#equestrian cupid

[micro-expressions]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Neon Cupid Heart Couple Valentines Love Retro 90s Party Festival LED USB Light.

[fearlessequitation]

[heaveninawildflower]

Fragment of mould of bowl (Roman). Cupid driving a biga.

Ceramic, Arretine ware.

Image and text information courtesy MFA Boston.

[kookiecrumb]

jjk|| Your Head

"tags": @kazthebrekkerofinej

word count: uhhhh

summary: Jungkook is the heir to the throne of your Kingdom! In this tale of duty versus heart, will love prevail victorious?

tags: Royalty!Jungkook x Peasant!Reader, oneshot, smut, fluff, slight angst, some crack, pining, forbidden lovers, Jungkookie has a sweet tooth, strangers to friends to lovers

warnings: explicit language, impact play, birthday sex (technically), fingering, oral (m receiving*), love marking, alcohol consumption, s&m themes, horny grinding, praise kink/body worship

a/n:

hey guys!

Firstly, I want to say how proud I am of myself for growing so much during this fic. I learned a lot about what I'm comfortable with, what I'd like to work on, and where my confidences lie.

I won't lie and say it's been easy, because writing this meant dealing with a lot of my fears? I'm excited for all the works that are to come.

The only thing I can do is be as receptive to growth as possible, so I'm looking forward to learning...

*I actually learned that Vaseline wasn't invented until like the 1870s? The fic is written in the 1810s, so I actually had a choice between having them do it with vegetable oil or spit. Spit won.

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5 years ago

You bend over to pick up an apple that had rolled over under your father's produce cart, praying that it isn't bruised so that you have to pay for it out of your dinner, when a crumpled piece of paper hits you in the ass.

Confused, you crawl out from under the stand and unwrap the paper.

The paper itself is of the finest quality you've ever seen. It's a sturdy cardstock, bleached white with gold etchings on the borders. The print on the top of it reads "His Highness Jeon's Royal Study," and scribbled in some kid's amateur cursive below, "Nice butt."

You directed your gaze upwards, towards the towering castle walls. Sure enough, a boy no older than 15 had his noggin popping out from the top of the rampart, with two wide eyes staring down, curious as to your reaction. This was Prince Jungkook, heir to the throne of your kingdom.

"Shouldn't you be equestrian horse riding or playing polo or something?" You shout. He furrows his eyebrows, apparently offended at your assumption, and then disappears behind the edifice.

Moments later, another paper hits your shoulder as you're practicing your caligraphy behind your cart. It lands between the apples, so you reach your hand over and fish out out.

You glance up at the anticipant, and sure enough he's there with his doe eyes and his coconut head, ogling.

"No, dumbie. That's at MID-day." Well how were YOU supposed to know the royal schedule of the crown prince, it wasn't just common knowlegde you learned from being a humble farmer's daught--

Ah!

"Will you STOP?!" You put your foot down. "Unless you're here to buy my apples, then you're not getting ANY, little Prince." Oh, shit. You gave him ideas. Now it was really over for you.

In less than half an hour, half a company of men arrived at the marketplace, asking about your little old apple stand, and sure enough, Jungkook had bought out the entire cart so that you were forced to help with the transaction.

The young prince had eyes frankly too big for his head, with the most prominent cupid's bow you've ever seen. His nose slightly outgrew his face and his ears were hidden away behind his short, black hair. "Now you can talk to me." He gave you a rose he'd stolen from the royal garden. "I am Jungkook, heir to the throne of--"

"I know who you are." You interrupt him, documenting His Highness' total in your calligraphy book.

With a hand perched on his chest from surprise, he scoffed. "And I happen to think you're really pretty, so I was going to ask you to be my very first consor--"

"You're 15, you have playmates not consorts."

"And how old are you?!" He's had it, raising his voice and taking a bite out of one of your apples with force.

"16, old enough to have suitors." You tease. Jungkook hangs his head a little. He just needed someone to talk to, it would seem. Reluctantly, you scribbled down your address down on a piece of note paper and handed it to him.

"Look, if you buy more of my apples, I'll have an excuse to tell my Dad so I can hang out with you." You spoke in a low voice as to not raise suspicion.

Your dad is standing negotiating with the guards about prices, his usual embarassing haggling gruffly overpowering the guards elegant twiddle-tones.

"Wonderful! See you soon, my sweet!" He resumes his confident demeanor, tucking the paper into his overcoat with a small smile. He salutes you boyishly and marches away with a year's supply of apples.

For the next week, the royal kitchen had baked 3 apple pies, made 5 fruit salads, 4 batches of apple muffins, and threw the rest of them in Sangria; that's the same Sangria as King Jeon finds himself drinking in his wife's drawing room on Sunday.

"Call Chef, fetch him up here." He waves to his assistant, keeping his eyes on the outside. He was deep in thought, his hands stoicly behind his back.

The Kingdom had been prosperous for over many years now, and war had not come close to threatening its borders in a lifetime. Negotiations were always successful, and quality of living was high. The work of a King, in a situation such as this, was to perfect the image of the royal family as strong rulers, and to paint his daughters as desirable to foreign heirs.

"Your Grace," the assistant called his attention, "Head Chef Sung." The dainty man bows and scurries off somewhere else.

Chef Sung is a portly man, who carries himself heaving with every step, his great belly inflating with each hefty inhale. He approaches the King, and kneels down to kiss his hand with his fat lips.

The King recoils in disgust, but quickly collects himself and his words. "Where are these apples from, is it France or Spain?" He demands.

"Neither, Your Highness." Mr.Sung lifts up his eyes. "They are from our Holy Kingdom; by order of Prince Jungkook, an entire cart was purchased of these apples and we have not been able to get rid of them." Tears threatened Chef Sungs eyes at the very mention of the fruit.

'Well, there's one thing the kid's done right.' King Jeon now faces the Chef, setting down his drink on a mahogany table, leaning against it casually. "Well! Good. I'd like to meet the owner of that cart, invite him to my Sunday brunch."

"Oh, yes, of course sir! You'll never see them in our kitchen aga--What?" Chef Sung takes out his handkerchief, waving it around in the air and drying his tears at once. "So you like them! Why...Yes! Yes, of course!"

Your father thought it would be valuable to have you around the kitchen, learning from the skilled men and women employed by the Jeon family. He only visited once a week to drop off fresh produce, (he'd been officially hired to handle restocking of goods) but you, after showing promising signs of being a gifted baker during one of your father's restocks, were granted scholarship by Ms.Kang to be her aid.

You were now, officially, a resident of the Jeon Estate, residing in the servant's quarters, immediately adjacent to the kitchen. This was convenient. It was far too convenient for a certain little Prince to get the idea of wanting a midnight snack and wandering downstairs.

One day, he does just that. He finds his way into the first bedroom to the right of the stairs facing the kitchen, and that happens to be your bedroom.

He pokes you awake. "Ow! Ow, whyyy~" You whine and toss yourself over to the other side of the bed. His irritating poking persists. You grab his fingers and your eyes shatter open.

You sit up, alarmed. "You could have me arrested, what the fuck are you doing?!"

"I wanted a midnight snack! Besides, I wanna talk to you." He pouts, still holding a small teddy companion.

"Fine. I'll bake you ONE sheet of cookies." You slip on your night shoes and shuffle to the kitchen, and Jungkook tags along.

By the time Jungkook's 18th birthday comes around, he's in the kitchen helping you whisk buttercream to top his cake while having a tease at the Austrian Princess' mole.

"You have one right under your lip, look!" You take a little buttercream from the bowl and stain the dark spot with it.

He licks it up and hastens to add, "it needs more sugar, lady!" as he turns to grab a puffy bag of confection sugar.

"You're impossible to please." Snatching the sugar away from him, you smirk. "You can gobble down as many sweets as you want when the ball commences. Remember, this is the year you're supposed to be keeping your eye out for a girl of a good fam--"

"Yada yada, must have hips for childbearing, yada yada yada..." He mocks the speech his mother had told him that morning when he got dressed.

"Exactly." You set your bowl aside to fix Jungkook's tie. "Yes, and that's your duty, as our heir."

You step back and examine Jungkook one more time. He'd grown so tall in the last year, his legs like spider's and he was just beginning to grow into his features. Handsome boy.

You, too, had grown into an elegant young woman. You had a poised complexion, ready-mannered and graceful. Your hands seemed out of place in your otherwise feminine frame, carrying an extra bit of girth from baking. You were 19 years old.

Marriage was becoming an uncomfortably frequent topic during your visits home, as your mother had married young, herself, she expected the same of you.

Truth be told, there were plenty of offers for your hand. You were a skilled and very esteemed individual, who had broken into thr artisinal class. But your father knew better than put a dowry on your happiness. So long as you worked, he saw no reason to marry you off just yet.

"Now, go. Your sisters must be worried sick! Go out there." You shoo him, pushing him out the door of the kitchen despite his flailing arms.

Throughout the party, you'd been carrying a platter of your own baked goods, serving them to the aristocrats attending the Princes' coming-of-age ball. Accents from all over Europe and some from Kingdoms as far East as Cyprus jubilantly engaged in artful conversation which filled the air with good spirits.

Jungkook, himself, was busy being introduced to as many women as possible, a medley of presenting duchesses, ladies, and even Princesses of your Kingdom. They were each more qualified than you'll ever be, ten-fold.

One was a Greek Princess, her hair cascaded in darling curls down her shoulders and her eyes were deep-set, her voice a flirtatious trill.

Another, a Prussian Princess', posture radiated excellency, and whose complexion sparkled like powdered snow. Jungkook greeted her warmly, pleased with her appearance.

Distracted, you tripped up your skirt and dropped the remainder of your pastries. With that, you stepped off to use the restroom.

The sound of Strauss' Rosen aus dem Süden faintly loomed in the air as you wiped tears from your waterline in the mirror. That was just the way it was, wasn't it? Princes come of age, and they find wives who they commit their lives to.

"Married men don't have friends who are girls." You say out loud, just to realize it. Jungkook was now expected to find a mate within the season, and he was, in fact, quite the eligible bachelor.

Little did you know that Jungkook had been keeping an eye out for you throughout the party, not only because you were carrying his favorite Danish pastires, but because he knew your company was his greatest comfort.

He's in the midst of greeting the Duchess of Kent when he excuses himself to go look for you. He finds your mess first, frowning as he realizes something has gone terribly wrong.

He catches you in the hallway, face puffy and shaky. He grabs your wrist to keep you from darting back to the kitchen.

"Please don't do this, it's my birthday, y/n." It's as if an unspoken rule had been broken between you, and he feels it. Something is making you uncomfortable. "Was it the girls? You told me about this, it's my duty to at least greet them and--"

"Yeah, you sure did greet the Prussian woman nicely." You speak through tears. "She's the girl you were born to be with, huh? Your birthright?"Jungkook is silent. "Every girl at that ball wants to be your wife, want to have your children. They haven't known you for a day and yet they're ready to be your bride."

You search Jungkook's eyes for any sign of coherence, hoping that he would defend against you, that he would speak up and tell you otherwise. No such argument comes.

You yank your arm from his grip and march to the kitchen to remake the pastries you spilled.

You had the job of clearing off all the tables upon the departure of the last guests. It is midnight, and the windows of the castle stream moonlight down on the carpet beneath your feet. The glow of candles soothe you as you hum the waltzes which echo in your mind. It's a brilliant evening.

The centerpieces of the tables were gardenias, lush rose-like flowers with yellow pistils.

Summer, 1809

"Jungkook, wait! You're going to make me trip!" You shout from the top of the hill.

"You've gotta come see before the sun sets! It's the only way we'll get there on time, now run!" Jungkook's speeding down the terrain towards the Sycamore tree which grew deep and wide beneath the banks of a great rushing river.

You groan and throw caution to the wind, rolling down the steep mount in your Sunday dress. Jungkook turns to watch you, a grin spreading across his handsome face. "Look at you!"

You land on your feet at the bottom and scurry off to join Jungkook under the grandfather tree, out of breath entirely. "Now, look what you made me do. You're such a boy, you know that?! Making me come out here just to see some bloody--"

Jungkook has plucked a gardenia and placed it behind your ear. "Would you shut up? We got here on time. Behold."

In all its glory, the sun bathes you in its vivacious rays, creating a feeling of heavenly bliss as it dips below the horizon. The sky blushes pink, its clouds mere whisps above you. Wind rustles the leaves of the grand tree, rousing the birds to chirp their afternoon song.

"Mom used to come here all the time with my Dad, because of these." Jungkook clasped the blooming flower in his tender hands.

After a while, he says "the bugs will come out soon, so we ought to go back," as if he's trying not to scare something away. He helps you up, and with one last look across the valley, you walk next to each other back to the East Quarters.

You take all the silverware and plates by the tub to the dish-washing station and toss all of the linen napkins into the washing machine. All you had left was to blow out the lights in leading upstairs.

"Prince! It is very late, and there are no guests left for you to entertain. What troubles you?" Jungkook's sitting on the stairs with his head in his hands, still wearing his best suit.

"I disappointed you, y/n...I didn't like any of them." He admits, lifting his head up to sulk at you. "I should have told you then, but I didn't want to make you upset!"

Did Jungkook mistake your jealousy for disappointment?

"I'm not upset because you didn't hit it off with the girls..." You sigh. A confession is due, and he's ready to hear the truth from you about how you feel about him.

"Well, the truth is, I didn't like any of the girls because I like you, y/n. But you know that, don't you?" You pause, asking him to elaborate.

"Remember when I bought all the apples because I wanted to be with you? Like...I told you that you were my consort and I kind of meant it?" He felt pathetic now, realizing that you weren't just ignoring his advances. "So you didn't friendzone me for 2 years, you actually didn't know that I liked you."

It was almost laughable, a situation you would read in one of your illegal novels which you kept tucked away in your pillow at night. "No, Kookie, I didn't." You admit to your insolence.

You can't bear to lead him on any longer. You needed to put duty over your own self interest for the sake of the kingdom, even if it shattered his hope. It was better this way.

"But, you do know that we can't ever be a thing, right? It's just silly." Your heart tightens with the words which fall out of your mouth. "It is. Nevermind what your parents would think, what would it do for your image? You're on the world's stage, Jungkook, and you're a selfish person if you think you can just throw all of your duties away to date a scum of the Earth like-- like me!" With your heart in your throat, dry your eyes with your sleeve. "And...I want to, I really really want to, more than anything else to love you, Jungkook. I love you! I...can't." Through the blur of your tears, the shapeless blob that Jungkook has become stands up.

Taking his thumb and swiping it under your eyes, he sighs. Words escaping him, he takes your trembling body against his chest and nestles his head in the crook of your neck. Your cold hands travel underneath his overcoat to hold his waist. The Princes' lips plant a gentle kiss on your neck, chaste yet deep and satisfying.

"I will not accept any bride if not you, my love." He draws back, meeting your fervid gaze. "To the world, I remain a bachelor for a few years."

"And after those years, Jungkook?" You ride your hands up to caress the man's jaw. "You will still love me after those years, and then what?"

"I don't know," he says, voice as soft as powder. "I don't know many things, y/n, that's why I need you to teach me." His palms are rubbing at your waist, beckoning you closer.

His breath quickening as you lean your body against his hold, and you figure it must be the wine he drank to calm his nerves. That was it, wasn't it? He was drunk.

"You're not drunk, are you?" Your face sours, really hoping it's not the case as you feel your body temperature rise.

"Y/N, I've only had a glass. You saw I was a wreck back there." His lips kept chasing yours in a dance you can't quite describe. "I have wanted to hold you like this since I saw you selling apples on the street. Give me the honor..." His forehead against yours and his strong hands supporting your back, he's already fucking you with his eyes.

"The pleasure of being your lover." He squeezes your waist tight with his forearms, planting brisk kisses behind your ear and breathing in your scent. He smiles against you. Your skin pebbles at his affectionate touch, purring softly as your eyes roll back in delight.

"Kookie..." You breathe, leaning on his broad chest. "Kook, the maids are wondering where I am, I have to go..." You slur, tugging at his collar.

He grunts in protest, taking your ear between his teeth and nibbling it.

"If you let me go, I'll steal some cake for you tomorrow at breakfast." If there's anything Jungkook likes more than Cream Ice, it was cake. He unravels you from his arms and nods, his eyes softening.

"Request my service tomorrow, from Ms.Kang. She's been sweet on me lately." You peck his cheek before stepping back. Your rouge has embarrassingly stained His Grace's cheek.

Jungkook bows and presses a kiss on your hand, eyes rising to meet yours. "Til' morrow, babe."

Jiyoo shakes you awake the next morning, handing you a cake and a note that reads: "Prince Jungkook has a commission he must discuss with you. Meet him at his chamber immediately."

Lacing on a simple corset over your nightgown, you try not to look too red in the face as you climb up the stairs to His Majesty's room. You'd be up there alone, as requested. The girls would absolutely start rumors based on that alone-- rumors which you realize are probably totally true. This was stuff of scandal, after all...

'There shouldn't be anything scandalous about love.' You decide as you rap on His Highness' door.

"Please enter...but only if you have my cake!" Jungkook says in his morning voice. He's so cute.

The simplicity of Jungkook's abode takes you by surprise. His bedroom is very well lit, a capital display of the flowered valley through his bay windows washed the room in gold, painting his porcelain white carpets and his cotton sheets a warm creme color. His drawers and vanity were etched in gold, with breathtaking detailing.

The Monarch himself was splayed across the bed, laying on his side casually. He held a glass in his hand, holding a white wine. He puts down his glass and sits up as your presence.

"We both know that you didn't come here as my servant." You lock the door behind you. "And I have no such commission to give you, darling." The innocence which undertones his usual speech is missing as he coaxes you towards him.

"This much I know, Your Majesty," You say, taking a bit of frosting on your index finger and smudging it on the Princes lips. His black eyes, as cunning as a viper, watch you dangerously as you push two fingers past his plush lips. He wraps his hands around your wrist and draws your hand away, his gaze fixating on you.

"Set the cake down." At his command, you carefully place the confection down on a nearby chest, feeling Jungkook's eyes on you, drawing you back towards his grip.

"Let me pull your laces apart," with your waist held by his Herculean hand, he hums "and then let me pull you apart. I want to memorize your pleasures and gratify your desires, I need it, y/n..." Your back flush against his chest and your thighs split, his hands knead into you as he litters your collar with his mark.

You gasp softly against the crook of his neck, giving into his hold of you. His hot tongue spreads under your jaw, closing into a hard kiss as his hands travel back up to undo your corset and free your tits.

One by one, his fingers pop open the buttons left on your gown until the collar hangs off-shoulder to expose your collarbone. At the sight of new skin, Jungkook's tongue darts to stain it.

His hands stagger above your breasts. "Is it okay if I touch you here?"

"Oh, Kookie, touch me everywhere~" Your hands form fists around Jungkook's shirt, beckoning him impossibly closer.

Grasping one ever so carefully, his thumb grazes your bud as he playfully bites under your ear. "ah-- ahh,"

Jungkook groans in response, he can't believe how cute you sound. Curious, he wants to hear more, so he traces your thighs and experimentally pushes up the outside your cunt.

You squirm, tensing up immediately in response. You bring your hands down to find the latch on his trousers and dip your hands below to rub him through his undergarments. He heatedly bucks up to meet your touch, a panting mess.

You face him now as he watches you ride his fingers while you grip his girth through his clothes. He takes you by the ass and places you on his prominent bulge, hips rolling into you as he hungrily kisses you, his firm hands grinding your core on his cock.

His face is a sinful red, panting under you desperately.

"I've been wanting to do this," His voice warbles through your touch, running your thumb along his underside. It's his turn to gasp. He sits up and collapses his lips into yours, softer than rose petals and his taste faintly like wine.

You place your hand on his chest, and his heart is pounding, a thin layer of sweat already forming on his honeylike complexion.

Hastily, you pull your dress over your head and lean back to allow him to familiarize himself with your stark form, a dainty chain hanging between your bosom. Jungkook bites his lips as he wriggles out of his clothing, desposing of it beside the bed.

He's giddy behind those sultry eyes, you know him well enough that he's overexcited to get inside of you. It goes straight to his cock, your playfulness as you feel up his bare shoulders and discover his abdominals, your fingers tracing his ridges with a sense of innocent wonder.

He takes your hands and looks at you in this way-- Butterflies fill your stomach instantly. Jungkook's thumbing at your pout with his intrepid fingers.

His eyes flutter when grip his base and submerge your upper body below his hips. You lick a long, thick stripe up his underside, causing his breath to hitch and his head to fall back on to the bed.

Those goddamn cupid's bow lips of his would whisper the dirtiest things under his breath, lewd thoughts that sounded completely alien coming from His Majesty's mouth, he said for you.

"Oh, such a pretty mouth~ It's so good, y/n, you swallow me so good--" he moaned like a mantra, trying to keep his hips from snapping up into you. Your hot, wet tongue wrapped around his throbbing cock was only a fantasy to him for years.

He fills your throat with his girth, his taste tantalizingly smooth. It leaves your mouth with a 'pop.' You struggle to keep your legs apart as you crawl up to kiss him.

He takes those fingers of his and slides his index and middle into you and languidly thrusts them, smirking against your lips. "Shit, you liked that, hmm..."

"Kookie...please," you whine as he squeezes your ass hard before smacking it. You yelp, the sting of his fingers radiating from your skin.

"I like it when you beg, y/n, it's so cute..." He pulls your ass up to his thighs. He's flush hard against your abdomen, already sticky with his precum and your spit. You marvel at the self control he has.

You don't finish your thought before he has his head inside of you, impaling you on his cock and stretching your entrance, hissing at how incredible it felt to have you around him.

His shaft reached pleasure points within you had yet to discover. You clench, feeling his tip brush against your cervix. "Wh... hngh," he groans, "how did you do that, do it again--" You wrap your legs around his thighs and clench around him, biting your lip. You watch as he shivers from pleasure, feeling his skin horripilate under your touch.

His thumb is softly circling above your clit as he pulls out of you carefully. He swirls back in, nestling himself inside your heat, hissing. "Ahh~ Jungkook~!" At the sound of his first name moaned out of your mouth, he groans and rolls his hips up to create messy friction. That familiar knot in your stomach tingles as he plays with the bundle of nerves buried within you.

He glances up at your ruined lips, clashing with them again as he lifts your knees up with his hands and thrusts nice and rough, making you yell with every jolt of his cock. The smell and sound of sex fills the room as he experiments with positions, laying you on all fours.

"Get your ass up for me." You obey, ever servile. You're reminded-- you're his servant. He owns your work, he owns your services, and now he wants you in the most lucrative way, he wants your soaked cunt around his imperial cock. He gets what he wants.

Jungkook's palms smack against your ass one more time, just to watch the way it jiggles for him. He smirks a little before he shoves himself into your pretty little cunt. You bury your face into the pillows in pelasure as he chases your orgasm with vigor, fingering your clitoris while you move your hips back to meet his hard thrusts.

You whine like a harlot, his cock allowing you every satisfaction as he works a head-spinning orgasm out of that cunt. "I'm gonna cum, Kookie~!" you warn as you spasm against his length, moans ripping from your throat as you coat him with your thick juices.

His hips stutter up and he just barely pulls himself completely from you as he paints your back white, a guttural groan escaping his mouth.

After a while of loud panting and scattered giggling, Jungkook reaches over for a wet cloth and cleans the both of you gingerly. You trail your hands up to caress his jaw and kiss his lips softly.

"You need to tell everyone that I had a long and extensive request for the Harvest party, that I wanted a lot of fall fruits and vegetables featured in the baked goods, make it as specific as possible and make sure that you mention that I want to meet with you again, over dinner." His labored breathing punctuate his words, as youd kisses consume him. "And..."

"And?" You cock an eyebrow, simpering.

"Doyouthinkmaybeyoucouldbringmesomemilktogowithmycake?" He mumbles, eyes glued on the bed.

"What?" (If you give a Kookie a Cookie...)

Disgruntled, he sighs and repeats: "Milk! Milk for my cake. I know it's moist cause you made it but I'm really thirsty, especially after..." His cheeks flush a cute pink. You wait for him to continue just to fluster him a little more. "Y/N, just please!" You can't ever refuse his pouty face.

Next week, Jungkook's got you pinned against the hallway wall, making out with you hungrily as his hands ride up your dress. Just across the hall, his Dad is negotiating war with Portugal over land in the West.

The next month, you have his cock buried in your throat underneath the table at an important conference about how to create jobs.

All this while the pressure for Jungkook to find a bride continues to rise as he reaches seniority, and as his father's grey hairs pronounce themselves.

Warm touches are always hidden away to the public eye, but often shared between two kindred spirits underneath the man in the moon's watchful eye. Jungkook, as he reaches his maturity, grows strong. His jaw sharpens, and his eyes darken. His hair grows long, and he gains weight. Now at the proud age of 20, Jungkook had become a man before everyone's eyes, including the eyes of foreign monarchs and their eligible bachelorettes.

One day, you're serving the Royal family at a private dinner, when the topic of marriage comes up for the first time since his birthday.

"Your mother has made friends with the mother of the Austrian Princess, and she's invited you to the cordial ball to introduce yourself to the Princess. An allyship with Austria would prove advantageous for our relations with France, so you are to make your best impression." The King wipes his mouth. Setting his fork down, he continues: "It is in the family's best interest for you to marry her, if the French Princess, Anastasie, does not present this season or the next." The Queen holds the King's hand firmly, reassuring him from his shoulder. She wears a slight frown on her face, her eyes worrisome, somber. The King hides his anxiety, as he's been accustomed to from decades of responsibility. Would this be the face of Jungkook soon?

For now, Jungkook's face is scrunching at the thought of marrying Anastasie. She's not the most delightful young woman, her imprudence ruined her enjoyment of any event. She couldn't keep an intuitive conversation about regional politics and domestic policy for the life of her. Her people were on the brink of overthrowing the aristocracy, he was sure of it.

"Yes, father," is what you hear from him before you disappear down the stairs to fetch desserts.

Jiyoo interrupts your quest for sweets with a letter, signed by His Grace. She has a naturally innocent demeanor, her cheeks rosy and her frame as delicate as a feather. "Y/N, you have another special request from His Majesty...can I ask you why you get so many of these?" She looks genuinely curious, not a single menacing thought behind those eyes.

"It's because the Prince really really loves his cake." I mean, technically it was true. Jungkook never passed up an opportunity to squeeze, smack, or dig his fingernails into your ass during your sessions.

"Oh." Jiyoo pouts. "So it's not because you're like, in love or anything?" Her eyes are glued to the floor. You were expecting this question eventually, as the other girls in the kitchen were already suspecting it. It was only a matter of time before word slipped into the girl's ears.

"As much as I enjoy the Prince's interest in my baking, it isn't my place to confess any sort of feeling for him." Your answer is straightforward enough, so Jiyoo nods and hands you the letter. Another request.

Outside the Palace, Winter came like the wind. Lakes froze over, and couples tied up their skates and danced on the ice. The trees were bare and brown, not a single leaf persisting through the chilling breath of Jack Frost.

Jungkook had left for the Winter Palace, to volunteer and raise spirits up in the North. As heir to the throne, he was to be Commander in Chief of the Royal Armed Forces, and therefore needed to undergo intensive training in order to boost morale.

You're back home, and in your wake is your father, who has now grown tangibly tired. He's been on a strict diet of warm vegetable soup for about three months, now. His eyes are sunken, but he still wears a subtle smile even during his most trying days.

Match girls make their rounds at night, you watch as the lamplighters illuminate the streets with their tall ladders and their taller peacoats. Shop windows glow warm shades of yellow and creme; inscriptions on the glass create shadows on the white snow.

"Wow. It's almost as cold as the King's heart out here." You step outside one day with a cup of tea, sneaking in a cheeky smirk. Yeah, good one.

"I heard that!" You turn towards the little voice. A child, maybe about 9 or 10 years old is pointing at you. You squint at it.

"Well, it's true..." You mumble. You have a bit of change in your pocket, so you walk towards a stand to buy a hot bun and a paper.

"Chilly today, hon...Best you take this on the house." The tenant hands you a steaming cake wrapped in a simple cloth and your paper. You stick the paper in your dress pocket and take back your change. You nod a 'thank you.'

You spill the contents of your pockets on the dining table and snatch the paper, snapping it open. Your eyes eagerly skim the headline: "Prince Jungkook Fires Up Royal Army." Below is an article detailing the happenings of His Majesty. All of it sounded very intense, the running, strategizing, first aid training...Was there anything Prince Jeon couldn't nail on the first try?

You set the paper down and pick up your now lukewarm tea. In the back of your mind you're coping with the fact that the Spring Solstice is next week, and that marks the beginning of Jungkook's last season as a Prince.

The King is ill with tuberculosis, and recovery is unlikely. If Jungkook is to marry, it is next season and that was final.

Sitting at the window of his Winter Castle study, Jungkook plays with a ring nestled between his fingers. He looks out onto the lake, as if he's trying to reach you with his gaze. His heart is tight knowing that it would be the season he chooses his bride. Actually, he'd already made up his mind long ago. If his duty was to marry, there was no way to evade such a responsibility. He had to fulfill it, despite his anxieties.

He straightens up and walks out of the hollow room with a firm step.

You awaken with the sound of horse's hooves thudding against the Earth. It is yet to be dawn, and in the distance, thunder roars mightily.

A figure wearing a long, black hood hoists itself off of the animal, tying it to a nearby post. It walks towards an obscure entrance, unknown to many staff.

Intrigued, you wrap a blanket around yourself and peek out at the stranger. His fingers are shorter than his palms, and that's when he tosses of his hood, his eyes set on you. "Y/N..."

You're bewildered by his guise, questions filling your head.

"I was horny, so I left camp" He sits down at the counter, catapulting a cookie into his mouth.

You roll your eyes. "And the guards let you?! Jungkook!" You whisper-yelled at him, readjusting your makeshift blanket-dress.

"Obviously not!" He puffed out his chest with pride. "I bribed them," he smirks.

"You're insufferable," you scoff, your eyes wandering down to observe his physique. His shirt is anything but conservative, highlighting the muscle he'd earned through laborious, sweat-inducing drills. You can feel his eyes on your face as you observe him.

"You can't hide it either," he crosses his arms. "You're standing in the kitchen with a blanket around your naked body." He flicks his tongue. He steps forward, putting a finger under your jaw so you're looking him in the eye.

Your eyes fill with lust as he speaks over your lips. "Look at yourself..." A crash is heard in the other room.

Jungkook's head darts up and in a flash, he disappears into the night.

'Fuck.' You gather your dress from the floor and shuffle back to your chamber.

The first event of the season commences with the most exaltant of spirits as friends of old greet each other with youthful smiles. Juicy exposés, enticing tales, and thoughtful greetings are exchanged in the most formal manner, and the conversation is lively; the most controversial topic of conversation, however, is the rumor that Jungkook is to marry this season.

So far, he's been to four different private residences within his own Kingdom and has been invited, by the secretary of King Louis XVII to meet their daughter. It would be an understatement to say that stakes were high for the pending King.

You were kneading your dough a little too hard thinking about it. "Not so rough, y/n!" Ms.Kang snatches the mixture from your hands. "What is up with you lately, you're so tense! It's really disrupting the kitchen's dynamic."

You shrug it off. "It's going to be hard sedating Anastasie's sweet tooth, I suppose."

"Well, you seem to be doing just fine dealing with Jungkook's addiction to cakes...She's perfect for him, really." Ms.Kang throws more flour on your kneading table and steps off. You give up on the dough, covering it with a cloth and letting it rise.

Jungkook is tapping his feet, munching on finger sandwiches as he waits on you to make an appearance.

"Dearest Prince, look, I am wearing Mediterranean violet!" A duchess shouts as she passes by him, to which he raises his eyebrows at. Another, with dark green eyes approaches and begins speaking rapidly in French at him. Frightened and undereducated, his canned response was: "Excusez-moi, Pouvez-vous répéter plus lentement s'il vous plaît," to which the duchess furrows her eyebrows before something else catches her attention, elsewhere.

Truth is, Jungkook is incredibly shaken at the thought of announcing his engagement tonight. Well, that and the fact that you had yet to pop out of the kitchen. Man, those finger sandwiches were good.

As the night progresses, Jungkook realizes that if he doesn't get up on that platform and say what he needed to say, he'd have to say it in London. Setting his fears aside, he plants himself on top of the orchestral stage and taps a champagne glass with a cheese fork. The music comes to a stop.

With conviction, he begins: "The time has come that I announce my engagement. To all of my beloved friends, who have introduced me to the most beautiful, talented, diverse, and benevolent ladies I've come to get to know over the years, I thank you from the depths of my soul." He swallows and continues, his confident voice masking his trembling. "The life of a Prince is defined by the virtues presented to him at birth. Those virtues are: duty, responsibility, grace, kindness, mercy and integrity." Here comes the part, oh shit.

"I am abdicating my throne to my Cousin, the Duke of Namseong."

Silence sweeps the room. You poke your head out to see what was going on.

"...to marry the love of my life, y/n." He points at you. Your face is cherry red, and you find yourself dropping those same Danish fucking pastries all over the carpet.

"Shit," you fall on your knees, plucking them from the ground one by one. You don't know whether to run as fast as you can or to present yourself, but your body seems to be currently doing the latter. You go along with it.

Jungkook takes your hand tenderly on the stage. "I am unable to perform my duties as King, and therefore am ineligible for the throne." His touch gives you the will to continue beside him. You feel the pure fear rushing through your love's veins, and he knows that this is the hardest thing he'll ever have to do, yet he stands by his announcement.

So, if Jungkook doesn't get to be King of this World, he at least will forever be the King of Your Heart.

But all this, of course...is all in Your, dear reader, Head.

~

a/n:

hope you enjoyed.

[amydancepants-peralta]

So maybe tonight’s episode has sparked my brain a little, and maybe I had to write something before I exploded.  Soo.... here we go.  👶🏼💕

the whole world (in his hands)

For what feels like the first time since those blissful three seconds after the city went into blackout, Jake Peralta’s world is quiet.

And by world, he of course means this hospital room; because right now, it holds both his wife and his son as occupants, and they are - in no uncertain terms - his world.

If someone had told him nine months ago that he and Amy’s birth story would involve a blackout; gunshots, a thwarted robbery, fart candles, drunk bachelorettes, a faux Aqua Man and (perhaps the worst of it all), a fireman - he would have absolutely laughed in their faces.  They had a birth plan - one that Jake suspects had been constructed even before conception - and it was so carefully laid out, and so very thorough, that it really left no room for correction.  

But here they were, after easily one of the craziest days either of them has ever had, floating on something far higher than Cloud Nine because finally - finally - their son was here.  

To his left, Amy sleeps; finally taking a chance to rest after defying all odds and giving birth under the worst of circumstances.   She has never failed to amaze him, and today just took it to the next level.  Over to his right, in a special little crib wheeled in by a nurse not long after everybody left, lay their son - oh god, he has a SON - and realistically Jake knows that he should probably be trying to take a nap now while he can, but there’s just no way that he will be able to close his eyes any time soon.

The tiny remnants of fear and doubt that had been slowly dripping away at the back of his mind had formed into a tidal wave by the time he was making his way to the precinct this evening, the overwhelming reality of the sheer insanity of it all coming to light.  He was thundering down the streets of Brooklyn, on a horse - a horse that is, by all technicality, his superior - in order to get to the precinct in time to be there for his wife while she gives birth to their son in the interrogation room.  (He’s basically an equestrian now, it’s no big deal.)  Not exactly an ideal situation - in fact, it was almost the opposite.  And just enough for all the anxiety and hesitation to come screaming to the forefront all over again.  

Perhaps, his father was right.  Peralta men were cursed, and he was going to the miss the birth of his son, because they’re just not destined to be good fathers - right from the beginning.  

It washes away as he runs into the precinct, and locks eyes with Amy, because she calms him purely with her presence more than anybody he’s ever known.  And then their baby is being born, and Rosa is trying so hard not to hide her disgust at the Baby Goo, and the world is just perfect - it’s perfecter than perfect, because their son is here and nothing else will ever matter, ever again.

There’s the tiniest of snuffles coming from Jake’s right, and in an instant he’s out of the chair he’s been resting in - drawn like a magnet to the tiny human burrito that now bears his surname.  It’s a quick sniffle (the sound of a baby still trying to figure out just what exactly happened in the past few hours), but as two wide eyes begin to blink themselves awake Jake cannot resist the chance to hold his son in his arms again.

His steps back to the chair as so slow, so careful and deliberate, he’s reminded of a time not so long ago when he held a ticking bomb in his hands in a very similar setting.  What he holds now is infinitely more precious, for it is an extension of both his heart and Amy’s, and there is still a part of him that cannot believe that this is really real.

Jake tents his legs as he sits, resting the bottom of his sneakers against the edge of the chair.  Moving slow and methodical, he slides his left hand towards the edge of the cloth and grips tighter with his right, and it takes a little adjustment but after a minute his son is resting against his legs, safely anchored by his father’s forearms.  

Mac snuffles again, a sound so delicate and soft, the cupids bow at the top of his lip scrunching slightly as he adjusts to the change in surrounding light.  Jake runs his thumb gently along the edge of his cheek, still amazed at the impossibly softness of his skin.  There’s just no way that anyone could have prepared him for this kind of feeling.  

His son blinks up at him, and as a soft smile crosses over his face Jake has a flashback to being in fourth grade, sitting cross legged on the floor of Mrs Fletcher’s classroom and joining in with the class as they sang.

He’s got the whole world in his hands.

Mac Peralta.  The hottest (and yes okay, the cutest) baby that the world has ever seen.  

He’s got the whole wide world in his hands.

Part of him wants to go back and visit that Jake - the younger version of him that still doesn’t quite understand why his Dad doesn’t seem to live at home anymore, but has total faith that it’s not going to change a thing - and tell him just how great life is going to be.  

That life might suck for a little while, but it has nothing to do with him, and that if he just remembers to be in front of the elevator on a certain day of a certain year, he is going to shake hands with a woman who will turn out to be the love of his life - and things are only going to get better from there.  

But going back means leaving his son behind, and there’s not a chance in hell that’s ever going to happen.  

Mac gurgles a little, a mumbling, bubbly sound that in a few days time Jake will come to learn means that he’s ready for a feed, and he tightens his hold around his son in response.  

Amy was right (shocking, he knows).  They’ve got an excellent story to tell their son one day, and they will juggle any obstacle that comes their way.  She is the ultimate warrior, and Jake is a father now, and he would do it all again in a heartbeat, if that’s what it takes to bring him to this very moment.  Screw all the uncertainties, and anybody who suggests that they can’t do this.  He’d walk through fire for his family.  Curses don’t stand a chance.  

(Although quietly, his butt actually really hurts.  Horse riding is way more intense than people make it out to be.)

There’s another gurgle from Mac, this one a little louder, and from her bed Amy stirs.  She’s exhausted, Jake can tell, but as she blinks awake and takes in the sight of he and Mac cuddling together on the chair, she begins to grin.

“My two favourite men,” she mumbles, her half-asleep arms stretching out towards him, and Jake takes extra care in holding onto his son as he manoeuvres himself out of the chair and towards his wife.  She sighs in contentment as Mac is placed into her arms, and after settling himself onto the bed beside Amy, Jake leans down to press a gentle kiss to the side of her head.  

“This is single-handedly the greatest. thing. we have ever done.”

Jake’s voice is soft, his adoration obvious as he leans in for another kiss, smiling at Amy when she turns to meet her lips with his.  “Thank you for giving me the family I’ve always wanted, Ames.”  He rests his forehead against hers for a pause, taking a heavy swallow as his emotions begin to get the better of him.  “This is everything that I could have ever wished for.  I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Jake.  This is the stuff dreams are made of, and I’m so glad I get to do this with you.”

Outside of the hospital room; life goes on - sirens continue to blare at regular intervals, and the rest of the world goes about their day as though everything has remained unchanged.  But for the three of them cuddled together on the bed, nothing will ever be the same.  

There are flowers to smell and cards to write, phone calls to make and visitors to greet.  Baby Mac is about to be the most popular child in this hospital, and there is a part of both Jake and Amy that cannot wait to show him off to everybody they know.  But for now, Amy rests her head against Jake’s shoulder, and Mac falls back to sleep against her chest, and everything they need is right here in front of them.  

They’ve waited so long for this moment, and the rest of the world can wait.   

[camporion]

lee minho, aron piper & na jaemin are now taken. congratulations, wesley, micah & scotty ! you’ve been hired. you have 6 hours to cry about the death of your social life but don’t worry, we’ve got a killer orientation coming up ! dont be late to check in.

➼ ◊ ⌠ LEE MINHO (LEE KNOW), TWENTY-ONE, HE/HIM ⌡ welcome to camp orion, WESLEY CHO ! are you excited to be a part of FIRST AID? something tells me you’re perfect for it, maybe it’s because you’re so ATTENTIVE. either way i saw you SLOUCHING, don’t do that around the campers and put away YOUR SILVER HEART LOCKET, we won’t compensate any loss or damages. see you later! - est, she/her.

➼ ◊ ⌠ aron piper, 23, he/him ⌡ welcome to camp orion, MICAH MARENO ! are you excited to be a part of LIFEGUARD? something tells me you’re perfect for it, maybe it’s because you’re so INTUITIVE. either way i saw you SMOKING, don’t do that around the campers and put away DAD’S WATCH, we won’t compensate any loss or damages. see you later! - est, she/her.

➼ ◊ ⌠ na jaemin, twenty, he+him ⌡ welcome to camp orion, SCOTTY JEONG! are you excited to be a part of EQUESTRIAN? something tells me you’re perfect for it, maybe it’s because you’re so SILLY. either way i saw you DOING THE CUPID SHUFFLE, don’t do that around the campers and put away your DAB PEN, we won’t compensate any loss or damages. see you later! - gmt, she/her.

[yellowbubble334]

HECk mY DUdE'S FiNaLly

U know this took forever but I'm proud of the result. Hopefully the next chapter will come quicker.

Also I might post my Equestrian AU fic soon so... ye

[dabblinginmarvel]

Blind Date

Request: No

Plot: Sif doesn’t find herself attracted to any men and it only makes too much sense to Thor – his lesbian friend would be a perfect match for the girl that was practically his sister.

Blog Tag: @bottled-jellyfish-uwu, @lovelykat001

A/N: I needed a Lady Sif imagine in my life.

Warnings: None

Word Count Total: 918

Short Imagine #255

Title: Blind Date

“Please, Y/N, it’s for one night. I want to set you up with someone.”

“The last time you did that, Thor, it was with the wrong gender.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve learned my lesson. Ladies only. No men.”

You side-eyed him. “Who is it?”

“You’ll like her, I promise. I’ve succeeded, this time.”

“Thor, tell me.”

“You have to dress for the ball and see!”

You let out a sigh and a groan at the same time, then pushed him out of your room so you could get dressed. A good twenty minutes were spent preparing before you emerged, dressed in a grey gown with Asgard gold woven into the bodice. Your brown curls were pulled back away from your face.

He glanced at your shoes, hoping you hadn’t made the decision to wear your running sandals underneath your gown and was relieved when you were wearing shoes good for dancing. You were interested in who he set you up with. Despite his previous failure, he still wanted to try because you still wanted to find love.

He led you to the ball, three hallways down from your room, and you both accepted half-masks. Thor knew you would guess whose idea this was, but he didn’t care. You both had talked on Midgard about what kind of party something like this would be and so he made it happen. It was the anniversary of a famous battle he had waited too late to tell you about. Maybe your date could tell you.

The party was going when you arrived, but not yet in full swing. He dragged you across the room, pausing only once to look around, then continued to pull you to his target.

When you both stopped, it was right behind a woman with wavy brown hair and a grey dress. It matched yours, but was not a copy.

“Excuse me,” Thor said to the lady. “I believe your date is here.”

“Thor, if I have told you once, I have told you more times than I would care to count, I do not need you setting me up on -” she turned around and saw you, her tone softening “- dates.”

“Trust me, you two are a match.” With that, he left the two of you to converse.

- - -

“Is he playing cupid for you, too?” you asked the lady. She had a beautiful voice and a strong frame. You could see her eyes beneath the golden mask and felt your knees weaken. Damn your weakness for lesbian eyes that smiled back at you.

“He does so frequently, but I do not believe he understands where my interests lie.”

Your face fell. “Your interests?”

“He believes I require a match or a mate.”

You took a drink from the table you both were next to. “And you would rather practice swordplay?”

“Most days, yes. But, I do have a romantic interest in women.”

You perked up again. “Do you, now?”

She nodded, taking a sip from her goblet. “But I do not have much more than a romantic interest. He has not quite wrapped his mind around such a concept, yet.”

“That’s okay. He means well.”

“I understand.” She set her goblet down, empty. “Would you care to dance?”

“I would be delighted to.” You put your goblet down and took the hand that she held out for you.

You two danced for three songs, all of which you talked during and got to know each other to. Thor watched on proudly, and you could see him over your date’s shoulder with each slow revolution in the dance.

Eventually, you both returned to the refreshments table for fresh drinks.

“Thor neglected to mention,” you said, “what the exact event is that this party happens to be celebrating.” You glanced over at the feast tables, teeming with rich, heavy foods and felt your stomach rumble. The sly smile on your date’s face made you smile, too.

“Come, we shall enjoy ourselves.”

“I thought we already were?” You followed her and she turned back to smile at you. You felt your knees weaken again.

The night continued on and you both continued to enjoy each other’s company, not caring you had masks obscuring your identities. It was a lovely time to be had and by gods you both were going to enjoy yourselves.

When the time came to say goodnight, you felt torn. You wanted to preserve the mystery, but you didn’t want to go on a Cinderella hunt.

“I had a wonderful time,” she said and you agreed, pulling off your mask.

“I know you said you weren’t looking for a match, but how did Thor do tonight for you? I certainly believe he chose well.”

She pulled off her mask and said, “So do I.”

Your mouth dropped open. Thor had sent you on a blind date with Lady Sif. You didn’t know if you were intimidated or a bit turned on by the knowledge, but you figured it was probably both. “Lady Sif.” You bowed your head.

“Please, there is no need. I would merely be delighted if you accepted my offer to go on another, what did Thor call it, a date?”

A smile pulled up on your mouth and you nodded. “I would be delighted.”

“How long are you here for?” she asked.

“As long as you want me to be.” You smiled.

“I would like you to stay for a long time. We have much to know about each other.”

 - - -

Masterlist

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[seenashwrite]

It’s Always Sunny In Lebanon

Status: Complete Word Count: 4.1K  Category: One-shot, Humor, Holidays, Christmas, Cross-over (It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia) Rating: (Older) Teen & Up Character(s): People and places you’ll recognize [be surprised, eh?] Warnings: A solid section of, um, coarse language Pseudo-Warning: If you aren’t familiar with the show “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia”, this one may not be for you, just FYI.  [wink] Author’s Note(s): For @ellen-reincarnated1967’s “Andi Turns 36: SPN & It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia Crack Challenge” - hope I did your favorite shows justice! I strenuously recommend readers “hear” the non-dialogue parts in your best-worst approximation of a super-snooty British accent, as if a posh older gentleman is telling you of this debacle (for instance, our main character’s name should be pronounced “Buh-nurd”). Imagine your guide is seated with perfect posture in a leather chair near a fireplace, snifter in hand, looking down his nose at you. And of course there’s a damn ascot and a jacket with embroidered monogram, I’m not playing around, neither should your mind’s eye; more post-story Overall Summary: This is the story of the largely unmentioned Bevell son, who was born out of wedlock many years ago. A reject from the MoLs, he was shipped off to ‘Merica in disgrace, and after prompting from his nephew, is determined to solve the mystery of his missing sister, Lady Antonia “Brain-Diddle” Bevell. Overall Summary Spoiler Alert: This does not go well.

Bernard Bevell was born to one Anastasia Bevell at the worst possible time. She was fifteen, finishing what would be her final year at a private girls' school, established for and populated by the most posh and elite young ladies, the ones destined for greatness. In Anastasia's case, this meant a life full of action and adventure, fulfilling family tradition by becoming a member of a prestigious - albeit unknown to most - society. All she had to do was make it to the end of term and pack up her room.

She hadn't known she was with child, as he wasn't a terribly active house guest, as it were, quite slug-like, in fact. Then when a particularly raucous round of gas sent Anastasia to the loo, she hadn't been perched on the throne for long when there came Bernard. It was, to be sure, a less-than-illustrious beginning.

Bernard's life followed suit.

Anastasia was not allowed to proceed with her plans, in large part because of his existence. No amount of pleading and pledges of sizable donations on her father's part were accepted. Everyone knew the situation, and as everyone's opinion mattered, this vexed him, which vexed his wife, which in turn brought their ire down upon their daughter, declaring that her piece of the family fortune would now be bestowed upon her other siblings, and them alone. 

Though Anastasia had not a maternal bone in her body, when she fled from the family estate she brought her son, and everything she could stuff into as many suitcases as would fit into her Aston Martin. She departed in the dead of night, stopping only to transfer Bernard from her valise to the floorboard after an impressive nappy fill. He had inherited his mother's... constitution.

It should be said, neither Bernard - or Bernie, as he came to be called - nor Anastasia were Bevells in the beginning, and for several years after the estrangement, they struggled, despite the chunk of cash Anastasia stole from her father's safe on the way out. The ancient, rotting duplex they called home for the first six years of Bernie's life was never without action, however; they had frequent visitors, many of whom he saw more than once, and they always brought him toys to play with when they'd go upstairs with Anastasia to discuss business. She explained to Bernie that she was a bank of sorts, and that they were stopping by to make deposits.

Bernie knew better, though; they played, too. Those old, creaky floorboards in combination with the old, creaky mattress didn't muffle much. Bernie couldn't wait to be a grown-up, so he could jump on the bed and laugh and shout without getting scolded.

While his mother was cold, to say the least, and she did her business double-time at holidays, she never failed to make them special, arranging virtual parades of pudgy cupids and tall Easter bunnies, and then best of all was Christmastime. Father Christmas after Father Christmas after Father Christmas - sometimes two and three at once! - would stop by, and even the occasional troupe of elves would show up. Bernie was proud for the connections his brilliant mother had made. The neighbor children didn't believe him, so he'd invite them over to see; their parents never let them stay. He felt sorry for them.

The toys were fantastic at these times of year, what with the bows and arrows, and the chocolates and candies, and the army men and train sets. By the time he was five years old, they had moved on to lodgings more suited to his mother's taste, and the holidays were still filled with sweets and presents, but it wasn't the same. He hoped after they moved that all of her business associates - especially the Father Christmases - had found new banks for their deposits, ones as exceptional as his mother.

These dealings allowed his mother to integrate herself back into society a bit, and soon she became a Lady, because she'd married Lord Bevell - which is what Bernie was instructed to call his new stepfather. Bernie never did learn his name, though he was allowed to call the Lord's mother Grandmother Bevell. He was largely cared for by a nanny here, a butler there, and his adopted grandmother was loving - she'd made the attic quite comfortable for him, in his estimation. And when his sister came along, he learned she'd been named for their grandmother: Antonia. Bernie himself had been named after the dog.

As time went on, Bernie's behavior became of concern to all parties - his initial royal flush was not his last. His adoption into the Bevell clan brought along with it some perks, such as a sizable allowance and private schooling. His academic career began with a rousing start, wherein he failed first grade, going on to fail out of many schools, including the last resort, militaristic boarding school where, at seventeen, he was the oldest freshman they'd ever had. The gambling ring he'd begun, including but not limited to betting on squirrel battle royales, ensured his departure, and by the time he was twenty, he'd torn through most of the modest trust fund bestowed upon him at eighteen.

But most concerning to Lord and Lady Bevell was Bernie's influence on Antonia. Lord Bevell was also a member of the Men of Letters, like his wife's father, and while Antonia's mother's antics had not been forgotten by the elder members, that she had done well for herself in the end had not gone unnoticed. Antonia's education and training had already begun, courtesy of her father, at a young age. She was exceptional, earning high marks in all subjects with ease, an accomplished equestrian, could best any competitor in fencing.

And she could manipulate the hell out of anyone who stood in her path. 

Antonia loved her older half-brother to the extent he was of use, case in point: taking her to the more questionable areas of the city so she could drink and play billiards, and - as her grandmother would later put it - carouse. She was smart enough not to reveal her actual identity, and so Toni the Tramp became legendary, a name whispered in the pubs, warnings issued amongst friends, then further amongst the pub owners who warned their barkeeps of the pre-teen who would talk them into serving her shot after shot, challenging them to beat her, leaving them stumbling while she nicked from the till. 

Bernie was so, so proud of his genius sister. He considered her his best friend, despite her frequent sneers and insults. Alas, their hijinks were short-lived; she was sent off to Kendricks, and he was exiled to America with what was left of his trust fund.

Settling in Philadelphia, Bernie continued his antics, being conned out of large sums of his money along the way - often by the trust's manager, Frank - stumbling into circumstances that allowed him to get it back by other means, though he'd fortunately made a great friend not long after he'd been in town, a chance meeting at the meth clinic. Mac frequently borrowed money from Bernie, given their shared love of beer and the resulting hefty tabs, but the thing that solidified their relationship was a love of Christmas. 

His friend's family did it up right, and Bernie was blissfully surrounded by gingerbread and turkey and sparkling lights on trees. It made him miss the old days, and even made him miss the later days, when he'd be tasked with crawling under the tree at the manor, getting covered in sap, passing Antonia's presents to her as he located his own. Santa had always been careful to hide his presents at the very back, where his curious sister would not tear into them with her teeth. Antonia always was partial to biting her way through things; as usual, Bernie admired her style.

The years passed.

Grandmother Bevell took ill and died, and due to a careless secretary Bernie was made aware. After the funeral, a large spread had been assembled for the mourners and whilst in the process of stuffing his pockets with roast lamb, he spotted Antonia lingering in a corner. He rushed over, immediately drawing her into an embrace, which made her immediately grimace; her only reciprocation was to push him away.

"You smell of meat," she said.

"Nah, it's just this lamb, I never get it back home, better stock up while the getting's good."

"Your pockets are dripping. And why have you adopted that ridiculous American accent?"

"I dunno. Hey, wow, Tones - you're getting fat."

She glared. "I'm not fat." A pause. "Do you have anything besides lamb in your pockets?"

"You mean----"

"I mean, let's go out to the stables."

"I don't wanna ride right now, but thanks for----"

"We're not going to ride, you buffoon. We're going to get out of this godforsaken misery. If you've nothing of worth on you, then nevermind, I'll have to find another way to distract myself. I can't believe you've shown up here empty-handed."

"I had some poppers, but those were for the plane----"

"Then just swipe some of the wine and meet me there. Hurry it up!"

Bernie grew sentimental. "Aw, like we used to?"

He received no answer; Antonia had already turned and begun walking to the kitchen, so she could slip out the back door.

Bernie learned that day that his sister was not, in fact, getting fat. Like her mother, she had found herself out of wedlock and with child. But unlike her mother, she was already at Kendricks, only a year away from graduation, and she held great promise, such great promise that she was already considered an asset to the Men of Letters. The headmistress, Dr. Hildegard Hess - the one Toni called "the crone" - had herself been at Kendricks many moons ago and knew of the Anastasia-Bernie situation. Ordinarily, she'd have given a student who'd behaved so irresponsibly the proverbial boot, only she saw future benefit in keeping Toni around, and so she helped Toni cover up her pregnancy by saying she'd been sent away on an apprenticeship. Lord and Lady Bevell arranged for a stately home away from the city, though not too terribly country, and a nanny was employed, and baby Artie was safe and sound while his young mother finished her time at Kendricks.

More years passed.

As Toni's status in the Men of Letters grew, so Baby Artie grew, though in his case, it was not by much. That is to say, his mind - like his mother's - was far ahead of other children his age, but his stature remained diminutive. He appeared many years younger than his actual age, and his innocent countenance let him get away with murder. Literally. Bernie knew this because despite Toni's forbidding Artie to be in contact with his uncle following the mess Bernie made of Artie's christening when he caused the priest to faint upon the sight of the carefully-crafted rat mobile gnawing its way through the gift box, his conniving nephew was proficient at hiding email trails and stashing phones. 

Artie appreciated that Bernie didn't scold him when he told of his adventures. He'd regale Bernie with stories of his neighborhood hijinks - baptizing cats, and shooting stray hounds with pellet guns, tossing the occasional molotov at other neighborhood children - but he assured Bernie that he left the badgers alone, even trained a particularly vicious one to nip at his most recent nanny's ankles,  did it with a dog whistle, he'd bragged. He'd sent Bernie a video, it was amazing, though Bernie still held an affinity for squirrels. He had found that Philadelphia city rats were comparable, highly trainable, offered to ship one over as he had a shoebox handy; Artie wisely declined.

And then, disaster struck.

Summer had barely begun when Artie called Bernie in near-hysterics, causing his concerned uncle to steal away to the corner of his favorite bar, trying to calm the child.

"Art, my man - chill out! You gotta slow down!"

"It's Mummy!"

Bernie's eyes grew wide. "You have a mummy? Did you wrap up your nanny?" He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Did you remember to take out her brain?"

"I mean MUMMY - my mother! She's been in America for ages, and now she's gone missing!"

"Whaddya mean, missing?"

"We haven't heard from her in over a month!"

Bernie leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling wobbly in the knees. "Artie, what was she doing here? Where was she? What----"

"You have to find her," Artie said, and gone was the child's panic, his voice now more adult than his uncle's, his tone both grave and demanding.

"How am I supposed to----"

"I've wired you money for expenses. There is a plane ticket waiting for you - you're going to Kansas City, then I'll have a car rented for you - you have to go to a godforsaken mole hill called Lebanon."

"I can't do this alone!" Bernie blurted out, not bothering to argue, he knew he'd go as instructed, but he was scared.

Artie huffed, said, "Fine - I'll arrange another ticket, bring that friend of yours, he has some sense, at least."

Bernie felt the sting. "Artie... what's that supposed to mean?"

Artie immediately reverted to his most innocent. "Aw, Uncle Bernie, I'm sorry. I'm frightened for Mummy. Please don't be cross with me---" a pause for a sniffle "---I just don't know what I might do if I thought you hated me."

Bernie assured Artie of his love, assured him that he - and Mac - would do whatever they could to find Toni. 

Bernie and Mac missed their flight.

Much shenanigans ensued, thanks to friends of Mac's who had warily accepted Bernie into their group, cheekily called “The Gang”.

Months passed.

Artie's fury grew.

And finally, once a van was procured with the last of the funds Artie had provided, the duo took off for Kansas around Christmastime - but first, they stopped off at Mac's mother's home, knowing his stocking would already hold both candy for the road, and cash for their pockets.

It was here that Bernie regaled Mac with more tales of his love of Christmas, why he loved it so, and specifically how his own mother used to do it up right. This is when Mac said those fateful words, though he did not know just how much they would alter fate at the time. It was a simple statement, well-phrased, delicate, empathetic. Mac said:

"Based on that story that you just told me, I'm fairly certain that those Santas were running a train on your mom for money."

Bernie stared.

"Chew on that for a second, let that settle in," Mac added.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Mac called out a goodbye to his mother, and herded his flailing friend to the van. Bernie continued to deny the truth of the apparent holiday prostitution festivals for several miles, but finally it did indeed settle in. And he went silent. The rest of the trip to Kansas was filled with Mac trying to cheer him, mostly with liquor and candy. Bernie vomited, but it seemed the purge helped.

By the time they'd checked into a cheap motel, Bernie was renewed, more vigor than ever. Texts to Artie were filled with confidence. He placed ads in local and regional papers. He set up a website. He crafted flyers with Antonia's picture, had hundreds printed, plastered the town. 

They questioned people wherever they went. Artie sent more money. Subsequently, Bernie questioned the strippers they then visited nightly, so as to make it a work expense. Though Mac did note Bernie's disinterest in the stripper called Candy Cane, who was draped in glittery garland and sported the traditional red hat of the jolly old man, Santa continued to be a non-topic.

Until.

Two particular residents of Lebanon were particularly dodgy, a pair they encountered at a diner. The tall man, whose hair Mac admired with great envy, was nothing but a collection of "Ah"-s, "Um"-s, and gulps as he stared down at the flyer Bernie had shoved into his hands. The other man, with the gruff voice and deep frown, denied all knowledge as he crumbled the flyer and threw it away, finally barking a piece of advice. Just before he climbed into a muscle car, which Mac admired with great envy, the man turned to Bernie, finger right in his face, and said:

"Why don't you go plop on Santa's lap, tell him you want your sister for Christmas, make it a real Lifetime movie moment, but we're done here, you got it?"

Bernie once more grew solemn. The duo sped away. Mac watched his friend carefully.

"Let's go to the mall," said Bernie in a low, flat voice.

Now it was Mac who gulped. "Why?"

"I think I know what happened to Toni."

It occurred to Mac where this was heading. "Bern, she didn't disappear around Christmas, I don't----"

Bernie lunged, grabbed Mac by the jacket, shook him furiously. "He's EVERYWHERE, man. He can get to ANYBODY. This is about me, this has been about me the WHOLE TIME."

"Huh?"

Before Mac knew it, the keys to the van were snatched, tires were screeching, and he barely made it into the passenger seat, and then Molly was dropped, in which Mac participated because he was, after all, a supportive friend. In a hopped-up haze they'd arrived at the mall, then as if by magic suddenly found themselves smack in the middle of it, drawn to a makeshift North Pole, staring at all the happy people in the line leading to the tree-lined stage. Bernie trembled with anger, one of the flyers clutched in his fist.

A series of flashbacks ran through his mind: the Santas bringing him presents when he was a boy; his mother joyfully escorting them upstairs; Artie, sound asleep and safe in his bed; and Toni, missing, possibly gone forever. His eyes narrowed. He saw red.

"I won't let him get to Artie," Bernie said through grit teeth.

"Bern, don't---" Mac tried, but it was for naught. Bernie had joined the line of children, his anger growing by the moment. Mac sighed and joined him.

The time finally came, and Bernie sat himself on Santa's lap.

The costumed man blinked in surprise, glancing at Mac questioningly before asking Bernie, "What would you like for Christmas, son?"

"Did you fuck his mother?"

Santa's jaw dropped for a moment, and he whispered, "What?"

"Did. You. Fuck. His. Mother."

Nearby, parents covered their children's ears.

"I don't know what you're----" Santa began, but Bernie cut him off.

"You're after my family, aren't you? What did Toni do, she try to brain-diddle you? Take down your whole racket? Expose you for what you are? A mother-fucker?"

Mac buried his face in his hands.

"Listen, son----"

"I'm not your son!" Bernie screamed. "And neither is Artie!"

"Who?"

Bernie held up the flyer. "Don't pretend like you don't know, you fat motherfucker! WHERE'S MY SISTER? I KNOW YOU TOOK MY SISTER!" Bernie turned, gesturing, addressing all the children. "HE FUCKED MY MOTHER! HE'LL FUCK YOUR MOTHERS! AND HE'LL BRING HIS ELVES TO FUCK YOUR MOTHERS, TOO, SOMETIMES THERE'LL BE FIVE AT ONCE!"

Said mothers gasped, began ushering their children away. The nearby elves were shaking their heads, bells on their caps tingling, denying the accusation. The clomping boots from the approaching security guards could be heard from all sides. Mac begged Bernie to stop, asked what Toni would think of all this.

That was when Bernie snapped. He followed Mac's advice, did think upon Toni, thought on what Toni would do. And he snarled.

Bernie bit Santa, and hard, and Santa began flailing, trying to free himself from the enraged man perched on his lap. But Bernie held tightly, continued his gnawing, and blood began to seep into the fake white beard, stream down and add a shiny glaze to the already red suit. It was so much blood, in fact, that Santa almost immediately passed out, slumping, and Bernie followed him to the floor, howling like a rabid dog. The nearby patrons were screaming, pushing, shoving, knocking into each other, desperate to get away.

Bernie's phone had gotten tossed aside in the mayhem, sliding over near Mac's feet - it rang, and he saw it was Artie, and he answered the phone, not bothering with a greeting, cutting right to the chase. "Bernie's gone bugfuck crazy!"

Saying it aloud - and seeing several security guards radioing for backup, others pulling out tasers - jolted Mac from his shock, and he snatched the back of Bernie's jacket with his free hand, wrenching him from his straddled position, dragging him off of the still, unmoving Santa.

Artie huffed, asked, "What in blazes is all that noise?"

"He attacked Santa Claus! I'm trying to get him outta here, the security guards are----"

"He WHAT?! What does bloody Father Christmas have to do with finding----"

"Bloody is right! He bit him! I think the dude is dead!"

Carols served as a backing track for their escape, Mannheim Steamroller sharp in their ears as they rushed through the shoppers, plowing them down if need be, Mac practically throwing Bernie into the back of the van, then jumping into the driver's seat and peeling out of the parking lot.

"ANSWER ME, CRETIN!"

Mac had shoved the phone into his front jacket pocket, apparently with Artie still on the line, as the boy's shrill voice was so loud he heard it despite it not being on speaker and despite the fact that Bernie was right behind him, curled into a fetal position, sucking his thumb and rocking back and forth, noisily sobbing. Mac took a hairpin turn down an alley, sirens not far enough in the distance for him to feel comfortable, and after he'd cut the engine, he dug out the phone, put it on speaker officially, and tossed it to the dashboard.

Mac ran his hands through his hair nervously, saying, "Man, this is bad. Artie, we're in real----"

"I'm done with the both of you gits. I've managed to make contact with one of mother's associates - the only one who is left from the mission to your godforsaken land. I'm told the cockney twit who always sucked up to me is dead, as is The Crone. You've been useless, I should've handled this myself from the start." Artie stopped addressing Mac, yelling out, "BERNIE?!"

Bernie sniffled. "Yeah, Art?"

"Lose. My. Number." 

The call ended.

Artie's tone had been cold - frigid, in fact. It reminded him of his mother. But it especially reminded him of his sister. And that made Bernie smile.

While he packed, Artie listened to the man with the smooth voice as he detailed the plan.

".....and it will essentially give him a new existence entirely, now known as Charlie. I've already arranged for the same procedures to take place on the woman who will serve as his mother, the friend you mentioned, and his other... associates, the ones from the pub, the waitress he fancies, his financial manager. Any others can be taken care of as they pop up, but you're certain those are the only persons to whom he is close? There's no need to attend to your family?"

"They'll happily forget about Bernie on their own, no need." A pause. "Shall we just have him killed?"

"Mmmm. Such passion at so young an age."

"You disapprove?"

"No. I understand your desire for your uncle’s comeuppance. But he may be of use to you later - you must think ahead.”

“Fine,” said Artie with a disappointed sigh.

“For now, he'll believe he's always been an American living in Philadelphia. Nice, sunny life for the moron. Though, if you like, I can see to it Bernard Bevell is declared dead. A token of appreciation on my part, an official good riddance. I did cherish my time with your mother - no matter her whereabouts, she'll be missed. Lady Bevell was such a gift to all of us."

Artie stopped his packing, gave the phone a bit of side-eye. "You sound as if you're giving condolences. If Mummy is dead-----"

"My boy, we will work together to find out what exactly happened, and I will be pleased to help you exact any vengeance you deem necessary."

"And this won't inconvenience you?"

"I have some time on my hands. I'll have to pop away on occasion, but I trust your self-sufficiency. Besides, I think we have a great deal in common. I would be pleased to act as your mentor, that isn't merely a story for your grandparents."

Artie pondered on this for a moment, then said, "Yes. I do believe I'd benefit from your tutelage."

"Then it's settled. When can I expect you?"

Artie stuffed his teddy bear into his backpack, hoisted it onto his shoulder, and picked up his phone, walking out of his room and down the hallway, ignoring the muffled cries from his tied-and-gagged nanny in the closet. "I'm on my way to the airport now."

"You have suitable transportation, I take it?"

"Yes."

"Good. I look forward to your arrival, Mr. Bevell."

"Thank you, Mr. Ketch."

In the garage, Artie climbed upon his scooter and donned his helmet, then sped off, visions of motorcycles dancing in his head.

See Nash Write : Master  /  See Nash Write : Mobile

🏷️🏷️Wanna be tagged? Hit me up! 🏷️🏷️

Author’s Note #2:  My prompt was: “Did you fuck my mom?” and as y’all could see, I changed it slightly to fit the story. You can see the clip with the set-up of the Santa issue here, and the clip of the actual confrontation with Santa (you’ll spot bits of both in that gif) from the "Sunny” ep from which it hails here.

Author's Note #3: Yes, Artie is short for Arthur.

Author's Note #4: Go with it, your suspicion is correct.

Author's Note #5: I mean it, don't doubt yourself, listen to your gut.

Author's Note #6: HE'S KETCH'S SON DAMMIT

Author's Note #7: I'm not sorry I've planted this seed in your mind.

Author's Note #8: Mwah-ah-ahahahahahaha [evil laugh]

Behold, the summoning of The Nashooligans...

 @butiaintgonnaloveem   @impandagrl    @waywardjoy  @jalove-wecallhimdean  @jame-sbarnes  @just-another-busy-fangirl  @amanda-teaches  @fanforfanatic  @salt-n-burn-em-all  @idreamofhazel  @cyrilconnelly  @rozadolphin  @theblackharrystyles   @carryonmycobaltangel  @ilsawasanacrobat  @klaineaholic  @helvonasche   @ericaprice2008  @amionthetumbler  @tankcupcakes  @littlegreenplasticsoldier  @emlostinwonderland  @michellethetvaddict  @theoriginalvicki  @ellen-reincarnated1967  @copperseraphim  @mrswhozeewhatsis  @crowleylovesyou  @bumbleball13  @anticipate1003  @sixtysevenandwhiskey @raspberrymama  @lastactiontricia  @babypieandwhiskey  @winchesterprincessbride   @gripmetight-raisemefromperdition   @roseblue373   @waterfeenix137  @thisismysecrethappyplace    @fandomismyspirit   @thedevilinthedetails

[stlels]

What Is Dating.

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[ask-de-writer]

FLUTERSHY MEETS KRIS : MLP Fan Fiction

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

FLUTERSHY MEETS KRIS

A Hearthwarming/Xmas tale

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

2278 words

© 2019 by Glen Ten-Eyck

Writing begun 12/12/19

All rights reserved.  This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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“Hey, Rudy!  Any idea where we're going?”

“Not a one, Blitz!  I just lead where Kris says to go, through the reins. Been going straight since they went slack a bit ago.”

“Didn't that happen just after he tried to shortcut us through that coal power plant plume?”

“Yep.”

“Um, Guys?”

“What is it, Dash?”

“Rudy, I think you are going to have to take total control.   Kris has lost the reins entirely and he's flopped over to starboard.  From what I can hear, he is in deep respiratory trouble.”

“I hear you, Dash.  Initiating a spiral climb to port.  We need to get above this cloudcover and get our bearings.  As soon as we get a star and moon fix, we head for help!”

“Clouds are thinning, everydeer keep an eye out for anything familiar! Scratch that!  We can see the moon and we are in worse trouble than we ever suspected!  Anybody ever see the moon look like that?”

“I have. You are not going to like it though!”

“What do you mean, Cupie-Nerd?”

“Well, Rudy, it matches the one in the MLP cartoons!  That's what!  Take us down gentle until we clear the bottom of the cloud deck.  You will see!”

“I would hate to think that you are right, Cupie.  Still, I can't think of a better explanation for that moon and sky.  We will hold the port spiral as we descend.  Everybody keep your eyes peeled for obstructions!  Pretend we are descending in the Alps!”

The last of the high cloud deck passed above the desperate nine.  

Cupid called out, “I was right!  That town over there is Ponyville!  The forest to the starboard of our course is the Everfree!  Rudy, take us down to that house near the edge of the Everfree!  Careful, though! It is a thatch roof!  Most of them are, around here.”

“Right! Easy down!  We are safe!  We're going to have to help Kris to get to the chimney!  Who has his bag?  Good job, Donnie.  Get his feet in, there.  Good, the magic is working!  He fits!  Let him go!”

The yellow pegasus mare was just heating some chocolate to go with her plate of cookies for bedtime snack.  She was humming Hearthwarming tunes to herself and contemplating how lovely the pageant had been when she heard the slithering sound from her living room.  It was followed by a sort of thump like something collapsing!

Dashing into her living room, She beheld a most peculiar sight!  There was a large being dressed in red with white fur trims laying across the fire irons in her fireplace!  Luckily, it had not scattered the embers in its fall!  That was a separate puzzle, because it was far too big to fit the flue!

She grabbed the nape of its coat and pulled it free of the fire place!  “Um, uh, S . . . Sir, we need to get you, um, you know, up on all fours. Oh, um, that doesn't work, does it?  You go on just the hind legs? Lean across my back.  Not far, just to that chair.  It has no back support so lean on the table, OK?  That's it!  I am going to get you some cookies and hot chocolate.”

The little mare puttered about in the kitchen for a moment.  There was the clatter of a pot going onto the stove and the splash of water poured into it to heat.  

Up on the roof, the team were all gathered around the chimney flue listening as best they could.  Rudy looked blankly at Cupid and asked, “Up on all fours?  At least she figured that he doesn't go on four legs like we do.  What is down there, Cupie?”

“I am pretty sure that we have hit Flutteshy's house.  She is a pegasus who likes and heals the forest animals.  I figure that she is our best bet around here for helping Kris.”

She returned from the kitchen with a tray.  “N . . . Now, Sir, whatever you are, eat the cookies and drink the hot chocolate.  They will give you energy that you need.

“I, um, hope that you will forgive me, but while I helped you to the table, I listened to your lungs.  They are very badly blocked up with something.  If I don't help you to get rid of it tonight, you will probably die.

“I am tucking this blanket around your neck so that I can make a sort of tent of it when the water is ready.  I will give you a medicated steam treatment that works to clear up lungs that are clogged.”

Up on the roof, Donner commented, “Clogged lungs?  Poor Kris' lungs haven't been right since the start of the industrial revolution!  The rest of us could probably use some lung clearing too!”

Rudy cut him off with, “Shush!  I want to hear what is going on down there!”

The little mare called from the kitchen, “Oh good!  The water is hot!”

She brought out a biggish pot that was steaming and set it on the table.  She put another bowl near it and produced a largish brown bottle with a tightly stoppered neck.  It had an ornate looking label stuck to it.

At her strange guest's eyebrow raised in inquiry, she showed it to him.  He shook his head.  She smiled, “I guess that you do not read Equestrian, do you?  I will read it to you.  Pinkie Pie made it as a joke after I used this to fix her pneumonia.

“Aunt Flutters Brittle Root Potion

Good for: Shining Shoes, polishing iron work, shining silver and brass, unclogging pipes and, mixed with sawdust, filling cracks and knot holes in floors.

Not to be taken internally except in cases where sudden termination of existence is desired.”

She giggled, “I told you, it was a joke.  It is not too far wrong.  It works really well as a steam, though.”  She poured two large spoons of it into the hot water.

“Now lay your head down next to the steam bowl.  The other one is to spit up goo from your lungs into as the treatment goes on.  Now, I need to pull that blanket into a tent for you.  There.  Now breathe as deeply as you can.

“Is that all?  Your lungs are really bad.  Try again.  And again.  There, now it is beginning to penetrate.  Feel that goo?  Cough.  Again.  Spit it into the bowl!  Breathe deeper, now.  Cough it up!  Again.  You are doing great!”

The treatment went on for two more big pots of steamed potion over nearly an hour.  Finally, Kris was sitting up and alert.

“Pardon me, Miss.  I do not even know your name or how I got here, wherever here is.”

The little mare ducked her head.  “I am Fluttershy.  I don't know how you got here, either.  I heard a funny noise and a thump.  I found you in a heap in my fireplace.”

He nodded, as if her story made sense that she did not grasp and replied, “My name is Kris.  From what you just said, my friends and team must be close by.  The last thing that I remember, we were flying through a cloud of smoke from a coal fired power plant.  They must have got me out of the sleigh and into your chimney.  I have a sort of magic that lets me fit any chimney flue and come down it to give gifts to the deserving.”

Flutters paused and looked up to the beams overhead.  “Your friends that can fly are up on my roof?  Can we invite them in to warm up?  It seems cruel to leave them up there.”

Kris snorted his amusement.  “Go ahead.  I'm afraid that you will have to be able to fly to do it though.”

She shrugged.  “Not really a problem.  Some of us pegassi do know how to fly!”  

She stepped out and with a flutter of wings, she alighted among the reindeer gathered about her chimney.  “Um, you could all come down into the house and warm up, if that's OK?  You can park the sleigh in the yard for now.  I have to keep Kris for a little longer before I can let him go.”

The answer was a reindeer stampede!  In only moments, they were crowded about Fluttershy's fireplace warming up!

One sarcastically asked, “How does a little pegasus like you plan to keep Kris if he wants to go?”

As if that was a cue, a back room door opened and a bear poked his head into the room.  He had bandages wrapped around his ribs.  Fluttershy popped right over and began probing around on his left side.  Nodding she agreed, “You are OK, now Bruin.  I will get you a snack and then you can go.”

She went into her kitchen and they all heard her purposeful rummaging about. She emerged with a big bowl with a good sized fish, some berries and a chunk of red meat in it and gave it to the bear.

While the bear was eating, Kris asked, “How did he get hurt?”

Flutters looked down and sort of scratched the floor with a hoof as she said softly, “Um, it was my fault.  We were roughhousing, just for fun, you know.  I, I got behind him and got him in a hug.  Kinda cracked two of his ribs.  They are all healed up now, though.”

Kris looked thoughtfully at the bear and observed, “I will wait until you say I can go.  I have to admit that I have no idea how to get back home from here.”

Flutters ducked her head decisively as she let the bear out into the night. “I think that I can help with that.  I know some horses that are experts with portals between worlds.  Let me make some calls.”

She went back into the kitchen.  Soon they heard, “Um, Marchhare?  I, I hate to disturb your Hearthwarming but I have some folks here from another world.  Got here by accident.  One was really sick.  No, I healed him up.  Not demons.  They just need someone who can sort out which world they came from and portal them home.  Wind is there?  She would be perfect!  How soon can she be here?  Thanks, Marchhare.  You Rom are the best!”

Shortly there was a quiet knock at the door.  Fluttershy greeted, “Wind! Marchhare told me that you were dancing the Shehan Ja Rom for the band!  We didn't cut your dance short did we?”

The Cat/Otter hybrid wearing traditional Rom sashes and beautifully tooled harness stepped into the room.  She answered, “No, I took my time and did it right.  Portals allow some adjustments to time, so I came here from twenty minutes ahead of now.  So, who all are we sending back to their home?”

Kris pointed, “All of my team and I.  They will be in harness to the sleigh outside and if it will help, we can fly to whatever point you want us to.”

Wind was pondering as she assessed the group.  “Kris?  Kris Kringle?  So, were you delivering presents when this happened?”

The red nosed reindeer said, “Afraid so.  We lost a lot of time with this detour.  Of course, if Kris had died, it would have been a lot worse.”

Wind smiled, clearly settled now.  “OK, I can not only return you to your world, but too any spot and time of night that you want.  There is no need to lose the time that you were getting Kris fixed up. That Brittle Root Potion is pretty amazing stuff, isn't it?”

Fluttershy ducked into the kitchen and brought out a new bottle, still sealed. She presented it to Kris and suggested, “If you plan to fly in the air that did that to your lungs, you had better have this!  Happy Hearthwarming!”

Kris reached into his bag and produced a large gaily wrapped box that he put on the table.  And for you, a Merry Xmas!  Please share it with Wind.”

Wind produced a map of a world that Fluttershy had never seen and Kris pointed to a place and said, “There, and about five hours past would be just about perfect.”

Wind folded that map and produced a maplike parchment.  “OK, all, it is time to go!”

They all trooped outside and the team slipped into their harness with practiced ease.  Wind pointed to a small puffy cloud, all that was left of the earlier overcast, and said, “I will put the portal in there.  Just fly through the cloud and you will be home.”

Kris shook hands with Wind and gave Fluttershy a friendly pat.  “It has been a pleasure to meet you both.  I hope someday to meet under better circumstances.”

He flicked the reins and the strange looking group took to the air without a single wing to lift them.  Wind and Fluttershy watched them sail into the cloud.  They did not appear to come out.  Flutershy gave a sigh, “Th, They are gone.  It was kind of nice having visitors for Hearthwarming.”

“We do have a present to share,” Wind observed, reading the label on the package.  “To Wind Whisper Soulblade and Fluttershy, with deepest thanks, Kris Kringle.”

Unwrapping revealed a big, deep dish Frostberry pie.  Fluttershy set out plates and Wind sliced the pie.  Hot water on the stove made fine Rom black tea to go with the wonderful pie.

~THE END~

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

[waltersartmuseum]

Art of the Day: Casket with Images of Cupids This finely carved ivory casket is decorated with curly-haired "erotes" (cupids) in the guise of warriors, dancers, and musicians. The lid shows two in equestrian combat while the trapezoidal panel in front shows a group of four "erotes" and a centaur dancing and playing musical instruments. The rectangular plaque on the casket's front features an "eros" playing a harp on a stand, a chariot drawn by panthers, and two other "erotes" playing musical instruments. Learn more about this object in our art site: http://bit.ly/2MpxQfo

[ineedtoreadmorepoetry]

The Mind Is an Ancient and Famous Capital by Delmore Schwartz

The mind is a city like London, Smoky and populous: it is a capital Like Rome, ruined and eternal, Marked by the monuments, which no one Now remembers. For the mind, like Rome, contains Catacombs, aqueducts, amphitheatres, palaces, Churches and equestrian statues, fallen, broken, or soiled. The mind possesses and is possessed by all the ruins Of every haunted, hunted generation’s celebration.

“Call us what you will: we are made such by love.” We are such studs as dreams are made on, and Our little lives are ruled by the gods, by Pan, Piping of all, seeking  to grasp or grasping All of the grapes; and by the bow and arrow god, Cupid, piercing the heart through, suddenly and forever. 

Dusk we are, to dusk returning after the burbing, After the gold fall, the fallen ash, the bronze, Scattered and rotten, after the white null statues which Are winter, sleep, and nothingness: when Will the houselights of the universe Light up and blaze?

                                For it is not the sea Which murmurs in a shell, And it is not only heart, at harp o’clock,  It is the dread terror of the uncontrollable Horses of the apocalypse, running in wild dread Toward Arcturus--and returning as suddenly...

[gfriendpick789]

Marry Me Dating App

Jun 28, 2021 Marry Me at a glance:. Dating sites for hippies. Clear, modern design with a fresh, intuitive interface. High-quality graphics with smooth navigation. Intelligent matchmaking engine that helps you find a partner. Find local singles nearby or worldwide (based on the specified radius). Flirt and chat with strangers. Meet new people all over the world. A large community of men and women with different interests Download the Marry Me online dating app free of charge to meet local or international. What the hell, I'm in a gambling mood tonight, so let's see what happens.I MIGHT be willing to marry 1 woman so that she can become a United States citizen. The only conditions are that You must be a woman and must be under 30 years old (I'm 30) Comment and tell me your name, where you're from, something interesting about you, why you want to come to the United States, and why you think I.

There's someone out there for everyone. And there's also an app out there for everyone. The online dating space has exploded in recent years, with a category that generates over $2 billion a year, is growing 5% year on year and has fundamentally changed the way we find love. There is a dating site for any niche you could imagine; nudists (Naturist Passion), horse lovers (Equestrian Cupid), Mile High Club fans (Wingman), video chat fiends (Coffee meets Bagel) and even vampires (Vampire Passion). And that's just the beginning. As finding love is so high on so many people's wishlist, it's no wonder the category continues to evolve. Here are some of the most intriguing dating apps and sites out there.

1. Settle For Love

As the name suggests, this is all about embracing your imperfections and acknowledging that you actually have to 'settle' in order to settle down. Users are asked to upload both good and bad pictures of themselves, as well as talk about their positive and not-so-positive traits.

2. SaladMatch

This app will pair uses over their preferences in salad. Dating app for foreigners in usa. Started by NYC restaurant chain, Just Salad, Salad Match will find you a date. Users login through Facebook and share their favorite salad, their preferred lunchtime location and time and Salad Match serves up potential matches; complete with their salad of choice and Facebook profile picture.

This app is designed for women who have a thing for beards. As they describe it, they 'Connect those with beards, to those who want to stroke beards'. It's a pretty straightforward premise, but will likely fade once the lumberjack look moves on.

Marry Me Dating App Reviews

4. Feeld

In many ways, this is just like Tinder, except it helps connect you to threesomes. Formerly called 3nder, the app changed its name to curtail a lawsuit from Tinder. The app is for both couples and singles, and verifies individuals through Facebook, without sharing information publicly.

This platform is exclusively for marijuana lovers to connect over all things green. Users can pick their energy level when high (for example, are they a couch potato or avid explorer) and can also choose their preference for consumption (vaping, smoking or ingesting). CEO Todd Mitchem created the app after a great date abruptly ended, once he mentioned he smoked pot.

6. UglyShmucks

This site is exclusively for ugly people, or those who like to date ugly people. The site touts itself as a platform for those who value genuine personality over outward appearances. And that doesn't sound like such a bad thing.

If you love mullets, really, really love mullets, this is the place to go. The site wants you to 'surround yourself with people in life who share your passions' - even if that passion is business up front, party in the back.

8. Can Do Better

Marry Me Download

This surprising concept involves a current couple submitting their picture to the site, the community then votes on which of the couple 'could do better' and the 'winner' then gets submitted to the site. It's a harsh breakup tactic, but takes gaming to the next level.

This site is for people who already have herpes. It's designed to bypass those awkward STI conversations and allow lovers to get on with what they do best.

10. Marry Me Already

To join this site, you have to be ready to get married. There's no casual dating allowed, so users can jump straight into a relationship that's ready to walk down the aisle.

[schizophrenic-god]

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[highslis]

Multitudinous North

And, last of all, as if it were not enough to be unable to procure the countenance of any Christian power, except on specific conditions prejudicial to their existence, still further, as the alternative of their humbling themselves before the haughty nations of the West whom they abhor, they have to encounter the direct cupidity, hatred, and overpowering pressure of the multitudinous North, with its fanaticism almost equal, and its numbers superior, to their own; a peril more awful in imagination, from the circumstance that its descent has been for so many centuries foretold and commenced, and of late years so widely acquiesced in as inevitable.

Seven centuries and a half have passed, since, at the very beginning of the Crusades, a Greek writer still extant, turns from the then menacing inroads of the Turks in the East, and the long centuries of their triumph which lay in prospect, to record a prophecy, old in his time, relating to the North, to the effect that in the last days the Russians should be masters of Constantinople. When it was uttered no one knows; but he tells us it was written on an equestrian statue, in his day one of the special monuments of the Imperial City, which had one time been brought thither from Antioch.

That statue, whether of Christian or pagan origin it is not known, has a name in history, for it was one of the works of art destroyed by the Latins in the taking of Constantinople ; and the prediction engraven on it bears at least a remarkable evidence of the congruity in itself, if I may use the word, of that descent of the North upon Constantinople, which, though not as yet accomplished, generation after generation grows more probable.

Trebizond to the Bosphorus

It is now a thousand years since this famous prophecy has been illustrated by the actual incursions of the Russian hordes. That was the date of their first expedition against Constantinople.; their assaults continued through two centuries; and, in the course of that period, they seemed to be nearer the capture of the city than they have been at any time since. They descended the Dnieper in boats, coasted along the East of the Black Sea, and so came round by Trebizond to the Bosphorus, plundering the coast as they advanced. At one time their sovereign had got possession of Bulgaria, to the south of the Danube. Barbarians of other races flocked to his standard; he found himself surrounded by the luxuries of the East and West, and he marched down as far as Adrianople, and threatened to go further.