's emails? Give him his privacy. My only concern with the Big Penguin theory is that I don't think a penguin would have much success acrobatically getting into the chimney in the first place. A door would be much more convenient for everyone, but especially a penguin!

Mother Penguin

Now THIS is a penguin with immediate access to the cabin's only door, at the base of the mountain! A door too small for her, but a door nonetheless. Mother Penguin is stationed right by the cabin's exit, so maybe she is associated with it! This part of the cabin could be some sort of nursery area for baby penguins, who COULD fit through the door, with a window to check on them when needed. Such a doting mother would surely love to have a place for her baby to be safe in a blizzard!

A Baby Penguin

Maybe we have a child prodigy on Cool, Cool Mountain! The first of the babies is Tuxie, THE Li'l Penguin Lost, who is found at the top of the mountain... right by the entrance to the cabin! Hmmm! Maybe she hops in the chimney, slides down, and uses that weird teleportation spot to get back up! The other baby penguin is found at the bottom of the mountain, but of course could also teleport to the top to get in the chimney, and there is also something important about this baby: it's an impostor! Not the baby you're looking for! That makes this baby Suspicious, just like the Cabin Proprietor. Veeery interesting...

The Headless Snowman

There is absolutely no way this guy could get into the cabin. But that does not mean he could not be the proprietor! We already know he has some Personal Infrastructure, with the weird "stages" his parts sit atop, so he clearly has some way to get stuff built. Carpentry connections of some sort. Perhaps he commissioned the cabin to be built so that others could have a warm place to go, and a fun slide! He just forgot the door on the top entrance, so he added that sign about Santa to add whimsy to the situation until it could be sorted out.

A Goomba

There are no Goombas in Cool, Cool Mountain, outside of the DS version, so prooobably not... But!!! Odyssey reveals the unique property of Goomba feet, that they retain traction even on icy surfaces! Goombas could, theoretically, walk all over the cabin's ice slide as they please. They sure would get a lot of use out of the space, more efficient than just sliding!

The sign itself

Has the answer been under Mario's bulbous, jiggly nose this whole time? Super Mario Galaxy shows us that some signs are alive, and talk to us! The sign from the Proprietor could BE the Proprietor, and be talking to us, rather than just displaying its text. We just don't know because of how 64 presents written text and dialogue in the same way. (EDIT: I learned I was literally just wrong about this and it should have been obvious because the text boxes are different colors. But we can say that the sign speaks in a Written Text Accent) Or maybe it's sleeping, and Mario is reading the text to not disturb it?

The Cap'n

The Cap'n is the other unseen character who we know authors signs in 64! But I think he is easy to write off here. He's too much of a scallywag to be the Cabin Proprietor, who at least puts on a facade of kindness, inviting anyone into the cabin. The Cap'n taunts anyone who seeks his treasure, and also writes in Pirate Speak, so it would be physically impossible for him to write in any other voice!

Santa Claus

And here we are. The final suspect. It's been so obvious, hasn't it? "Santa Claus isn't the only one who can go down a chimney", indeed, but he is the only one I can think of with the ability to magically go UP a chimney to exit the building! Santa is also absolutely the type to refer to himself in third person, so the grammar of the sign wouldn't be weird coming from him. Perhaps Santa built this cabin for himself initially, but quickly made it a public play area once others expressed an interest in it! Thank you, Santa!

So who do you think it is...? Do you think the proprietor is one of these suspects? Are you perhaps confident they have been an assuming Spindrift all along? Are YOU the proprietor? Would you tell us if you were?

[just-some-user-hunny]

Hi, I couldn't help but think of a bastard reader who is the opposite of rhaenyra and Syrax, They usually fly in clear skies, the bastard reader would be more adventurous and would go flying with cannibal to fly in a storm, leaving the Targaryen family somewhat worried while she enjoys c With cannibal in the rain

Syrax is our spoiled princess <3 she's like one of those fluffy show cats that only eats high quality expensive meat pouch food, and has a little pearl collar

Meanwhile cannibal is that one stray cat on the roughest block who owns the whole street, beats up any cat who comes his way, and looks like a matted ball of soot and will eat old pizza out the trash <3

Cannibal is at one with the elements- either calm or harsh. He loves snoozing under the sun, flying through thunderstorms, and breezes through blizzards. He's tough and built for endurance. He loves to fly with his rider in storms- it's exhilarating. The targs are dead worried about her however, neither Rhaenyra nor Alicent will sleep, and Daemon is very keen to hop on Caraxes to go find her.

Bastard princess is always safe, rest assured. Cannibal will look after his precious one and only rider <3