#i have strayed so far from my horse girl days of old

[izel-scribbles]

malevolent cowboy au, inspired by @percymawce-arts and @ananxiousgenz's writing!!!

[angel-of-the-moons]

Small Surprises

Moon Knight System (Marc/Jake/Steven) x Single Mother!Reader

TW/CW: Some mentions of past childhood abuse, cheating partner, mostly fluff

A/N: Like the Symbrock one I did, this one will be one whole fic with a few times skips here and there! This fic will also explore a bit more into the autistic side of Steven as a character, based off my own experiences with my autism, tics, habits etc! Also, once again, featuring snippets of the hobby headcanons done by @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction! (I love those headcanons so much they are canon as far as I'm concerned asdfghjkl)

Taglist: @chrishy973 @katitakenway @queerponcho

EDIT: Part 2 is out now!!! Read it here!

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Another droll day at the museum, the same disinterested customers and more nagging from Donna. Honestly, Steven was lucky he got his job back at the museum--though he only surmised it was due to the fact nobody else wanted to work for Donna--but he was grateful for the extra income.

And it definitely helped provide a distraction from Jake's night activities for Khonshu, as well as Marc's from time to time.

But of course, even though it provided a distraction, it wasn't much of one.

That is... until the day a poofy mop of curls bounced into the gift shop, eagerly looking at the wares within with big sparkling eyes. The child couldn't have been older than four--maybe five--as she happily looked at the myriad of items available.

Contrasting to most of the little girls he's seen come in (which, were admittedly few) she didn't immediately run over to the cheap horse figures with the chariots or even the cat plushies.

She went right for things like the plushie scarabs, the statues...

This of course had Donna proverbially chewing her nails as she watched the unaccompanied minor scamper about the gift shop.

"I'm going back to do inventory," She warned Steven. "If she breaks anything, it's coming out of your pay, Stevie."

Steven ground his teeth when she called him that, and waited for her to walk away before muttering. "What little you do pay me, you bloody old biddy."

Steven fixed his name tag and walked up to the little girl, crouching next to her as her chubby little face scrunched in what appeared to be distaste.

"Hey there, poppet. What's got you upset, eh?" He asked, his big brown eyes meeting hers as she crossed her arms with a huff.

"They don't look right!" She complained.

"Oh? What doesn't look right?" Steven asked patiently, a warm smile on his face.

The child pointed to the small canvases and posters of the various Egyptian gods. Namely the ones of Bastet and Anubis, and in particular of the two, one of the canvases depicting Anubis surrounded by shrieking souls and flames.

He himself had raised a complaint with that depiction, as after his own time in the Egyptian afterlife (alongside Marc, and unbeknownst to them at the time, Jake) he knew the afterlife was not like that. While they hadn't met Anubis himself, they were guided and weighed by Taweret.

But he wholeheartedly agreed that the artwork of Anubis was entirely wrong, and frankly, offensive.

"'Nubis isn't like that." She said, stomping her little foot. "He's nice!"

Steven raised his eyebrows at her, tilting his head as some stray curls fell over his face. "Oh?" He asked. "Then tell me little one, how is Anubis?"

"He's--!" She scoffed, rolling her eyes in the typical fashion a child does when they feel like they're explaining something painfully obvious to an oblivious adult.

"He's a good dog-man." She says to him. "He doesn't mess with skulls n' stuffs! He's nice, he helps people who might get lost when they die."

'That's a hefty subject for a kid.' Marc's voice spoke.

"No kidding." Jake remarked. "Where are her parents?"

Steven meanwhile, was positively thrilled that one so young understood that Anubis, while being the god of death, was not evil. And... naturally this sent him into info-dump mode.

"Why, yes! Anubis is good." He held up a finger as the little girl looked at him, awe on her face that he understood what she was saying and was willing to actually talk about it.

"He guided souls once they left their earthly bodies." He explained, grabbing a small replica of an Egyptian temple front. "Once their hearts were weighed, if they were good, he would help guide them to the afterlife. If they were bad..."

"They got ate by the crocko-lion!" The girl finished with a gasp.

Steven suppressed the urge to laugh at how she described Ammit. Jake and Marc meanwhile, held no such compunction and were laughing their asses off.

"I like this kid." Jake said as his laughter died down.

"Yes! They did. But did you know they also had to be judged? Not just with the scales?" Steven grinned at her as she bounced on her heels, the palms of her hands rubbing on her coveralls as she listened.

"Now that subject is very lengthy...." Steven leaned over on the flats of his shoes and plucked a small book about the Egyptian afterlife and mythos and showed it to the little girl. The cover was emblazoned with raised gold print; with images of sarcophagi, and motifs scattered on the front and back.

"But it's always worth a good read." Steven continued. "Now, if you want to know someone else who sometimes assists those who've passed on?"

The little girl plucked the book out of Steven's arms, nodding, her eyes tracking the way his mouth and hair moved. Not once did she make eye contact, instead settling for staring at other features instead.

Steven could understand, sometimes looking into people's eyes was... oof. It was difficult and frankly sometimes it made him uncomfortable, made his palms itch and the hair on the back of his neck tickle.

He stood up, and walked to another shelf, the little girl trailing behind him, the book looking three sizes too large for her tiny body as her little light up sneakers squeaked on the waxed linoleum.

Steven reached down, then, and grabbed a plaster statuette of a familiar feminine shape sporting a hippo head and kneeled back down, showing it to her.

"This is Taweret." He beamed proudly.

"She's the nice hippo lady." The child peeped, staring at the statue with rapt attention.

"Yes! Yes, she is! Very nice." Steven chuckled. "But she's also the goddess of motherhood and children, did you know? She protects women when they have their babies, and helps them."

The little girl nodded, "Yeah, I read a thingy 'bout her! She's--"

"Victoria! Oh my god." A breathless voice called from the front of the shop.

The moment Steven lifted his gaze, he could feel his heart catch on his throat when he saw you. Even Marc and Jake went quiet as you approached.

You were wearing some faded-out jeans and a t-shirt with a faded band logo that hugged your figure very nicely. You had a backpack slung over your shoulders and the keychains dangling from it tinkled and clacked as you moved, rushing to scoop up your child.

Steven could easily see that Victoria got her looks from you, those gorgeous inquisitive eyes, her nose, hair texture...

Jake had to give him the mental equivalent of a slap to stop his gawking as he stood up awkwardly, wiping the hand not holding the statue on his jeans as he gave you what he hoped was a charming smile, but judging by your wariness, you obviously weren't thrilled at the sight of your daughter talking to a strange man.

Steven was about to speak up, but Victoria did so instead for him, not reading the tenseness in the situation.

"Steven's my friend!" She beamed, holding the book in her pudgy little fingers, showing you. "He knows about 'Gyptian stuff, too!"

Steven blinked, feeling a blush creep up on his cheeks as you looked at him, raised eyebrows. It took him a moment of awkward glancing away to realize Victoria knew his name because she read his name tag. He hadn't once said it to her. Hell, he only knew her name because you said it when you ran in!

"Ah... Yes. I work here, in the gift shop. Egyptology is a major... um." He struggled to find a word.

"Hyperfixation?" You sigh, the tension easing from your shoulders as you smile tiredly.

"Oh! Yes. I s'pose!" He said, blinking his big doe eyes at you.

"Yeah, Victoria is... well." You chuckle, propping the young child on your hip with practiced ease. "She's obsessed with the stuff! I swear, the stuff she can shove into her noggin with how much she knows of ancient Egypt, it feels like she was born in the wrong era, I'm telling you!"

Victoria smiled happily and snuggled into you, rubbing her cheek on the soft fabric of your shirt with a content hum, almost like a happy little cat.

You didn't pay any mind to her as she rubbed her face on you, instead conversing with the man in front of you.

"Ah... A little scholar to be, eh?" Steven laughed awkwardly.

"Hah, more like she already is one. With everything she knows, I swear she outpaces me in the IQ department." You sigh fondly, brushing a stray curl from your daughter's face.

Steven's eyes anxiously tracked your movements, how your fingers curled, the way your eyelashes brushed your cheeks when you blinked, the way your foot tapped on the floor...

"I'm surprised she talked to you. She's normally very introverted." You hum softly, raising those drop dead gorgeous eyes to lock with his before he awkwardly dropped his eyes to your lips whilst you spoke.

"But then again, if you started talking about this stuff with her, it's no surprise. I'm the only person she talks to about it because nobody else understands."

You noticed his Steven was looking anywhere but your eyes, and how he nervously licked at his lips, his fingers wrapped around the statuette in his hands tapping idly.

"Oh! She's a lovely little conversationalist. Rather well-knowledged as well!" Steven replied, looking at Victoria again, who grinned as she once again rubbed her face on your shirt.

"Honestly, she's more learned than half the adults who try to talk to me about Egypt." He huffed out a chuckle.

His eyes dropped to the picture of Anubis that initially offended the child. "We got into a little debate about how inaccurate those pieces of Anubis are."

"Oh, don't get her started on those inaccurate artworks... She despises them!" You laugh softly.

"Oh, I fully understand why! It's so offensive!" Steven gasped. "Especially to a culture! Anubis is not an evil god by any means!"

"Oh yeah, believe me... we watched a movie the other day and she had a meltdown because they made Anubis the bad guy. She was so distraught it took thirty minutes to calm her down." You smile with infinite patience at your little girl.

"Oh, poor little dear! But I can totally understand that." Steven smiled, finally locking eyes with you as he reached some level of professional comfort with you.

"Mommy, can I get em?" Victoria peeped, interrupting you before you could get another word out.

"Hm?" You hummed at her, raising an eyebrow.

"The book and hippo lady!" She replied, holding up the book.

"Hippo Lady?"

"Yeah!" She said, sounding a little exasperated, pointing to the statue Steven clutched in his hands. "Her! Tawar!"

"Taweret." Steven chuckled softly at her mispronunciation.

"Tawww--" Victoria frowned as she tried to get the word out. "Tawweret."

"Close 'nough. I'm sure she wouldn't mind." Steven smiled warmly, holding up the statuette.

"All right, all right." You laughed, following Steven to the counter so you could check out, having another nice chat about what he and Victoria discussed. He even tossed in a little keychain that held a preserved scarab beetle in epoxy, much to Victoria's delight!

What you didn't know as you left the shop, was how positively smitten he was with you already.

That was your first meeting with Steven Grant.

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A few weeks crawled by, and every other day you were at the museum, letting Victoria lead you by the hand as she animatedly discussed what every object or picture meant, and you struggled to keep up, making mental (and a few digital) notes on what she was talking about. Of course, she insisted that after every tour, you stopped to say hi to her new "bestest friend" Steven.

You were thrilled that you found someone who operated on the same wavelength as your daughter, knowing that it was hard for her to make connections with other children, let alone adults. But Steven and Victoria took to each other like ducks to water.

And hey, he seemed harmless enough. Cute, too, beneath that mop of curls. You even started researching more just to be able to tag into the conversations between your daughter and her unlikely friend.

Today, you were at the local grocer and Victoria decided that she wanted to walk with you instead of riding in the trolley on her tablet like she normally did. You were happy, but ensured she kept her noise cancelling headphones over her tiny ears to make sure she stayed comfortable.

You had picked up a pack of steaks to examine the cuts when Victoria slipped your hand free of hers and darted off, squealing, "Steven!"

You almost dropped the steaks when Victoria darted down the aisle and wrapped her arms around the legs of the man she ran towards.

One minute Marc was looking at a box of matzahs, the next, he had a child clinging to his legs.

His whole body froze as he looked down, immediately going rigid as the little girl looked up at him, babbling something he didn't quite understand because of how quickly she was speaking.

He did make out the name "Steven".

"Uh--" He said awkwardly.

"I'm so sorry!" You say, hastily bringing the trolley up to the two. "She just got excited to see you, and..."

Your brows furrowed as you looked at him. He looked like Steven Grant, but he didn't feel like Steven Grant. His normally messy curls were combed back neatly, his flannel hanging open with the sleeves rolled up and T-shirt untucked from his pants. His big brown eyes were wide, looking at you with a face that simply pleaded "Help me".

"Uh..."

"I'm... Marc." He said in an unmistakably American accent.

"Oh. Oh!" You lean down and scoop up Victoria, hastily plopping her in the trolley, willing yourself to ignore her little wobbling lip as you messily search up her favorite video to watch on her tablet to prevent the simmering meltdown you could see just beneath her surface.

"I'm... I'm sorry. You just look like someone we know from the museum, and..." You sigh, rubbing your hands together as you cringed.

"Steven, yeah..." Marc said, giving a stiff smile in return as he dropped the box of what looked like crackers into his basket looped over his elbow.

"You..."

'Play it cool, Marc...' Jake's voice softly warned.

"We're, uh, brothers. Triplets. All identical." He spat out with haste.

"Oh! Well... That's... That explains the looks, huh." You smile, hoping to ease the awkward tension. His explanation didn't sit well with you for some reason, as to why he suddenly blurted it all out. But you chocked it up to him trying to explain to avoid upsetting Victoria.

"But, yeah. Um... Your brother, Steven? He and Victoria are like, best friends now. She looks forward to seeing him whenever we're at the museum." You chuckle softly.

Marc's eyes soften as he smiles, giving Victoria a gentle look. "Yeah, uh, Steven's told me about her. She's a smart kid, huh?"

"Oh, yeah. A real genius." You smile at her as she starts tapping away at her tablet, selecting one of her drawing apps and beginning to scribble.

"Sometimes I can't keep up with her."

"Hey, that's good. She'll go places." Marc replied.

Your smile falters a bit. "Yeah, if people will give her a chance..." You mutter.

Marc was about to ask what she meant, but he kept his mouth shut, watching as Victoria was engrossed with her tablet, her little feet wiggling and tapping on the sides of the trolley as she moved her mouth silently, mouthing words to herself.

"She's... Eh." You rub the back of your neck. "She normally doesn't come to the store with me. She says she can hear the lights buzzing and it upsets her, which is why she has to wear her headphones. I mean I can't hear the lights or anything, but all I need to know is that she can..."

"Yeah, Steven is the same way sometimes. It makes him twitch so he has to wear headphones when we go shopping..." Marc said, frowning.

"Yeah. That's something I'm kind of amazed about. Victoria doesn't really have any friends outside of well, me... and your brother? Steven and her are just... man, they're like two peas in a pod!"

Marc stays quiet as you smile fondly at your child, and he notes the relief in your expression as you recount that your child was able to finally connect with someone. It warmed his heart to know that Steven was able to socialize with someone who shared the same mannerisms, even if she was just a kid.

His eyes flicked down to your hands as you put your hands on your hips, and noted the lack of wedding ring and a ring tan line.

'Focus, cabrón.' Jake snickered.

"She's autistic. It was a pain to get her diagnosed, but we managed. I could tell she was different. Namely how she would act with fabrics." You sigh.

Now that grabbed both Marc and Jake's attention. If Steven were aware and co-fronting, he was sure he would be rapt as well. Steven explained the fabric thing to hime a few times, but being in the same body it was still hard at times to understand that Marc or Jake could feel one thing but Steven could feel another.

"Uh... Fabrics? You'll have to forgive me, but..."

"Oh! It's a sensory thing." You explain, rolling your hand. "With her, it's fleece, or satin-like textures. They irritate her and make her fussy. As a baby I never understood why she flipped out when I would put her little socks on her until the doctor explained it when she was older. But for some people it's cotton, or microfiber... The way Victoria describes it is that it's, uh..."

"Scratchy." Marc murmurs.

"Exactly!" You snap your fingers.

"Yeah, Steven is the same way. Though he's not like that with satin, he usually prefers cotton--the super soft kind? Or silk." Marc nods, shoving one hand in his pocket.

"Yeah... It's thankfully easy to shop for her, she prefers cotton and soft microfiber. It's why she rubs her cheek on my shirts or pants. Some people mistake it for being affectionate--and don't get me wrong sometimes it is--but usually it's a grounding thing." You sigh softly. "It helps her calm down."

"Ah... Sounds hard. What about her dad? He know how to handle it?" Marc asked curiously.

He immediately felt bad when he saw how your expression fell, and you glared at the ground.

"He skipped out on us while I was pregnant. I caught him in our bed with someone I thought was my best friend the day I found out she was a girl." You spit, angry and full of venom.

Marc cringed. "God, your best friend? In your bed? That's a whole extra level of degeneracy..."

"I know! Ugh! I swear, if he wasn't stronger than me I would have stabbed him that day!" You groan.

Marc rocks his head back in shock at the admission. "You were gonna stab him?"

"When you're five months pregnant, hormonal, tired, and sore and walk in on your fiancee doing the deed in your own bed? Yeah, emotions get high." You run a hand through your hair, smirking as you looked back at him.

"Grabbed the knife right outta the block and lunged at him. Chased em both half naked out of my flat."

'Shit, I'd be in love. That sounds sexy as hell.' Marc could just imagine the grin that would be spread across Jake's face at that.

Marc laughed, unable to contain himself, both at the retelling of your story and Jake's remark.

'You got problems, Jake.' Marc shot back mentally.

'Pot, meet kettle...'

'Touché...'

"So it's safe to say, he's out of the picture, huh?" Marc says, his laughter dying down into a soft chuckle.

"Oh yeah. Had his parental rights severed, and kicked his sorry.... well. I tossed him out and told him that my "best friend" could deal with him and his lazy antics, considering I pay for the flat."

"Yikes. Sounds like a real dirt bag."

"Oh yeah, he was. I have no idea what I saw in him, to be honest... And knowing that Victoria isn't "normal" like other kids, I feel like he would treat her badly, or... hurt her." You say, shaking your head.

"Hey, if he shows up and does that just call me." Marc grunted. "I hate it when people do that crap to kids. I'll knock his teeth down his throat."

The words slipped out before he could stop them, and the weight of them almost made them feel oppressive as glimpses of his abusive childhood shone through. The memories of his mother swinging her arm down, the crack of the leather belt, the red, bloody welts in his skin...

'Ay, hermano. Come back, don't think about that.' Jake's voice said gently, urging that door in his mind shut. 'That's not your life, anymore.'

Marc blinked and looked back up at you, his eyes locking with yours. And the concern on your face... he felt so undeserving of it. He wasn't sure why, but...

"Ah... I mean... Let's just say I have experience with that sort of thing. So I'm..." He struggled.

"No, no, I get it. My dad was a piece of shhh..." You cringed as the word almost slipped from you, casting a short glance to Victoria, making sure she couldn't hear you. "Er. He was bad. So yeah, I totally get you."

"Oh... Sorry, people get weirded out when I..." He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Disassociate." You finish for him. "I used to do the same thing when it came to my dad. It gets easier once you're free of it, I promise."

The soft, sweet smile you give him was strong enough to make his heart jump into his throat.

'Wow...'

'Ask. Her. Out. Steven won't do it, so you do it!' Jake urged him.

Marc choked suddenly, coughing awkwardly to clear his throat at Jake's further commentary.

"You okay?" You ask him.

"Y-Yeah, I just... Uh..." He cringed again. "It's... allergies! I've been dealing with them since we dusted the flat, and... Yep. Allergies."

You chuckle softly at him as Victoria tugs on your sleeve and whispers in your ear.

"Oop, mama duty calls. It was nice meeting you, Marc." You grin, giving him a short handshake.

"Yeah... You too." Marc replied as you walked off, giving Victoria a wave as she peeked over your shoulder as you push the trolley away.

'Allergies? Smooth, Marc. Really smooth. How the hell did you ever bag Layla with romantic skills like that?' Jake sighed sarcastically.

'I swear Layla probably only married you for your dick, man. You're so BAD at romance.'

Marc knew Layla did love him, at one point but with all the drama of being Moon Knight, it quickly snuffed that relationship... They were still close of course, but they'd never open up to another intimate relationship again. Which was fine, none of them minded particularly.

Especially not now. Not now that there's a cute single mom with and adorably--scarily--smart little girl on her hip to occupy those thoughts.

And that... was your first time meeting Marc Spector.

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Now, meeting Jake was different. Completely different. You technically "met" Jake weeks after you met Marc and built a rapport with him.

One night, Jake was sitting in the window, munching on some saltines he'd spread with sunflower butter as he read some old knitting patterns in a book he'd picked up at a resale shop.

He thought he could knit something for both you and Victoria and have Steven give it to you, it would be a good way to start actually flirting, to hopefully open up that door for all of you.

But of course... well. He knew Steven was way too shy to ask you out on a date, and Marc was too chicken shit and awkward about the subject to bring it up himself.

And so, it fell upon Jake Lockley to find a way to get closer to you, two. He understood that many single mothers found it tricky to date, especially with a child like Victoria. It would require immense levels of trust to get past those walls you would have put up to protect both you and Victoria, especially after you'd told Marc about Victoria's biological father fucking your best friend the day of your ultrasound.

He could just imagine how your poor face fell when you closed your front door, hearing the ridiculously high-pitched, false moans and the squeaking of the mattress as that miserable excuse of a man was having his way with your supposed "best friend"...

All while your hands would have clutched the pictures of your unborn baby girl, tears bubbling up in your eyes as you screamed at them while they scrambled to cover their shame.

And then.... as you told Marc, you would have grabbed the knife and the rest was history; bidding goodbye to that cheating bastard and woman you once trusted.

You were strong, loving and oh so patient with your daughter and her needs. Jake found your whole being attractive, honestly. He hadn't seen you angry, but he just knew you were a badass if you wanted to be.

He chuckled as he picked up his knitting needles, and began to loop the soft, thick yarn through each line. He was sure to pick yarn that wouldn't upset Victoria and her sensory issues, so he picked the softest yarn he possibly could, selecting enough to make the both of you matching jumpers.

Victoria's would be a little big, to allow for comfort and her to grow into it as she wore it. He could just imagine how adorable she'd look with the sleeves hanging over her little hands, squirming and giggling as you two played together--

Jake's hands stopped knitting.

Shit. He had it down bad for you, too.

When he looked down, that's when he noticed the green laser pointed right at him...

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You were there, simply cleaning up the mess from dinner as Victoria happily colored on her dry erase board, drawing the shapes and hieroglyphs she saw in the book Steven selected for her.

She had been quiet and engrossed in her little art project for so long that you jumped and almost dropped a plate on the floor when she squealed loudly.

"Mommy, it's Steven! Or Mister Marc?"

"Huh? What?" You looked around your flat, for some reason your brain told you to look inside instead our our the window where her little finger tapped the glass excitedly.

"No, there!" She insisted. "Over there!"

You walk over to her and lean down, looking out the window.

And sure enough, across the street, in the building across from yours, an apartment had the curtains open with the lights on.

In one of the windows, at a desk, sat a man. The streets were close enough together that you could make out some details. The shadow of a mustache being the first thing you zeroed in on, and then the immaculately slicked-back hair.

He looked like he was... knitting? This man, who looked like Steven and Marc. Marc and Steven both mentioned on different occasions that they had a brother named Jake, maybe this was him?

And wow! So close by, too!

Victoria waved her arms, trying to get her attention, but the man was so absorbed in his task that he didn't notice her try to get his attention. When her little disappointed sniffles could be heard, you snap your fingers.

"I got an idea!" You say, dashing to the end table by the front door and rummaging through the various keychains you'd accumulated. It was a guilty habit of yours, you found.

But then you pluck up the laser toy and run back to the window. It takes shaking it once or twice for the green light to illuminate, but when it does, you shine it directly through the window and at the man's chest.

Then, he looked up.

You break out into a happy grin when he spots the two of you, and Victoria giggles with unabated glee as she waves some more, her whole tiny body moving with every shake of her overly excited hand.

You see the man smile back and he waves at the both of you.

"Hey, baby, why don't we use your board to say hi?" You suggest, rubbing her shoulders.

"Yeah!" She giggles, grabbing the board and erasing her painstakingly re-created drawings from the book, and messily scrawled the word:

Hi :)

The man laughed and looked around until he grabbed a notebook, scribbled something with a marker, and held it up for you two to see.

Hello

You chuckle as Victoria hands you the board, knowing that your writing is neater than hers is, and with how excited she is, she was bound to mess up.

You quickly and clearly write something down and turn the board to face the window.

Steven or Marc?

He smiled at you and scribbled back.

Jake

Marc n Steven told us about you. Hi!

They've told me a lot about you, too.

"That's Jake, honey. Remember what I said? How Steven and Mister Marc look alike? He's the same way." You explain to Victoria.

"Oh." She sighs. Poor little thing seemed dejected that once again, she misidentified someone as her "bestest friend".

You lift your eyes as Jake showed what he put on the notepad next. It was a badly drawn cat with a happy face on it.

You can't help but laugh and grin, nudging Victoria to look at what he drew for her.

"It's a kitty!" She gasps, snatching the board from your hands to draw pictures for him.

You spent much of the evening that night with Victoria and Jake drawing pictures back and forth, writing messages until he ran out of paper.

That's when you put down your phone number and told him to text, to make it easier on Victoria.

Victoria, upon realizing this, dropped her board and snatched your phone, starting a video call with Jake and chattering his ear off. He seemed to take it in stride, engaging with her. Not on the same level as Steven, but something about how he handled it gave you the impression he had experience with kids, or even worked with kids.

He didn't talk down or dumb anything down for her, he spoke to her calmly and clearly like he would anyone else, and the fact he was so sweet was endearing to you.

He was even teaching her little words in Spanish. For some reason, she liked to repeat the word "cat" because she liked how it sounded, and it was "funny".

That was how you met Jake Lockley.

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It was now half a year since you'd indirectly met all three "brothers" and quickly, the pressure was beginning to mount on them to reveal the truth to you as their crush developed more and more into full infatuation with you and your darling girl.

But they still hadn't asked you out, yet. They'd come close a few times, but it was never when Jake was in control so Marc and Steven backed down at the last possible moment. Every time Jake was in control it wasn't a "good moment" for them to propose a date with you. But now?

It was late in the year, the harvest festival being over with and the holidays around the corner with Christmas, as usual, dominating all others. Snow and ice encased everything. It came early this year, and Victoria couldn't be more thrilled. (She could build snowmen with her friends, Steven, Mister Marc and Mister Jake!)

You and Jake would text, and he gave in and told you that he, Marc, and Steven all actually lived together and he would "let" Steven or Marc use his phone so he could video chat with Victoria and you.

You didn't know the boys all shared the same phone regardless.

It was nice having a social life again, even if it was small. Outside work and ensuring a comfortable upbringing for your little girl, you'd forgotten how nice it was to have friends. Even if those friends consisted of three identical, quirky brothers who lived in the flat across the way.

The day was coming soon, for when they would have to confess to you about the true nature of their identities. And the three unanimously agreed that they would tell you about Moon Knight.

For your safety, and Victoria's. They didn't want you to agree to date them (if you ever would) only to find out they snuck out in the dead of night to do the bidding of some creepy ancient bird god who could frankly do with a wardrobe update...

They just didn't anticipate that day to be today. Of course, Steven would rather have broken the news to you over a nice dinner in the corner booth of a quiet restaurant. Or even on a nice walk through the park...

But no. No, it had to come out when you decided to pull out your phone and go through your texts or the day as Victoria sat in Steven's lap on the couch of your living room.

Jake had sent a meme earlier in the day, of a little cat wearing a sombrero and you chuckled. You sent a meme back in reply, of a snail holding some maracas on some drawn-on arms.

That's when Steven twitched when the phone in his back pocket vibrated and chimed with a silly little ringtone.

You blinked at him as he fished it out of his pocket, careful not to knock Victoria off balance as he checked it. He awkwardly cleared his throat and gave you a strained smile as he set it on the coffee table in front of you.

"You okay..." You say, eyeing the very familiar phone. They could just have the same model and case...

"Oh, yes, just an email alert, luv. Don't worry 'bout it!" Steven chirped, quickly shifting his attention back to Victoria as she practiced her reading from the book in her hands.

You squint at him suspiciously. Your finger hovered over the send button when you selected another silly little image...

But you decided to call instead.

That's when a song began to chime. One you recognized very well as Steven's favorite song...

♫"Lonely is a man,

Without looove~"♫

'God damn it, Steven! You forgot to put it on silent again!' Marc's panicked voice shouted inside their headspace.

'Ay, hermanito, not now!' Jake groaned.

Steven began to sweat profusely as Victoria handed the phone innocently to him, urging him to answer it, not making the correlation with the song, or your phone number...

Steven shakily held the phone to his ear and answered.

"H-Hello..."

"Steven." You deadpan, raising an eyebrow and tapping your finger on your arm.

'Shit shit shit shit.' Marc hissed.

'Busted.' Jake almost sang.

You look at Victoria, hesitant to interrupt her time with Steven, but you wanted answers. Why is it that none of the men ever agreed to all meet up in person to hang out? Why did you only ever see one at a time? Yes, work was a convenient excuse, but every single day?

And then there's the phone!

Yeah, you weren't letting Steven wiggle free from this talk, even as Victoria pouted and trudged back into her room to play with her toys.

You almost feel like a cop in a bad movie, the way you lean back with your arms crossed, almost like you were an interrogator in a police precinct.

Would this make you both the bad and good cop?

You felt so bad, knowing that this kind of behavior would only freak Steven out, so you relaxed your jaw and posture, leaning away from him and giving him breathing room as his sweaty hands began to pat nervously in the memorized tune of that specific song that was just playing.

"I'm not blind, and I'm not dumb... So start from the beginning." You sigh. "I don't want anything to come out and upset Victoria, but I have to know who I'm letting around my little girl."

Steven licked at his slightly chapped lips, taking his bottom lip between his teeth briefly.

"Okay..." He peeped.

'Just take it slow, Steven.' Marc urged him gently.

'I can take control, if you want.' Jake offered.

"No, that's too much right now." Steven muttered aloud, without thinking.

You tipped your head to the side. "What's too much?"

Steven jumped and covered his mouth, his big doe eyes wide as can be, like he's a little boy who was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out.

He despised awkward situations like this. He could never tell what to say to keep someone happy and to avoid them getting angry with him...

"Steven, I'm not mad. I'm honestly confused. Please... Just... Tell me everything, okay? I just wanna know some things." You say, leaning forward to put your hand on his knee, your ever so patient eyes sweet and understanding.

Yeah, those eyes were his undoing.

"Do you know what Dissociative Identity Disorder is?"

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

Whatever you had originally expected to hear from Steven, finding out that he, Marc and Jake all shared the same body was a lot to absorb. Especially after Steven blurted out about their superhero alter ego that apparently did bidding for an Egyptian god?

Steven expected you to be mad, braced himself for it, but instead, he and his two headmates were knocked entirely off center when you made the remark that if Khonshu ever got to be too much for the boys, they should lock him in a room with Victoria and her never-ending questions.

That would shut him up for a little while, surely.

Another thing you weren't expecting was the date proposal from Steven (and of course Marc and Jake).

You hesitated, at first... But...

They were so kind and sweet. They already have shown so much care for you and your daughter... And you were honestly happy to realize that you weren't crushing on different guys, that your feelings were no longer awkward and conflicted.

Or wait, were you crushing on different men? Yes they were completely different identities, but they shared a body, and... oh, this was gonna take time to learn more about.

Your first date was for later that week. Steven informed you it would be Jake, taking you out, as he felt like a "bloody awkward fool" and was afraid of messing it up, and Marc was just as bad at those social situations.

But you agreed, and when the date rolled around, you and Victoria were bundled up, all ready to go to the charming little Italian restaurant somewhere in town where apparently Jake was friendly with the employees there.

Victoria skipped in the snow, struggling to match her pace with yours, making sure her footsteps were measured so her prints mirrored yours exactly as she walked on her little tippy toes.

As you approached where Jake had his car parked, he smiled, his mustache quirking up as he scooped Victoria in his large gloved hands, laughing when she dragged her fingers over his hairy upper lip, comparing the stache to a caterpillar.

You stifled a snort and covered your mouth as you watched Jake buckle Victoria into a booster seat in the back of his car.

"Where did you..." You blinked. You fully intended to run back to your flat and grab the booster seat you owned, but you were surprised to see Jake already had one. A rather expensive-looking one, at that.

"Ay, cariño, you didn't think I'd let the little chiquita ride unprotected, did you?" He smirked at you, his dark eyes glinting mischievously.

"But, I have one. You didn't have to..."

"Hey, if it makes it easier, I'll be happy to foot the bill." Jake hummed, leaning in to check Victoria's buckles as she played on her tablet, snow-caked shoes kicking lazily as she did.

Normally, Jake was insane about his car. He always made sure his fares cleaned their damn feet off before getting inside. But for you two he willingly made the exception.

"Now, c'mon mamacita." Jake grinned at you once more as he enabled the child lock and closed the door on Victoria's side. "We got lunch to get to, right?"

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

You couldn't remember the last time you were on a date. Actually wait, you could. The night you got pregnant. One of the only times Victoria's sperm donor was ever romantic with you, and he proposed the next morning after.

Yeah, you knew how that story ended.

But now it looked like a whole new book was being written right in front of you, as cliché as it all sounded.

Jake had treated you both well, engaging happily and drawing with Victoria on the activity mat the restaurant provided as you sipped your glass of red wine, watching; your heart was fluttering in your chest as you watched how happy she was interacting with them.

After a while, he went back out to his car and returned with a sparkly red gift bag for the two of you and you immediately felt your heart lurch up from your chest and into your throat.

He knitted the two of you matching jumpers. A mama cat and her kitten, of course, he managed to do it in an Egyptian style, much to Victoria's glee as she ripped off her regular jumper in favor of the one Jake made, immediately rubbing her face on the sleeve with a happy giggle.

You couldn't help but smile warmly as Jake helped her pop her head through the top, and you decided to slip yours on, yourself.

God, it was almost surreal how Hallmark it all seemed. Not one, but three men interested in you, a lonely single mother. All three men who adored your daughter and treated you both with respect. All three men, who shared the same body and nighttime secret.

And you found yourself falling just as hard, and somewhere in the back of your mind wondered if--if--you had met them first... would they have been Victoria's father(s)? Would they have rejoiced in your pregnancy? Gone to your appointments, held your hand in the delivery room? Would they have helped the doctors weigh and print Victoria for the very first time?

Your mind was knocked out of the what-ifs when your phone jingled, catching Jake's attention.

"Oh, it's Victoria's pediatrician. I have to take this." You sigh sadly, not wanting to step away from the cozy atmosphere in your booth.

Jake smiled at you and winked, "Go ahead and take it. I got her handled."

You smiled back, hoping the flush to your face wasn't as obvious as you feared as you got up and answered the call.

Jake continued to play and draw with Victoria, letting her explain how some of her learning games worked, what apps were her favorite, and who her favorite cartoon characters were.

Honestly, if anyone thought Steven was great with Victoria thanks to their same autistic traits? Jake was good simply because he was a natural with kids. Marc was, too, but he was a bit stiff and nervous. He needed to be eased into it just a bit more.

"Hey.... Psst. Mister Jake." Victoria whispered to him, blinking her big, bright, gorgeous eyes up at him.

"Yeah? What is it, gatita?" Jake hummed at her, grinning.

She waved her hand, urging him closer as she whispered conspiratorially, cupping her hand over his ear, "Look where Mommy's standing."

Jake lifts his gaze to find you among the crowd of people, where you stood on your phone, talking to the doctor about Victoria's upcoming appointment. He tracked where Victoria was pointing, and that's when he saw it: the mistletoe.

He knew immediately what Victoria was hinting at.

"That means you gotta kiss my Mommy." She whispered to him again.

"Oh, I do, huh?" Jake teased, poking her in the side. "And what if I don't?"

"Then Imma make you!" She squeaked and giggled.

"Oh, dear, then in that case I definitely have to do it, eh?" He chuckled.

"C'mon." Jake said, scooping Victoria up and holding her on his hip. "Let's go give another present to your wonderful mamá."

As they got closer to you, he caught the tail-end of your conversation.

"...yeah. Next Wednesday at 3pm. See you, then, Doctor Wilson. ...Of course! Happy holidays." You say cheerily, ending the call.

When you turned around, you saw Jake holding Victoria against him as he walked closer to you.

The sight really shouldn't have taken your breath away the way that it did...

But if you thought your breath was taken before? It was entirely robbed from you as Jake leaned in, wrapping an arm around your waist as he tipped his head down to kiss you, his mustache tickling your nose and upper lip.

You were so taken aback that you didn't hear the whooping and laughing from the workers of the restaurant as the scene unfolded in front of them, congratulating Jake.

Victoria squirmed and squealed and laughed and laughed, rubbing her face on Jake's leather jacket as your lips finally parted and your jaw dropped.

"What's the matter, mamacita? Cat got your tongue?"

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

God, dating those men was the best decision you ever made. Even with them being Moon Knight.

They were kind enough to always say goodnight to Victoria before they went about their business, giving you a soft kiss before whichever one was in control of the body departed.

You had only been dating a short while, it was now entering February and you were all spending more and more time together. Marc, Jake, and Steven had all spent the night once or twice in their own time.

Nothing sexual happened, but it was so nice to fall asleep with someone wrapping their arms around you. It was even better to wake up and see Victoria snuggled onto his chest, his arms caged around her protectively, flexing when she made any movements as his unconscious body ensured she wouldn't roll off of him and--god forbid--onto the floor.

It was a few days before Valentine's, and Marc had spent the day with you and Victoria. He had gotten much more comfortable around her, falling into a natural and gentle routine unique to them. Just like she had with Steven, and Jake. And above all, they handled her autism well.

Steven was exceptionally good at helping distract her during her meltdowns, whereas Jake could cradle her, singing little songs in Spanish as he rubbed her back. Marc would start by talking to her in a low, gentle tone, urging her to just breathe, and talk, explaining what was upsetting her and what would work best to help her calm down from it.

But right now, Victoria was in the midst of a battle against sleep.

"Don' wanna sleep." Victoria sniffled into Marc's jumper.

"I know, babydoll, but you'll feel loads better once you do, mkay?" He murmured quietly to her as he padded, barefoot into Victoria's almost obnoxiously canary-yellow bedroom.

"I can make some apple pancakes for you in the morning, hm? How's that sound?"

He dodged the minefield of toys scattered about and chuckled softly at the shelf where her little ancient Egypt memorabilia sat meticulously organized alongside her books and drawings on the subject. A half-finished paper sarcophagus lay on the desk in the corner, a project Steven had started with her two days ago that they intended to finish together.

Marc laid her down and she nodded, rubbing her eye. "Okay..." She mumbled in agreement.

Marc picked up the plushy scarab that Steven bought from the gift shop and handed it to her, tucking her in all nice and warm.

"There you go." He said softly to her, kneeling next to the bed. "Snug as a bug in... well. Blankets, right now, huh?"

He grinned when Victoria giggled groggily at his pun, squeezing the beetle plush she named "Digger" and snuggled under the blankets, her feather lashes brushed her cheeks as she began to drift off.

"See you in the morning, babydoll." Marc said softly, giving her a kiss to her forehead before standing.

His finger had just flipped the switch to turn off the lights in her room, so only the salt lamp dimly illuminated her bedside, when he heard her peep as she rolled over.

"G'night daddy."

He felt like his heart stopped beating as he shakily closed the door, dragging his suddenly very heavy feet through your flat as he made his way to your couch, the weight of that word landing on his shoulders.

He felt like Atlas, carrying the world on his back as he dropped down onto the chocolate brown cushions.

You walk over, having finished dishes from dinner, wiping your hands on a tea towel. Upon seeing his shell-shocked expression, you sit next to him in concern as he covered his face with his hands, his arms shaking and skin pale.

"Marc, sweetie, what's wrong?"

"I..." He said, his voice breaking.

You lean in, reaching out to brush a hand through his mop of curls, letting him take his time. Maybe Steven or Jake was trying to front? You've seen how taxing it could be on them when it happened so suddenly. One time Steven had seized control in the kitchen from Jake and he fell and cracked his head open on the counter! Poor Victoria cried when she saw how much he was bleeding, scared that he was dying.

It took a lot of hugs and kisses to convince her otherwise...

"She... God. Fuck." Marc swore softly, sniffing. "She--she called me daddy."

Your jaw dropped and you gawked at him. Was Victoria already so attached to him? To them? But then again, she's never had a father figure, before, either, and suddenly having not one, but technically three men in her life doing all the things a dad should do? You can understand why she would--hell, why you would...

He dropped his arms and you could see the beginnings of tears clump in his beautiful eyelashes, heavy weights of emotion settling deep in his chest.

He looked up at the ceiling, trying to blink the tears away. God, he didn't deserve all of this. He didn't deserve this... this domesticity. Guys like him just didn't get to have a life like that. Not with everything he's had to do as a soldier, a mercenary... in Khonshu's name.

He didn't deserve such a beautiful woman, or the idolized gaze of her sweet and innocent baby girl.

'You're too hard on yourself, Marc.' Steven said to him in their headspace.

'Yeah, hermano...' Jake murmured.

"Marc, honey..." You say, leaning in and adjusting your position, so your head lay on his chest. You spread your hand over his heart, feeling how it hammered in the muscle of his chest.

"I just... What the hell did I do to get this?" He asked softly, bringing his arms around you to bury his nose in your hair.

"Well, I think it all started the day a certain little girl wiggled free of me and ran into a gift shop..."

Marc chuckled, squeezing you tight.

"Would you want us to?" He whispered. "Would you want us to stay? Would you be okay with that? I know it's soon, and--and I'm not saying we move in or anything like that, but..."

"I think it would crush Victoria if I ever shoo'd you boys away, honey." You assured him, tipping your head up to give him a sweet kiss.

You feel the tension slowly bleed from his body and his expression softens into a heartbreakingly sweet smile, his dark eyes sparkling with a warmth that you haven't seen before as your lips parted.

"Then we'll stay. As long as you both will put up with us." He said to you, his voice so quiet you almost couldn't catch his words.

"How do Steven and Jake feel about her calling you daddy?" You smile slyly.

Marc grins and drops his head back with a laugh, listening to the bickering of his headmates as his anxiety ebbed away.

"Oh... They're arguing over who Vicky is gonna call daddy next."

"We need to think of nicknames for you guys so she doesn't confuse you." You laughed with him.

Your laughter was cut short when you heard Victoria's door click open, and out she waddled, blanket clutched in one arm, Digger firmly squeezed into the crook of her elbow and her thumb was in her mouth. She only sucked her thumb when she was frightened, or severely anxious.

"Baby, what's wrong?" Marc asked, shooting to his feet even before you could, at her side in a split second.

You joined him and put your hands on her shoulders, looking into her drowsy and not-entirely-awake eyes. "Did you have a bad dream?"

She shook her head, mumbling something around her thumb.

"What is it, kiddo?" Marc inquired next.

She pulled her thumb out of her mouth with a pop.

"There's a bird-man in my room."

[v-era-18]

HoneyBee

(Bumblebee x Black Reader)

Prologue: Bittersweet

‘The driver doesn't pick the car, the car picks the driver’-Bobby Bolivia

“Please! Please! Please tell me the story again! I even brushed my teeth without you asking!” The young girl hopped on her bed, the bedsheets were a print of stars while the soft blankets were black in contrast to the white. Her smile showed the missing tooth in the top front, hair styled in twists with barrettes adorning the ends. “You promised if I was good you’d tell me again!”

An older dark skinned man walked in, his hair gray with strays of white. His smile was straight and genuine, pulling up at the corners of his eyes. He seemed to have come home from work, tie undone with brown slacks and suspenders over his dressed shirt.

The room itself was something to behold, a treasure chest filled with teddy bears were at the foot of the queen bed , the frame was metal, old style in white. By the window in place was an old bronze telescope, the girl had a habit of staying up at night looking at the night sky. Not only was she able to identify all the constellations, she was able to tell you how far each one was. The room was decorated in astronomy paraphernalia, for a moment you’d think all of this was for a teens room at first glance. However one look to the left and you would see the array of child drawings that belongs to the ten year old.

“Hold on, I’m coming hold your horses,” the man went to the bookshelf by the other window and pulled out an old notebook, withered and torn. “I’ve told you this story so many times, I’m sure you could tell the story to yourself in order to fall asleep.” He teased.

(Y/n) stuck out her tongue at the man playfully, letting out a yelp when he casted her a warning glare before sitting at the side of the bed. She made herself quick to be situated under the covers, her lamp illuminating her brown skin in honey hues as her smile never left. These were the nights she looked up to the most. After a long day at school annoying the english teacher about the galaxy, she'd eat dinner and listen to her favorite story.

She glanced down at the leather ripped book, “Can I have it?,” Her question was a bit hesitant, afterall her grandfather told her the notebook had been with him since he was eighteen.

Each time he pulled the book from the high shelf she felt a bit of jealousy yet curious as to why he always had it out of her reach; It wasn’t like she hadn’t glanced in the book before. There had been many times where she sat back and looked at the side notes outside of the lined margins. It was a shame it wasn’t in english. The letters-or what she assumed were letters-look weird from what she was used to.

She guessed it was either French or Japanese, since her grandmother spoke fluently in both. Nana taught her the basics of the languages with writing and speaking, but not reading, it would take her a while to learn. So for now, she'd have to leave those notes unread.

Her grandfather looked at the girl, a soft look taking on his features, “(Y/n), there's so much I will leave you besides this dear book,” He took his time to run his thumb through the pages with a quick move of the wrist, “It holds a lot of history. Stories have history that must be told so that they are never lost, and the life lessons that it brings along with it.” The smile was gone, instead replaced with a grime expression as he looked down at a certain page he never read from, it was at the very end.

“It’s best to never read an ending. After all you can determine your own ending if you so desire.” He said that so many times to her when reading this story, not only did he do this with this one, but the larger notebook as well. The larger book was one for occasions when she felt down or out of place at school.

It was hard being different at her school. Not only was she not interested in certain aspects girls liked most of the time, but she was outcasted after expressing her love for robots. The teacher was even a bit concerned, calling her Nana after noticing she started to show ‘boyish’ tendencies instead of hanging around the girls. It wasn’t like she didn’t try , she was only expressing her love for the unknown. Not only that but the stories she would tell had the kids on the edge of their seat-that was the time her classmates loved her; The stories stopped abruptly the teacher said they were too violent and stopped the evening story times she had with the class. Talking about war in a story wasn’t something a kid should be telling, especially when it came down to a planet possibly dying due to destruction.

Her grandparents didn’t yell at her, in fact when they left the office they took her out for a nice dinner; and instead of her grandfather telling her a story, for the first time her Nana did. Instead of the book she was used to, her Nana held a larger thicker leather bound book with weird lettering on the cover.

The story was different hearing it from her Nana, it was empowering to say the least. It was at that time she wondered how her parents might have read to her if they were still alive.

“History is boring!” The childish demeanor was back again, a frown placed at how serious everything seemed, “Especially since it happened in the past, how could it really impact our future?”

“It can in many ways. I hated studying history growing up, but over time you realize how important it really is in everyday life.”

He grabbed her nose, cutting off her full exhale of attitude. She giggled and tried to swat the hand away at the teased punishment. Once she settled down the book was placed in her lap for the first time. She gasped in excitement, hesitant to place her hands on the worn leather, she looked back up at him in surprise.

“Let's try something different tonight sweetpea,” he scooted her over a bit in the bed and sat right beside her, gesturing to the book. “I've read this book to you enough times by now for you to read it back to me with no problem-hell you even-”

“You said a bad word-!”

“I did?! PopPop is sorry.”

She bubbled a laugh as he looked at the door hoping his wife didn't hear.

“As I was saying, this story is your favorite amongst the others I've told you. And I'm glad as this story is very important to this family,” He rubbed her head with endearment before gazing back down at the book, “It's time for you to be the next storyteller, let's start practicing now.”

With an encouraging smile from her pops (Y/n) placed her hands on the book, it felt wonderful against her small hands that would soon grow accustomed to the feel as if it was second nature. At last she opened it, the words of the first page were unreadable, all scripted in a different language, she took notice of the letter-like sleeve on the left side against the book's backing. Ignoring it for now she turned the page finally seeing the fist of letters that she could read. She looked back up in excitement, her grandfather matched her smile, a look saying ‘go on’.

She did, saying the first lines of the book that would change her life forever.

“There once was a planet by the name of Cybertron-”

~✯~

The class was silent for a moment, listening ast the girl finished her story with great suspense. It was one of the stories about a knight falling in love with a woman who resembled his late wife, the time period was one that resembled King Arthur. Since it was fantasy and only gave off an allegorical narrative she really couldn’t provide an actual period of when it took place.

The tone was filled with sorrow and despair as she read the final lines. After all, she wanted this A. They asked for a geology report of her family, and so she gave it with pride.

“His breath was taken with the wisp of the cold cold air, as Anna's cries could be heard on the battlefield. The cries were short, a man who dealt the blade within her lover's chest would soon succumb to the same fate. A butterfly landed on the decapitated head of the red haired girl, the soldier muttering one thing , ‘pretty’” (Y/n) looked up, closing the brown leather storybook with the letters ‘(L/N)’ engraved. “This concludes my report on my grandfathers-”

“You can’t end it like that!”

Her head shot up at a girl's statement in the back, she wanted to shrink under the popular girl's stare. She clearly enjoyed the story, but did not like the ending. The girl had her arms on the desk, long hair cascading down her shoulders with a tank that showed off a bit more than what (Y/n) was confident enough to show in a school setting.

Ah, Mikaela. The girl everyone found to be a mystery.

“You killed both of them-!”

“It's based on historic events,” Y/n got down from the desk she sat on top of, adjusting her lowrise jeans and harley davidson shirt she thrifted not too long ago, it was cut into a crop top that rested right along the waist, “Not everything back then was fine and dandy. Many people-including lovers-died horrendous deaths due to suspicion and fear. When me and Pops decided on the plot it started to make more sense to end with the lovers in a tragedy, after all-,” she looked the girl in the eyes, gaze never wavering, “the best stories are ones to learn from.”

Mikaela sat back in her seat, a bit of a pout laying her lips, “You do have a point, if Layton never told his friend about Anna they both would have never been followed by the groundskeeper-”

A cough cut off their conversation, (Y/n) looked back at her teacher who was clearly trying to get the last presentation over and done with.

“Thank you so much Miss (L/n) for the amazing presentation as always, I would prefer however that you try to keep the stories to the very end of class to avoid so many questions about the characters you've created,” He was giving her that look again, scanning over her posture before landing direct eye contact with a smirk. She instead looked away and tried to focus on the applause she received for her presentation, “Not that I mind them though, I encourage you to bring them and read to me-me and the class more often when your not as busy-”

“Well sir that would be possible if this wasn’t my last class with you since we’re graduating this year-”

“Ah yes, I forgot for a moment,” The class erupted to a fit of whispers and giggles, it was no secret, this man had no shame. He had a habit of flirting with the girls in the class and unfortunately she was one of them. She hurriedly grabbed her notebook and beat up sling bag before heading to her seat.

“Witwicky! You're up!”

(Y/n) smiled as her childhood friend walked passed in order to get in front of the class. She took the time to adjust her scarf on her head positioning the high afro puff to sit nicely. It took most of the morning to look this good, sometimes she'd just let the afro be and cover half of her face, but since today was the last presentation before graduation she had to look as good as possible. Although she did get some unwanted attention, Trent was basically gesturing to his friends about her the whole time she was speaking.

Usually she wouldn’t care, however the way his girlfriend and the class took notice had her on edge. To be honest (Y/n) hadn’t expected Mikaela to even acknowledge her existence after gaining her boyfriend's attention, but instead she seemed genuinely interested in her story.

Maybe Sam was right to like her a bit, she was being too overprotective of her friend, afterall out of the two of them; (Y/n) was always the responsible one to her dismay.

(Y/n) watched as Sam dumped the contents on the desk in front, “Sorry I have a lot of stuff…” she sighed a bit anxious as she watched Trent whisper something to Mikaela before flicking Sam in the face with a rubber band. A scowl made its way on her face, leaning back in the seat.

‘How old are we?! Six?!’

“Who did-who did that?! People. Responsibility.”

Sam took a breath, looking around the class before landing his eyes on his friend, “Um-so for my family's geology report I decided to do it on my great-great-grandfather-” a few chuckles could be heard as he looked around again, hands sweaty and all, “He was a famous man-Captain Archibald Witwicky. Very famous explorer-in fact he was one of the first to explore the arctic circle, along with a young man by the name of (GG/n) (L/n)-which is a big deal!”

Many people including Trent and Mikaela looked at her in shock. (Y/n) simply stared back with a coy smile edging it’s way on her face. It was no surprise that Sam included both of their grandparents in the report, after all that’s how their friendship began, through family relationships.

Sam shot her a smile as he grabbed the map and showed it to the class, “In 1897, he took forty-two brave sailors to the arctic shelf,” (Y/n) remembered when she was eleven-Sam twelve- as her grandfather told them about how both their great grandparents tried to get through the ice. The way he put it about hers is that he simply hated being in the cold ,but since Archibald treated him so well as his assistant he managed even in the worst times, “That’s the story right?”

(Y/n) nodded her head, internearly pleased that Sam summed it up pretty well from what they practiced. “-And here we have basic instruments and tools used by nineteenth century seamen-“ the class broke out into laughter, even though she tried her best not to indulge in the immature nature of her classmates-a hit of a smile wobbled on her lips.

The teacher flashed a ‘stop’ sign silencing them, “- And this here is the quadrant which you can get for eighty bucks-this is all for sale by the way! L-like the sextant here-“ another round of laughter, this time she let out a giggle, “-this is a bargain, everything is pretty cool. These are my grandfather's glasses, I haven’t quite got them appraised yet-but they’ve seen many cool things-“

“Are you going to sell me his liver? Mr Witwicky, this isn’t ‘show and sell’ in the 12th grade. I don’t think your grandfather would be particularly proud of what you’re doing-“

“I know I’m sorry-you know this is all towards my car fund. You can tell your folks it’s on ebay! I take PayPal, hard cash works too-a-and it makes a g-great gift for Columbus Day-“

“Sam!”

(Y/n) held her hand over her mouth, trying so hard to stop the eruption of laughter to spill from her throat.

‘He can’t be serious right now! This wasn’t the plan!’

“-S-sorry um, unfortunately my great grandfather-the genius that he was- winded up going blind and crazy. He ended up in the psych ward saying he saw strange symbols, and going on about some giant ice man that he thought he saw-,” The bell cut him off before he could finish much to her dismay.

Her grandfather never told her that part, he always told them about the travel through the arctic, but not Witwicky seeing a ‘giant ice man’. She’d have to ask more later about that and the symbols on the papers he held up that she was all too familiar with.

“Okay! There might be a pop quiz tomorrow! Might not! Sleep in fear tonight!”

The class started to clear out, she got a few murmurs of compliments about her family’s history as she packed at her desk, throwing the bag on her shoulder as she watched Sam still trying to sell those damn glasses.

‘Give it up Samuel, you know no one is going to want that damn thing.’

To be honest she found it disrespectful, especially since he knew she basically incorporated most of her grandfather's clothes into her everyday life. She even made her own quilt out of his shirts for her Nana not so long ago. The patches on her old bag were one of his dress shirts.

Sam stood in front of his teacher, an awkward smile playing on his face, “Okay? Pretty good right?” (Y/n) slowly came back up to the front, but not too close to give them enough space with their conversation.

“Uhhh, I’d say a solid B minus.”

Sam dropped the act, “A B minus?!”

“You were hocking your great-grandfather's crap in my class-“

“Kids enjoy-look could you do me a favor please?! Look out the window for a second and see my father. He’s the guy in the green car,” The brown skinned girl followed the teacher's gaze outside where Mr. Witwicky was waiting for them, “okay-let me tell you about a dream. A boy's dream, and a man’s promise to that boy. He looked him in the eyes and said ‘son imma buy you a car, and I want you to bring me two thousand dollars in three days’. Okay? I had two thousand in two days.”

“Now here’s that two thousand and here’s that B minus-“ Sam made an explosion with his hands, (Y/n) trying her best not to clown him and decided to leave . “Dream gone.” The teacher looked back at Sam after he watched Y/n close the door behind her.

“Sir, just ask yourself. What would Jesus do?”

(Y/n) made her way towards the green car outside, her notebook in hand ready to jot down the new symbols she saw from Sam's report today. She looked up and saw her friend's dad, arms crossed as he sat in the driver's seat. “Afternoon, Mr Witwicky!”

Ron let out a sigh at (Y/n)’s greeting, “ (Y/n) how many times have I told you? Please call me Ron?”

“Sorry sir-Ron, how was work?”

“It was alright, not too busy today, I’m ready to go home and lay around on the couch. Unfortunately for me if my boy comes out with an A my bank account is gonna bleed.”

The girl laughed lightly before shaking her head, she turned her attention back to the entrance where Sam came bounding out with a big smile.

“Looks like it’s gonna need stitches”

“ Yes!” Sam hoped in the car, (Y/n) following suit in the backseat, she made sure to put her pencil and book away. Last time she let her pen out she accidentally scratched the leather seat, Ron said it was okay but she felt like he was only trying to be nice since he saw how much it scared her.

“I got an A minus!” He showed his dad the paper as he looked at it in confirmation, “good?”

“You’re good.”

Sam pumped his fist into the air in triumph, he looked back and flashed her a smile. She gave an encouraging thumbs up. “Finally, you can drive me around, so I won’t bother your dad anymore-“

“How many times have I told you, you’re not bothering me young lady!” Ron glared at her through the rearview mirror.

“Right, sorry!”

“Didn’t you say you’re looking for a car with me?” Sam questioned.

It was true she saved up eight thousand dollars for a car so far. She was really proud of herself and the amount of discipline she had to endure. However she was hesitant due to Nana growing older, she wanted a form of comfort for her grandmother while she was away. She thought of getting her a service dog with a low temperament, and not too big. But they always seemed so expensive, especially to get them trained. So she wanted to work some more, but if she saw her dream car today? She’d drop the check on the salesman’s desk.

“I am. I’m just thinking about saving a bit more, but if I find one today that’s good too.”

The drive wasn’t that far, in fact (Y/n ) wanted to exhale the moment they didn’t stay at the expensive dealership. The joke Ron pulled earlier was hard not to laugh at, she knew first cars weren’t supposed to be a luxury. However, taking a look at the car's disheveled appearances at the one they pulled up at, she understood Sam's frustration.

“Here?! No no no, what is this? You said half a car not half a piece of crap dad!”

“When I was your age I’d be happy with four wheels and an engine.”

(Y/n) looked around, spotting a black and yellow camaro pulling into one of the parking spaces. She looked on in envy, whoever had that one was so lucky.

“Okay let me say something to you. Have you seen a forty year old virgin?”

“Yeah.”

“That-that’s what this is,” he gestured over to one car, “and that’s fifty year old virgin”

“Okay.”

“You want me to live that life? Hm?”

“To be honest Sam these cars are not that bad,” (Y/n) spoke up, he looked at her in frustration, “They just need a bit of tlc. Plus if the girl doesnt even have her own car, what right does she have to complain about yours?”

“You're supposed to be on my side! None of these are going to get me any girls-“

“Look at all of them before drawing that conclusion. No sacrifice, no victory. ” Ron cut in.

“Yeah yeah, the old Witwicky motto.” Sam waved him off.

“Gentlemen and my dear sister! Bobby Bolivia, like the country except without the runs!” The African American male laughed upon his greeting shaking Ron’s hand, “How may I help ya?”

“Looking to buy his first car, and she’s looking around as well.”

Bobby turned his attention to Sam, “You came to see me?”

“Had too-“ He jerked his leg back after (Y/n) kicked his ankle, a silent ‘don’t be rude’.

“That there makes us family. Uncle Bobby B baby! Uncle Bobby B!,” he held out his hand, Sam took it and told his name.

Bobby looked at her , “And you sister?” She took his hand in a firm handshake, “(Y/n)”

“Aight, let me talk to ya! Sam, (Y/n), your first day of freedom is right there underneath,” the girl focused on the cute yellow beetle in front, missing the black and yellow camaro pulling in right beside it , “Let me tell you something son-sister; the driver doesn’t pick the car ,the car picks the driver. It’s a mystical bond between man and machine.”

‘Can I befriend a robot PopPop?!’

‘You can, there’ll always be a bond between man and machine’

“Son-sister, I’m a lot of things, but liars aren’t one of them.”

“I believe you.” The three men looked at the girl, her gaze excited from the words he’d spoken. How could she forget something her grandfather expressed frequently when she was younger? She was practically waiting for this moment.

She looked from the beetle as she saw Sam head towards the black striped car with a yellow base. (Y/n) left the beetle, the adventure she once pictured long forgotten, and a new picture emerged with her reading and writing in the black leather seated vehicle.

“This one got racing stripes.”

Bobby sounded confused at Sam's words as the two of them examined the car. The boy looked over at her, cocking a brow. “What do you think?”

“I love it.” She whispered, peering her head through the open window. The interior was a bit dirty, but she knew how to get stains out and a good day of washing will do them good.

(Y/n) opened the car door and got in, ignoring how Sam listened in on Bobby’s and Mannys conversation about it. She gripped the handles of the car, running her hands up and down, getting a good feel. Looking up, a signature disco ball and bumblebee hung over the rearview. It was fitting for the car, the colors were practically the colors of the insect adding character. She paused looking at the logo in the middle, rubbing her thumb over the horn she gasped.

(Y/n) shot out of the car as if it was hell itself, her breathing was labored, eyes frantic as she stared at the wheel through the car door. She’s seen that symbol so many times, her lips wobbled as if she wanted to cry. It was a wave of nostalgia that scared her to hop out of the car. There was no way the old owner had heard the story before, unless they had and wanted the car to remind them of it each day.

‘the driver doesn't pick the car, the car picks the driver’

Sam looked at her for a moment, before getting in himself , getting a feel before asking the winning question, “How much?”

Bobby put his hands up on the roof in thought, “Well considering the semi classic nature of the vehicle, with the slick wheels and the custom paint job-“

“But the paints faded.” (Y/n) interrupted.

“Y-yeah but it’s custom.”

“It’s custom faded?” Sam questioned backing her up.

“Well this is your first car so I don’t expect you two to understand.” Bobby looked at Ron then (Y/n), “Five grand.”

“Naw I’m not paying above four sorry.” Ron responded.

(Y/n)’s heart soars, sure she’d want a smaller price ,but she had the money. She dove in for her checkbook in her backpack .

“Kid, comm’ on get out the car.”

“No no no, you said the car picks the driver!”

“Well sometimes they pick a driver with a cheap ass father out the car.” Bobby went over to the beetle she was looking at earlier. “Now this one here for four gs is a beauty!”

She felt a little bad after seeing Sam's dejected expression. He saved up and tried so hard for a car and the one he liked she might take home. She eased her hand from her bag, there had to be another shop that could customize her steering wheel the same way.

‘No. It’s not fair to leave with it, especially if he clearly wanted it first. Let’s look at the cute beetle again.’

Sam angrily got out of the car.

“There’s that fiasco with racing stripes over there?” Ron tried to joke.

“No I don’t want a fiasco racing stripes”

“This is a classic engine right here. I sold a car the other day-“

(Y/n) shot back in shock as the camaros car door hit the beetle a second after she came over to look at it. She looked at Sam and Ron seeing them hold the same expression.

“Jesus! Holy cow, are you alright?”

“No no no worries! I’ll have Manny bang this right out! H-hey Manny! Get your clown cousin and get your hammers and bang this stuff out baby!” Bobby laughed it off.

Walking back over to the camaros window she watched as the radio started to change between stations. She watched in fascination, her lips curving up to a dorky smile.

“Whoa-“

“Now this one’s my favorite! Drove all the way from Alabammy-!”

None of them could’ve prepared themselves for what happened next. An ear piercing sound erupted from the car, glass shards from windows blasted everywhere as they got down to take cover. (Y/n) was the most unlucky as she was right by it, ducking right against the car door trying her best to block out the sound with her hands.

The sound stopped, all of them got up looking at one another. Bobby was the most devastated, she was pretty sure they’d be banned from coming back however the next words that flew through his mouth left her stomach twisting.

“Four thousand!”

‘I guess the car really does choose the driver after all’ She looked back at the camaro, it seemed to be staring back at her, ‘and I guess I’m not that driver’

It was bittersweet.

[mamadarama]

same anon here to elaborate on some of the cats (and other pets) in the story:

every member of knights has a descendant of little john/nyaitsu. (only one i have details on atm: izuleo have a big fat cat named king richard who's dumb as rocks[though they both insist otherwise] and spoiled rotten. they didn't know it was a girl until after she was named that. later on they got another cat who they named maid marian before finding out that was a boy. their names have not been changed regardless)

shu adopted a Fancy Pedigree Sphinx (he makes it little sweaters/outfits to keep it warm). mika has a skrunkly black cat he found in a dumpster (alternatively, also thought it could be cool to give him one of those patchwork cats, where the pigmentation on their face is like. split down the middle yanno). anywho these cats are Bonded for Life

tetohina have a Stupid Male Orange Tabby. tetora thinks the cat is a Fierce Warrior while hinata calls it a stinky dum dum (affectionately)

kohiiai actually have three pets. first was the bunny, then the tarantula hiiro brought home a day later, then a while after that, kohaku found a stray kitten in an alleyway and brought it home (by this point hiiro has adjusted to the idea of domesticated pets, and it helps that the kitten was also on the streets [just like him ;;]) kohaku and the cat are both found regularly napping in weird locations (open to suggestions on cat breeds!! i keep going back and forth on what it should be,, i liked the idea of bingus, but also like the idea of fluffy,, currently tentatively thinking oriental long hair maybe? idk. kitten with ear too big for he gotdam head)

subaru (+the rest of trickstar by extension) has a direct descendant of daikichi

similarly, koga has at least one or two corgis, if not a direct descendant of leon. also probably like a bajillion foster dogs. hes using the rockstar money to care for as many dogs as possible

souma still has kamegorou. turtles live a long time,, (also maybe one or two horses as well)

given your Cat Knowledge, i'd love to hear your thoughts on these, or any other characters who you think should have cats! :3

Aaahh thats so cute . i can totally imagine leo having a cat named king richard thats just like that, if someone told me him and izumi have that exact cat back in italy i wouldnt even question it id just take it as fact

you could give kohaku a purebred, but it wouldnt be that realistic to do that. finding a purebred stray/feral at all, much less finding one alive, is so unlikely that the only thing keeping me from saying its impossible is my personal adversity to making absolute claims like that on the possibility of some bizarre freak situation. all strays and ferals are moggies/randombreds, any purebreds you see in shelters are animals surrendered by their owners (its rare, ive been rehabbing cats for 6-7 years now and its only happened 3 times)

however that doesnt mean you cant give him a unique cat !! mutations and weird patterns happen all the time in stray and feral populations . the bobtail gene is pretty common in japanese colonies (at least more common than it is in america) so you could give him a bobtail cat? i think a little high white calico bobtail would suit him :^)

but of course realism doesnt really matter too much, hell i have purebreds in catstars au and theyre all ferals

also hiiro would have either a tarantula or a stick bug or both. idk i can imagine him absolutely adoring stick and leaf bugs for how they look like sticks and leaves , he thinks its charming

depending on how far in the future were talking souma might still have saigoudon. souma grew up with him so its safe to assume theyre around the same age, meaning saigoudon is around 20 years old. horses can live up to 30 and occasionally even longer so theyve still got plenty time left together. if he moves out of his parents house maybe hed get his own horse though

the twins definitely have their own cats and tetora definitely tells young children that meet their cat that its part tiger.

SHU HAVING A HAIRLESS BREED IS SO REAL he would love having a pet he can make clothes for its too perfect . the split face marking youre talking about is most common in tortoiseshell cats , that would be perfect for mika :D

with daikichi and leon im almost certain theyre both fixed because koga and subaru are responsible dog owners but subaru would definitely stick with shibas . i can picture koga either with another corgi or adopting a shepard mix of some kind ..... when he retires hed probably start fostering dogs but until then hed probably be busy with life and stick with only one dog so he can devote all his attention to that one . fostering more than one or two dogs at a time is kind of a full time thing (believe me my step grandmother fosters dogs and owns 11) he definitely volunteers at some sort of animal place, either domestic or exotics or whatever he just loves animals in general (thinking abt the guinea pig card..... )

[bisexualbumblebee-writes]

To Love a Ranger Chapter 11- Aragorn x OC

Aragorn x Issa

Description: Gandalf, Issa, Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli arrive in Edoras and help the King get his life back.

Word Count: 2.5k

Issa could do little more than stare in awe as the figure revealed itself to be Gandalf, though he was dressed in white robes and held a white staff rather than his old gray clothes and brown staff. 

“It cannot be,” Aragorn muttered in shock. All of them were surprised by the Wizard’s appearance, but Legolas was quick to recover. 

“Forgive me,” he said as he bowed down, Gimli following his movements. “I mistook you for Saruman.” 

“I am Saruman,” the Wizard answered. “Or rather, Saruman as he should have been.” The girl could do little more than shake her head at him. 

“You fell,” she muttered in disbelief, which caught his attention. He offered her a small smile as he nodded. 

“Through fire…and water. From the lowest dungeon to the highest peak… I fought with the Balrog of Morgoth. Until at last I threw down my enemy…and smote his ruin upon the mountainside. Darkness took me, and I strayed out of thought and time. Stars wheeled overhead and every day was as long as a life age of the Earth. But it was not the end. I felt life in me again. I’ve been sent back until my task is done,” he concluded. 

“Gandalf,” Aragorn muttered softly as he moved closer to the Wizard. 

“Gandalf?” The Wizard repeated both looking and sounding curious, then realization struck him and he smiled. “Yes, that is what they used to call me. Gandalf the Grey. That was my name. I am Gandalf the White. And I come back to you now at the turn of the tide.” With that he began leading them through the forest. 

“One stage of your journey is over,” the Wizard spoke after several minutes. “Another begins. We must travel to Edoras with all speed.” 

“Edoras?” Repeated Gimli. “That is no short distance!” 

“We hear of trouble in Rohan,” Issa spoke as everyone sort of simultaneously ignored the Dwarf. “It goes ill with the King.” 

“Yes, and it will not be easily cured,” Gandalf agreed. 

“Then we have run all this way for nothing? Are we to leave those poor Hobbits here in this horrid, dark, dank tree-infested-” he paused when groans rang through the forest, then quickly corrected himself. “I mean, charming......quite charming forest.

“It was more than mere chance that brought Merry and Pippin to Fangorn,” Gandalf explained, almost amusedly. A great power has been sleeping here for many long years. The coming of Merry and Pippin will be like the falling of small stones…that starts an avalanche in the mountains.”

“One thing you have not changed, dear friend,” Aragorn started, making the Wizard look at him curiously. “You still speak in riddles.” That made the two of them as well as Issa laugh. It felt good to laugh again after all the turmoil they’d faced thus far. 

“A thing is about to happen that has not happened since the Elder Days,” the Wizard continued. “The Ents are going to wake up, and find that they are strong.”

“Strong?” Gimli questioned incredulously, earning another groan from the trees. “Oh, that’s good.” 

“So stop your fretting, Master Dwarf. Merry and Pippin are quite safe. In fact, they are far safer than you are about to be.” 

“This new Gandalf’s more grumpy than the old one,” the Dwarf grumbled as they stepped out of the forest once again. Gandalf whistled a long, high and loud whistle. Just a moment later a great white horse came galloping towards them. 

“That is one of the Mearas,” Legolas muttered in awe. “Unless my eyes are cheated by some spell.” Gandalf bowed his head to the horse, which prompted Issa to do the same thing out of respect, before he stroked the horse’s mane. 

“Shadowfax,” he explained. “He is the Lord of all horses, and has been my friend through many dangers. Now, go gather your horses. Gimli did not lie when he said that Edoras was a long journey.” Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli nodded before heading to their horses, but Issa stayed behind, staring at the Wizard thoughtfully. 

“Gandalf, about what happened in the mines,” she trailed off slowly. Yes, she’d been thinking about the mines again. The last time she’d talked to him, they’d been in a fight about Pippin. It weighed heavily on her when during his time in death, and now that he was here she wished to make things right. Gandalf seemed to sense that because he spoke before she could continue. 

“If there is something you wish to say then I suggest you get it out of the way before they return to us,” he informed her before climbing onto his horse and facing her, a small and reassuring smile on his face. “But, if you are going to apologize, I think it would do you good to know that Gandalf the Gray forgave you the minute he began his fall.” His response brought a smile to her face as joy coursed through her. She felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, but she could do little more than nod before Hasufel and Arod appeared beside them with the three hunters. 

“Come, Issa,” Aragorn instructed softly, holding out a hand for her. She smiled at him and took his hand, climbing onto Hasufel with his help. Once she was settled, they were off.

“Edoras and the Golden Hall of Meduseld,” Gandalf announced as they stopped to look at the kingdom in front of them. “There dwells Theoden, King of Rohan…whose mind is overthrown. Saruman’s hold over King Theoden is now very strong.” Issa shared a concerned look with Aragorn, who sat behind her. 

“Be careful what you say,” the Wizard continued. “Do not look for welcome here.” With that the three horses continued their journey into Edoras. As they rode through the kingdom people stared at them. It was completely silent as they stopped in front of the Golden Hall in which King Theoden resided. Issa climbed off Hasufel with Aragorn’s help then looked around as the townsfolk all but surrounded them. 

“You’ll find more cheer in a graveyard,” Gimli grumbled, earning a warning look from Issa as she followed Aragorn and Gandalf up the steps of the hall. Just before they entered they were stopped by a small group of guards. 

“I cannot allow you before Theoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame,” the captain spoke. “By order of Grima Wormtongue.” Issa looked at her companions unsurely, but Gandalf merely nodded, which signaled them to hand their weapons over. The captain held out his hand to the Wizard. 

“Your staff.” Gandalf hummed, looking at the staff for a moment. 

“You would not part an old man from his walking stick.” The guard looked worried for a moment, but ultimately turned to lead them inside. The Wizard stayed long enough to wink slyly at Aragorn before following the guard, holding onto Issa’s arm while Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn followed. The captain stopped at the door and allowed them to pass. Inside they were greeted with a decrepit looking Theoden with a slimy looking person Issa could only assume was Grima Wormtongue beside him. Grima leaned over and whispered something into the King’s ear that the girl couldn’t quite hear. 

“The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late…Theoden King,” Gandalf said as a form of greeting as they stepped further into the room. Out of the corner of her eye Issa noticed a group of menacing looking guards following them at a distance off to the side. Grima whispered something to Theoden.

“Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?” The King asked before looking to Grima, almost as if seeking approval. 

“A just question, my liege,” the Man (if you could call him that) agreed as he stood, walking towards them. “Late is the hour…in which this conjurer chooses to appear. Lathspell I name him. Ill news is an ill guest.” Issa turned her head just a bit when she noticed that the menacing looking guards were growing closer to them.

“Be silent,” Gandalf snapped, which caught her attention. “Keep your forked tongue between your teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm.” He lifted his staff in front of Grima’s face, which shocked him. 

“His staff,” he gasped, falling to his knees in his surprise. “I told you to take the Wizard’s staff.” With that the menacing group moved to attack, though Aragorn, Issa, Legolas and Gimli were able to take them down with ease. 

“Theoden, son of Thengel, too long have you sat in the Shadows,” Gandalf spoke directly to the King. Grima, who had been pushed to the ground by Gandalf, attempted to get up, but Issa quickly put a stop to it by placing her foot on his chest and a sword (which she’d nabbed from one of the menacing guards) to his throat. 

“I would stay still if I were you,” she hissed, causing him to cower helplessly.

“Hearken to me!” The Wizard called above the room. “I release you from the spell.” With that he held up his hand and closed his eyes, only to reopen them when Theorden laughed mockingly. 

“You have no power here, Gandalf the Gray.” It seemed that was all the Wizard needed to up the ante because he threw off his gray cloak angrily. Theoden was thrown back by a bright white light, one that Issa recognized from Fangorn Forest. 

“I will draw you out, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound,” he sneered, thrusting his staff forward, which threw the King back once again. 

“If I go, Theoden dies,” the King spoke, though it wasn’t his voice. It was Saruman. The Wizard moved closer to Theoden while shaking his head. 

“You did not kill me…you will not kill him.” 

“Rohan is mine!” 

“Be gone,” Gandalf shouted back. 

Without warning Theoden jumped up from his throne and lunged at him, but the Wizard thrusted him back with his staff once again. The King slumped forward and a blonde girl Issa hadn’t seen before rushed forward to stop him from falling. Everyone watched in awe as Theoden’s face slowly changed. His hair and beard shortened, and he looked much younger in general as his once milky eyes cleared to reveal blue irises. Those blue eyes turned to the girl quizzically. 

“I know your face,” he muttered quietly, which made the girl smile tearfully. “Eowyn, you are Eowyn.” The girl, Eowyn, cried with happiness and hugged the King. Issa glanced back at Aragorn, and the two shared a smile before facing the King again. He patted Eowyn’s back as he looked around the room, stopping on the Wizard. 

“Gandalf?” 

“Breathe free air again, my friend,” the White Wizard said with a small smile. Theoden stood up shakily, lifting his hands and rubbing them. 

“Dark have been my dreams of late.” 

“Your fingers would remember their old strength better if they grasped your sword,” Gandalf mentioned, motioning to one of the guards. The guard stepped forward and held out a sword to the King. He took it and lifted it, staring at it wonderingly. Then his eyes trailed the room once again until they landed on the floor beside him, where Grima still laid under Issa’s boot. 

Without a word the King suddenly stormed over to the scum. Issa barely had time to move before he yanked Grima up by the collar. Everyone followed him as he all but dragged the Man out with a guard’s help. Grima was thrown out of the Golden Hall. He fell down the stairs with Theoden following him (albeit falteringly). 

“I’ve only….ever served you, My Lord,” the Man stuttered as he crawled backwards on his hands. Theoden continued to advance on him, however. 

“Your leechcraft would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast!” 

“Send me not from your sight,” Grima begged. Theoden disregarded his plea and raised his sword above Grima’s head, as if to kill him. He likely would have if Aragorn hadn’t rushed forward and grabbed the King’s arm. 

“No, My Lord!” He exclaimed, then lowered his tone. “Let him go. Enough blood has been spilt on his account.” The King didn’t look happy about it, but he saw reason and lowered his sword. Issa sighed in relief, then turned and held out a hand to Grima, but the Man merely spit at her then scrambled to his feet, pushing past the crowd of townsfolk that had surrounded them. The girl scrunched up her nose as she wiped her cheek with her sleeve, then nodded reassuringly when Aragorn shot her a concerned look, silently telling him that she was okay. 

“Hail, Theoden King!” The captain of the guard called. All at once the townsfolk kneeled before Theoden. Issa followed their lead with the rest of the Fellowship following as well as those in the Golden Hall. Theoden merely offered them a smile and nod before looking at Eowyn beside him. 

“Where is Theodred? Where is my son?” 

Eowyn was forced to be the one to tell her uncle that his son had passed from his injuries after a battle with Orcs from Isengard. A funeral was planned and carried out for the Prince, and the Fellowship was given permission to watch it with the rest of Edoras. Issa, despite not knowing the Prince (or even seeing him before), couldn’t help but tear up as she listened to Eowyn’s mourning song and watched tears threaten to fall from Theoden’s eyes. Once Theodred was carried into the tomb everyone dispersed to allow the King to mourn his son in peace. When the Fellowship returned back to the Golden Hall they were surprised to see Eowyn with two children - a boy and a girl no older than ten and eight. 

“They had no warning,” Eowyn explained as the children ate like they hadn’t eaten in days. “They were unarmed. Now the Wild Men are moving through the Westfold, burning as they go. Rick, cot and tree.” 

“Where is Mama?” The girl asked as Issa wrapped a blanket around her. The girl merely shushed her in a soothing tone before looking at Gandalf when he spoke. 

“This is but a taste of the horror that Saruman will unleash,” he informed Theoden. “All the more potent he is driven now by fear of Sauron. Ride out and meet him head on. Draw him away from you women and children. You must fight.” 

“You have two thousand good men riding north as we speak,” Aragorn added. “Eomer is loyal to you. His men will return and fight for their King.” Theoden shook his head before standing up. 

“They will be three hundred leagues from here by now. Eomer cannot help us. I know what it is you want of me, but I will not bring further death to my people. I will not risk open war.” 

“Open war is upon you, whether you would risk it or not,” Issa retorted, walking over to them. 

“When I last looked…Theoden, not Issa, was King of Rohan.” The girl’s gaze fixed into a disapproving glare at his childish response. 

“Then what is the King’s decision?” Gandalf (thankfully) spoke before she could open her mouth. Everyone watched Theoden, awaiting his answer.

[libidomechanica]

O gear will shine

A ballad sequence

               I

The world of mind, that crazed the moral     me; he’llfind it in a mirror. Up annals wax’d more,     you that I love through

multiple desires. At you peers,     your handsome but look, the first great gift of alle wommen     my heart to flattery?

I said then roving stars. But once     more admires such and belle, by that now you meant to steal his     barn, fu’ is his shaft I

held unto her; but thou go wi’     me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar? Hast won? Give me the grasses. She     breast. Nor thou art gone, a

globe of green lollipops. With,—’Damn     your fierce teache the fiend best look, this existed right, past reason     down on those marshals

for the field where it but wishes,     and where here? She lean’d again: but were stray the instead of     another? Nay, her words,

per day. I saved to it. Between     your teares to belie his dodging hue, and breast, the red-     ribb’d ledges of love, her

soul two souls to show to move, but     half a kiss from think, match’d with To be lost two on sponge and     over. Breathe—because our

next of many a coral grove;     his airy as the tenses I sing and feathered she smile:     perfection is death. So

let this found himself, a shiel, says—     I’ll be no soon absolvèd; if to stealthy trunk all be well     the Landor’ has thine image

be white pills. And the world a     notion, the scene of travels he said you go, flushed well perhaps     some in words. Of twilight

would they anoint to me ’twould     make me they glides are here, how the girl when there was only     their horse, though not be left

me far away, she stern impulses     closed the bosom dies. True, and that thou ride of lilies,     all delight but wasted,

rich, celebrated, and company.     And Jealous of mine. All rich dardanium. Muse’s worth,     have heave, as alone in

a blast. To learne with its many     threaten ither; sic a wife as Willie had, I wadna     gie for Buskie-glen, I dinna

care a body has wreaths for     spite of your lawful awful fold myself be snuff’d out of     one bright reversion brought.

Them out there were laid, than theyr art     outgoe. War with a bow, at greatest lie his jarring through green     which hide sometimes seem one.

               II

Realized he who, his word? Any     persons, where, my lord of angel in my selfe his april     touch, risking to speaks

no matter which you call my grief     lay hid in me the law, but I saw a crowd, a host, of     life have been born today

when someone who can rest eye level:     spattern; and kindle hope, an underlings, for wholly;     and if I have bit at

supper; or, if you parts, stops, start,     what we’re brave express’d me a’; but a cold stuffing you the     dead, or wring thro’ Nature’s

plague, that life’s joy, his scull with wondrous     air of the night, my louely layes. But to the scene more.     And moderate: some in

this woman’s abundant two or     the old night, aimèd with tears brought he ran, and to wisely see     my plaint of love. My little

silver, white lambs and diamond     drew a moral people bred between movement, rustle thy     mamie, shall never noticed

before they came, I can entomb     it racks, prisons, inquisite to say the grasse now nighest     hue: then roar through my

unkind breathe—because no feeling     days, called thus he threwe: but chang’d the spark can believe so much     unlike water in one

Sunday afterimage bled from     other poem written is the placed the moon’s lately rather     raged in a row like

this moment the Welkin that the     life’s a smiles; but darkens after a spirit of ignis     fatter what is most

unregard—how have taste as breeches.     Over my lucklesse Rosalind, and squirm newly adayes     could in so good of monstrous

diamond drew a moral country     maids and pray thee, or daddie, his swift foot did trip for joy;     praising the very eye,

out of steel by carefully laid,     who was your ease between the lie this explicit sadness     this be as bright. These friends,

which I doubt this scene, had kept walking     of some officious Honour books. And pain; and then all     this important, bore a

purple and print of the sky, which     never rosy face. Has taken for you are not know thy     presence; as it weeps the

name, the fair. Secure all liars     and out his slomber brows, such as freedom, he approach that     in our days of the same.

               III

When your fleshed that had never-ending     line along the spot and die: who knows; yet no tailor     help it until all the

dying off like Titan from being     to make your names in a poisoned noticed you must have     expansive with her own

door, in the wheel of her nest for     their sun,&I want to flower spring at her soul put off     a great beginne within,

now glittering guide, as were start,     what make us still, exceptions both; but the cord. Not they     do not claim, or so, and

roundelayes, for birds, with them. Thy     firmness matter which serves his knees; and heart, wee dochter, the     one minute found useful,

like disallowed; thought so soft! Don     Juan was present the time of we, singing each other Grace     by my sight fell, as rolls

an ox o’er the subject of arrived     a life of joy with flowe. Leaves of shatter at they touch,     appal. Wrought I still the

Genius. Ah! He gaed wi’ Jeanie     do? Whereby by chaunce too ripe, too long ago was sure I     do but little touch’d it?

               IV

Rule and frowns and only a hare     rather down,—burst, shatterers dare not praised, but inconstant     arms to join lip to lively

taken for you as every     purl there on the first I it at me. How with his found such     an one, though exits into

the green an’ thy selfe his action,     avarice, pride, his eyes let me go, friends they have seen     Timbuctoo, or how his

chicken noodle soup. Which rhyme, by     shutting throat she forms that know you have had; and heart in the     winds a joy above themselves,

allies, then face doth live. There     was found himself and air- like, lovely length with his heart to     fear, and then these make him,

and I though it may let them music     we thou flatter: stones of the valley, stream—the Charles     very love liked what it

beginnings, armies still sees thou     came and the bush, listen’d to blow the faded homely and     so wood, but now I know

in part, the face, an’ merit, an’     tease me, curls a damp wind anon doubting the columbines     have my transient, and suck’d

an air thence but be gay, on bended     with years past; for waiting so deformed to talk about     twice two and the way a

woman laughed angular figure     be that vale of a new air, smell of bliss in promoting     mass. With white&thin; then to

me, my heart—how shall I wish I     were, ye gentle into the nineteen-year-olds, let me let     this tries and Franceses?

               V

Sick, sick to thine own the first great     snakes of parcells make no noise, nor gastly owles doe you     love be sorry, that at every day, as, until its chiefs,     orator of this I never to see to it. Alone,     the vestal flesh as I

avowed at stained, flaming hair, flying     little ease it. Now he found with the iron blunter     away, she blush rising the valley, where the faint on the     worse these particle, showing of the Excise. Where I may     pass the old Man your books.

               VI

But Juan was mawn, and weel against     the water wrought, from whose? For traffic light. Keen as it grew,     so even me six hundred

more white to coste, can now is     time stars are but pilgrims made, why so watered shape of my     wealth the morn in a place.

And if we don’t hint, but could not     got by them musick, for all it down,—burst, shatter of doubt,     but half in early or

later. For the dear, tis not the     bee, and a peace, for which at there’s Brummel? I lost my     kiss and he has but to

painted of the lady, or     gluttoning of it my feet thou true, what is time, can be but     thy lov’d I no more. Which

when a brave: and yet contemn, nor     felt the filching but remember tears do come, the lightning     as I drew a morow?

So that bards of a youth, than garments’     strife: he brought t was bonie, sweet Tibbie Dunbar? A clapper     tongue wad deave a

coruscation, and I choose this mighty     greatest, Russia, one is sad? Dancing wide more fatal     flame, ne straight at they ca’d

it Linkumdoddie; willie had, and     didna joy proper time of the darkness utterly thing.     At barn or bonnets, and

modest morn teem’d quite clear-cut face,     then when once remov’d, the proper place has sail’d when she dropping,     wear my breast. Drew forth

found himself extremely—thou sole     record of the learne with me no more, and moving fatherly     I kiss me on. By

a dead of night, each new words thy     foot back and drain’d. Thus do I live o’er vales and eke to this     to sing, about poets

almost clergymen, or wish you’d     change. And learne the language, and more, still be dear; o canst the     morrow was a bachelor,

which band sighing, leaves another     proper place, which you still the publicly important, bore     a purple robe I did

not lift my heart was the boundless     the pumies latched, and very clean, thoughts are ashes at the     thing battle-song today

when there, light be, or man show it.     With loue and is force his lips; he saw thee, let us melt,     and there the mutes, then to

ease me, and Miss Araminta     Smith I mean is so much you tell her child; she waltz, the edge     of shy perusal stand

agony’s force, some in whom the     nineteen-year-olds, let me suck on my father moved two into     the yellow-haired you.

               VII

The sun, his bright as a dance no     more pleasures hardly it festreth sorowe, that naïve light     of flower enough your love the swan, and let nothing. True,     and subsided, for they could her dangled coronet: about     vs safe. ’Tis dead

pretty flower, and shred the vow     of a nine-hundred eyes. Did I heard my father mither;     sic a wife is she goes left all show it, the Pomp of much     theys of a lie? A nest as his will love resistless you     let the cup: if it prove!

’ And, not thou, my Juliana     stung! But building wretched that so deadly spent; for whom you     in station—I don’t hint, but to painted to thee describing     to my love or me afeard. For all it doth, if their     lives the dreams now and by.

To his own. Hazard, will be known     world of shepheards all, I am sick to love lettuce lover,     or more. Of every Muse want of purl, ’ the deserues,     they prate of same, but to my song and would heart-flame thou, the     old dull at last flying

of the hearthstone? And look for ease     between us, I see to it that in a great Drawcansir,     examined by women leapt. Yet thou see mark of glory,     come by horse, and women outside them one. A grief, and     groans of love ae e’ening

if an enemy’s fleet ’twas only     the bar, a bluff the least lie still rattling up the     mind of snow; even such as no when only thing its lips     were. My solitary bard sits long since I drew ill his     broad-brimm’d hawker of eve;

and water. ’Re but when that had     dream, the can be no more to pour out of earth on Billy’s     bread. Well beginnes to wait, I don’t yet know not what madmen     may nothing like scent from dreamers to my hand frown can     I be blythest bird upon

their women transferred to the     eye well know how they this anger who was so witer many     a less that blush and go down their chanced to me ask     a gift, and limbs. I foolhardy, the fireworks blistered ever     sing then place in hay.

What gelid fountain-source of     amendment, readings for away, ’twould thee were not for who’s so     favourable too. Without on Shooter’s spark can be no     other. Aloud for aught by Heav’n ye wander fairer Virtue     is in the bush, listen’d

to Love, and Franceses? Round,     shepherd stock the cost nor boudoir out of majesty, after     all wind and virgin shape of thee—I am talking     off walls moon their cash, to show to move, less you let it be     with all the phone rings of

what they this room with virgin pride     the slavish hat from monarchs with you overstrain of motion     swell at the swans and on our shore, and a flute’s speech. That     sleepe so fayre a miserable Knight which wexen old Opera     hat, I know lord of the

devil ruled, the sun in flightless     you with Heydeguyes, and fears! Stood, and his door, when June is     an aggressive neighbour’s breakfast table man! What a pretty     maidens of bonie lad that glister’d and her own, but I     saw a crowd of Hungarians

underwent withouten     dreams now fill the elements with fur in a common run,     who seem’d the days of well- clad waiters, two rivers. So     Anacreon drawn the heart, let’s sing of royal dukes, had give me     tie her slave-maker, who

will bury myself; fire change. With     mercurial fee, and dances within my scythe, does not     aspire, our own fingers. But the day either than a flowers     if that other. And those his byre; take the pale page from     his lips of Albany.

               VIII

That strove the dying miracle.     And that you are not seen: for waur, and left all this is loved     well? Such a deed, they’re too

brief emergent see? Would ever     wars and eyelids pale as the play: name it sore encreased.     Or down with her hair, cast

in brass, and, abrupt, a grey dust     in wore. Our poor player, ’—then car seats or till not say it     another. Look one hundred

strengthen fetter, if that; and     I, the night. How have had; and hang from this frae his door, my     friend, and plumes and paine. Take

the Genius. Glance fair. They are coming     Century through varmint, and most shepheard the capital     apace;—esteem me,

and, passively taken wing, as     if short, the nerves our sheep, and he improve. How can I be     blythe’s the bed. Me a

kiss from your masters, and tired.     You in store: the House too brief moment, to find no more—and     shall I say than his

traveller; every scribe your painted     into a mudroom close my eyes and balmy eve; and there,     pleas’d with her breath finds you

against the Hall, I repeat, then     to thee dear: ae blind to worthy mither’s woe. Then sudden     sparkles dimly burn the

phone ringing like Peacocks with grief,     and with Phoebus steeples of am the garden, flowered     spraying, thoughts o’ that if

Diogenes could say morn heartless     lassie, life’s tongues of am through they won’t anent the soul     and everywhere Ioyes peace

was nimble throat, in mossy skulls     the darksome within them music before here? Would blazon     of sweare by her like the

world,—which, erring hello. Find it     rather fixed and kind, a sort of my wealth is such outrage     stagnates to quell, and

that I gaze, and your own     imaginary thinner admitted a small, he saw     He gaed wi’ Jeanie do?

               IX

He was sweet Te Deum, ’ and hoary     heart’s citadel to Fate. My little hill must go, endure     not a morow? Head was well receives and offer forehead     call’d as we could put our

books and offering, gnawing conscious     Honour’s defect of attack at ones glazed and lovely maid’s     of the men are shine and your face to be prophecies, the     faded home apace;—esteem

me, and this day keep one critique,     just be weep, sweet a break like thy many a corner,     or with my scythe I look upon Sion’s isle. And themselves to     crown the art of looke, and

songs with your eyes would have sought to     be seen for a bright as Love’s fingertips, shame confess, do     take of my desire, grown more fullnesse well beginning     Post, sole record of this:

one is past; for unto his own     long ago was softest, Russian or Castilian? My Juan,     who bent that all. Hurling myself I’ll taste as thistless daughter,     war! And I was sung,

can blaze in tenderness a     laborious sky but our master. They were harbrought the delight;     in whisper I love with that is my Mother’s fire, stronger     to herself be known,

flowers and each other they come     it. As soon with his way: now I recollection, but the     fields and snaw; but set thy face, a thousandth curtsy; there I     once a body should be

brought to the end where thou ride on     again the phone rings do say, sets up for joy; praising and     wel ymake. And yet a lamp-lightingale’s call; but a     breathed that’s my gentlemen

along to the came unasked     professors and his statue with flower and make your sweet     is time may fix himself extremely in me, keeping his     title, built an airport.

Where the world for they do light. So     should I speak. Rage, rage should be your bookshelf, the phoenix builds     a Hell in love was in Banquo’s glass o’ Ballochmyle.     The end of blossom in

the years between this I never     a spire of pavement, rustle thou, that quickness. He did move     these common run, who boss the wind. But Juan was receive, when     starlight words of lip, of

eye, thou see.—Don Juan, wrapt in a     shelf. For all are but after; but to my hand If the shown     the blood, who made a wicked deep joy to some nation, not     to be overturns; and

a night she will die. My Leipsic,     and disappoint we can be drawn for dowry will not: but     to meet. The soundly sleepeth in Lethe last little, so     favourable is the feature

a great one night to travel.     A flute plucked a smallest voice, a gesture. Thine is not two     cotton streets suspended may see me. The false and make no     night, he slow poison’d poisoned

note, then wait besides, and my     tongue’s a fact with lossum cheerful, with those by our love. Like     the whom your sight? Venus when I speak and raged deep scar of     doubt extreme, rude, cruel scorching

of sorrows hath shewe, fell he     came, I cast in black. That prodigy, Miss Maevia Mannish,     both long youth, and run as it chill blight be with moons, dos’t shake     it. For the break for the

next, then should rate but my Muses     finding with patient. At the Babel. And the soil of blossom:     let its own, it seemed like phosphorus on sheets of that     must on the field of mortar,

blossom of blossom in this     greater far, the body’s book here the gods of boy and     gentlemen turn then wait a wee unsought so strictly over     utmost human heart’s world.

               X

And moderate: something himself     like to mounting here, how to me into the and only     cured by a white pills. It

should. Skin as we flit by each is     requisitions; resurrecting, one is dire. I have     ceas’d; whether die thanks, if

at noon my Genevieve! Twinkle     on thine, one is thy name should stay, and lie, let me carry     bowls for there pictured

consolations, lations, and you, I     am sick off the numerous, like dew on roses; such     pleasurably empty

but you! You gentle into white     and if that had left, to the windows keep itself his neck     t-shirt on your sight?—I

wished shape. ’Twas no language no laws,     we’re out of earth receive, not to pansies come die where she.     I swear the same? Entirely

going on there is the     sea see Billing net, while though nothing that million. Out-did     thine eyes, frame destroy’d. Stella,

the rest I’ll for a scorner,     a door than see, that turns her mammie’s will as a’ the singing     to you I could learn,

too fast? I go abound in decent     London’s farewell. And it rather with freshly bleed, and     my waking, where maids have

drawn for arguments me that nest     fame shaft in earnest simply blur into the excuse spun     ever upon her cheerful,

with a sweet refrain came up,     all the fireflies away from the soil hath never rue     my Rosalind, and unsmooth-

faced, placid miscreant! And     if I have taker made those old ladies anyway—from     our noticing I never

and happy few an earth, and     dumb that that least and queir; yet, by mottled fired in the     moon singing cymbal. Soul

put off in earnest glance fairest     me to stayed steady application did pierce: whereof shepheards     all, or all the could

stown at zero, nor reign’d before     in wonder of course of Nature is a glass o’ Ballochmyle.     Cease than what got

into nothing which in her spark     can be drawn for his wealth goes, beneath the sea my fancye eke     as well to shining bride

were due to stealthy tread, and sweet     Te Deum, ’ and he has no more; nothing he makes me with her     sex: but could, rustle thou

go wi’ me. And Wordsworth to worth     in a black-eyed Eulalie’s most infected; but to my     bonie, sweet Stella, the pearl,

can rest eyes and sexes, is, they     leaving strain of my limbs to flatter: stones I have plenty     beets the greatest lie hid?

               XI

A purple moor look at its own;     and green as grain. And if I give no rain to fall sight for,     that I made, contrary; but be grand ermines pure. Ich     habbe yhent, ichoot from his dead when she thou go wi’ me.     And sudden glow: she has

numbered wine-spilith the stands as     if she laughter’s keen remorse, there; or if Sins willful moods;     and keeps register of movement, this remove these phrase,     ineffably, legitimately been world is better come     will let me let thy young,

to see a play my solitude     and to bless that wore upon this quiver? Without all was     spenta. But carpe diem, ’ Juan, who is left all shook their head, looking     and joy so pure a heart its will? But for a bright and     builds a Hell in this the

sun. ’ The British Damme’ s rather     dividing the voices, and I myself then! ’ Is his this     blowing, so prime, before or you would feele: for the night     was he, white&thin; there’s Brummel? Smooth as an angels, but     to my though prospects named

mount I lay, with stars ’light, she’s mine     nor turn and of spike? It like my fire. Anywhere: make a     bank of kisses rain his pocket pistol from four and fall     of woman God did ioy among the sun itself his path,     above all, that quickness.

Her breath! That I write to the emblem     rarely contrive, get next of me, but is abroad at     his path, above are wed. Thy thought, the first cold delay The     chambers of all thing but you until you, I never a     spirit, with it, even

men may fix himself, at once     establish’d long legs of grass, or a glaze in me is Lord This?     Thee chamber without the Buskie-glen, fu’ is his train’d, ae limpin     leg a hands with thou hast without a ray. To wait, I     do not my mother least

night? Conform the milking off walls     on there my pype vnto my sighes stolne out, as conscious of     it. Be thou, the hearts do duty unto dying mind most     true, like poppies, and kye, and offer poison brought. Make of     me; well, and fill this pious

magnanimity of shame     confident that mair hae Queen; at whose pleasures doth keepe, long     the approximate and lavender heart, since I drew at     my hand to say than once proved, and meant. And if wee must go,     endureth all thing age

will I noticing until she     bee, and their stained withered like in field above all we sport,     gentle into my eye like phosphorus on sheets, and sigh’d     for those treachers. Well lit, that let his fawn, and in either     least limits of old enjoy’d

no sooner but do not thilke     same rapid tide of same, but doth, if th’ other, fierce     her joys, her sing then the stray the invisible eye, the     soyle, that even in flowers, as shee vanisht by so     nere, in so good and can

hinds, and vtter horrors of the winter’s     Hill; sunset; blade and dames bloom’d also the light. In Love’s     face an annoying mightier watches his title, built     a museum. When your face. And hands, thy worthless ruin     spright and alum and not

buy? And with pedestrian Paphians     who did not do, save thereupon twould rate but my tears     speak with a quiet bass, a flute’s speech as no where you so     applause but the dead pretty flowe, of whose helpless eyes more     blades of them wish your life.

               XII

I might the line you used to me.     As also the tenders to turned me, and sigh’d for affording     read with me or a

glance; and hounds, to make. The same Hawthorne     studde, and in pursued his straddling and he dream I saw     thee, cut off in early

lov’d friends let its own, is not save     nation? An aspire, and manfully looked on, ere a silence     life of moan and the

tenth Muses, with snow. Their garden     wall so every single red flock, this mother’s love; and all     love not loathes my circles,

dancing in the bitter as     red with the high birth do find; and her hose beauty’s best, and     face that wealth, proud as any

would not, as contain. It oft,     where are the could grace all for lace better company for     a look; possessing by,

behold and with the honey dew.     A host, of life resistless birds in such a vertue to endure     not love was as grain.

               XIII

The while thou be what is she now?     Or she wept and disappointment, to fill, and to fool with     divine, seeking young years,

I have heart, and fill the words of     gold and she wrote When I might how his explicit sadness     of give, singing cymbal.

Yet thou, the hay was a lump upon     this, the sod from the life, and kye, he dance not, as I     saw for he country? He

found, and all her in Hells despite     of shame o’t, but if my sweat. Its very motion. It     sticking as we, whose to

come, with the moon-flowers if that.     This income, with the towers, eyes the breed shorter; she’s used     up to make me the bed.

Rage, rage again, for the devil     can signify the other. White like gold that Pan with his     brethren the sparkling

the gold of eight the Canterbury     bells. None is at the fireworks grow above here stept—then     abate, like sand in two.

Entangled in all those days on;     contend not thy creature, we pick up bad habits of the     evil tongues of roses

went away, assurance. She found     himself like a kiss, and run as if magnets cleareth all     the grave with unwilling

like to the worse than hold by this     kill’d into the pleasaunt syte from the gift of all turn’d in     the Daughter, the field where

they don’t know it, so as toil, that     our poor that, unknowing dangered shards the earth will spend     that was born to the tender

heads around the briar? It     is it? At barn or body this strange man should name, for the     odds were stirr’d by a shuffled,

no doubt a mind, being did     out-brave all that earst seene. She leave off metaphysical     dissolute boy for the

life, am I raging sea, but     trepidation had gone before him smile. I have give rewards     fall’n, may rise and lightly

blur into as furious     rarity on so fayre a millstone, set myself through he     did not for your window.

               XIV

That move to life resistles sowed!     Long of life out of each other’s! To forget these will weep     these make earth we are villains!

All impulses of my breasts     than down ever? Pall Mall, the chronicle of heroic     bustling up at the trampled

wife, and the Dog Star raged deep     scar of pity which none had: els had bredd, and so forth her     venturous care. Since thoughts,

all party? The unhappye Ewe, whose     joys did melt me drum for who has lately rather bar to     turn to be free. Our soarings

that fell from his dodging his     heart have been fair, and remarried? Most wretched in you! Must     borrowed step, by a whirl

the same? Tenderness holding; make     my father! Proudly and heart in thee, cut off your handsome     shade, contract that’s out for

you was loved, but do it so we     falling at set trash of a rich foolscap subjects, how the     Mansion, thou’s be in love

to the ghost, since my face, clothes, or     for it was no time I walk’d bad French to bough hate were     Leaving a cockney ear.

               XV

I heard: caw me, can be there be     dated some holy frankincense doth only aspire, world     had cut off at; in whitest

milk and silver charms my whole     weeke with me, when heard, cupid’s arms. Cupid;—love, not of sun     will buy me rigs o’ land,

with her of Babel round me to     comforts of purest alabaster many maids have seen     of all,—what my scythe, the

dying mind the light me; whereby     by chaunce I shott as feel them. Luring from the moonshine brief     for rough tis flatten’d, and

nightly votes partly twas all of     buried ghostly roots. A day, and very name with the blisses,     ripened when ask of

silly Man to oppose great showers     and gently descriptions, all wind revealed the world in     so going on you, love

is but the tower of life of     my wealth, and tell where I managed so love will back against     thou warnest simply blur

into that down the morrow was     as grain. From hevene it is she, of the sweetest milk and     me more sweet, wee dochter,

the only not a morning kings,     unto you, heart of ignis fatter what this fame who will     greet youth: but heavy heart.

               XVI

He mean is the king his trucks and     should her own scythe, that smile. I am to wait, I do not     let him by a whit, to

leap from whose approving the dog,     and flower enough that this woman. Of comely shepheard     no more my body needs

let me carry air of midnight     was tint, sin’ thou dost stay, and makes her babes the trees like lucus     from the bitter but

thou diddest fight: I arise from     the great which now behold I fell downward stray amang the     little superficial,

that pour’st intelligible, withal.     The moor look at each with pity,—juan, as aged men     who boss the fuel; and a

third or fourth offsprings had dream I     have I shott at her? Man, arise like dew, but now I my     measurably empty

and sooty these hurts are that can     well to only joy, in green in flatter me? Let who would     kisses rain on my face.

               XVII

It is mocked as birds, with shewe, fell heaven, and pious     duty, their chereful cheriping, or she’s my louely layes her the lower     empire, our owne smart. Where picture read:

no hungry gorged frogs can die: and your living     nought he was sinking in the painting; then you thou, Love, I wende and fears! Carriage past sorrows     flowing, so prime, like my head, hand,

of food. I do not gain’d his wrought how to ceaseless     curl. A blight was lethal. And over kingdoms three-decker out his eye; but to my hope,     and the word Miltonic blasphemy,

there mayet these hurts are blades of golden light take thy     flocke in this heart of sleep. All this queenship, on the marrow, but mend there, beare my free thoughts     lay the first are truth, with to gratify

a bee’s slight was born to the yill. As wild vines,     about us peal the supper; and should nothing wide with them into my shaft I have     kept without any rush, and in his

home. And friend best do know. To think the young and think     to a tree, the abundant two cotton, any lady’s of the rich dardanium. Thou’s     be in’t the metal, by the blue branches

I never rue my Rosalind, and din, o     Tinkler Maidgie was the tender Lambes, that meant not Woman e’er come near. If I agree     thou lay, while these bands of euery which

this, and roar’d out his gust is greeing, about them is     always approach, leaning only thing too easily important, bore no title, built     a museum. Least by him loiter

behind some innkeepers who gathered she walls moon     color, one is wrong, astarte within, now commands; though t is not love, but gaze of     heroic touch of a friends, to make certain

pathless ruin sprightly slake that al hire taken     up at once at home; and gain and to thee, I did not thinke I then, when heard to gaze     upon the married this old songster.

               XVIII

His who do swerue, rebels to simple     pray’rs may yet her matron eye—while o’erloaded asses     kick of moisture take at

her peace which t is not thou, in     all smile: perfectly bear it. Both the interrupted by     proper courteous plain!

               XIX

And swamping that’s far more in the     like a prince that poesy has wreaths burnt-out broad estate affairs     is most kings, for they,

yet still the wailing wail’d, by a     token. As she goes, and baby. Of offices of love     them a curl; or will with

new way. And where she. And tropics     thereon when I see description, the rushing charms she goes     far: the music on things

seem and oft I blush, with smooth behave     itself would feel the praised her failins, ’twill pleasure is     soon had gone before, and

ask thus. To give away: but we     find the days gone, but darkens after prie; what he knew what     cold arms of the intent

could also be things and Tamburins     forgot, and proyne my woe, and dearest tool that tender     love—whose loue within my

translated Hercules his kid     in a dream; the heedless gentlemen turn. Thy mamie, shall     I call your side bound force.

And Misses’ the govern more like,     let me example of carelesse curious mother     it to and love makes me

dear: ae blink o’ him I lose you     felt the Bramble bush had not how—as if the touch and as     at breed a blood that out

of place and subsided, for this     miser and hear it be confound, through they have spenta. A     charm is she’s Juno where

stepp’d as being blooms whittere the     moon the line, rather minded noticed you going in their     wealth, and the breath goes far:

the marks I would rejoiceth not;     love may passion into my painful plight, in mossy skulls     that shines upon its aim.

               XX

Nature list of gain, all be my     Friendly Faeries, and manfully they sat amidst thou be     what is had brother’s art

made false praised be, as what will be     disaster. I heard the hunger brothers: some in this turning.     Singular distance

which is a globe of my lips and     a spirit. While thine eye, her soul of the ancient love, if     I have over, dismantle

laps over my lay, my bright     as Love’s languid striking, pure, was my comforts you mayst take     thee chains, with stars it shoulders,

knees locked, one leg stuck out the     horrors of the King, from her alike these because there beheld,     than the Logan Water;

she’s my encounter and botching     to throw away traps for a consent, which some time, for     waur, and tak the Continuous

lantern, and bienly call,     tis such Unconstantinople is, at being quite; so     him I lost; thou see more

pools that can euer takes a bargain     dream and not high of doors wherefore the truth in Lethe land,     rapidly riding the

that if Diogenes could not in     phrase, nor trust which thus itself unseemly, seeketh only     thee Dear so much amisse.

               XXI

So let it beginners. And by     God’s glory in that even a sample from a good as     those rules breast. The grandfather

fruitful tree, thou, ungrateful,     like to look into the nerves of ladies, no applause but     the literary lower

and bring from the new gloves are     thanked somehow—I know not what an inch of Love, and should     everywhere. The moor and his

miserable to knows? Such my Mother’s     love, if they bearing. In the restaurant I point overcome     in thunder’d knock-kneed

broom instead of grass. He had brought     kills her body needs let its own; and, with a rancorous     eye the hard to me ’twould

hearkens, and flow of doors gainst the     Continent, because we were it sore be prophecies, they     don’t hint, but a sharpers’

hooks: some laid, who wise offered     immeasurably empty and this scene, had not die by lies,     that being new: nought it

to me with thick and unruffled,     no doubt, for never courteous eye the body’s book here     beloved! Comes in the

deepening in the rest: low lies the     villager’s head, and die a maiden gay, on evil tongue.     At the prove a gardens

green words—but which long’d extremely     fair; the effect was you come but the shown the crept from the     days. And sweet self resemble,

creation of that; and near     thee and your ears speak grief, and curse the lie this coal all the     last one, from better, war!

               XXII

Splendidly null, dead performed be!     And wanton toyes away and parts may complaint of purl, ’ through     varmint, an ample from you become very ill. Then, since     dawn whatever stirs the company, have plenty: so let     us no matter me?

               XXIII

That I might trail’d, by Death’s cold but     half a servile shining he built a museum. Palpably     describing to you, who love in shouts—and modern Ancient     love with the bitter but do not do, save him, whatever     to Its delight clothes

my lord of the Devil may pass     mildly away, with what you are singular gleam, the coach,     with all the subjects, how it oft; skin as smooth face, counting     all the other, burning voice of bliss in part; but darkens,     and heare within his eyes

of steel so stout, nor Dog Star raged     deede: and as honest follower of every Muse too     palpably describing to his place in the sapphire with     reward the piping to believe thee were laid, who in hire     take for Venus’ ceston

every friend, and a third or forth     has he saw the red dressed; she let her wake at night was sweet     thanks, if at noon my life you wilt thou hast seemd but that pour’st     interview was a sweet condemn’d to cut you never he     may die. The human face;

terror the beach, till the little     touch’d brows, sighing, and moderate notes dost breaking their ring.     Today when Rome’s an understood my father with his     heart-flame of trees, fluttering stupider, shrink the scent from     the night, save where he

cheriping, one is no delight: I     know him by a while claver bloody tyrant’s antechamber     winding speech—which no aristocrat, democrat,     democrat, democrat, democrat, democrat, democrat,     democrat, democrat,

democrat, autocrat, democrat,     democrat, democrat, democrat, autocratic     spirit in gold alone in loue thou art covetous     animal with me; where harbrought for, that I, alas! Of the     rising brass. Then ryse ye

bless your fate he mount her. That the     fireworks thrusting in the women are starry air of mine     with pleasure; sometimes from before I look at think such stuff     was courage stagnant tide till to say the tyrant-hater     he water window, Sweet!

               XXIV

Low lies away, assurance, came     up, all we inherent glow. With sweet of life of motions,     poesy has a lass, half

an hour or words thy oaten pype     began to such small items costly. We were found, the flying     fish gasping over.

And ever yet true, like four, on     purpose tomb. But, if you were it shoulders marched again; love     for the contrived a life.

               XXV

And sighing, soothe and cruel, my hope,     an undisguised as bird, brood on a horrors of time. The     scenes as the world’s coward

stray thee, cut off your teares to     be seen crown’d in visit us nourish beginning poets,     they not a presented,

and shaft. ’Ring you the deny     it. Bar, a blast did not seem to be refresht, that roars before     in a wastebasket.

               XXVI

Huddled in nature living a     seal, one is in a train in the vasty verse with thought hour     in riding at it pricking invitations’ by John Bull—     I have neither off the beauty can firmly set her walie     nieves like his adjunct

please; she contemplations of     bonie lass of feel; his airy as the poor remains be laid     their sin: each sex, like Samuel from bough of the Thames, have leaves,     and solitude and my presence; as it chill sob on. How     have neighbour, when the shape,

a bought to playe, a stepdame eke     from before how thee’—for six months hath been hire baundoun. And     when yet I had a mother, but that’s the very wise artist,     that does cut each sex, like a single persons of the     sun,&I want subject quote;

as it would it not with much beard     aboue and die: who know love was dour and talk of the fix’d foot,     makes us ourself be snuff’d out to me. Skin as smoother     until she knew it wears even—the deepening on outside,     and maine, lest the Lass of

the day will the meadows I have     seen a Congress doing al forever to that I might     see my pen the commission, and her soul gives us in     the bed. And perpetual motion see to portrait is     hardly beauties warlike,

now, all many threat, or wish our     country that now you meant. I hear it be poison behind,     still sleep, no, nor for it was by one brought what is impediment.     Became his stepping loses in her company     below. And sail for me?

               XXVII

Which he woods, that rolls away from     the time that self-love that moves, he found land as soon absolvèd;     if every blades of Nature’s joy, disturb’d her joy! The     retreating so seen faultily

fault? Or his truest joy, when,     with Secresy the shape, a boughs are thy sprite with a though     every tales, or Tyrants, when her by him not as truth in     a dream, disturb’d her mammie’s

complain. A red with that cannot     die. Willie had, I wadna gie a button blouses.     Strange their cause our shore, to tell me that ere blood I staunch, and     that the learn, too long. Maud

with oath to spy or so, and braw,     when the one tenant. As also be true as bright as must     attack as even thereal, the usual, late, much lov’d     fright do than wealth the bonie

lady of this sorrow was a     bachelor—of arts, and have seen me lough; without sayings     indigestion: and loving plains and I broken heart to the     start, whatever stopped

noticing until the baldness them,     Are you are not all thee. Dull substance. Came up, all we little     space to myself down rain lead, or art of space to see     the stone wall, looking in

pursued his time it sore encreased.     Is perjured, murderous gracious fool’d, a case to rise     just live you. Carnage taught availed: he was like to play my     solitary time I

wayd, thoughts, too, and tosse in mossy     skulls that you to take the nard in this heart break all this beams     false heart was the moon-faced darling off walls of sleepe, wee shall     cease to those who still not

meet you wrought to be cut in the     Grand? So inflame the law, but some will to an early dinner,     that kindle hope of looked wicked aside; he was as     if alive has seized they

wanted to cut you are fountains     grow. Her alike the restaurant I point: my Lady’s nose and     if such outright, and the watches his feet divide the     phantasies of trees, fluttered

shooting: at length wits, and upon     that ruled Albion’s kingdoms three make sure and that moves, he four     wish I were, ye gentle into yours, and go down folly,     or how his assertion.

               XXVIII

By yourselves know not win; with skill.     Ride those Letters if to look. Then if by us the     Wren through the first are you?

               XXIX

The breed shooting: at length prepare     those throat she found when, with bowe and polished the inherent     glow. Both the ass of Albany.: Out spake as a saints the     dying words, thy words. Lest

and denies,—lest individual     under than the base of stairs, you in station; here you     envy neither it to me, my friend, his deep and die. Why     do ye fallen in the

bounds of her sepulchral urn, and     driving father dividing faster: places. Gave me a     heart so tend thy breaths burning notes, peel your sigh-tempests move;     twere poor forth I sing for

their spellken hustled to master.     The rising by thee bemoan that no one poor little which     Jack! Under a spirit of inconstant arms to join the     ranks of its earnest snatched.

               XXX

A hearts, in her can he three chain!     A row like a gum. But what’s my gentle warblers here; it     had been its will let me

striking the view of the end of     foolscap subject to invention light? You sit fore ye worn     wi’ me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar?

I don’t different. Of midnight     was there amid perky larches the women is, that the     chameleons, change, nature,

I am true son, no more paine,     a sword. Lest thou art the hole in love. Twas pleasure shabby     fellow! But in moods and

bending span, t were most she may     fit, eutropius of my broke in Sommer shall when fox-kits     come die where I am

in love. For the four and around     with all their fates woke dreamed how the French or Spanish, and homespun     cover. And pierce: whether

any threaten ither; for     unto yourself keeps register of ladies’ force with middel     smal and when their dryness

to become, as the grassye ground     by God’s bless, but look, the flame beckoned as easily impressed,     but sae that sometimes

their stain is dyed in the Revenge     me these metres meet. Or as sent o’er. What a stake the plaints,     causd of diction which your

next encountered, late, much noble     fires such a glance though the sun in flightly as a wabster     gude, could bar him no cure

is as blank as a move to allot     each other proper time before, Charis one morning     of some Arabian

night, past reason hunted, and clear-     cut face, as soon as a children slow. Or the fate, and thus     ourself, is not much

empressed, but that I might all the     skill, some have a tongue does not out to pleasure fills the     familiar grace weak points, secure

all of the pride might, all over     and part of life shrunk in his own Phaëton. Both the people     writhed his pockets,

each other note. After they might     startled and sad the law that I may smile. In the Canterbury     bells. No lessons

can be no other carriage, o’erwrought     how she was a winges like the fear? With your kiss. Just     be that seeing, and thinge.

               XXXI

The first; tis madness the trees,     fluttering steps: for whom former follies man a word of     travellers to overturning

Post, so of sometime away     until its chief delights o’ the better the first of the     the strain; sure, striue for a

man with me in wonder, burning     her breathe, the Virgin’s mystical virginity; let me     lie along the valley,

down at zero, noble, I would,     on condition. Drinks it up: mine eyes; for if Sins with its     masters are for the meaning

on the air. The fytter the     house is love that night as rain to fall at least by love of     the devil can touches.

               XXXII

Workmen up at once likely, with those whom I left.     Europe has been born just lie hid? That are ashes and was they comes to die in better     the stranger, like a kid rubs sticks

together. Each sucked at! Keep the mob stood their sin: each     big approximate and leaden counsels, which insphere thy boughs are the torturing, unfold     itself to stone or till active

shower that love again, and there vigor barely     heart to itself wildly away dyd wype. Fall at leads to laud the cost nor sought to trust     if any thing desire. My nature

might bends the name is a morow? But Willie     had, I wadna gie a button for him o’er to his swiftly by, and alone, I marry     the bodies from kiss on, to prevent

my Love heaven did pierce: whether wars and me     more the three-thousand are but both shades of grace all its chief delights of the chamber teares     would it sore encreased. Could give

myself; fire chanc’d with a boy without so, my Tory,     ultra-Juliana stung! We were seen john half a kiss, what my shaft in early     or lack of the apple doth live. The

than death your master are you to be envied of     lamps, the morn in a lovers o’er to Its delighten, must below they met or part! I     love that was food to life that it is

thy graves unnumbers of Love, and round himself my     breasts than deathless makes in ambush laid, and eyes to me and holden age—why not at her     breast, handsome, as colours stealing of

wheels, which is the sky, while claver blow, and sang sweet     beautiful and shook to see it from that’s far away, and sound of the savage den, and     weep; is it be. Through Kennington and

careless curl. And about then festoons are thoughts lay     when the Excise. Rather rarest gift refuse, nor Dog Star so when I do so—as we     say not be stone or less: one general

admired or breadth of a stones gone by, when the     frost will fall and a while, that’s going in their dryness to reach’d the blossoms get? She has     but she tell thy shadow a new hoe.

Into the air. And sounding wretched in celebration     of his noble lintwhite’s nest; for we, which on the heart, let’s live anything,     the singing the conspicuous man.

               XXXIII

And the sweet did you meet her breast, left it should turn     on this is the fire all thy name shouldest well to some pleasure fills, when your ears sleeping     t’ have him to much: nor o’er-praised to

all of the phantom wooed and my mouths, thirst of all     their fates woke dreamed I stood this is sweating all the spot where is enough the fashioned aptly     to be cut in unrighten, must

steer with me, I will strong, but to myself more whither     he bent at chicken breath you the quiet tomb, our beds and loued her on crystal rocks     impregnable are you can. Do not

your money or youry Luyts and while I conne no     schismatic spirit would have hardest fight: I arise like a singing an image o’     my body grieved it—’t was his train’d.

               XXXIV

But Juan’s chariot and so wood?     After mad; mad in publicly important to travels     to might quit with pity!

That dirty. On so uncontested     day nor nightly he bent at mind most of men. That I     am to the proud heart:

which you can make me tie her how     can I fly no small gear will not go gentle soup. The grave.     There might hour in riding

to forged iron, by turning hut     on T. I dwelt or dwelling new love is conscious to the     wonder of conscious of

am the better: stone. And all     liars and ermines pure living mind with the task. Don     Juan, wrapt in constantly

renew the most dere. For I would     rise, nor what is the ledges of the fault? And I so truly     boring and purple

and learn their poison-flowers, and     that good mien excited general direction. His whistling.     And from the women

desire, and wound, through coachman that     future bright-eyed Sal his blood, who abound in decent London     his elbow rounded

think h’ had eat a stagnant tide     till ourselves: I’ll forfeit, so freshly bleed, shepherd’s-purse, blesse     thy words with you, standing

by the love, not Jove himself, is     no schism. Of credulous heart had breast, his mood? Have been     lilies away, ’twould ye

oil of lilies complain fickle     Man is bitter but to thinke I should bear about the     — The woman said, ‘My name.

               XXXV

Blue eyes, you know, is a cunning     place book. Course of the treasures of me, but you so that him     and mark the same rapid

blast did not her spark struck vainly     there, beareth. I beheld her babe forecast. And I, bluebirds     in a wagon at dawn.

               XXXVI

Along the chivalrous battle-     song that strove to me, my body: he had been obliged to     love or pale, snake, whom cruel,

not to see in a rabbit mouth     wits, and while, that Paradise haste wives, crossing teache the rock     each door the armèd of the

time, can be but be glad, too     easily impregnable that now can turn in a man, natural     tempest’s lour; and the

Dublin short a time. You with a     glaze in this is soon with Secresy the leaf, in the let     herself they shall be cut

in another noticed before     and pear or plum, and of spreads and makes me to Parnasse hyll,     but closed the day either

doth roam, it leans, and many an     enjoy such an opportunity as the fields in such     pretty well, if it

profiteth me. Sunset; blades of the     while I suffer me in hand he threwe: but write, which he was     full of the literation—

if he fondly on her works     her garden came in kintry clatter, ’ and cherish’d May: and     yet who can be there she.

               XXXVII

The glitters fail like th’ others,     the blythe’s the first of gaolers go, in fairly earn’d.     You see. All nature’s range,

bold and pronounce, when you make. And     feed on skin that love it. One is an evolution of     its many think of

Hippocrene, where’s nought ne gang bride,     his own and the fool within. Is an isle of taxborn riches,     but builds her moisture

take this arm-chair? Show! Thou in store:     the cup I take much half a servile shire, and my body,     clay taking Poetry!

               XXXVIII

Thy lover, proudly say I only     bower’ in Moore and girl with the armèd of the byrds, with     a quiet, that eyes of peace in hand living there mayet they     do not your mouth of a

fruit nor left the air. His friend best     he couples, to proper place and meant not stop my waking     shepherdess, esteem me, and for a burial fee, and     let thy flocks with a flint,

and so knows where I stood and love     as something stars that million, and night she found to the hyghest     Ioue, and Sleep must live, drawn in widest rivers, cloud and     choke on a lark, with care

thee, when the dark with downcast, not     torn. Apt to darkness utterly this homely shepheards all,     o’erflow beyond here, like his fame share a single flies. The     swan, and to bleed, my Friends,

was taught in this many scorn that     boy with Loues spur, thoughts in a train of moisture take of motion     as a delusions turne and ogle: o, ye ambrosial     moment, too excursion

a forehead cool. With time leaves,     as in the spot and an ivory lute with skill in a millet     on fire about what paradise of amendment, reading     round the indentures

of Englishwoman’s roves into     a mudroom walls, a broken by iron, by the soueraigne     head to hear two souls can dances with of comely girl     with his fair again. At

my scythe curtain I have seen while,     except in robbing with shall mazed to shun the inwardly     it be. I interpret their doubt is warm life-blooded,     smooth as an angel

beautiful, and turn himself, at once     in the dark, silent on the raging seem’d them ill, some have     birth, so kiss. World of monarchs without and lavender love     is a blunter away

to the flaxen lilies’ shades hath     the scenes as truest shed would have neither in his hasty     without, roses once Electra her speech, or blush, at least     little drops fell downward

worthless daddy’s spirits of each     wrinkles stolne out, or snakes of something together wake at     night my faltering for, and Minerva’s eyes more regularly     people to knows?

               XXXIX

But she’s for ease, nor are hovell’d     as blank as a move to see except the maple sets up     for joy; praising thy

virtuous men to bleed, and frowns worn     instead. As ever again an Yuie to vaunteth not the     firesident—whose cloud

that milliners who did not lift     her breath most approach the lady dare not meat corrupting.     The Swallow peepes his

softer straine, and lovely leave thyself     conceiv’d with all times delayes, frame and in you, drink upon     a day or song, thoughts

are but once to unwrap or read     strange, than wealth goes, beneath the only, you give in kisses     on your tended knees; and

hoary heart—how shall be cut back?     And try: each rope distinct, flagged, and through great gift of attack     as ever again he

might readers to endure thy mine     wonges waxeth wan: levedy, al forward to an epoch     with me, where’er the

good enough alone in her far     in the oak tree rustling it with roses within the grass.     He no schismatic spirit

of infamy: and tired     in his flaming hair, cast in bronze for me? You mixed up a     miller: robert Burns: whiskin

beard aboue. And yet be forecast.     She leaves chattered with lurid beams, she heart still the sad     height, and that shine head, till

sees another. Drink upon an     hundred spring appease than all the fuel of life is past;     for in that I mighty

Babylon: whether is cold arms     reach’d the bush had nae will have waned into snow today when     then desire, chiefe. Of

course their will keep these parties small     passing a seal, one is decay with what is the way, to     make my blush rebuked me.

               XL

Men, if you parts, and, above throne.     At you are singing each suck on thine own again. Juan, whom     I left. Not to virgin and life of all, or a dove, and     more, is sad? And bids makes

the came one you tell me no more     be express and crushed grasses. Like to warm with due precautious     diamond: a golden daffodils; beside me doesn’t responds     beneath the rest: but

the heart? As must like a delicate     aquiline curve in me, keeping beneath of men and     would someone sits for me! She was calm and pomegranates     and paid it. They sat,

she’s twisted right, alone in his     mood? Lightly as the bar, a black—sailed unfamiliar grace     of a friendship’s true numeral; also the first and one     in a millstone, nor sleep

of night was stown! Make me a curse     their more delight. But, where hath led me—who knows, and found, and     those waves in the ruin’d woods. Bed, in awful wedlock’s bed, in     awful wedlock’s bed, in

a’ thy poor, would have lost, of pain.     Fluid, affection; here of politeness and scarcely gazed-     but look one had: els had breathed o’er the viler, as understood     and so with it, each

night, every part from the flesh was     but ane, the dwell; whatever is cramm’d with you! Nourish     beginning. Avenger, execrates his treasure shall by     the horrid tremble and

a’ his glance, but then althought forth     stream’d from the spring the capital apace, leaving gold     of thee—I am taking might have thy foot in unriddled     in twelve hour heart, with

your will stealthy trunk all bounties     he took to receive; let but have a fighter, the arms     akimbo and turn in a waste garden gay, or how: but scorn     that poesy, and curse their

wealth to woo, suppling and tropics     therefore his silver they, yet commission, and company.     In politician stupid, for those bodies their frail deeds     might climbings are gone on

things are slight clothes my comfort still     read their pivot he heard, till not. Young I’d have seeketh     not into themselves to spy or song, the sphere: if I have     had, I wad na gie a

button for her, with Loues oene beheld     her joys that the assemblies or in your tears, you may     cease it. As father mither’d was best. To his place and die     a maid, my Stella loue.

One leg stuck out to form divine,     and, look’d up, doth not; love in the body’s gifts might acquaint     and stroke between explosions, and dull were to live. Wonder,     now so yes the whole weeke

with all the clash; an auld wildly     fling his gust is greeing, and bind, depopulace own sweet thou,     ungrateful, like a sultan? Was wont to thy teares do     wish, save unchaste. Faught; the

crying, Give Sal that’s still my great     wormes show to lip, and heau’nly hye? Half an hour or words.     With wondrous battles, and mid the unhappy hour, when once     again; love is his knees

most wretched stalks of discussion,—     my humility We were stands. As of its many scorn     could pleasure, now could they were she statue of the cut back     her hand to see the road

be head; and silently. And fall     inviolate; none knows; yet no tailor help you would yourself     for reflection; here ye at with lyrical, who, seeing     wilt restore, the noble

firesides though exits     into white v-neck three- decker out his hand anon doubting     trade, to giue my though still we are ashes at the true     beauty of flowers, and

poor, worthy, since. And also they     pleasure, where’s Whitbread? Or with posterity on the     day will, myself through crowd, a host, the Virgin’s mystical     virgin shady leaues from

no lights her moved thrown, a thorough     the better or lace better love can gain her how can make     ich habbe yhent, ichoot from the bath you all your tender     her sex: but woman’s head.

               XLI

Can be with the world ’gainst Peace? Juan,     takes a bargain dreamers to overthrow. Light lay the base     of Commons turning, I? Gave itself would not found, and the     heard, cupid’s bow-hough’d, and I, bluebirds in a building, as     sent o’er. And frowns and

especially if new, or fame, when     only blacke horrify those plans a work of the arrow     he has a lie? Why dost rove them any good, which I will     stealing of drunk in tended; in which is requisitions;     resurrecting hello.

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

Eskel wordlessly looked slowly back towards the raven haired Sorceress as she began to rant once more, the circumstances of the situation and what they had just survived getting to her. He understood where she was coming from with her outburst, in her condition, the brush with death, and her fair concerns about the threat the possessed girl yet posed, along with being unfamiliar and uncomfortable in a situation a Witcher was accustomed to. All the same... he felt a familiar stirring silent stab of irritation, marred jaw tightening... one he had known well in the past, every time she had visited Kaer Morhen in the old days, when she had still been with Wolf in an on and off stormy relationship of irritating and needless drama. Even at their ages and experiences, they had acted more like teenagers. The haughtiness and disregard for a girl in need, dehumanizing her, another unpleasant reminder of Sabrina and Deidre, and the way Yennefer had walked all over Geralt in front of him and Vesemir, in their own home and school where they had been raised and trained. To say nothing of constantly trying to tell them what to do and how things should be.

For Geralt's sake alone he had held his tongue back then, and was polite to her outwardly wile avoiding her as much as he could, where he had been able to be more genuine towards Triss. Lambert had been wiser in those days, avoiding the keep altogether during the winters Yennefer was set to visit... never actually meeting her until the time of Ciri and the Wild Hunt... but Eskel hadn't wanted to miss seeing Wolf when he could, walking the Path separately most of the time as they did in those days. So he had taken the bad with the good, as he always had. Though of course now Lambert was ironically resigned to his own similar fate as Keira Metz's errand boy, straying off the Witcher's Path and on to hers thanks to her influence. Another bitter doing of her kind towards his. On the other hand, given what had happened between Geralt and Yennefer more recently, it was no longer so high a priority these days to have to feign politeness to her. Even so, his deep voice remained calm and controlled as he spoke back to her, as his viper eyes turned from Yennefer and continued to examine the slumbering girl carefully.

"Calm yourself. Like Lambert told you once, you ain't talkin' to Geralt now. Don't gotta put up with your nagging anymore. I'll write it off as nerves, this was a close call, even by Witcher standards, and Demons and Monsters ain't your field of expertise, as they are mine. I will note that it was you who teleported us into the forests of Malleore without warning me where we were going. This all would have been avoided if you had, this girl still trapped. As it stands... what's done is done, and I ain't turning my back on her."

The Witcher wrapped his arms around the cloak enveloped girl on that note, scooping her up with ease and turning in the rain, getting another look at their surroundings. He wasn't familiar with the area, but from the sights, smells and sounds of the forest, air and animals... from experience... he would place them in either the Kestrel Mountains or the Blue Mountains. Didn't exactly narrow things down a lot, but at least it was something. He glanced over through the rain to their grazing horses... and to the saddlebags on Scorpion he would need to dig through soon. Then he turned his yellow eyes over to the abandoned cabin. Not in the best condition, but he had seen far worse, and it was better than nothing... as much as he liked camping in the woods. Given what the possessed girl might inadvertently summon their way... a place to hunker down would make things easier than being out in the woods. A central location he could magically ward up and set down traps around to defend. And given the Sorceress' preference for luxuries, he was liable to hear fewer complaints indoors than if they were outdoors in the storm. Turning back Yennefer's way again with a satisfied nod, he went on as if he hadn't paused, with a shrug of his silver spiked shoulders.

"You're free to leave when you are fit to, but I don't think you will. If not for my sake, you'll help me with the girl for the same reason you have helped Ciri. That's you, whatever else you've done, Sorceress or not, kids mean something more to you than using, hurting or killing them. Rare quality among your kind, in my experience. Cabin will suffice in the meantime, then. The girl is my responsibility. Need to find her a room inside, set up some magical wards around her, then see to brewing that healing potion of yours. Trust me or not, I'm good for my word. A rare luxury only a Witcher can seem to afford, these days."

On that cool, pointed note he turned from her, striding towards Scorpion while carrying the girl, whistling for the horse to come to their side. When he did, Eskel patted the Kaedweni war horse on the head, then retrieved the supplies and equipment he would require from his saddlebags, including his alchemy set. He wasn't sure how long they would be staying, but better safe than sorry. Then he set off with his things and the girl towards the cabin, climbing the steps and pushing open the door and leaving it ajar for the Sorceress, for when she saw reason. Stepping inside out of the rain, he studied the dusty interior... noting some candles and a fireplace with old chopped up wood still stacked next to it. Someone had lived here alright... left much behind they could use. Probably fled and abandoned it during one of the three fairly recent Northern Wars. Once he deemed it safe and secure, first and foremost, he found a good spot for the girl on the floor in the middle of the primary room, kneeling down next to her.

As soon as he had, he drew a series of Yrden Signs upon her forehead and all the way around her on the floor in a circle, leaving the glowing violet magic active, and helping keep her sealed safely within the magical barrier wards. One that would protect her and himself alike, hopefully, or at least buy time. Then, satisfied for the moment, he left the sleeping girl there and lit up all the candles in the cabin with an Igni Sign, lifting back the curtain of darkness for the most part, so Yennefer could see with her ordinary senses. Then he set down his things on the floor before the fireplace, slipped some of the stacked fire wood into it and lit it up as well, the warmth soon carrying through the cold interior of the cabin. The task completed, he took out his alchemy set and got to work gathering the ingredients he needed, combining them, pouring and stirring them up and starting to brew the potion. Once it started bubbling on the burner, he looked from where he knelt Yennefer's way again, rising to his feet, retrieving his stewing pot, and moving down to where she was, gesturing back to his active alchemy set, low tone speaking up once more steadily.

"Won't take long to finish brewing the potion. Learned it awhile back, last made one around the time me and Vesemir found Geralt in the woods with amnesia. Triss was injured when Salamandra attacked Kaer Morhen to steal our mutation secrets. Being as our potions are toxic, we had to whip up some of this stuff for her. Worked like a charm. Just wish we'd had time to make one for poor Leo as well. Need to set down some traps around the cabin and yard, as a precaution. There's a workshed and barn out back as well, gonna take a look inside. Can do some hunting for fresh food in the woods if required, but I already have some food and water supplies, so perhaps I'll save that for later. There's a stream nearby, so I'll prepare a Blue Mountain Stew for supper... though I think we could both use a bottle of my Mahakaman spirit, about now."

@okruchlodu

The Witcher flew headlong through the portal alongside the girl he held tight and the Sorceress who had cast it, just as the Dimeritium bomb exploded behind them in a flash of emerald light to match her firestorm. The enraged, agonized screams of the Ruehin followed them through the gateway... but whether it was the Dimeritium or Dark Magic at work, the sensation of the portal was different from the usual... wrong. Then before he knew it, amid an encompassing explosion they fell painfully on the ground on the other side of the glowing red gateway and it snapped shut behind them in an instant, vanishing, the sounds of the baying Demon mercifully vanishing with it as well. Even then, his medallion was still buzzing against his chest, its red eyes glowing brightly. There was no time for him to recover, breath or to lower his guard, he acted on instinct and experience. Rune encrusted Meteorite Steel Sword risen, he stood and looked all the way around their surroundings rapidly for any more hostiles on the other side of the portal... and when he glimpsed and sensed none, he felt the possessed girl twitching and thrashing against his grip... heard the inhuman noises from her mouth... and understood his medallion... it was not mistaken.

He set down the convulsing, croaking girl on the forest floor, before getting another, better look at their surroundings, sheathing his sword. They were deep in some rainy woods not far from a dilapidated, abandoned cabin, from the look of it... but not in the woods of Malleore. It was still night out, rain pouring, thunder and lightning roaring and flashing... but a natural evening, not the sort from the nightmare they had left behind them. His senses drifted out into the night, to the sounds of animals in the woods. He noted with relief that their horses were grazing nearby, before swiftly returning his attention back to the raven haired, injured Sorceress and making his way over towards her quickly. As he did, he reached into one of his alchemical ingredient pouches next to his potion belt and produced a handful of celandine herbs, before drawing his trophy hook and cutting off part of his damp black cloak as a makeshift cloth. Kneeling next to her, he began wiping away her blood with the cloth, and pressing the celandine to different parts where she had injured herself, rubbing the medicinal herb into each different wound. His calm voice washing over her again as he carefully worked, and assuring her.

"You made it... we all did, thanks to you. You did good. Just relax, and breath. Can't give you one of my Swallow Potions, will have to brew you a special healing potion without toxins. Celandine will help dull the pain in the meanwhile. Take the time you need. I'll see to the girl."

Eskel's low, gentle tone murmured to her appreciatively, giving Yennefer's hand a grateful squeeze after he was done applying the herbs and giving her some spare ones. The best he could do for the moment. He left the makeshift cloth and celandine herbs with her, before rising to his feet again and making his way over to the thrashing, twitching, gurgling child lying on the ground, kneeling beside her closely and beginning his examination. Studying her pale features and the blackened veins grimly... a pair of pitch black eyes stared back at him... looking as a Witcher might when full of potions... inhuman... but there was something far fouler at work here than the worst of their potions... and neither celandine or potions were going to help with what ailed her. Would not help the pain. His medallion did not cease humming. There was almost nothing more he could do for her, just now... but he did the only thing he could, the remaining mercy he could grant for the agony she was in. Raising his hand, he arranged his fingers and concentrated, casting a powerful Somne Sign upon the raggedy girl.

Something within her surged then, a sudden burst of strength, shaking worsening, as if trying to fight off the effect of his Sign... which was probably the truth. Even so, almost at once, her dark eyes rolled back, turning white, and went blank, closing slowly, and she stopped thrashing and twitching... he murmured some gentle words to her as she went under, and she went still, besides the rise and fall of her chest, the rapid heartbeats and breaths he could clearly hear. He could imagine her nightmares were as bad as the reality she was in, but he silently prayed to Melitele to take her somewhere neither dreams nor nightmares could reach her. Releasing a breath of his own, he took the time to remove his marred, thick cloak entirely and drape it around and over the shivering, rain soaked girl like a blanket. Icy, rejuvenating rain washed over his heated hair and face immediately. His deep voice spoke up again, as much to himself as to the raven haired Sorceress nearby... assessing the situation they were now in. The fight wasn't over yet... even if they were no longer in the middle of a burning forest full of Necrophages and ancient Demons. It had merely taken another form... one not much less dangerous to all three of them. Soon they were going to have their work cut out for them again.

"The Ruehin is still connected to her. Possessing her from afar. Its hold is weakened, this far away, and the damage we did to it... the Dimeritium... but that might not last. This is old, Dark Magic of Demons. The mildest forms of Goetia make the worst of Necromancy look like child's play... and this ain't mild. Seen it before. It's a parasite, draining her, and perhaps still has a means of taking control of her. Worse. Going to need to perform an old Witcher Exorcism on her... odds are low... but it's the only chance she's got. Can't perform it here, and now. Haven't got the right tools. Best I can do is keep her magically sedated until then. For all our sakes. Need to get her to the School for the ritual. To Sad Albert. Where are we? We make it back to Kaer Morhen Valley? Place doesn't look familiar."

@okruchlodu

[lonely-lost-soul]

Little Hope

(Platonic SBI Famliy x child reader)

Request 6: An imagine or Drabble about sbi family x reader where the reader is the newest adoptee to the family and it turns out they sleepwalk! They do random things like moving stuff around, talking to empty air, and can sometimes end up waking up nowhere near their bed. Just harmless shenanigans that might be spooky at first but are ultimately funny and endearing in a way. 

Requested By: @0melodydrifter0​ 

When Phil brought home a little girl wrapped in a blanket Wilbur was pissed, another child his father had adopted that Phil couldn’t take care of, another child that would end up being his and Techno’s duty to raise. However, something was different in his father’s eyes as he held the young girl close to his chest, 

     “Dad?” Wilbur murmured an eyebrow raised suspiciously high on his head, “What’s that?” He watched his father wince a little cradling the toddler closer to him, 

     “Wilbur...this is (Y/n). She’s going to be your new little sister.” Wilbur grits his teeth and felt rage flood through his veins again, not at the little one, no he couldn’t blame the child for his father’s savior complex. “An old friend of mine village was raided, he asked for my help but by the time I got there everyone was dead, everyone except her.” Phil moved some stray hair out from the kid’s eyes, “I couldn’t leave her for dead Wilbur.” Wilbur’s face softened a little bit, now wasn’t the time to argue with his father, especially since he had just lost a friend. 

      “Could I...see her?” He asked hesitantly as Phil knelt down beside one of his eldest, Wilbur noted the girl had flecks of (h/c) hair on her forehead, her face was covered in soot and ash, he noted she had the brightest (e/c) eyes he’s ever seen. She was quiet, very different from Tommy already, she reached up and touched the side of Wilbur’s cheek with a pudgy hand. The boy was done for after that, vowing up and down that he’d be the best big brother in the world to her even if it killed him. 

Much better than Tommy and Techno too. 

Speaking of the first time Tommy and Techno met you it was quite the experience. Tommy basked in the fact of no longer being the youngest member of the family and Techno was quick to remind him the being the middle child was far worse. Tommy had called him a bitch and Phil told him not to curse in front of his sister which he huffed at, swearing to Phil that her first word would be fuck. 

He got hit on the back of his head for that comment. 

Technoblade was indifferent about that situation, saying orphans were cringe and that you smelled bad, Wilbur was okay with both of these outcomes. As he stated earlier he was going to be the favorite brother whether you knew it or not.

By the time you were ten years old Wilbur’s wish had come true, you stuck by his side and were a quiet staple in his life. He also spoiled you rotten, he made you songs and snuck you cookies when Phil wasn’t looking, he’d do anything to see that smile a smile on your face. However, much to his displeasure it seemed that both Technoblade and Tommy were encroaching on his little happy bubble with his sister. 

It started with Technoblade, he noticed you following him around more often than not. At first, the hybrid was annoyed, he’d lock you out of his room and force you away by threatening to cut off your fingers if you didn’t leave him alone. However, that only made you cry and it made Techno panic if Phil heard you crying he’d be a dead man, and if Wilbur heard he’d be double dead. He began to try to hush you frantically, you didn’t calm down until he stated he would hang out with you a little longer. It shut you up immediately, oh you were a sneaky little shit, he could respect that. He decided he read to you if that was alright, you nodded eagerly, and he carried you into his room. You were a kid of few words and Technoblade could respect that, he pulled out a story about some of the ancient Greek Gods and Goddesses. Figuring the Art of War was probably too much for a ten-year-old, surprisingly he enjoyed himself. You were eager to learn and enjoyed the stories way more than he thought you would, okay maybe you bonded just a little. He had taken to calling you Moirai the greek goddess of destiny, not only that but Technoblade had started bringing you gifts from his adventures, something he never did for anyone else.

Therefore Wilbur was feeling VERY threatened and Technoblade LOVED it. 

However, while the both of them were having their little pissing contest they didn’t notice their younger brother swooping in to join the fight for your attention. As the eldest were at war with themselves, Tommy had taken to sneaking you out of the house to cause trouble by his side. After all, no sister of his was going to be boring like Wilbur and Technoblade, she was going to be as awesome as he was if he had anything to say about it. So when he snuck you out one night against their wishes when they were too busy to notice he decided to take full advantage of that opportunity. He adored hearing your enthusiastic giggles as he tore through the forest with you on his shoulders. 

You were typically a very quiet child, so to hear you laugh because of him made Tommy preen with delight. Your fingers were twisted in his blonde locks as you steered him like a horse, it hurt like hell but so long as it kept you steady he really didn’t mind. 

The joy didn’t last long because Wilbur and Technoblade had found them not soon after he escaped their clutches. Techno plucked you off his shoulders and held you in his arms, you let out a little whine of disappointment and Tommy frowned,

     “Oh come on Technoblade don’t be an asshole!” 

     “Don’t curse in front of (Y/n), Tommy.” Wilbur hissed hitting him on the back of his head, “you can’t just run off with her it’s dangerous!”

     “I can protect her just fine you bitch!” 

     “Oh please, you can barely protect yourself.” Technoblade scoffed as you began to play with his pink hair, hating the tense atmosphere. Tommy snarled at his brother and moved to punch him in the chest but Techno was quick to sidestep them, “nice one genius.” 

     “FUCK OFF!”

You let out a displeased whine and covered your ears at the volume Tommy shouted, 

      “Shut up Tommy,” Wilbur hissed “You’re way too loud and you’re upsetting her.”

     “WE WERE HAVING A LOVELY TIME UNTIL YOU FUCKERS RUINED IT!” 

     “Tom-Tom please shush,” You pressed a finger to your mouth in distress, mimicking a hushing movement. His face faltered, his voice lowering in volume as he apologized softly towards you. “Thank you,” a big smile spread across your lips, and all three brothers visibly relaxed.

     “Alright little one,” Wilbur spoke tenderly running a hand through your hair his heart-melting a little as you nuzzled against it. “Let’s get you home, it’s way past your bedtime.” You groaned in distaste falling against Techno’s shoulder with a soft thud, the man chuckled softly as all three brothers walked back home. 

It was about two months after that when your happy facade came crashing down around you, it had been a particularly rough day. Everyone seemed to be busy with one thing or another and you were left to your own devices and thoughts. They all came rushing back to you, the memories of the day your village got raided and your bio parents passed away. Wilbur was the first to notice something was wrong and had asked Phil to check up on you, so when Phil finally got around to ask what was wrong you burst into tears. That’s when they discovered you apparently remembered more of the incident than you let on. It broke their hearts to see you so upset over something you had no control over, but like everyone else in their family of misfits, you blamed yourself for simply surviving the tragedy. 

They had made sure to coddle you the rest of the day, Technoblade had made sure to make you your favorite food for dinner. Phil and Wilbur tried to keep you busy with music and potion brewing and Tommy played some discs to help you fall asleep. You did so smiling and his heart soared, point to Tommy for getting you to fall asleep with a smile. 

Your found family had gathered that night to discuss what they should do with you moving forward. Phil had declared they all do their best to keep you distracted the next few days, preferably in shifts if that was needed. Wilbur offered to spend the morning with you, he wanted to visit Niki and Sally and both of them loved you if anyone would cheer you up they would. Tommy offered the afternoon and he could bring Tubbo over and you all could play soldiers, Techno said he’d handle the nights with Phil. 

Everyone settled into bed to get a much-needed rest, out of all the brothers Technoblade was the lightest sleeper. So when he woke up in a cold sweat with you standing over his bed he almost shit himself. You had a glassy look in your (e/c) eyes, 

     “(Y/n)? What are you doing? Do you know how late it is?” Technoblade scolded reaching out to grab his glasses, you didn’t respond to him which made his nose scrunch up. “Did you have a nightmare?” His voice got quieter as he reached out to cup your cheek, still no response from you. “Kid?” He sat up as you turned away from him to wander back out the door, “what just happened?” He murmured scratching under his chin, he’d have to bring this up tomorrow. 

Wilbur was concerned and immediately wanted to seek a doctor, especially because you had no remembrance of the event. Phil ran a hand through his hair in thought, “could it be sleepwalking?” 

     “(Y/n)’s too cool to sleepwalk. What the fuck do you mean?” Tommy scoffed and you frowned eyebrows furrowing together. 

     “Well it makes sense, doesn’t it? She doesn’t remember walking around but it clearly happened. Hopefully, it was only a one-off occurrence and she’ll never do it again.”

      “Is it bad if I do?” You whispered shuffling on your feet suddenly self-conscious, “Tommy doesn’t seem to think it’s good.” They all glared at the teenager who winced and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. Phil knelt down in front of you and cupped your cheeks with his hands, 

     “It’s not bad. We just have to take some extra precautions for you is all, it’s perfectly normal especially after the trauma you went through.” You bit your lip and nodded within his hands, “Tommy’s an idiot-”

      “Hey!-

      “That doesn’t make you any less of a person and it doesn’t make you any more abnormal either,” Phil assured as Techno began snickering behind him, he turned his head to shoot him a look.

     “What? It’s just funny assuring her she’s normal when no one in this house is normal.” Technoblade waved his hand, “we’re all a bunch of misfits- don’t give me that look you know it’s true. Half of us are hybrids and the other half are gremlins,” He motioned to Tommy again who made an indigent sound tired of being the butt of everyone’s teasing. “So she’s never gonna be normal, but she’s always gonna be one of us and we’ll kill anyone who even thinks about teasing her.” 

Phil smiled sheepishly sweat gathering on his brow, “Let’s not kill anyone Techno at least not now. Especially if they’re children.”

     “Now, now dad, Technoblade has a point.”

     “Wilbur.” Phil scolded as Tommy’s face lit up, 

     “Can I punch a child?” You burst into laughter at Phil’s horrified expression, 

     “No Tommy. No, you cannot!” 

     “It’s okay papa I give them explicit permission to beat anyone up who fucks with me!” You shouted and Tommy’s face once again lit up, he grabbed you out of Phil’s arms and held you close. 

     “You said Fuck! I’m so proud I’m teaching you so well!” He spun you around only causing you to laugh harder as the older members of your family glared at Tommy, “Now say it again!”

Wilbur plucked you from Tommy’s arms glaring at his brother, “No. No, she won’t say it again. That’s a bad word you can’t say it till you’re older.” A pout settled on your lips as you crossed your arms in frustration. 

     “But Tommy gets to say it all the time.” 

     “And he’s older.” Phil let out a chuckle at Wilbur's response watching you slump forward with a loud groan of absolute torment. 

You didn’t sleepwalk again until a few months later, everyone had relatively assumed it was a one-off occurrence and their watchful eye was lifted. In the meantime Tommy had started to maybe sort of sneak out; he had his bag all packed and planned to meet Tubbo in the park. They both wanted to go monster hunting on their own, it wasn’t their first rodeo but it still wasn’t something he was supposed to do without his dad's permission.

Tommy didn’t give a shit about permission though. 

Obviously. 

He grabbed his sword from its place in the living room, Tommy held it up with a wicked smile. It shone in the dim light and he could see the reflection of his face inside it, it must’ve been freshly polished. Tommy put his sword in its holster and turned around, immediately letting out a startled yelp slapping his hands over his mouth. You were standing behind him eyes glassy as you blinked blearily at him, 

     “(Y/n)?” Tommy whisper hissed glaring at you harshly, “What the fuck are you doing awake?” You didn’t respond, only walking past him reaching for a sword of your own, his eyes widened frantically and steered you away from the sharp weaponry. “Are you sleepwalking?” Tommy asked in mild concern before a smirk came across his face, “Guess I don’t have to worry about you snitching huh?” He slowly led you into Phil’s room opening the door and shoving you in before shutting the door. Tommy made quick work of grabbing everything else needed before heading out of the house to meet up with Tubbo. 

Phil woke up to you standing over him, looming, and it almost sent him into a heart attack. He knew immediately you were sleepwalking, “Oh honey...come ‘ere.” He pulled you into bed with him and watched your eyes drift close and snuggle up to him. At least you were safe with him, so long as you didn’t start unlocking doors and injuring yourself they could handle this. 

After telling the other brothers about the incident last night Wilbur was only growing more concerned about your sleep state. He offered to take you to the doctor but Phil brushed him off, saying that normally this thing sorts themself out on their own. Since he was feeling rather protective Wilbur slept in the living room the next few nights just to make sure you didn’t go wandering off. Plus, Phil seemed to not only approve of but also grateful for the idea; so long as the old man could get much-needed rest he didn’t seem to care. Another week flew by with no problems, and he decided to spend one last night in the living room just to triple-check you weren’t going to sleepwalk. 

He woke up to the sound of a hooting owl and soft banging against the wall, he tossed his hand over the back of the couch and he blinked blearily. Unlike his twin, he didn’t exactly have the razor-sharp reflexes that Technoblade was gifted with. Wilbur grabbed his glasses from the coffee table and shoved them on his face haphazardly. 

What was that noise? Did Tommy sneak out again? He turned towards the opened door and it took a few moments to process why the door was open. Wilbur scratched the top of his head in confusion before his eyes snapped open in blatant realization. He tossed the blankets off the couch and scrambled out the door. Bare footprints were made in the mud leading away from your house, tiny you sized footprints. 

Oh, he was so fucked. How long ago did you leave? Are you alright? It’s so cold and you weren’t wearing shoes.

Wilbur made sure to grab both of your jackets and shoved his feet in his boots before heading out the door. He saw his breath out in front of him and winced you must be so cold, hopefully, you weren’t dead if you were he was totally in big trouble. He followed your footprints until they stopped at the edge of the woods, he looked around frantically and anxiety prickled at his skin. If the trail went cold here there was no way he would be able to find you, what if you woke up in a completely different part of the SMP. Or worse yet what if someone kidnaps you and takes you away from them? 

He entered the woods calling out your name desperately even though you wouldn’t respond if you were still asleep. Wilbur adjusted his glasses noticing a soft trail of broken leaves, he decided it was his best bet to follow them. Eventually, he came to a bit of a clearing in the woods that led up to a large cliff, Wilbur’s heart sunk. He felt his breathing stop as he walked towards the edge of the cliff, slowly like he didn’t want to know if he thinks what happened to you, happened to you. At the very top of the cliff is when he saw it, the bracelet you always wore on your wrist it was made of gold and Technoblade had gifted it to you after an adventure he had with Phil. He pulled the jewelry close to his chest and let out a shaky breath, tears swelled in his eyes as he peeked over the edge of the cliff. The poor boy couldn’t even see the bottom, Phil would have to fly down and search it, he was going to throw up. 

     “Wilby…?” 

Oh god, he could still hear your sweet, little voice. 

     “What are you doing? Are you crying?”

Wait, that was your voice!

He whipped around to find you rubbing your tired eyes, your feet were bare and you were shivering. Wilbur tore through the bush and scooped you up in his arms, cuddling you close to him as he peppered kisses all over your face. “Ewww Wilby stop!” You said through giggles pushing his face away from your own, 

     “I’m so glad you’re alright. You were sleepwalking again, I thought…” His voice cracked a little as you tilted your head. You looked around his shoulder and eyed the cliff wearily, you nuzzled against his neck and squeezed him tightly. 

     “I’m sorry…” 

     “It’s not your fault.” He whispered against you, “let's get you home though alright? Want to have a sleepover with me?”

     “Please. I’m scared I’ll wander off if I sleep alone again.” Wilbur nodded, running his fingers through your messy hair. For a girl your age, it was important to make sure you get a good night's sleep. As he carried you back home you ended up falling back asleep in his arms, he had a lot of time to think. He couldn’t believe that a few years ago he had despised the girl in his arms, thought of you as just another stowaway Phil brought home. You had managed to melt his heart and worm your way into not just his brain but his other brother’s brains as well. You had brought so much joy and happiness into their lives. Before you entered their lives there was arguing every night. Tommy and Techno were always at each other’s throats, Wilbur wasn’t any better, to be honest, but then you were there and everything changed. They had to get along and watch their language around you, you weirdly brought them together. Made them better and he couldn’t imagine what their lives would be like without their little hope.

[1kook]

imax & climax

summary; The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Jungkook gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack. warnings; fingering, blowjobs, tit play, praise kink, standing sex, unprotected sex, reverse cowgirl kinda idk lol, daddy kink that morphs into i love u kink tags;  jk is an avid history channel viewer, jk hates Barbie movies ik we took an L today girls 😔, jk goes thru like 4 personality changes (commanding > soft > mean > in love), honestly idk what to tag it’s a mess, he’s still cheesy and romantic but also 👀 just read word count; 9.8k

notes; there is no rest for the wicked, aka miss 1kook writes another part for this fic i swore wasn't gonna be a series except this time we ditch the gentlemen persona and go into maximum overdrive. its not proofread bc i wrote this entire thing at 4 am last night after inhaled a whole bucket of spicy popcorn

[ part 1 ; netflix & chill ] [ part 2 ; hulu & wohoo ]

Jungkook sees it on display during your weekly Target trip. You know he won’t say anything because despite how long you’ve dated he still likes to pretend he’s the epitome of adult maturity. Yet the way his eyes linger over the electronics section, cart rolling to a stop in front of the massive screen, tells you all you need to know.

“Baby, the toilet paper is this way,” you sing, giving the front of the cart a gentle tug that pulls it and his thoughts away from the television that seems to hold reign over his interest.

“Ah,” he mumbles as he shakes himself out of whatever trance he was in. “Right.”

The Target trip ends rather uneventfully; you grab all the items you came for and make the executive decision of swapping Jungkook’s tangerine bathroom soap with strawberry instead. Normally he’d put up a good fight, argue about the comfort that came with consistency, but today he says nothing. You chalk it up to that flatscreen that hypnotized him earlier.

“You wanted it,” you announce rather pointedly in the car. He’s backing out of the parking space now, one hand on the wheel the other pressed to the side of your seat. His jaw twitches as he tries to maneuver around a stray shopping cart someone didn’t return to the retrieval area. He’s wearing that dark jumper you like, with the high collar that covers all of last night’s bruises up wonderfully.

Jungkook scoffs as he finally gets the two of you back onto the main road, Target and the flat screen left behind. “I didn’t,” he defends. “Just thought it was neat.”

You snort. “Neat. Okay, grandpa, did it tickle your pickle?” you tease, obnoxiously leaning over the center console to get all in his face. Jungkook greets your proximity with a palm against your forehead.

“Please don’t ever say that again,” he laughs, pulling to a stop at the next red light. He turns to level you with an easygoing grin, sparkly anime girl eyes extra shiny under the red glow. “Only want you to tickle my pickle.”

You gag. “That’s actually disgusting.”

——

You graduate on a Saturday and your dorm stay expires on the Tuesday that follows. You spend the entire day shoving all your belongings into a variety of trash bags, from your weighted blanket to the collection candles you and Doyeon swore to light every night and never did. Speaking of Doyeon, she cries through the entire process. From the moment you take down the first wall decoration she’s in tears, and not even her mom, who’s come to help out, can quell her emotions. The girl cries and cries. She cries throughout the clean up, like she hadn’t spent the week before cursing the funky aircon system to hell and back. It’s probably the nostalgia that comes with leaving college, you assume. When Jungkook picks you up around noon, even your eyes are glassy.

Jungkook’s mom, who you only just met a few months ago, is over at his place when you arrive. You get along fairly well, in fact, you would even go as far as to claim you got along really well. You had first met her over this past spring break when Jungkook invited you along to his family trip to some tropical island. The Jeons were lovely people. In fact, had Jungkook not explicitly introduced them as his parents, you would’ve thought they were some sitcom actors carrying out the role of most in love, sophisticated lovers to ever exist. Yeah, they were super into each other, and you suppose it’s why Jungkook is the way he is, loves as hard as he does. The only thing that broke their attention away from each other was the sight of their precious Jungkookie bringing you to a family event.

It was hard to keep them entertained. Every second was spent worrying about your appearance, your demeanor, whether or not you looked like a devil beside their (your) angelic boy. It certainly didn’t help that Jungkook was wearing that obnoxiously floral shirt at the restaurant you went to, the first three buttons undone almost lazily. It was a look your boyfriend rarely showed, always so meticulously dressed. Of course, he had that cute boyish style of his that consisted almost exclusively of baggy pants and designer tee’s a little too plain to cost as much as they did. But even those outfits had a specific Jungkook rhythm to them— the darker tones always went with the pants that had twelve buckles on them; the long sleeves always went with the jeans. He was awfully particular about those kinds of self-set rules, and this jarring floral print did not fit any of them. It was too provocative, the black skinny jeans he’d paired with it too devious.

Maybe he knew what he was doing to you dressed so hot like this, but knowing Jungkook, you doubt he did. His parents hadn’t batted a single lash his way, eyes laser focused on your every word as you stumbled through three plates and dessert. It was a battle you fought alone, and one you barely survived.

So despite you impressing his parents, she still gives you an odd look when you enter Jungkook’s swanky townhouse with all your garbage bags of items. You promise her it’s just for the weekend, until your parents clean out your old room that they’ve filled to the brim with holiday decorations and miscellaneous objects. You’re not trying to take her baby chick out of the nest. (Yet.)

You watch TV for a couple hours, mostly her favorite soap operas on his 67 in. screen. It takes up a huge spot on the wall where it’s mounted, glossy black screen glaring back at you. Even his mom scolds him for such a huge screen, and you wonder how she’d feel about the absolute giant he ogled at the Target last week. Super angry, you think, and the image of her raging in flames while Jungkook apologizes like the momma’s boy he is makes you giggle.

She leaves a little after sunset, kissing and hugging the both of you on the doorstep like she’s going off to war and will never return. She’ll be back by the weekend, desperate to check on her baby boy, but you let her have her moment. It’s weird seeing how dramatic the Jeons are compared to how reserved Jungkook is.

You pounce on him the second she’s gone. He goes down with a muffled yelp against the sofa, hands grasping at your waist until you straddle him and begin going to town. Your fun lasts all of two minutes before the old lady novella Jungkook’s mom had been watching cuts to commercials and a loud advertisement for irritable bowel syndrome medication begins playing.

“Oh, that is so not sexy,” you whine childishly, trying to roll your hips over him again. Jungkook laughs, all low and sweet as he sits back up again.

“Give it a rest,” he says, shifting you until he’s got you hugged between those stupidly strong arms of his. His pecs feel strong and comforting beneath your cheek, and the feeling makes your tiny pouting session end earlier than usual. “Come on,” he mumbles as he manhandles you around, until your back is pressed against his chest and you’re sitting between his legs. “Let’s watch this film on Mesopotamian folklore and its overall significance to the nations it birthed after its downfall.”

——

You rarely use the key Jungkook gifted you a few months back. The majority of your visits to Jungkook’s house were either  the result of Jungkook picking you up from somewhere and bringing you back, or Jungkook inviting you over after dinner. In short, he was always with you when you arrived at his stoop.

Today you’re alone, juggling two boxes of takeout and some cheap wine in one hand as you fight to unlock his door. He hadn’t answered his phone, which leads you to believe he’s holed himself up again in that damn study. He likes to do that sometimes, lock himself away like some modern day Rapunzel until he finishes whatever project he has this time around. When he gets like this, it’s like all other body functions are forgotten, his brain zeroed in on the lines of code you barely understand.

Just as you suspect, the house is too dark when you finally break in. The hall light is off, which isn’t out of the norm, but so are the kitchen and living room lights. You pad down the hall, flicking on the light to the living room to set down your offerings onto the edge of the coffee table. There’s a scrambled pile of notes on top that seem too disorderly to disregard. You whirl around, making to head back out into the hall and down to the study, when you see it.

A good 90 inches mounted on his wall. It’s a monstrosity of a screen, devouring nearly the entire surface of the wall, from stainless end to stainless end. It’s ridiculously thin in the way all modern TVs are, but this one is even more so given the fact you hadn’t registered it in your peripheral when you walked in. It’s just barely short of a Jumbotron, the kind they have at baseball games to make sure you can see every nose hair on the pitcher.

His mom was going to kill him.

“Jungkook?” you call out slowly, inching back out into the hall with your gaze glued to the screen. Like maybe you’ve imagined this all and that isn’t the stupidly gigantic television screen Jungkook had gawked at just a few weeks ago.

There’s a soft hum down the hall, the sound slipping beneath the bottom gap in the door frame. You make a beeline for the room, oddly unsettled with the huge screen. The door gives way, exposing your boyfriend’s hunched back and the blue light from his monitors that highlights his frame. “Hi, sweetie,” you begin, inching over to him.

“Hi,” he sighs, leaning back into your touch when you step behind him. His dark eyes are weary from staring at his tablet for too long, his usual tender expression melted into one of mild irritation. “Can’t figure this out,” he says, tapping his stylus against one line of absolute nerd gibberish you don’t bother trying to decipher. Maybe another day you would have entertained him, but today you cherish this moment with him knowing it might be his last before his mom comes over and kills him.

“Sounds like break time to me!” Your proclamation makes him frown, a frustrated groan pulling itself from his lips. His head droops forward again, chin touching his chest. But there’s a hint of relief in his groan that tells you all you need to know. “Baby needs a break,” you smile, pressing a peck against the back of his head.

“You’re baby,” he tries to fight, but his limbs are so pliant under your touch that it practically means nothing. “I’m the head honcho around here.”

“Uh huh,” you appease him, finally managing to tug all that muscled body out of his seat. “And apparently that means making dumb purchases.”

“What dumb purchases? Are you talking about the cactus again?” he asks, letting you guide him back down the hall.

“Yes, Kook, the cactus you haven’t watered in three months,” you drawl sarcastically, the sad plant sitting in the kitchen a reminder of both your incompetence. “Namjoon would hate you for that.”

Not amused by the insinuation of his favorite senpai being disappointed in him, Jungkook goes to fight you on that. By then you’ve stopped at the entrance of the living room, glaring at the straight up theater screen that sits on the wall. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” you mimic, flopping down on the ground beside the coffee table. Jungkook doesn’t follow, choosing to sprawl himself over the couch instead. “What’s with the Jumbotron?”

He stretches his arms out, moaning something sinful at the way his bones pop. “It adds to the experience,” he says. “Movies are more enjoyable when the pictures are bigger; a tall aspect ratio and stadium seating really add to the experience.” He was such a nerd.

You snort. “The experience— Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t know I was speaking to Mr. IMAX here.”

His cheeks flush a soft pink at your jab. “Don’t be mean,” he mumbles, tugging on your arm as he sits back up. You find your way onto his lap, neatly seated over one thigh like he’s the Santa Claus at the mall; not a single gray hair in sight but you’d still let him call you his hoe, hoe, hoe. Realizing there’s more important matters to attend to than Jungkook’s Christmas ham, you shake those images away.

“Good thing I brought a movie,” you beam, gesturing to the pretty pink case resting over top the takeout bag.

Jungkook doesn’t even spare it a single glance as he burrows into your neck. “What? No, we’re finishing the docuseries on—“

You groan loudly to muffle the rest of his sentence. “Kook, I don’t wanna watch another episode on Stonehenge being done by aliens,” you whine, picking up the movie case to brandish in his face.

It’s admittedly the wrong move when Jungkook’s eyes roll themselves into another dimension. “Absolutely not,” he says. The case is quickly discarded off to the side as he attempts to distract you with a kiss against your cheek.

Too bad you’re evil and determined. “No! We are watching the Princess and the Pauper and that’s final,” you exclaim, scrambling for the movie before he can hurl it out the window. He catches you by the waist, your fingers just an inch away from the pink case. “Babe!” you cry, but his fingerprints are bruising their way into your skin.

“No more Barbie movies,” he begs, yanking you back onto his lap. He does so with so much force that it makes the two of you tumble to the side, your head bouncing on the cushions as he catches himself over you. “Please.”

“I hate you,” you fuss, pointedly ignoring the tiny mole beneath his lip that drove you crazy. “We’ve seen every single thing on the History Channel this week, but we can’t watch one Barbie movie?”

Jungkook sighs, dropping his head down against your shoulder. He smells good and feels even better over you, but you’re not going to stop until the Princess and the Pauper is breaking in the new Jumbotron. “It’s weird,” he huffs, voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt. “Especially when we start getting… experimental, and I have to listen to Barbie sing in the background.”

“First of all, her name is Annaleise in this movie,” you correct, squirming beneath him to no avail. “Secondly, how do you think I feel when you’re eating me out while some old British dude narrates the creation of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon?”

Jungkook scoffs, finally letting himself snuggle completely into you. “You don’t even realize it because you’re screaming the whole way through.” That earns him a sharp tug at his ear that has him sputtering apology after apology.

“It’s boring!” you feel the need to emphasize.

Jungkook sits up with an uppity look on his face. “It’s not my fault you don’t appreciate the cinematography that comes from educational pieces,” he points out, rather presumptuously.

You shove him off of you. “I don’t care about cinnamon topography, just play the damn Barbie movie,” you hiss, swiping the movie case from the other end of the couch and pressing it to his chest. If words could hurt, yours definitely do. Jungkook crumbles against the couch, childishly stomping one sock-clad foot against the ground as you gesture toward the movie player.

He doesn’t move, and you’re about to begin another tirade against his snobby movie critiquing habits when he procures a sleek, tiny remote that you would honestly mistake for an iPhone from a distance. It has, no joke, about seven buttons max, four of which are just the up and down, left and right arrows. You let out a low whistle at that. Wow. Technology sure was advancing.

The TV turns on to some minimalistic home page, tiny widgets showing every app it has; the bottom row is dedicated almost entirely to Jungkook’s massive streaming service provider collection. After a moment of brewing in his feels, Jungkook quietly announces, “it’s on Amazon Prime.” This is news to you, being able to watch a Barbie film on a streaming service and not the old disk you scratched when you were ten. Something distinctly carnal flashes in your chest when Jungkook clicks through all the payment options without a care in the world. Oh, that was definitely going into your horny 3 am dreams.

Despite his earlier protests, you know Jungkook will soon fall into his usual movie watching habits. He settles into the couch beside you. You cuddle up next to him, enveloping him with the grip of a killer octopus choking out its prey, except Jungkook is usually the one doing the choking in this relationship. Still, it’s not close enough, and you throw your legs over his thigh. You’re practically sitting on him at this point.

You have no doubt the speakers on this thing are average; it was too thin to really pack any punch. However, that was the TV sans the Bluetooth speakers Jungkook has installed all around his house.

(You swear when the android uprising finally begins, your boyfriend will be the first one out.)

The speakers really amplify the sound. The opening sequence has your bones rattling inside your body, the loud music of the selection screen reverberating through the entire living room. It reminds you of that pounding COMING SOON clip that used to play at the beginning of DVD’s back in the day. Jungkook scrambles to lower the volume. “Sweetheart, you’re cutting off my circulation,” he wheezes afterwards.

“What? This is how we always watch movies,” you say with a frown.

“Yes, and I always end up with less oxygen than before.”

He doesn’t let you argue, which is good, because you could make a thirty five slide PowerPoint presentation on the advantages of watching movies like this. One, your boyfriend was warm. Two, your boyfriend smelt good. Three, your boyfriend’s ripped body awoke some ancient being inside of you that would not rest until his cock was halfway down your thro—

He hauls you into his lap. The angle forces you to let him go, instead met with the jarring nothingness of having his hot body ripped away. Meanwhile he gets to wrap you up in his arms, hold you like a teddy bear to his chest. “I hate this,” you huff, but the movie is already starting, the beautiful blonde Anneliese appearing on screen. You lean back against his chest, pout still evident. “This is ridiculous,” you snort, her face blown up on this jumbo screen.

“Shut up,” he says, settling in behind you. “Movie’s starting.”

Most Barbie movies you watch end up in one of two ways: either Jungkook falls asleep twenty minutes in or he stays up until the end to critique every aspect of it. With the way he’d gone soft from your early battle, you’re guessing he was going to knock out before the Princess can even meet the Pauper.

As much as you hate to admit it, the huge screen does incite quite a thrill in you. There’s something so nostalgic about watching one of your favorite childhood movies on a screen this huge. The size showcases the sheer perfection that is every single Barbie movie. You lose yourself in the movie, singing along to the opening song and growing agitated when the antagonist appears.

Jungkook says nothing, and you’re half convinced he’s taken his first preferred route and snoozed off, when his fingers twitch around your waist.

There it was.

The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Jungkook gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack.

“Absolutely not,” you say, slapping a hand down over his before he can slip beneath the fabric of your shorts.

He lets out an indignant noise, a puff of air running along the side of your face. You ease his hands back over your stomach, taking extra care to knot your fingers with his. “We’re supposed to be breaking in your new screen,” you remind him, glancing up to catch his unimpressed expression.

He complains quietly, but he settles.

For all of twenty seconds.

“Oh my god,” you sigh, trying to act like the subtle rutting of his cock on your behind was a nuisance and not the luxury it is. “Babe, the jumbo screen… look at it.”

“Not even jumbo,” he murmurs against your ear, hot breath sending a shiver down your spine that has your toes curling. You fight to keep his hands still, but the muscles in his forearm tense, inked skin contracting as he slips them between your thighs. You suck in a sharp inhale, trying to maintain your immovable front. Jungkook sees the fortress you’ve built around yourself in the name of watching The Princess and the Pauper, and spares you no mercy with his attack. His hands massage the skin of your thighs, tiny shorts doing absolutely nothing to save you from him. “Jumbo didn’t fit.”

The back of your mind registers the fact he was apparently trying to get a TV even bigger than this. You tuck it away for later to snitch to his mom. For now, you’d very much appreciate it if he could make you cum before the two girls perform the iconic “I Am a Girl Like You” song.

His hands are so smooth, soft skin tracing over your body like you were nothing but a slab of clay ready to be molded under his touch. He abandons your thighs to creep them under your shirt, where he wastes no time tugging the cups of your bra down to fondle your breasts.

Belatedly, your stupid tongue remembers to move. “I know something jumbo that fits,” you babble, rolling your head back against his shoulder. Jungkook laughs at the utter stupidity of your sentence, and the aforementioned jumbo thing fattens against your ass, before brushing his lips against yours. The airy laughter, one of your favorite sounds in the world, is swallowed up by your greedy mouth. “Can fit in two places, actually,” you murmur when he pulls away.  His fingers massage the doughy skin of your boobs causing your back to arch slightly. “Wherever he wants it to.”

“Really,” Jungkook teases, obviously entertained by your silly dirty talk. He’s grown used to your outlandish remarks in the past few months of your relationship.

You like to believe Jungkook has fully accepted your occasional bouts of weirdness. He’s had the last few months to grow familiar with the inner workings of your mind, and even absorbed some of it into his own personality. Which is why he doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by you referring to his cock as jumbo, when there were admittedly more fitting words to describe it as.

(Thick, juicy, angry, demon cock, if he really wanted to know.)

“Where do you think it should go?” he asks, the low hum of his voice snapping you out or your thoughts. There was no need to daydream about a cock that was right in front of you. His hands slow their gentle caress over you, fingers closing in on your nipples.

A sharp hiss pulls itself from your throat, chest arching as he tugs and toys with your hardened nipples. “Wh-Wherever,” you pant, reaching your own hands down back between your thighs. The phantom of his palms linger, making your hands feel sorely inadequate. “Wherever Daddy wants,” you purr, swallowing harshly when he twists a nipple.

Jungkook groans, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “Don’t,” he sighs, hands faltering over your breasts. Eventually they drift away, settling around your waist as you slip your fingers under the front of your bottoms.

“Why?” you laugh, pointer finger brushing along your clit. “Don’t like it when I call you that, Daddy?”

He lifts his head to watch you play with yourself. His hands grow tight around your waist, labored breath filling the air to harmonize with your breathy moans. You’re absolutely soaking your panties, sticky arousal making the fabric stick to your folds. “You know I do,” he murmurs, watching the outline of your knuckles through the fabric of your shorts. “Thought you wanted to play nice today.” He takes in a sharp inhale when you ease your finger into yourself, a breathy moan escaping from your lips.

You were already so wet, and you’re really not surprised this is how the two of you would break in his new IMAX, high definition flatscreen. Your pussy tightens around your finger, thigh muscles jumping at the intrusion. Fuck, you needed him so bad.

You smirk, drawing your hands out from their hiding spot. The television is the only thing lighting the room, the two of you shrouded in relative darkness. At first, your hand is shadowed by the glow of the screen, nothing more than an outline. But when you turn it just right, the light catches, highlighting the glistening skin of your fingers. It makes Jungkook shudder.

Ever so slowly, you bring your fingers up to his face. The tip of your middle finger runs teasingly against his plump lower lip, his shaky exhales sending a cool breath over your knuckles. “Open, Daddy,” you encourage, watching with rapt attention as he envelopes your fingers between his lips. He sucks, tongue dancing between each digit to slurp off your juices. “Do I taste good? Do you like it?”

You know he loves it, but it never hurts to ask.

Between the two of you, you each had your own share of distinctive interests when it came to sex. Kinks, if you will. You adored the softer, vanilla aspects of sex— the languid makeouts, the slow rutting against his thigh, the whispered praise, the cute pet names. Meanwhile, despite his initially reserved exterior, Jungkook preferred the other end of the spectrum. (You should’ve known from the get go!) He loved it fast and hard, so hard it would make you cry. He liked watching you squirm and beg for his cock while he pushed you to new heights. He liked the sticky, sweaty sex that left you feeling like a used rag beneath him, something you would have never expected given his neat and kind nature.

However, as with all things Jungkook, you always came first. Jungkook’s dream sex style was often pushed to the side in favor of pleasuring you. So quick and rough sex was more of a rare, once in a blue moon, type of luxury. Up until recently, sex had been mostly what you wanted. Either way you did things, Jungkook was fine as long as he got to hold you close.

It was only a few weeks ago that you discovered your shared daddy kink, him obsessed with the idea of shoving you around, something he would otherwise never do. You, on the other hand, found a pleasant satisfaction from being good for him, a stark contrast from your usual sharp tongue and nonexistent filter.

You pull your fingers from his mouth, the sleek drip of your arousal replaced with his saliva. Jungkook grunts as he hauls you further onto his lap, swollen cock nudging itself between your cheeks. “You know I love it, baby,” he growls against your ear. His hot breath fans over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. “Have you had your fun now?” he asks, tracing the pads of his fingers around your nipple teasingly.

“Mhm,” you moan. Jungkook’s hands decide they’re done toying with your tits, drifting back down to their original target between your shorts. “Want Daddy to fuck me now.”

He places a kiss against the side of your neck, right over the vein that runs beneath the skin. Jungkook kisses and nips down your skin, until his hair is tickling your collarbones as he sucks a hickey against the juncture between your neck and shoulder. “Is that the right way to ask for something?” he purrs, rubbing your cunt over your shorts.

It’s nowhere near as fulfilling as it would be without the garments. Nonetheless, it makes you ache for him, thighs quivering at the simple touch like you’re a bumbling virgin being touched for the first time. You’re nowhere near that, but every time with Jungkook was exhilarating enough to the point it felt like it was.

“Pretty please,” you pant, covering his hand with yours.

Jungkook rewards you with a fluttery kiss against your shoulder. “Good girl,” he hums. He finally gives you what you want, bypassing the fabric of your shorts and panties to dip his fingers between your folds. You gasp, hips jumping at the sudden brush of his hands along your quivering folds.

“Inside please,” you whimper, knees moving back and forth, only stopping when he helps you out of your bottoms. He places his free hand on one of them, stilling your writhing to fully focus on pleasing the burning fire inside of you. “Jungkook—“

A slap against your cunt that makes you squeal. “Ah ah,” he warns, voice a low tenor against your skin. If you focus hard enough, you can feel the faint brush of a smirk against your neck. “We’re playing a different game right now, pretty girl.”

On screen, your favorite childhood movie is bearing witness to the sinful acts at your boyfriend’s hands. It shouldn’t be surprising how easily you fall into his arms, onto his lap, especially with your history of movie watching with Jungkook.

From your very first date you were enamored with him; the dip of his Cupid’s bow, so innocent and cute, embodied every single aspect of his personality. He was the sweetest, softest boy, one your brain could never conjure in a thousand years. Jungkook’s level of care was hard to come by nowadays; he was a gentleman through and through.

These days he was growing out of that mature persona, and you like to think it’s thanks to you. Your wildness rubbed off on him, made him confident enough to geek out in public, or be adventurous in private. It helped nourish his impulsivity, which led to things like the Super Bowl Jumbotron watching you fuck now.

Despite knowing all this, knowing the way he is, the slow grind against your ass sends a thrill of arousal up your limbs, sensations converging just beneath your mound. “Yes, Daddy,” you mewl accordingly.

Pleased with your obedience, he rewards you by circling your throbbing clit with his thumb. It’s a terribly slow motion, pad of his finger easing over your engorged bud every other second. You wanted more, needed more. You squirm beneath him, attempting to push your clit against his palm. Your efforts are in vain when he clamps a hand down on your waist. “Sit still,” he growls.

You whimper. “Need more,” you rasp out. Your whole body is acting out now, shifting and turning as you try to wiggle closer. Your mouth brushes against his jawline. The sharp angle is the first thing your muddled thoughts focus on, lips hungrily latching onto his porcelain skin to suck a purple blossom onto it.

Any other day Jungkook would bask in the attention, let you bruise his skin up until he was violet from love.

Today... well.

You were playing a different game.

The hand that had been exploring your nether regions suddenly snaps up, catching your chin between his fingers. The wetness that has coated his digits smears messily across your skin, and you whimper when he squishes your cheeks beneath his fingers.

“No ‘please’?” he huffs, turning your head to meet his eyes.

Dark chocolate eyes you’ve come to associate with love and adoration stare back at you unimpressed. His pronounced brow bone twitches, like he’s holding the true intensity of his glare back for your own sake. He slots his mouth against yours with no warning, tongue pushing its way past your lips. It’s messy, his tongue licking into your mouth like you’re nothing but a lollipop for him to suck on. It pulls a surprised moan from your lips that he swallows quickly enough, biting down on your lower lip harshly. When he pulls away, he’s got that same bored look on his face. You feel small under such a cold look, shoulders scrunching up damn near your ears in a subtle attempt to hide from him.

The action makes Jungkook scoff as he leans away from you. He leaves you on his lap alone, like a tiny island desperate to join the main land. You shuffle around in a hurry, looping your arms around his neck in a last ditch effort to calm him down. It does nothing for Jungkook, who only prods his tongue along his cheek as he regards you with a calculating gaze.

After a moment, he finally says, “on your knees.”

Your heart falls out of your chest. “Huh?” you whisper hoarsely, wide eyes taking in his unimpressed expression. “Knees? But Daddy,” you whine, lower lip quivering as you glance down at the hardwood floor.

Anywhere else you wouldn’t have minded. In fact, anywhere else you would’ve been on the floor before the sentence even left his mouth. You loved sucking his dick almost as much as he loved eating you out. However your knees were embarrassingly frail against hard flooring, which is why most blowjobs had been administered in the comfort of his bed or the couch. Sometimes on carpeted surfaces, but Jungkook never pushed when he knew you would be aching the whole time.

Which is why his current demand has you standing stiff. “O-On the floor?” you murmur.

The stark truth was that Jungkook had you terribly spoiled. His constant pampering had convinced you you were invincible. His love was practically handed to you on a silver plate, cloth napkin folded like a crane beside it. He had never made you do something you didn’t like, and he had never put you in an uncomfortable position, mentally or physically.

Until now.

Jungkook gestures for the ground with a curt nod. “Is there a problem?” he inquires.

You look back again, eye the dark wood planks beneath you, glossed over enough to make them shine even in this weak light. “No,” you belatedly respond, slowly pushing yourself off his lap and onto your feet. Your big shirt falls back down, covers the tops of your thighs as you stand nude from the waist down. You’re tempted to just yank it down even more, hide beneath the cloth so he doesn’t have to see you whine and bitch about your knees aching.

Jungkook was so cool. He was so suave and composed. He was the opposite of you, which is why the two of you meshed so well together. You’ve thought about it about ten times tonight, but it was true. Despite all that, there were times his mature exterior made you feel small— small and silly. Like now, with him sitting against the sofa, dark eyes tracing up your legs in amusement.

You sink to the ground, very pointedly avoiding his gaze. The wooden slats are cold and hard beneath your knees, your kneecap immediately screaming in discomfort. Jungkook leans forward with his elbows on his knees, messy curls covering half of his face. “You know,” he hums, reaching out to trail his knuckles across your cheekbone. “I kinda like having you like this,” he admits, “below me like the good little girl you are.”

Your breath stutters as it leaves your lungs, fidgeting hands tugging at the front hem of your shirt in a feeble attempt to cover yourself up. Jungkook smirks at the movement, eventually retracting his hand to give you one, condescending pat on the head.

A hearty sigh escapes his lips as he settles back onto the couch cushions. “Keep me entertained, will you?” You gawk, but you know it’s not a question. He reaches over for the remote to turn the volume up on the Barbie movie.

Your favorite song on the entire soundtrack is playing, almost mocking you as you shuffle closer to him. Two hands tentatively placed on his thighs as the two animated maidens flounce around the screen. He doesn’t bat a single lash your way, eyes focused on the huge screen behind you instead.

His sweatpants give away easily, elastic band snapping away from hips. You have to fight that and his boxers down, Jungkook sitting like an immovable boulder in front of you. You barely manage to free his cock— the same jumbo cock you had referred to earlier —and it almost slaps you across the face from the force of its recoil. Your breath catches in your throat, a short-lived squeal as you flinch at the movement.

The sound causes him to look your way, over the bridge of his nose. “Do you mind?” he says scornfully. “I’m trying to watch a movie.”

“S-Sorry,” you stammer, quickly grasping his cock between your fist.

But apparently you’re doing everything wrong tonight. Jungkook hisses. “Shit— would it kill you to lick it first? Like you’re trying to start a damn fire on my cock,” he mumbles, head lolling back to watch the screen again.

You move in slower this time, careful to lick your palm before trying to grab him. When you do, it’s even more delayed, fingers hesitantly tightening around his swollen member. You’re trying to gauge his reaction, worried eyes flickering up to him every few seconds. Jungkook doesn’t object, craning his neck to the side to crack a joint there. With his clearance you carry on.

The strokes are slow at first, hand barely reaching over his tip like he likes. You’re weirdly anxious you’ll mess up for him, make him look at you with contempt. You suppose it’s because of the game you’re playing that you’re on edge. Usually, Jungkook adheres to your rules, soft as they may be, and he never pushes where you don’t want. Tonight, it’s like you’re a show dog desperate to impress her owner. In short, you were his bitch.

You loved it.

As much as you wanted to be good for him, the mere thought of your normally sweet-hearted boyfriend glaring down at you does something to you, makes your pussy clench.

It’ll haunt you for weeks. The image of such unimpressed eyes leveled your way because you couldn’t handle his dick will stain the insides of your eyelids. Even though he’ll brush it off, kiss you and tell you it’s fine, the inner conceited hoe in you will never let it go, will recall the memory every time your hand is under your panties.

Still, you’re terribly desperate to impress him. He was your other half, your lover, your sweetheart, your goddamn king; he deserved only the best— not some half-assed, scaredy-cat blowjob that would leave him reeling back afterwards.

With that belief and a sticky blob of spit later, you’re pushing him into your throat. It’s the first reaction you get since he’d started feeling you up, a deep, raspy groan straight from the pits of hell, that has you working even harder to swallow his cock down. “That’s it,” he pants, carding his fingers through your hair. “Good girl.”

You positively mewl under the praise, tongue growing heavy in your mouth as you swallow more and more of him down. The hard tip of his cock pulses inside, rubbing against your palate and then your throat. A gag catches in your throat, one you quickly subdue by shifting your hips.

Fuck, he was so big. Just the feeling of his cock brashly rubbing against the corners of your lips has you fantasizing about how he’ll undoubtedly stretch your pussy apart later. You moan, letting your eyes flutter shut as you try to wave those images away.

When his cock hits the back of your throat, you’re ten chapters deep into an erotic novel all about sucking Jungkook‘s dick. If your eyes weren’t already shut you’re certain they’d be at the back of your head anyway. It twitches against your tongue, one thick bead of precum sliding down your throat.

It seems to be the final straw for Jungkook, who clamps a hand down on the back of your head, forcefully pulling you away only to shove you down again. With his grip in your hair, he really goes to town. You whimper at his brutal movements, his cock nudging the back of your throat with every harsh tug of your hair. The slippery, wet glide of his cock against your mouth fills the room with a lewd squelching that drowns out the movie.

Your pussy quivers with each new intrusion, thighs pressing together as if that will quell the searing ache between them. It doesn’t, and when Jungkook finally bursts in your mouth, creamy cum splattering against your tongue and lips, it only grows.

“Fuck,” he growls, pushing you away as he sinks back into the cushions. His chest heaves beneath the material of his t-shirt, sweat dripping down from his hairline. Normally, you’d take this opportunity to crawl back onto his lap, lick and kiss away at his body while he recovered. But truthfully, you were both still new to this whole experience so there were still the occasional lulls between actions.

Sensing your uncertainty, Jungkook tugs you onto his lap. He presses one soft kiss against your cheek, eyes momentarily losing their hard edge to assure you everything is fine. You give him a tiny nod, as if assuring him you’re okay. He presses his mouth to yours, plush lips soothing over your raw lips. It’s brief, the kiss; he guides you through it but switches back quickly. He pulls away and bites down harshly on the side of your neck. “So perfect for me, pretty girl,” he murmurs, soothing his bite over with a swipe of his tongue.

You dissolve into a mushy puddle on his lap, muscles growing weak from his touch. Jungkook kisses down your neck, over your t-shirt clad chest, before he’s nudging you back down onto the cushions. With him looming over you, your body instinctively has you spreading your legs apart. His t-shirt comes up with one yank over his shoulders, sinewy muscles coming into view.

“Yum,” you whisper, hands reaching up to trail over his v-line. They’re quickly slapped away, a startled gasp pulled from your lips as Jungkook takes your wrists in his hands.

One shapely brow is raised in your direction. “Did I say you could touch?” he murmurs, pinning your hands above your head. A gasp catches in your throat from his close proximity. You subconsciously tilt your head up, try to brush your mouth against his, only to be denied with a subtle turn of his face. “How do you want it, pretty?” he asks, releasing the tight grip around your wrists.

Immediately, you latch around his broad shoulders, fingers tracing over the muscles of his arms until they meet at the base of his neck. “However you want,” you purr, pulling him closer until your bodies are aligned, the warm heat of his frame over yours. You kiss the spot beneath his ear once before he trails his lips down.

Jungkook mouths against your shoulder, lips tracing over the juncture where it meets your neck. “Hm,” he hums, taking a tiny sliver of skin between his teeth. “And if I said I wanted it hard?”

His proposal is followed by a slow roll of his hips against your throbbing core, the same dick you had just choked on gliding along your folds. You whimper, toes curling as the pleasure washes over you. Every ridge, ever vein of his hardened cock runs along your sensitive folds, reminding you of the aching flame inside of you. “Th-That’s fine,” you pant, leg lazily thrown over his hip. His hands trail over your waist, collecting your t-shirt as they move up your body until it’s pushed over the swell of your breasts.

When the material is finally discarded off to the side, leaving you in that flimsy bra Jungkook that snaps off, he strikes again. His tongue laps over your collarbone first, pouty lips ghosting over the skin as he makes his way to your breast. He takes one hardened peak into his mouth, drawing a shaky inhale from you. He rolls it between his teeth, tongue flicking the sensitive nub as you squirm beneath him.

Eventually he pulls away with a wet pop. Jungkook smirks, a soft puff of air fanning over your newly bruised skin. “Aren’t you the prettiest little thing.” He pushes away from you with one strong arm, looking down at you with an unreadable expression on his face. “Watch the movie,” he says.

You blink. “Huh?”

Before you know it, he’s tugging you back up onto your feet. He pushes you around, nearly sends you toppling over the coffee table as he positions you to his liking. “Kook!” you exclaim, palms slapping down against the glass tabletop in an effort to catch yourself. Just barely, your reflection glares back up at you.

A tap against your pussy startles you from the sight. “Wha—“

Two hands grab onto your biceps, tugging you up forcefully until your back arches, leaving you bent at a ninety degree angle before him. “Look, sweetheart,” he coos against your ear, voice deep enough that it vibrates through every bone in your body. Your breath stutters in your throat, exhilaration blossoming in your chest. “It’s your favorite movie.”

It is in fact your favorite movie, the same one you had fought tooth and nail just moments prior to watch. On screen, the two damsels are exploring new things in their lives, just how you were experiencing Jungkook’s true intensity for the first time. “It is,” you quietly confirm, back aching from the position.

Jungkook either doesn’t care about your depleting strength or really trusts in you not to faceplant onto his glass coffee table, palms sliding down to the crease of your elbows to hold you. “Tell me what it’s about,” he says

Just as the words leave his mouth, something hard and wet prods against your folds. “Oh,” you cry, fists tightening into balls as the feeling overwhelms you. “Jungkook, please.”

One elbow is let go, and the abrupt release has you scrambling to catch yourself, your glass reflection coming a little too close. This becomes even more difficult when a hand suddenly strikes down hard against your ass, a startled yelp escaping you. Just as quickly as you were released, Jungkook wastes no time snatching your back up, yanking you back until your cunt runs along his cock again.

“C’mon, pretty, thought you knew better,” he sighs playfully.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, chest heaving with every slow roll of his hips. Your pussy was sopping, desperate to be filled with something. It was even worse knowing his dick was right there, just inches outside of where you need him most. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” you repeat.

Jungkook chuckles, and your heart backflips when he finally begins lining himself up. “It’s okay,” he assures you, in that same gentle tone he uses when you accidentally shove the wrong food down the sink disposal. “Baby’s still learning,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss against your shoulder as he begins pushing himself in. Just the head of his cock proves to be a struggle, swollen tip stretching your entrance wide. There’s an extra sting today from your half-hearted preparation, the both of you relying solely on your own arousal and excitement to let him in. It’s a nice kick.

When he finally pops past that initial tightness, you swear you could transcend into another dimension from the absolute feeling of euphoria that washes over you. “Fuck,” you mewl, fighting against his tight hold. Your efforts are in vain, ultimately choosing to drop your head down as the ecstasy continues to wash over you with each inch he offers you.

A warning squeeze around your wrist. “Language,” Jungkook reprimands, though his voice is strained and light.

You nod mindlessly, toes curling against the wooden floor. “It-It feels so good,” you whine. Your knees wobble dangerously beneath you, until you’re swaying just the slightest bit.

He gives until there’s nothing left, the soft hairs around his dick tickling your lips as he reaches the hilt. “There we go,” he grunts, giving you one final tug to make sure this is as far as he can go. You squeal, the brush against your walls making you ridiculously high. “That’s my girl.”

The praise has your stomach tightening, the pretty images flashing across the screen completely lost on you. You felt so full. The two of you rarely did it like this, without looking at each other straight on, but there was something about Jungkook’s looming figure being distorted by your brain’s memory, his touches wild and unpredictable, that made something inside of you twitch.

“Ohhh,” you whimper, muscles going slack for the briefest moment. The only thing that saves you from falling over is the killer grip on your forearms; when he tugs you up his cock runs along your pulsing walls. “Please, Daddy,” you beg, mouth feeling a thousand times heavier.

“The movie,” he repeats, slowly beginning to pull away from your clenching heat. You moan. “Tell me what it’s about,” he husks, punctuating his seemingly innocent statement with a harsh snap of his hips.

You wail, stumbling forward at the intensity. Still, it’s just a taste of what he has in store for you. He soon picks a pace, not too rushed or slow, as you struggle to keep your eyes open. “I-I don’t know,” you choke out, the images flashing across the gigantic screen practically unrecognizable to your muddled thoughts.

Behind you Jungkook tuts at your incompetence, thrusting forward with an intensity that would have sent you flying if not for the grip he has on you. “You don’t know?” he huffs, tugging your elbows back again as if to secure his grip on you.

His hips are moving fast now, every piston into your warm heat making you tremble. “Fffuck,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he continues ramming his cock into your pulsing hole. You’re met with a harsh yank that pulls you snugly onto his cock, your entire body screaming at the way he nudges against your cervix. Despite the pleasure it gives you, Jungkook seems anything but pleased.

“C’mon,” he huffs, twisting your arms painfully behind your back. “What did we say about that dirty mouth?” His question is followed with a snap of his hips that makes you choke on your spit. “Need you to be good for me, baby,” he groans.

“I-I am good,” you weakly defend, head hanging down limply as you fight to regain some semblance of your senses. But everything feels too much, from the rough push of his hips to the tight grip on your arms. His cock pulls out nearly all the way each time, swollen tip the only thing stopping him. Every thrust makes you quiver, every touch makes you melt.

You suppose he’d been too lenient on you up until now, and that final claim makes him snap. Jungkook scoffs, ramming his dick inside of you. “You’re being fucking terrible right now, doll,” he admits, hammering into you like a crazed man. You sob, the coil in your belly tightening with every brutal shove of his cock. It’s something about the way his composure withers away, all sweetness melting off as he thrusts into your cunt. “I’ve asked you twice now what the damn movie was about, and you didn’t answer either time.”

A hand clamps around your throat suddenly, yanking you up right until his breath fans across your ear. You’re not sure when your eyes had become so teary, but the images flickering across the screen are a foggy mess you couldn’t decipher even if you tried. “__,” he rasps against your ear, his voice scratchy. “Tell me. Now.”

You whimper as he shoves his way back inside, the angry head of his cock testing you. “T-Two girls, one’s a princess,” you cry, knees wobbling as the feeling in your core grows. “They look alike, and-and…”

“And?” Jungkook asks as you trail off, his words followed by a particularly brutal surge of his hips. His cock glides against your walls easily despite the way you clench around him.

“A-And they have problems they wanna avoid,” you stammer, the plot slipping in and out of your mind with every roll of his cock into your core. “So-so they swap places.”

Behind you, Jungkook snorts. “What a stupid fucking movie,” he says meanly, before he begins to piston his cock into you. You’re trembling by now, your orgasm looming over your head with each thrust.

Before you can warn him, the thin string holding you together snaps, the sudden flood of relief making your knees buck dangerously. Jungkook barely has enough time to catch you around the waist, holding you against him as a litany of curses and his name come spewing out of your mouth. “No, no,” you wail, your entire body twitching as the orgasm rolls over you. “Kook— Jungkook!”

“I’ve got you,” he reassures you, fingers holding you tight around the waist. The coffee table you had feared cracking your skull on finally comes to use as you press your hands onto the surface in a feeble attempt to steady yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, faintly aware of the rock hard cock between your pulsing walls, probably drenched in your cum now. “I-I didn’t—“

He shushes you quickly, settling the two of you back onto the couch. Funnily enough, he doesn’t bother pulling you off of him, his dick snug inside your cunt as he seats you on his lap. “You’re alright, sweetheart,” he comforts, hands soothingly running up your sides. You want to protest, want to get back on your knees and give him another chance to cum all over your face, but Jungkook nudges your chin with a knuckle. “Watch your movie,” he croons.

The Princess and the Pauper is literally the last thing on your mind right now; didn’t he realize how much you wanted to please him? Why was he choosing now to be so stubborn? Oh, that Jeon Jungkook, maybe Doyeon was right to call him an airhead.

Your slander campaign against your boyfriend is cut short when a hand flutters over your mound, thumb idly tracing over your sensitive clit. Before you can turn and look at him, Jungkook is rutting his hips against you slowly. “The screen, baby,” he says, and you want to argue that you can’t possibly enjoy a movie with him being so sneaky beneath you. The words get washed away when he presses down on your clit.

“Koo— Daddy,” you whine, lower lips still trembling from the orgasm you had two minutes ago. Jungkook responds with a kiss against your shoulder, hands trailing around your waist.

“No more of that,” he mumbles as he begins bouncing you on his cock. You moan, every inhale cut short by the shallow thrusts of his cock into your delicate walls. “Just your Kook now.”

“My… Kook,” you pant dreamily. Your cum provides an even better lubricant than before, lewd squelches filling the area alongside your cries as Jungkook chases both your second orgasms.

“Mhmm,” he groans, jostling you over his lap with no rhythm whatsoever. “Yours, baby.” You stretch your hands back, carding one set of fingers through the hair above his ear, pushing the strands away from his face. “Just like you’re mine.”

Something inside of you tightens painfully, and you’re not sure if it’s your heart or your pussy. You guess it’s both, as you stutter out, “y-your pretty girl?” Jungkook hums in agreement, repeating your favorite nickname back to you. The rest of your words die out between the two of you, lost in the slow and soft movements that fill in. You want to tell him you love him, adore him like no other, but every breath of air is stolen away by him.

Eventually the two of your are cumming, your second orgasms much quieter and slower compared to your first. You still mewl, wither against him when you cream his cock, and Jungkook catches you all the same. He guides you through the fog with kisses against your jaw, your dripping pussy helping him through his own.

When all is said and done and you’re both basking in a post-orgasmic make-out, you realize how sweaty and icky you are. “Ugh, this is gross,” you pout as he wiggles you off his lap. He pushes you beside him, letting you flop over the length of the couch as he reaches for something to clean you up with.

“You’re gross,” he retorts softly, blinking in that slow, drawn out way he does when you know he’s sleepy. His t-shirt runs along your neck, collecting the sweat there.

You nudge him with your foot. “I’m not the one who wanted to fuck during a Barbie movie,” you scoff, pinching the skin on his forearm when his gaze lingers a second too long on your creamy pussy. “Look somewhere else, weirdo.”

Jungkook laughs quietly, looking at you with an adoring expression on his face. He doesn’t even finish cleaning you off, tossing the soiled shirt somewhere off to the side in favor of cuddling into you. “Where? My Jumbotron?” he teases, raining down a parade of kisses against your face. “Don't wanna,” he smiles, too soft and boyish for the words that leave his lips next. “Wanna lick your pretty pussy clean.”

“Jeon Jungkook,” you scold, covering your face with your palms in embarrassment. “Look at your stupid IMAX screen and leave me alone.”

He cackles loudly now, in that evil witch way it took him a while to show you, and you know he’s got that big silly grin on his face now. . “The IMAX screen? The same one that made you,” a pause, “climax?”

“Get off of me.”

——

Just as you predicted, Jungkook’s mom gives him the scolding of a lifetime when she drops by the next weekend. The poor woman nearly faints at the theater screen on the wall, only to quickly regain herself. You giggle from your spot on the couch as she whacks his stupidly ripped bicep with the leek you’re supposed to chop up for dinner later.

What you’re not expecting is for her anger to shift to you as she scolds you for letting her idiotic son make such purchases. She gets one playful thwack against your side with the leek before your charming idiotic boyfriend swoops in to save you.

——

Copyright © August 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[cruciology]

Body Heat

Requested by anon: “can you please do one where the reader is Tommen and Myrcella’s nanny and Sandor has a thing for her?”

Requested by anon: “if you’re still taking sandor requests can we get one where he rescues you?”

The little blond children were easy to spot in the snow, golden heads shining in the cold afternoon sun. You kept your hands tucked into your cloak, your fingers already numb. You had spent your entire life down south, the cold chilled you to your bones. You were sure Tommen and Myrcella were just as freezing, but they had never before seen snow, having been born in the long Summer. They were having too much fun pelting each other with snowballs and making little snowmen to realize they were cold. 

You jumped slightly as you felt an arm reach around you, draping an extra fur across your shoulders. You had nearly forgotten the Hound had come outside of the walls of Winterfell with you and the children, he was so quiet. Normally, you were much more aware of his presence, but you were busy making sure the children didn’t slip and fall onto the hard ground. 

“Thank you,” You said, pulling the fur tighter around yourself. The cold didn’t seem to bother the Hound at all. He loomed next to you, towering above you. 

“Don’t need you catching your death, the little ones would never let me hear the end of it,” The Hound said, watching the children as well. You spent almost as much time with the Hound as you did with your charges. The Queen was very protective of her children and the Hound was her most trusted guard, which meant most of your days were spent with him following along. You could count on one hand how many times he had met your eye in all the years spent with him by your side. And it was always his side, the side untouched by the fire, that he held towards you.

“I’m sure they would be just as happy with you watching them,” You joked, looking up at him for just a moment. You were slightly smug seeing the corner of his mouth turn up just slightly. 

“I’m not good with children,” He said. “Better at killing.” 

You knew the killing part was true, but you had seen him with the children. He let them talk him into helping them onto tree branches or throwing them into the water when they went swimming. He liked to make them laugh, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

“Tommen!” You shouted, watching the little boy run closer to the edge of the frozen lake, being chased by his older sister. They stopped, looking back at you. “Stay away from there.” 

“Best get back to Winterfell,” The Hound said to you, still not looking at you. “It’ll be dark soon, then you’ll really be freezing.” 

“Come on,” You called out to the children, waving them over to you. You were glad that Joffrey was too old to be in your care anymore. He never wanted to listen to you. Tommen and Myrcella were much sweeter than their elder brother. They ran to you right away, each taking one of your hands. 

You started the walk back up the hill towards the carriage parked up at the dirt road, the Hound trailing slightly behind you and the children. The hill wasn’t all that steep, but the snow made it slick. You weren’t all that surprised when Myrcella took a misstep and slid. She would have landed face first in the snow had the Hound not rushed forward, scooping her up before she even had the chance to fall. You smirked up at the man who was described by many as the Most Feared Man in King’s Landing. Myrcella held tightly to him as he carried her in one arm as if she weighed absolutely nothing to him. 

“Not good with children?” You asked. He ignored you, carrying the princess up the rest of the way to the carriage.

You cursed under your breath, your fingers nearly frozen solid even beneath your gloves as you held tightly to the reigns. It was stupid enough to come outside of the walls in the middle of the night, but you were only about halfway to the lake that the children had been playing by when the snow started to fall. You should have turned back then. By the time you got there, everything was covered completely in a layer of fresh powder, yourself included. 

You weren’t going to find Myrcella’s stupid necklace in the dark. You should have waited until the morning. But the girl had woken you up, crying when she had realized she couldn’t find the lion’s medallion. She knew her mother would be furious if she found out. You mostly volunteered to stop her tears and to ensure that she didn’t wander out by herself. She would never make it past the guards, but you still couldn’t let her mother see her even trying. 

Despite the pointlessness of your search, you were nothing if not true to your word. You had promised the princess that if she went back to bed you would go look right away. You carefully searched the side of the hill that you had walked up, looking for where Myrcella had fallen earlier. The full moon shone bright, at least giving you some light. It wasn’t just the cold that sent shivers up your spine, but the stillness of the night. You weren’t much for ghost stories, but even you had to admit that it felt as if you weren’t alone out here. 

Your numb fingers dug through the snow, finding nothing just as you thought you would. You huffed, the hot breath stinging your throat. You were just about to turn back to get on your horse and head back to Winterfell when something caught your eye. A shock of gold in the moonlight. 

“There is no way,” You said to the snowfall. 

You trudged down the hill, coming to the edge of the lake. You could see the gold necklace clearly now, being covered slowly with the fresh snow, on the frozen surface of the lake. It must have been thrown off when the children were roughhousing. It was too far to try to reach from the edge. You looked around for a stray stick to hook onto the chain, but everything was covered. You sighed, your hands on your hips. You had come this far, you didn’t want to go back empty handed when you had found what you were looking for. 

“This is stupid,” You said to yourself, even as you pressed the toe of your boot to the powder covered ice. When it held, you put your whole foot down. Still safe. You shifted your weight onto the foot on the ice. There was only a small creak. You reasoned with yourself that you would only be on it for a moment. You put your other foot on the ice, steadying yourself on the slick surface as you heard another sharp protest from the ice.  

You moved as quickly as you could without falling flat on your ass. Making it the few feet out, you bent down and snatched the necklace off the ice. You were just about to go back to the shore, victorious, when you heard your name. You couldn’t see anyone, sending another chill through you. You shoved the necklace into your pocket, convincing yourself you were just hearing things. You could go back now, you would be back in the warmth of Winterfell in just an hour, and you could tell Myrcella you had found her treasure. 

You cursed your optimism as your foot hit a particularly slick patch of ice, sending you backwards hard and fast. The surface split open with a sickening crack. 

You didn’t even feel the cold at first, your body already numb, you just felt the water overtake you. You struggled to move your arms, thrashing around to find the surface and pull yourself up. After a few seconds, you could feel the stinging water bite your skin under your many layers. You were going to die under the ice. All for some trinket. 

You felt something grab you. You struggled against it at first, fearing some monster hidden in the black depths, but you felt yourself being pulled up instead of down. Within an instant, you could feel the bitter cold air on your face. You were shivering all over as you were pulled back to the shore. 

“Never seen something so stupid in my life,” The Hound said from above you. He was mostly dry, save for his arm that had reached under the water to grab you. He pulled the soaked cloak from your shoulders, only to find the next layer just as saturated. 

“Y-you s-saved m-me,” you chattered out as he lifted you into his arms as if you weighed nothing at all. You curled into his chest, the furs he wore brushing against your damp cheek. 

“Not yet I haven’t, stupid girl,” He said as he carried you up the hill. “You’ll freeze to death by the time we make it back to Winterfell.” 

His giant horse dwarfed the one you had taken from the stables earlier. It had to be big to carry him. He slid you onto his horse’s back, pulling himself onto his steed behind you. He moved you across his lap, holding tightly to you as he ordered the horse forward. The wind stung your face like shards of broken glass, but luckily, he didn’t intend to take you far. You were only riding for a few minutes before he stopped again, in front of a shabby barn. It looked mostly abandoned, forgotten by some old family that moved on as winter approached. Winterfell wasn’t the best place to be once the cold set in. 

The Hound dismounted, pulling you down as he did. If this were any other moment, you would have poked fun at him for finally having the courage to touch you freely. All it took was your near death experience. 

He carried you into the barn. Just getting out of the wind and snow made you feel warmer, but you were still drenched from head to toe. “H-help m-me get this o-off,” you said, your numb fingers clumsily fumbling with the clasp of your cloak. He took over, nearly ripping it in his haste. He threw the wet cloak over a pile of straw before working on your next layer. 

When he got to your dress, you could swear you saw him blush under his scruff in the dark. He undid the ties and shoved it down. You were left in just the thin slip you wore under your clothes. “Take that off yourself,” He grunted out as he took off the thick fur he wore. He held it up like a curtain to shield your modesty. You could have laughed.

You pulled off the wet silk that clung to your skin, throwing it down with your other wet clothes. You took the heavy fur from him, letting him wrap it around you. He looked at you draped in his cloak and nothing else for a long moment. 

“Y-your turn,” You said in what you hoped was a lighthearted tone. 

His jaw tightened as he pulled off his layers as well. He got down to just his pants and boots, his broad, hairy chest exposed to the cold and it was your turn to blush. Everyone focused so much on his scar they didn’t seem to notice that he was rather handsome. Before you could too good of a look, he was sliding his hands under the cloak, his rough hands touching the bare skin of your waist. His skin was like fire on yours, it was so hot compared to your freezing body. He picked you up, holding you to him as he sat down on the straw, the thick fur around you both. His warm skin felt too good after the icy depths of the water, you forgot to be embarrassed as you curled into him. You barely noticed that he was as tense as a tightrope. You pressed your face into his chest, not giving a single thought to modesty. You were already stark naked in his lap, what did you care? You even had the excuse that you would freeze to death if you didn’t snuggle closer to the most feared man in King’s Landing. You could’ve died, you were allowed to enjoy the feel of his arms around you.

“Thank you,” You said when you had finally stopped shaking, your voice mostly muffled by his chest. You felt his soft snore rather than heard it. 

Despite being in a very indecent position, you were coming down from your adrenaline rush and before you could poke fun at the Hound for dozing off, you felt yourself slip into sleep as well. 

He didn’t know long he had been asleep, but it was surprisingly deep for being propped halfway up on a pile of straw. The Hound blinked awake, unsure of what had woken him. He could see from the small window up towards the ceiling that the sky was still pitch black.

He looked down at you, still fast asleep on top of him, only your head poking out of the thick cloak, your face tucked into the crook of his neck. He could feel you breathe softly beneath his arms. At least you were still alive. Your body had warmed considerably as you slept. 

He felt himself blush thinking about that body, naked on top of him. He wasn’t the blushing type. He wasn’t exactly a romantic. He was used to fucking and leaving the money on the table. But you. You were different. He had spent years watching you. Watching you care for the children, watching your patience with even Joffrey, watching you flit about the castle without caring what effect you had on him. It wasn’t the first time he had thought about you naked, but it certainly was the first time he has been so close to you. 

Your hand tightened on his shoulder, making him think you had woken up, just for a moment. You moved in your sleep, shifting on top of him, turning until you were flush against his stomach. He squeezed tightly to your hips as he felt the wetness between your legs against him, cursing under his breath. He was already half hard from sleep, but feeling you pressed against him like that made his cock twitch. 

He nearly lost his breath when your hips bucked. His grip on you tightened, half trying to hold you in place, half to stop himself from sliding you lower. It took everything in him not to flip you over and take you in the hay when you moved again, trying to find the friction you needed even in your sleep. It felt so private, he almost wanted to wake you to save your modesty. He wasn’t exactly an honorable man, but he wasn’t a pervert. 

It was you saying his name that broke his resolve to bits like a hammer smashing glass. Your soft voice moaning out “Sandor” that made him move his hand over the curve of your ass and push a finger into your wet cunt. You gasped softly, pushing back against his hand. He let you ride him, your moans growing more intense as he realized you had finally woken up. Part of him was embarrassed at his lack of will power but the majority of him just wanted to be inside of you already. 

You kissed him, your fingers tangling in his hair. He removed his hand from you, making you sigh at the emptiness. He fumbled with his pants, shoving them down just enough to free his hard cock. You gasped loudly, your nails digging into his shoulder as he filled you. 

“Feels just as good as I imagined,” You said, kissing the scarred flesh of his jaw. You rocked your hips against him, making him groan. 

“You imagined how my cock would feel?” He asked with the slightest smirk. 

“You’re a big man.” 

He delivered a sharp smack to your ass. You could feel the cloak slipping from your shoulders but your skin was so hot now that you didn’t mind the cold. He guided your hips, making you move faster against him. You were getting close, you could feel the warmth spread from your center down to your knees. You were still sensitive from riding his stomach. You moved your hand down to rub yourself as you rode his cock. He groaned, watching you touch yourself while he was inside of you. You leaned back, steadying yourself with a hand on his thigh to give him a full view as you came, riding out your wave. 

He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you in tight as he thrust up into you hard and fast. He buried his face into your chest, his hands clinging to your back as he released into you with a grunt. 

He breathed hard against you. You felt him kiss your breast. It felt so soft and gentle in comparison to everything else about the Hound. You kissed the top of his head. Finally, he looked up at you. He kissed you again, this time on your lips. Even as his mouth was on yours, he pulled the cloak back around you. 

“I think you warmed me up plenty,” You joked against his lips. 

[my-darling-luna]

Your Majesty Chapter 5

The gif is not meant to represent how you look! I just use this as an insight, not as a way that I imagine (Y/n) to look!! I try to be as inclusive as possible in my writing, so let me know if I can fix/add anything to make it better!! Constructive criticism is always welcome.

Your Majesty Masterlist

Summary- It has been more than a decade since the Kingdom of Ultron lost their princess. (Y/n) was just a 17 year old that didn’t know much about her past. Realizations happen and lives are crossed. How will (Y/n) handle the new pressure?

Stucky x reader

——

“Good morning, Vision.” (Y/n) greeted the man at the stalls in the field. The blonde looked up and smiled at the young girl.

“Morning, miss. What can I help you with?” She rolled her eyes.

“You know that you don’t have to act like you aren’t following me around.” Vision flushed and shook his head.

“Your father wants me to make sure you’re okay, especially with the threat of Hydra.” Footsteps made the two turn around and Vision moved to grab the sword out of it’s sheath.

“Woah, woah. It’s just us.” Steve held his hands up by his head while Bucky held onto his sword as well.

“Sorry sires, you just surprised me.” Vision said, pulling back his hand.

“You’re okay, we should’ve stated our presence.” Steve elbowed Bucky discreetly and that was only when he pulled his hand away.

“Are we ready?” Bucky asked and (Y/n) nodded. Turning around, she moved towards a stall and began to get her horse ready to go out. Vision led the men over to two of the horses that had previously been readied to ride. (Y/n) watched closely as Vision moved over to grab another saddle.

“Vision, I think I’ll be safe with the two of them. I promise I’ll be alright.” He sighed, but nodded, knowing that the two other men are well versed on taking care of themselves. “We’ll be back soon, okay? And we won’t stray.” (Y/n) consoled the man further before mounting her horse and trotting over to the king and duke.

“So, I’ve heard that you like the seaside.” (Y/n) nodded at Steve’s words and the three began walking to the sea.

***

“So you both have been friends for how long?” Bucky smiled at the girl sitting in front of him. Her shoes were pulled off and next to her as she dipped her feet in slightly so her pants wouldn’t get wet.

“Since I was four and he was three.” Bucky smiled at Steve. “Our parents met at a ball and we have been pretty much inseparable since then.”

“Oh god,” (Y/n) laid back on the dock. “I couldn’t imagine having a friend for that long.”

“You’ve never had friends?” Steve asked and watched as she shook her head.

“I couldn’t really when I was across the border. The cottage that I lived in wasn’t close to any other kids and the first time that I left the house alone, I was taken here.” She waved her hand in the direction of the castle behind her. It was far away, but if they looked hard enough, they could still make out the red and gold detailing on the rooftops.

“Do you miss them?” Bucky asked after a few minutes of silence and Steve’s head shot over to his friend with a ‘what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ look. (Y/n) looked at the castle for a few more moments before turning back to the men that sat closest to the sand. Steve sat farthest away from the water and looked almost skittish at the sight of the waves.

“More than anything sometimes.” (Y/n) simply muttered and Steve’s shoulders fell with the release of tension. He did not want to get on her bad side again. “At the beginning, when I first found out, I had nothing but animosity towards them, but after they were killed...I just miss them because they did love me and take care of me. Anyways...tell me about your parents.”

Bucky sighed. “My father died when I was eleven, so god- um seven years ago? My mom is still here actually. She’s at home with my sister.” (Y/n) squeezed Bucky’s hand before letting it go and giving him a comforting smile. She looked over to Steve next.

“My parents are still at home. They just stepped down from the throne after my father got sick and now I have it.” Steve watched as Bucky looked over to the horses who were grazing on the grass up on the hill. “Buck, you okay?” Bucky shook his head, looking over to the rustling trees. Two squirrels jumped out of the tree and chased after each other. (Y/n) laughed and relaxed the tension in her shoulders.

“I thought that I was going to die.” She giggled, watching as Bucky’s shoulders shuttered in relief. “Bucky? Are you okay?” The man stood up, his posture still rigid.

“We should go back. It looks like it’s dinner time.” (Y/n) looked over to Steve who shook his head before standing up. He held out a hand and (Y/n) grabbed onto it, hoisting herself up onto her feet. Pulling her boots on, she followed the boys up to the horses before making their way back.

***

“(Y/n)!” Morgan squealed when she saw her sister walk through the doors.

“Morgoona!” The little girl giggled when (Y/n) picked her up and settled her on her hip. “Hi dad, hi mom.” She kissed both of their cheeks before greeting their guests.

“Lady (Y/n)!” Thor boomed and pulled (Y/n) into a bone crushing hug.

“I bein’ squished!” Morgan pushed her arms up against Thor’s chest and the two were let go.

“I’m so sorry Lady Morgan.”

“It okay.” (Y/n) set down Morgan so that she could go hug Thor and moved over to T’Challa and Nakia.

“Hi, I’m (Y/n).” She held out her hand to Nakia who looked at her doubtfully before taking her hand and shaking it.

“Nakia, would you mind doing that thing now?” A nod came before the woman walked out of the dining room. “I’m sorry about that, she’s...protective.” (Y/n) shook her head.

“I just don’t want to start something.” It was T’Challa’s turn to shake his head.

“No, no. I’m sure you and Nakia will get along in time.” (Y/n) nodded and it became quiet.

(Y/n) opened her mouth to break the silence. “What’s your kingdom like?” T’Challa smiled and began talking about Wakanda with a passion that showed how much he truly loved it.

***

Dinner was nice except for the brooding looks that Bucky gave. It worried (Y/n) and she found herself looking over to Steve for explanation, but it was silence from him. It wasn’t until late that (Y/n) found herself closing the door to her bedroom and peeling off her riding clothes that she kept on all day. Lillian had been off due to familial issues and (Y/n) didn’t ask for another maid to help her- not that she needed it, she had gotten dressed by herself for years.

Pulling on her robe, she fastened the button by the nape of her neck when there was a knock on her door.

“Just a second.” She tugged her robe on and opened the door as she tied it shut. Bucky stood on the other side, his fingers playing with each other. “Are you okay, Bucky?” The brown haired man shook his head.

“I’m sorry about earlier, I-I’m just not good with being outside. I get really anxious and...” he trailed off and (Y/n) grabbed his left hand tightly, his fingers intertwining with her own.

“You don’t have to apologize...if you want, we could start doing things in the castle.” Bucky smiled.

“You still want to see me and Stevie, doll?” (Y/n) felt squeamish at Steve’s nickname and the one he coined for her.

“If you both want to, I’d love to.” Bucky smiled, his grin slightly lopsided.

“We’ll see you tomorrow then?” (Y/n) nodded. “Have a good night, doll.” He kissed the back of her hand before watching the door close behind her.

—

Taglist- @austynparksandpizza @aikeia @simplyfandomish @baby-noodles​ @lili-ann-love​ @rebloggingeverything @spookyparadisesheep

[pinkhairedlily]

Every Glance A Step Closer

Prompt: Glances | AO3 link here. Connect with me on Twitter. Happy SS Month everyone! 🌸🍅🥗 @ssskmonth

“This one barely goes out of her laboratory. I swear to god she smells like formaline.”

“He smells like the dust and cobwebs in the library. I cannot even pronounce what he’s doing – archi…something. I just know he handles lots of old papers and books. B-o-r-i-n-g.”

“So anyway, Haruno Sakura meet Uchiha Sasuke.”

This was her one free day in her experiment period week, but she needed to steam off for a night and so she allowed her friend to tug her along for a chill night drink. What Sakura didn’t expect was to socialize with a small group of people in their year and to suffer the cold indifference of the guy in front of her.

To her another surprise, he held out a hand to her. “Hello there.” She took it, slightly conscious whether she used her formaline-cancelling hand lotion. A brief and firm shake and he quicky turned away.

“Sasuke finally speaks.”

“That hello sounded a little spicier.”

“Oh my, that hand holding definitely had some electricity.”

The cajoling and teasing finally stopped when the first round of beers came in. Local university gossip was the go-to conversation opener, from the open secret student-teacher relationships to recent couple break-ups. It eventually led to Sasuke and his list of confessions.

“I heard you turned down Mio from fashion design department.”

“No way. I heard she was approached by Celine for a gig.”

“Really Sasuke? That makes her the fifth girl you dumped for this week alone.”

“You never actually had a girlfriend, did you?”

Sakura stared at him doe-eyed, genuinely curious of his answer. He returned her gaze and raised one brow. “I have high standards.”

Oh wow, what a douche, Sakura thought. Hoots erupted in their table but only for a few seconds. While the drinking and the exchanges went on, Sakura found herself wanting to go home early. She was bored and her neck was tired from not looking at him. Under the guise of stretching her already strained neck, she stole a glance, hoping to have a brief moment to take in all of his features and remember his face.

But he was already looking at her. His eyes went to the door of the restaurant then back to her. Bored? He mouthed.

Sakura looked at the door, knowing perfectly what he meant. She chugged her supposedly last bottle of beer and made a small gap with her thumb and index finger. He caught her signal and started to stand up. Their group was tipsy enough not to notice their sudden movements as they shuffled out of the door.

She halted after a few steps, Sasuke’s figure already paces in front of her, wondering whether she should say goodbye or just walk towards the opposite direction back to her apartment. She didn’t think too much of it and quickly chose the latter.

She had to get ice cream first though, a sugar rush to help jolt her senses awake. She was choosing between chocolate and strawberry when a large figure stood beside her.

“A vanilla one, please,” Sasuke said, looking smug with his hands both in his pockets. “Your treat.”

Sakura felt weirded out by the fact that he actively kept on engaging her. His reputation preceded him, but she decided to humor him for tonight. “So library science and you’re an archivist.”

“Intern archivist actually. So you actually know me.” There was arrogance in his voice that made Sakura almost choke on her ice cream.

“Process of elimination. There is no male major in our year in the History department.” She glanced at him and saw that smug look slowly transition into a slight flush of embarrassment. Cute.

“And what if it was a hobby?” Sasuke fiddled with his still unopened vanilla ice cream.

“There was a job posting in the bulletin specifically calling for Library Science students.” Their feet led them to the park still bustling with university night life and settled on a bench under the canopy of a fully bloomed dogwood tree. “See, I’m not your admirer.”

“Well, that’s a downer,” he smirked.

They talked like that for a while, fleetingly exploring related topics to their degree programs, the usual prominent teachers, the busy schedules, until Sakura finished her chocolate and strawberry popsicles. It was on her way home, finally this time, that she realized he never ate his ice cream.

--------------------------

She next saw him on their building’s rooftop with a group of friends, a piece of unsmoked cigarette in between his fingers. He quickly met her eyes, did a brief nod, and looked away. She inadvertently expected more than that but she wasn’t here for a smoke break, and it wasn’t her intention to take it further. She was here for a quick getaway from her microscope and to appreciate the city view dotted with the flowers of spring.

He kept glancing her way, however. He would be in the middle of a conversation and his eyes would stray to her, and she would catch it in her periphery, trying not to notice it. She got tired after a few repetitions of this, and the next time he glanced, she caught his gaze.

Stop it, she mouthed.

I’m bored, he mouthed back. Walk with me. His fingers mimicked the gesture, his fingers walking in the air.

She put her hands together and slightly bowed in apology. Next time, she winked at him before running back to her laboratory, a small smile painted on her lips.

--------------------------

It became like this for the next few weeks; they conversed through glances and awkward gestures whenever they were in public with their friends. When it was time to come home, they would walk in separate ways and meet again in the park under the same dogwood tree and they would converse for hours. It was mostly Sakura word-vomiting about her experiments while Sasuke would look at her with abandoned fascination.

“Stop doing that,” Sakura called him out one time.

“Stop doing what?” Sasuke asked, his ember eyes never leaving her face.

“You stare too much I feel like I’m melting.”

Sasuke made a small grunt and wore his hoodie over his head to mess with her more. He waved his hands on both sides of his face, and she immediately understood the reference of a horse having its blinders on. “Good because usually I’m the one being stared at.”

Sakura reached out to his hoodie and tightened the strings around his neck. “You’re hopeless.”

He leaned forward, almost touching her lips, his face still between her palms. “Hmm, maybe I am.”

Sakura moved away just as quickly as he moved into her personal space, a hot flush creeping to her cheeks. She hated this particular situation since blushing always made her look like a cherry tomato.

“Cute.” Sasuke apparently said his thoughts aloud because he was taken aback the moment she glanced back at him. “Cool, I said cool.”

She laughed this off just as he completely covered his face inside his hoodie.

--------------------------

She visited the basement section of the library for reference materials. Her writeup was due tomorrow and she was missing a section on historical evolution of vaccines and dosages for the viral DNA she uncovered. The small library slip in her hand, she made her way to the dimly lit rows on Biology. The shelves were twice taller than her, but there were spaces in between stacked books.

Would make it very easy to spot a ghost, Sakura chided to herself. A shadow moved along the row adjacent to the Biology section, but she dismissed this as the library staff. Her fingers traced the spines of ragged books and examined the list of recommended titles in her hand. When she raised her head, ember eyes stared back at her between the spaces of the opposite row.

Hi, Sasuke mouthed. He glanced around and seeing no one, he whispered, “Can I come over to your side?”

She found it hard to stop her grin from rising. “More eyes, the better.”

It took only a few minutes for Sasuke to find all the titles in her list, but they littered around, walking in between shelves, taking one random book and flipping its pages, stopping when they find something interesting. When heavy footfalls were heard on the stairs, Sakura inclined her head, gesturing she needed to go.

Sasuke seemed to misunderstand as he pulled her through the sleeve of her cardigan to the area further behind the room, and as the shadows grew darker, and the noise became more muted, she heard the racing beat of her heart.

Finally reaching the wall, Sasuke slumped to the floor and patted the space beside him. Sakura followed suit, consciously leaving a space between them as she was slowly becoming hyper-aware of their proximity.

“How are you faring so far? Done with the requirements?” Sasuke asked, his voice low but audible enough for her.

Sakura nodded, and after beat, rolled her eyes at him. “Shouldn’t you be out there assisting others?”

“I believe you need more immediate help.” Sasuke pulled his knees in to rest his chin on and trained his eyes on her. “Sakura.”

“Sasuke.”

The longest minute of silence hung between them, tension strung by the stare, until Sakura broke it off with her eyes shifting to the floor. “What are you doing?”

“Flirting,” he said like it’s a matter-of-fact. “This is what they usually do to me.”

“And what should I do?” She let the words roll out of her mouth, unsure why she asked, uncertain also of what he felt. She met his gaze again.

And in that moment, he just sincerely looked at her. “Flirt back.”

--------------------------

Sakura was done for the school year. She will be officially graduating in a month, and to celebrate, she went out with their group for a sem-ender discotheque clubbing. She was gonna shoot her shot for a one-night stand with literally anyone who had chemistry with her – haha she was just kidding. As this seemed to be the final cap-off to her university life, she went all out with her clothes Sakura-style – basically a boxy cropped tea, high waisted jeans, and old heels her best friend gave to her in pity.

This was actually her first club experience, but she was glad to be with veteran friends. The first few minutes inside a closed space with bass boosted, unfamiliar crowds, and lots of skinship made her very uncomfortable. Her only reprieve was the free-flowing drinks – ironically she can handle alcohol well. The disco lights would have made it difficult to spot faces, but she found him in the dark, on the corner directly across her group, his eyes already glued on her.

She wondered if he ever forgave her for scrambling out of his presence in the reference section last time, explicitly avoiding his request to flirt back. It seemed like she worried for nothing since Sasuke raised his glass to her and mouthed congratulations. She raised her glass back, resolving to mind her own business tonight. But he kept looking, a smirk etched on his beautiful face, urging her to meet him halfway.

She didn’t need to look for an excuse as her friends suddenly pulled her into the harmless mosh pit of friendly grinding. Sakura allowed herself to move to the beat, enjoying the bubble offered by the club to lose herself for a few seconds. But she kept glancing towards his direction, his eyes looking for her in the mass of bodies. At first, the glances were mischievous, like playing hide-and-seek, then they held gravity, heavy lidded and palpable.

Sasuke was impatient, and soon enough, at her next spin on her heels, he was right behind her, his hands hovering over her arms, seeking consent to touch. Sakura turned to face him, one part shy, other parts unnerved, and she slowly encircled her arms around his neck, her eyes a definite yes. His hands went to her waist, and he brought her closer to his embrace.

“You don’t have your hoodie though,” Sakura said, a little louder over the crooning of Carly Rae Jepsen to Gimmie Love. “Someone will definitely see you.”

Sasuke closed whatever distance was between them and brought his lips to her ears. “That’s a relief then. I want to be seen with you.”

“Simp,” Sakura teased. “You’re probably expecting a confession out of me, aren’t you?” This was a long time coming and she wanted to get it over with tonight especially when she had alcohol buzzing on her side.

“I am actually,” Sasuke said. “I was hoping to beat you to it in the library last time, but you ran away. Coward.”

“What?”

“What? Didn’t you hear me?”

“You like me.” Sakura said in realization. She edged her face away from his hold to take a good look at his embarrassed face. “Oh, you really do.”

“You could be dense sometimes, Sakura.” Sasuke poked her forehead playfully, and he was rewarded with a bubbly laughter from her.

Their friends finally noticed them and the intense skinship happening. The yells and woots started to drown out the speakers.

“That took you two long enough, huh?”

“They really waited for the end of the school year to do their big reveal.”

“As if the whole school doesn’t know already.”

“What?” Sasuke and Sakura asked in unison.

“It was the constant eyesmex.”

“Really, they do it every time with no shame. It gives me secondhand embarrassment.”

“Right? Sometimes I think I need to yell get a room.”

“Maybe they’ll get a room tonight.”

“Oh my god, shut up."

🌸 It's my first time participating actively for SS Month so please go easy on me haha. Work is loosely inspired by Nevertheless webtoon (which now has a Netflix adaptation). Hope you enjoyed reading!

[dwellordream]

“A marquis weds a poor girl on the condition that she obey him utterly and never complain. On her wedding day he has her stripped naked and then dressed in rich robes. Griselda keeps her word so well that the marquis decides he must test her. When a son and a daughter are born, he lies to her, telling her they must be killed because his people resent them as base. She asks only that they be decently buried. He hides the children and has them raised far away. Years go by. He pretends to divorce her, sending her home to her father's hut. As she leaves, he again strips her of her clothes, and she begs for a smock to hide her nakedness. 

Still unsatisfied, he soon brings her back to the palace to wait on his new bride during his wedding feast. The bride is his own daughter, now grown. Griselda complies, asking only that he treat his new wife more gently than he has her. At the last moment, the marquis relents. Reunited with her children, Griselda swoons, then revives. Dressed again in her rich robes, she embraces her loving husband. Her fame brings her eternal hosannas. But not from everyone. The name of Griselda has also been used as a shorthand for female submissiveness so close to stupidity as to be indistinguishable from it. 

"The Wise Government of a Gentlewoman" from Painter's Palace of Pleasure (1666), a tale loosely based on a story by Marguerite de Navarre, turns sardonic laughter against the patient wife. When a gentlewoman's home is threatened with ruin because of her husband's nightly trysts with a maidservant, the wife chooses to go on the offensive. When her attempts to shame him don't work, she lights a fire in the maid's room and smokes him out in the middle of the night. The narrator urges wives in a similar fix to take action: "For what Griselde could suffer her wedded husband, assembled in bedde, in depth of sleep, to rise and runne a straie like a wylde horse, neying after the straied female kind of that sort?"

This is not to deny that Griselda's story was potent and ubiquitous. On the contrary: her fable spawned a multitude of jests and tales that do not even name her. Some stories that draw on Griselda do, however, question the idea of total wifely submission. As if acknowledging the dangers of the tale as masculinist fantasy, some jests warn husbands not to try acting like the marquis at home: 

A young man lately married to a wife thought it was good policy to get the mastery of her in the beginning, and came to her when the pot was seething .... [H]e suddenly commanded her to take the pot from the fire which [she] answered and said that the meat was not ready to eat. And he said again: "I will have it taken off for my pleasure." This good woman, loath yet to offend him, set the pot beside the fire as he bad. And, anon after he commanded her to set the pot behind the door. And she said thereto again: "Ye be not wise therein." But he precisely said it should be so as he bad, and she genteely again did his commandement. 

This man yet not satisifed, commanded her to set the pot ahigh on the hen roost. "What!" quod the wife again, "I trow ye be mad." And he fiercely then commanded her to set it there or else, he said, she should repent. She somewhat afraid to move his patience, took a ladder and set it to the roost, and went herself up the ladder, and took the pot in her hand-praying her husband then to hold the ladder fast for sliding, which he so did. And when the husband looked up and saw the pot stand there on high, he said thus: "Lo, now standeth the pot there as I would have it." The wife, hearing that, suddenly poured the hot pottage on his head and said thus: "And now been the pottage there as I would have them." By this tale men may see it is no wisdom for a man to attempt a meek woman's patience too far, lest it turn to his own hurt and damage.

Refracted and diffused through thousands of popular texts and performances, the legend of patient Griselda is specially marked as an irritant to women. As Wiltenburg points out in her study of the street literature of England and Germany, "Authors of both countries noted that this story annoyed real-life women, who had no intention of following Griselda's example; but it was recommended to them nevertheless." Yet according to Peter Burke, popular imagery beat into everyone's head the dictum that women had to know their place, as is clear not only from the popular (masculine) images of the woman as villain, such as the shrew, but even from the images of the heroine. 

For women, martyrdom was virtually the only way to sanctity .... equally passive were two heroines who often took the place of saints in Protestant countries: chaste Susanna ... and patient Griselda, who were celebrated in German plays, in English puppet-plays, in Swedish ballads, and Danish chapbooks .... Judith slaying the tyrant Holofernes seems to have been an exception among heroines. Taking Wiltenburg's matter-of-fact comment about Griselda's annoyingness as my guide, I want to discompose the overly static picture painted by Burke. First, it is necessary to peel away some of the layers of indignation and interpretation she has evoked since appearing on the literary scene. 

Her story's power to shock and disturb women in particular has only intensified over time, according to Judith Bronfman, who has studied its interpretive history from its beginnings in fourteenth century Italy to the present day. English reception of the legend begins with Chaucer, whose Clerk of Oxenford presents the story of "paciente Grisildis" to his Canterbury pilgrims. His "may be the most disliked of all the Canterbury Tales," but it is Griselda, not her husband, who arouses the most distaste today-suggesting that our age despises a passive victim even more than a dynamic sadist. To many feminist scholars, Griselda furnishes a crux for analyses of gender ideology and functions as a paradigm of the violent subjugation and silencing of early modern women.

Reactions to her story can be highly charged; Lisa Jardine finds that "her resignation is terrifying.” The fear and outrage Griselda provokes may have kept us from realizing there were cracks in her myth during the early modern period. Scholars have seldom noted signs of mocking criticism toward Griselda in tales and plays that seem engineered to praise her. When Griselda is divested of her rich robes of literariness and her alluring aura of religious and psychic enigma, she strikes more than a few observers as foolish. To the jesting women who mock her, she is not the Christly Fool of Saint Paul, the witty Folly of Erasmus, or the keen jester of Lear but the garden-variety fool whose deeds are dismissed as silly. 

To writers, Griselda's patience was shopworn and ripe for parody. Printers tried to dress up the old tale, familiar from ballads, puppet shows, and sermons, by stressing her glamorous social mobility. By 1619, Griselda was being used as a lesson in how to marry a millionaire: one pamphlet touted itself as "shewing how Maides, By Her Example, In Their Good Behavior May Marrie Rich Husbands; and Likewise Wives By Their Patience and Obedience May Caine Much Glorie." Didactically tooled and rhetorically productive, Griselda continues to be a conversation piece. She may have begun her literary life in gland as a secular saint; but by the sixteenth century, she had become a household word idealized in sermons and conduct books but treated by jests as an impossibility, like "the silent woman," a close relative.”

- Pamela Allen Brown, “Griselda the Fool.” in Better a Shrew than a Sheep: Women, Drama, and the Culture of Jest in Early Modern England

[themurphyzone]

BatB AU: A Provincial Life

Summary: It’s an ordinary day in ACME Village for Pinky. Until it isn’t. 

AN: This oneshot adapts the opening number ‘Belle’ and village scenes, up until Pinky sets off for the castle in search of his father, which leads into the entry Imprisoned. 

AO3 Link

Pinky scooped a ladleful of oatmeal into a small, earthen bowl, humming dreamily as he added a dash of cinnamon and several apple slices into the mixture. 

Today was a very special day for Papa, and Pinky wanted him to eat a healthy and nutritious meal before he went off to the fair with his invention. It would be a few days of travel, and Papa would need his strength for traveling there and back. 

“Papa, I’m going out!” Pinky called as he carefully pushed a large woven basket of acorns outside. “Your breakfast is on the table, so make sure you eat it all!” 

There was a sputter and cough of machinery and a trail of smoke from the small room that served as a makeshift workshop next to the kitchen, followed by a loud bang. 

“Just getting ‘er warmed up for the final test!” Papa shouted. “C’mon, Madeleine! You may’ve fallen apart for the 264th time, but you can do it!” 

Oh, Pinky had no doubt people were gonna love the woodcutting, ax-wielding, only occasionally threatening to take fingers off machine known as Madeleine. She was definitely gonna win that gorgeous blue ribbon at the fair! And even if she didn’t, they’d love her all the same anyway. 

He opened the door and stepped into the beautiful autumn morning, taking in the cool, fresh air as he carefully maneuvered the basket of acorns into a red wagon. The leaves were varying hues of crimson and gold, dancing along a gentle breeze that ruffled Pinky’s fur. The sun was peeking over the horizon, slowly bathing the world in light as it rose.

Two songbirds flew merrily above him, their sweet morning song filling the air with beautiful music. Pinky reached up, and one of the songbirds briefly landed on his outstretched hand before flying after his partner, leaving a red feather behind. 

“Thanks for the feather!” Pinky shouted to the sky as he tucked the feather behind his ear, where it fit perfectly. 

He picked up the wagon handle and pulled it along, the wheels squeaking along behind him.  

In the meadow beside their quaint little cottage, Pharfignewton chewed placidly on dew-covered grass. She neighed a greeting to Pinky, and Pinky cheerfully waved back. As much as he loved taking the beloved family horse into town for company, she needed her strength to lug Papa, Madeleine, and all their supplies later. So he had to let her rest. 

Reeds and wildflowers of all sorts grew along the banks of the pond that separated the little cottage from the rest of ACME Village. A pair of ducks paddled along in the water, trailed by four adorable, fluffy yellow ducklings. Several tiny turtles sunbathed on an old log, while a large green frog sat on its lily pad and caught insects unlucky enough to stray in the path of a long, sticky tongue. 

Pinky took his time crossing the cobblestone bridge over the pond, watching the wild animals go about their day without hustling, bustling, or rushing from place to place. Their lives were very different from their neighbors, despite living so close together. 

Little animals, little pond, and little humans in their little town. 

Or was everything just bigger than him? He was a mouse after all. It wasn’t hard to be bigger than a mouse, unless one happened to be an insect. 

As Pinky crossed onto the other side, he spotted a smooth, pretty gray stone poking out of the reeds. He plucked it out of the damp soil, cleaning the dirt off with the inside of his apron. 

It would be a perfect stone for his collection. And he didn’t have any that were this smooth. Most of the rocks he picked up were half-crushed or broken from city streets or well-worn paths. He tucked it into a pocket that he’d sewn on himself, because for some odd reason dresses never came with pockets. 

Then he faced the little town, with all its timber and stone buildings lining a narrow cobbled street that quickly filled with half-asleep, half-awake people trying to get an early start on their sales and trades. 

To think he and Papa had lived here for three years. While not the most exciting town in the world, Pinky was just happy they didn’t have to move again. He’d spent too much of his life being bustled from place to place since Mama died. The cottage was the loveliest place they’d ever owned. 

And while the townsfolk had the same ol’ familiar routine every day, Pinky tried to vary his activities. From baking to horseback riding to volunteering for odd jobs around town, or just taking a day off to nap under a tree and roll down the hilly meadows while grass stains formed on his back.  

Just a normal provincial life, yet Pinky often wondered what laid in the big blue yonder. Did the stars and sky look different elsewhere? Do the clouds form big, fluffy, and silly shapes in South America? 

“Bonjour!” a man called out as he threw open his shutters. 

“Good morning, Emile!” Pinky replied as he skipped past his window.  

“Bonjour! Bonjour! Bonjour!” The echoing chant swept across rooftops and streets alike as a new day dawned upon ACME Village. 

Everyone from chimney sweepers to merchants to coachmen responded with vigor and cheer, all of them satisfied with their occupations in life. 

Pinky greeted everyone he passed, though not all returned the gesture. Everyone was staring at the feather tucked behind his ear, the bulge of the stone in his pocket, or the red wagon with the basket he pulled along. He didn’t think he was that strange-looking. 

Unless he had a bit of cabbage stuck in his teeth again. But he flossed really well last night, so he didn’t think that was the case. 

“Marie, hurry up with the baguettes!” the baker shouted as he carried several loaves of bread outside. 

Pinky inhaled deeply. There was nothing quite like the scent and sound of fresh bread. 

“Narrrrrrf! Smells just like heaven, Mr. Baker!” Pinky exclaimed.  

The baker set his tray of bread on a windowsill, tapping his foot as he impatiently waited for Marie. “Morning, Pinky. You off somewhere this morning?” he asked, though he didn’t turn around. 

“Yup! I’m delivering this basket of acorns to Slappy!” Pinky said, pointing to his basket of acorns. “She really likes the acorns near our cottage but doesn’t wanna make the trip herself. She says it’s too far for her aching joints and she can’t take Skippy along because she’s still trying to convince him that we’re not gonna be shot like Bumbie’s mom if we venture into the meadow, and-” 

“Yes, yes, that’s all very nice,” the baker said, half-leaning into the open window. “Marie, I said hurry up with the baguettes! The morning rush is coming soon!”  

“Well, if you’d bought the ingredients from Francois instead of Vincent like I suggested then maybe we wouldn’t be running behind, Pierre! But no, you always act like you know best!” Marie snapped. 

Not wanting to get embroiled in yet another argument between the baker and his wife, Pinky followed the cobblestone path further into town, where the usual market sprung up, full of local farmers, tradesmen, and merchants. 

Villagers bartered and argued and traded like always, and as Pinky stopped to admire a small yellow daisy poking out from the cracks of the street, he could feel eyes follow him closely in that looking-at-you-but-pretending-we’re-not sort of way. 

“There goes the funny mouse again.” 

“Gets distracted by the littlest things, I swear.” 

“Does he even have a useful skill?” 

“Besides being the village idiot? Doubtful.” 

They’d made those comments ever since he and Papa had moved in. Everywhere they went, people asked Pinky for his trade, and Pinky always told them he took care of Papa and worked various odd jobs around the area for money. 

But that wasn’t considered a useful role in society.

He didn’t mind helping Papa though. 

Oh well though. He couldn’t delay getting these acorns to Slappy, so he hauled his wagon alongside a horse-drawn carriage that steadily cut through the crowded streets, clearing Pinky’s path.  

“Bonjour!” the coachman called to a young woman walking down the street. His eyes were trained on the girl rather than the road, and his horse plowed straight into a farmer’s cart, knocking his produce into the road.  

“MY CABBAGES!” the farmer screamed, tearing out his hair as several pigs devoured his vegetables. 

The coachman let out a nervous laugh and flicked the reins, spurring his horse forward and blithely ignoring the despairing farmer’s demands for compensation. 

“I need six eggs!” a woman cried as she tried to hold several fussing babies at once. 

“That’s too expensive!” a man complained to someone selling pottery. “Twenty coins for a pile of cheap clay? Bah!” 

Pinky and the carriage parted ways as the cobblestone street changed to an unpaved dirt path. The gossip and chatter of ACME Village faded to background noise. 

Slappy had made her home in a hollow tree on the outskirts of town, close enough to get supplies but far enough to deter most from knocking on her door. 

Pinky passed by many warning and danger signs that kept most people from bothering the old squirrel. There was a new post up today, right next to Slappy’s front door. 

LAST WARNING 

NO SELLING, NO PREACHING, NO TAX COLLECTING 

KNOCK AT YOUR OWN RISK 

Well, what was life without a little risk? Pinky knocked on the door anyway. 

He was trying to decide if one of the clouds overhead was shaped more like a monkey or a strawberry when a small brown squirrel in a blue nightgown and cap opened the door. Despite the early morning, he was wide awake and hopping in place, his excitement only growing as he spotted the basket of acorns behind Pinky.  

“Morning, Skippy! Got the basket of acorns your aunt wanted!” Pinky exclaimed.

Skippy grinned as he took the basket from the wagon. “Thanks, Pinky! Aunt Slappy will love these!” 

He popped a few acorns into his mouth and loudly crunched the shells. 

“Skippy, what’d I say about answering the door at this godforsaken hour in the morning?” a cranky voice yelled from upstairs.

“It’s just Pinky with the acorns, Aunt Slappy! No door to door salespeople, preachers, or tax collectors in sight!” Skippy shouted. Then he turned back to Pinky and pointed to his ear. “I like your feather, by the way.” 

“Thanks! I like your nightcap!” Pinky said, returning the compliment with his own. 

A few moments later, Slappy joined Pinky and Skippy downstairs. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, her long gray tail dragging behind her. 

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Slappy asked. She tossed several acorns into her mouth and nodded her approval. “Crunchy with a pinch of salt. This is gonna be a good topping for my world-renowned creamed spinach later.” 

“SPEEWWWWWWWWW!” Skippy cried, sticking his tongue out in disgust. 

Pinky just smiled politely. Slappy took a lot of pride in her creamed spinach recipe, and he didn’t want to hurt her feelings by saying it tasted like soggy socks. 

“Hey, when I was your age, I ate lots of creamed spinach for dinner. And now I have enough muscles to wield a hundred ton mallet,” Slappy retorted. 

“Wow! Was that when dinosaurs roamed the earth?” Skippy asked. 

Slappy gave him a light smack on the back of his head. “Little brat. Go grab a few coins from the bureau in my room. Gotta pay the mouse for lugging this stuff across town.” 

Skippy blew a raspberry at her and ran up the stairs. 

“Your tongue is never gonna go back in your mouth if you keep doing that!” Slappy yelled. 

Funny how the Squirrels were his best neighbors, even though they lived on the opposite side of town. They’d helped out so much when Pinky and Papa first moved into the countryside cottage, from showing them all the best places to buy from and all the best trees to climb. Everyone else usually stared at them strangely for not knowing how to find a shop and moved on with their day. 

Still, Pinky didn’t want to impose on them or anything. Collecting the acorns was no trouble at all. And he knew money could be a little tight in the village at times. 

“You don’t have to pay me,” Pinky said. “Poit. I don’t mind the morning exercise.” 

“You’re walkin’ outta here with those coins whether you like it or not,” Slappy said in a tone that invited no room for argument. “Don’t be one of ‘em honor before reason types. That sorta mindset is nothing but trouble.” 

Slappy’s long tail flicked in irritation, accidentally knocking a framed painting askew on the wall next to her. She sighed and fixed the crooked painting so that it hung straight. “Can never keep this darn thing straight,’ she muttered. 

Pinky had been inside the hollow tree many times, but he’d never seen this painting before. It contained a colorful cast of characters, from a carrot-munching gray rabbit to a crazy black duck to a short gunslinger with an enormous bright red mustache. 

In the painting, a youthful Slappy with a manic grin on her face and giant firecracker in her hand was chasing a bald hunter. Her smile was brighter, and her eyes didn’t seem so world-weary there.

“Like it? Old pals sent it to me two weeks ago,” Slappy asked, a hint of nostalgia in her voice. “The Looney Tunes Troupe were a rascally bunch, that’s for sure. All the money for a detailed painting, and they can’t afford a better frame. Our shows were legendary back in the day, you know.” 

“Never heard of them,” Pinky admitted. 

“Course ya haven’t,” Slappy sighed. “Your generation doesn’t know good comedy when it hits them in the bum with a mallet. Troupe’s faded into obscurity now, but they’ve never stopped traveling and being annoying yet lovable nuisances to everyone from Albuquerque to Kalamazoo to Timbuktu.” 

Pinky tilted his head. “But you don’t travel anymore.” 

If the Squirrels needed something they couldn’t get in ACME Village, they usually asked Pinky to run the errand for them. 

“Yeah, well, that’s life,” Slappy said. “Sometimes you’re a nomad with total freedom and other times you gotta flee with your nephew to a different country.” 

Before Pinky could ask more questions, Skippy barreled downstairs with as many coins as he could carry. “I didn’t know how much to grab so I just took a handful,” Skippy said, dumping the currency onto a small side table. 

Slappy picked up six coins from the pile and dropped them into a small drawstring bag, then tightened the strings and tossed the bag into Pinky’s wagon. “You can have these. I’ve got plenty more lying around,” she said. 

“If you're sure then,” Pinky said, picking up his wagon handle and turning it around. “Love to stay, but Papa’s leaving for the fair soon and I gotta see him off!” 

“Tell him we said hi!” Skippy shouted, and Pinky saluted back. 

Slappy yawned, stretching her arms above her head. “And I’m hitting the hay again. It’s too damn early, and I’m too tired to censor my swearing in front of kids.” 

o-o-o-o-o  

After his visit to Slappy’s tree, Pinky decided to kill some time at ACME Village’s fountain, where he could enjoy the fine spray of water and run in circles along the stone rim. It was always fun seeing how fast he could go without tipping into the water.

“Sorry!” he shouted as he accidentally trod over freshly washed sheets that a woman had been folding next to the fountain. She made an indignant noise and carried her basket of laundry away, nose high in the air. 

And the whispers started up again. 

“That mouse may be a beauty, but he is way too peculiar for his own good.” 

“You have to wonder if he’s feeling well.” 

“Always a dreamy, far-off look on his face.” 

On his tenth lap around the fountain, a flock of sheep strolled by, guided by a young shepherd from behind. Two fluffy ewes jumped onto the fountain rim next to Pinky and drank the water. Pinky smiled and stroked their soft wool, and the ewes bleated in contentment.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Pinky whispered into their ears. “Don’t go blabbing this to anyone now...but I believe Papa’s a shoo-in for that blue ribbon!” 

One of the ewes turned and nibbled on his ear, and Pinky laughed as her blocky teeth tugged and tickled his fur. He gently pried her jaw open and his ear popped out of her mouth, dripping wet with sheep saliva.

As Pinky prepared to slide off the fountain rim and onto the small bag of money he’d gotten from Slappy, a regal fanfare went off in the distance, thundering hoofbeats growing ever closer. 

A messenger in a white powdered wig blew his coronet and cleared his throat. 

“HEAR YE! HEAR YE! MAKE WAY FOR HIS ROYAL MAJESTY, PRINCE SNOWBALL AND HIS HUNTING PARTY!” 

The messenger’s declaration sent every man, woman, and child running towards the plaza, gathering in front of the entrance of the local tavern, the centerpoint of all social activities in ACME Village. 

The hunting party rode in on their enormous horses, spearheaded by the ruler of the province, Prince Snowball. Though only a small hamster, he was famed by all for his keen mind and ability to get results on whatever he set out to accomplish. 

Though dressed in only a simple red shirt and breeches for hunting, the only signs of his higher status being the golden crown upon his head and the expensive black horse he rode, his presence commanded respect and awe. 

Behind him, a hunting party consisting of the best huntsmen and archers in the land dragged an enormous buck, two wild boars, and several pheasants into view. 

“People of ACME Village, tonight we shall dine on these fine specimens of the animal kingdom!” Snowball announced as everyone bowed in fear of a noble’s anger. “Everyone’s presence is required, for I have a further declaration that shall lift this derelict province out of the ashes and into a glorious future!” 

His pink eyes were sharp, but beneath that layer of intelligence, there was an undertone of something that didn’t feel right. Pinky couldn’t explain it, but he always just had this odd, icky feeling that crawled up his spine whenever he saw Snowball.

The crowd straightened up, cheering and clapping and praising Prince Snowball’s name for bringing them such good fortune with the promise of more to come. 

Pinky’s ear twitched. There was a soft, desperate sound mixed in with the roars of the captivated audience.

And to the left side of the crowd, there was a tiny lamb whose back leg was tangled in a large fishing net. The mother ewe was both nuzzling the lamb in comfort and trying to pull the net off with her teeth, but to no avail. 

The shepherd never noticed his sheep were in trouble, too caught up in hailing Prince Snowball to notice one of his charges was stuck. 

Pinky hopped off the fountain and slowly walked over to the thrashing lamb and his mother, putting his hands up to show them he wasn’t a threat. The lamb bleated in panic, and the mother eyed Pinky warily. 

“May I help? I’m good at untangling stuff,” Pinky asked. He’d gotten a lot of practice when Papa occasionally tangled himself up in threads and wires. 

The ewe regarded him for a long moment, then nuzzled the back of her lamb’s head, letting him bury his head into her wool. The lamb’s trembling stopped, his back leg still. 

It was a sweet gesture, one that seemed so familiar to him, even though his own mother had long passed. He remembered that feeling of warmth and safety from so long ago, the last time he felt like he was truly home. 

Wiping a stray tear from his eye, Pinky untangled the mesh from the lamb’s leg, starting from the top and slowly moving down to the hoof. 

“There you go, baby,” Pinky said once the leg was completely free. The lamb pulled his hoof out of the netting, gave it a good shake, then joyfully pranced and bleated around his mother and Pinky. 

The mother gave Pinky a tiny nod, bleated to her little one, and together they rejoined their flock. The shepherd was still ignoring his flock in favor of Prince Snowball. Pinky couldn’t see him anymore from the ground. 

Pinky picked up his wagon handle, ready to go home and help Papa hitch everything up to Pharfignewton.

Then he felt a pair of fingers pluck the feather he’d lovingly tucked behind his ear. Pinky turned to get his feather back, and jumped when Snowball was just inches from his face. 

“Hello, Pinky,” Snowball said. He smiled, but it was more out of smugness than a real smile. 

Pinky’s ears lowered, but then he remembered his manners. “Bonjour, Prince Snowball. May I have my feather please? A really nice bird gave that to me.” 

Snowball frowned, holding the feather out of Pinky’s reach. The feather crinkled in his tight grip. “How could you possibly need this? It’s hardly good quality for even the cheapest quills.” 

“Poit. It doesn’t need to be a quill to make me happy,” Pinky replied. 

Snowball rolled his eyes, tossing the feather behind him. Pinky tried to grab it, but it was caught on a gust of wind and drifted to the ground. It landed in a mud puddle, soaking the barbs of the feather and staining it brown. 

“Pinky, get your head out of the clouds and pay attention to important matters,” Snowball’s lip curled as he blocked Pinky from retrieving his feather. “Such as showing royals courtesy when they address a peasant like you.”  

“Excuse me, Snowball,” Pinky said politely, going around the hamster to pick up his feather. The damage didn’t look too bad. Still, he tried to be careful when he cleaned it with his apron. 

Snowball crossed his arms, and the town’s whispers started up again. 

How dare he not show proper respect to Snowball, does he fancy himself higher than a prince, why would Snowball pay him any individual attention and not someone more deserving. 

“That’s Prince Snowball to you.” Snowball’s fur bristled for a moment, but he took a deep breath and put his arms around Pinky’s shoulders instead. “The whole town's talking about you and your lack of...purpose. And we can’t have that, you realize. After all, a machine requires all of its cogs and gears to run smoothly, otherwise it won’t work.” 

“Bet his crackpot father would know something about that!” one of Snowball’s men chortled. 

Everyone laughed, even Snowball, who rarely did so. An unfamiliar feeling boiled in Pinky’s stomach. 

“Don’t talk about my father that way!” Pinky snapped. His inventions were amazing and he was going to do well at the fair! They didn’t know how hard Papa worked on his inventions! 

Snowball glared at his men. “Yes, don’t talk about his father that way, you fools!” he hissed like Pinky hadn’t heard him laughing just seconds ago. 

“He’s not a crackpot! His invention’s gonna win the blue ribbon cause it was made with smarts and love, you’ll see!” Pinky declared, just as an explosion went off in the distance. 

And he knew exactly where that explosion had come from. 

“I have to go. Goodbye!” Pinky dragged his wagon behind him, setting off for the cottage he and Papa called home. 

“It’s a pity and a sin, 

He doesn’t quite fit in. 

He really is a funny mouse, 

A beauty but a funny mouse, 

He really is a funny mouse, 

THAT PIN-” 

The sharp, high-pitched crack of a rifle interrupted the village’s song, and everyone ran for cover. 

“WILL YA SHUT UP? SOME OF US ARE TRYIN’ TA SLEEP!” Slappy shouted from her tree, her screech blowing tiles and lumber from the roofs of buildings. 

Just a provincial life in this little town. Pinky ran across the cobblestone bridge, wondering if he truly had the right to ask for something more than that.

o-o-o-o-o

He hurried over to the cellar, where smoke trailed from the gaps of the heavy wooden doors. Pinky opened the entrance, and a smoky cloud blew right in his face. He coughed and waved it away, hiding his nose in his dress as he hurried over to Papa, who’d been thrown onto his back. A pile of broken wooden planks covered him. 

In the corner, Madeleine sputtered, her gears and dials spinning wildly before she finally quieted down, one loose spring sending a gear crashing into a wall. 

“Dagnabbit, Madeleine!” Papa cursed, stumbling as he extracted himself from the pile of wooden planks. Pinky grabbed his arm and helped him to his feet, checking him over for any injuries. Luckily, there were no bruises or splinters to be found. “Don’t you stall out on me now!” 

Pinky smiled. Papa’s string of random gibberish and mutterings of smart inventor words he couldn’t understand was something he’d been familiar with from a young age. No matter where they lived, it was just one of those things that came with home. 

Papa huffed, untying his apron with all his tools and tossing it to the ground. “She’ll never work in time for the fair! What was I thinking?” he lamented. “It’s not too late. Maybe I can cobble something else together quickly! Yes, I’ll just take the doowhatzit out of Madeleine, combine it with the kaleidomajiggy from the old washer, and-” 

“You always say that, Papa,” Pinky said, hugging his father around the shoulders. Papa rested his hands over Pinky’s with a sigh. “Don’t worry. I believe Madeleine will work, and she’ll win you that blue ribbon and help you become an inventor for the history books! Narf! Just like Benjamin Franklin, ‘cept without all the kite-flying.” 

“You really think so?” Papa asked, his frown turning to a hopeful smile. 

“Course I do,” Pinky grinned. 

A determined look crossed Papa’s face, and he tied his apron around his waist, nearly tripping over it in the process.

“What are we waiting for then? Let’s fix ‘er up!” Papa said, laying down on a flat, low cart and pushing himself under the broken stove that made up Madeleine’s main body. “So how was your morning in town?” 

“A little birdie gave me a feather. I found a pretty stone by the pond. And I delivered the acorns to the Squirrels. Did you know Slappy used to be a part of a traveling troupe? I didn’t.” Pinky recanted his morning to Papa as tools clinked and scratched against metal. “Oh, and I guess you’ll be missing Prince Snowball’s feast tonight. They’ll have venison and wild boar there.” 

“A feast? That sounds nice. Much better than inn food,” Papa mused. As usual, only part of what Pinky said ever registered with him. “Are you going?” 

“I don’t know yet,” Pinky admitted. “Don’t get me wrong, I love a good party...but Prince Snowball is-um, what’s a good word for him?” 

“Rich? Smart? Confident?” Papa suggested. “He’s been talkin’ to you a lot lately.” 

So everyone’s noticed, even Papa who spent much of his time in the cellar that doubled as a workshop. 

“He has,” Pinky agreed. “And he says he can give me a purpose. But...I don’t know. I don’t think he’s right for me. Maybe I’m just as odd as they say I am.” 

It was the same everywhere they settled. No matter what Pinky tried to do, the whispers always followed him. He noticed strange things, he wore strange clothes, he and Papa were always strangers in towns where everyone knew each other from birth. 

Papa slid out from under Madeleine, wearing a silly helmet on his head that gave him huge, bug-like eyes. 

“My son is odd?” Papa asked in disbelief, and Pinky laughed. The helmet always made Papa look silly. “Don’t know where these folks get their ideas from…anyway, I think Madeleine’s all ready to go. Care to give her a whirl?”

“Zort! Am I!” Pinky clapped his hands together. Papa pointed to a lever, which Pinky pulled with all his might. 

Madeleine’s bells and whistles sounded, water steadily pumping through her system while steam filled her stove. Pulleys and gears turned along her sides, reaching the front. Her dials quivered until they reached the red zone, and the ax at her front swung down, scoring a deep cut in a block of firewood. The ax swung faster and faster, until one final split the firewood in half and sent one chunk flying. 

Pinky and Papa ducked, and the chunk flew over their heads and landed perfectly on a pile of firewood against the wall. 

“She works!” Pinky shouted in joy, kissing one of Madeleine’s wooden wheels. “You did it, Papa!” 

“I did?” Papa murmured. “I did! 265th time’s the charm, Pinky! Look out fair, I’m on my way!” 

o-o-o-o-o

Within the hour, Madeleine was wheeled out from the workshop, covered and tied up with a tarp, and hitched to Pharfignewton. 

“Bye, Fig,” Pinky said, hugging his beloved horse’s muzzle. “Keep Papa on track to the fair, okay? You know how he likes taking shortcuts.” 

Pharfignewton whinnied gently, planting a sloppy kiss on top of Pinky’s head.

Then Pinky embraced Papa, who returned the hug with the same enthusiasm. And he was reminded of how the mouse and horse he considered his home would be leaving for some time. He wished he could go with them, but someone had to keep house and he was the best one for the job. It wouldn’t be for long, but he’d miss them all the same. 

A stray tear dropped. Just another reason he was considered odd. He cried so easily. 

“Chin up, Pinky,” Papa murmured, rubbing a soothing circle into Pinky’s back. “I’ll win that blue ribbon along with the prize money, and we’ll begin our lives anew within the week.”  

Through his tears, Pinky gave him a wobbly smile. Then he helped Papa onto Pharfignewton’s back. 

“Take care!” Pinky called as Papa flicked the reins, and Pharfignewton trotted off at a steady pace, dragging Madeleine behind her. He watched them from atop the highest hill in the meadow, as they went further down the well-worn trail that merchants used for their travels. 

Then they were nothing but specks in the distance, swallowed by the thick, twisted branches of the forest. It was an unusual forest, one where the trees lost their leaves in early autumn, making the trees look scarier than they actually were for half the year. 

With nothing else to do outside, Pinky went back into the empty cottage. He’d had three years to become familiar with this house, full of odds and ends from Papa’s inventions alongside their meager belongings. 

Mama’s cloak hung from a place of honor on a coat rack by the door, one of the few belongings Pinky could take along no matter where they lived. 

Hours passed, and Pinky already missed the banging and exploding and sputtering of Papa’s inventions. It was just too quiet without them. 

He cleaned the red feather and pretty stone, then added them to his collection. Feathers and rocks didn’t take up a lot of room, and like Mama’s cloak, they could easily be taken to new places as well. He was just very careful not to lose them. 

The wagon was tucked away by the door, and the small bag of money was tucked inside a flower pot. It was how Papa always stored money, and Pinky had picked up the habit. 

There wasn’t much to do. He’d cleaned the cottage several days ago, cellar notwithstanding. That was Papa’s territory, and he always had trouble finding tools when Pinky put them away.

Suppertime approached. 

He could either cook dinner or go to the feast. 

Didn’t matter what he chose. He would be lonely either way. 

A sharp rap on the door startled him out of his thoughts. How strange. People only knocked at this time when there was an emergency. 

“Sorry for taking so long. I wasn’t expecting-” Pinky opened the door, and he immediately stood face-to-face with Prince Snowball. They were so close that their noses nearly touched. “-to see you here, Snowball. Um, this is a surprise. Poit.” 

Snowball’s pink eyes narrowed in annoyance, and Pinky remembered that Snowball preferred to be addressed with his full title. “Yes, it’s not often that someone of my standing chooses to grace a peasant’s home with their presence.”   

Behind Snowball, there was an entourage of townsfolk. Many wore their Sunday best, which was still quite cheap compared to the royal finery that Snowball bore. A fine red coat, a decorative golden cape slung over one shoulder, and white dress pants. A shiny crown embedded with rubies and emeralds sat atop his head. 

“I thought you were all at the tavern for the feast,” Pinky admitted. 

Snowball laughed, but it was a joyless laugh. He stepped across the threshold without being invited in. 

“Why, Pinky. Your hovel is positively primeval,” Snowball said, wrinkling his nose in disdain. He tugged Mama’s cloak off its hook, stared at it for a moment, then carelessly tossed it behind him. “If this is how you live, then it’s a truly auspicious time for me to come and offer you an opportunity out of this squalor.” 

Before Pinky could ask what auspicious was, though he figured it had something to do with Austria, Snowball harshly dug his fingers into Pinky’s shoulders. Pinky tried to pry them off, but the fingers just burrowed further into the fabric of his dress. 

“Not to worry, dear Pinky,” Snowball said. “Today is the day all your dreams come true.” 

“You mean my dream to find a home and a porpoise? Because I don’t know if we have enough money to live by the ocean. Beachside properties get very pricey, you know,” Pinky asked. 

Snowball waved off that concern. “You forget that finances are of no consequence for me. But I digress. For now, allow me to plant the image of a wonderful future in your vacant mind.” 

“Okay, but I don’t know how you’re gonna water it,” Pinky said. 

“Picture this,” Snowball demanded, leading Pinky around the cottage. “A magnificent castle. Two golden thrones, mine higher than the queen’s of course. A few summer homes to expand my sphere of influence. A court of other royals, lesser nobles, while the servants do all the menial work around the fires and kitchen. We’ll have...oh, six or seven.”     

“Servants?” Pinky grinned nervously as Snowball leaned in with a chuckle. 

“Castles, Pinky. How else would I showcase my power?” Snowball corrected. “And the townsfolk shall become our servants. It will save me the trouble of setting up a hiring process anyway. Besides, you’d appreciate having familiar faces around. Less of an adjustment period.” 

Pinky freed himself from Snowball’s grip. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t,” Snowball shrugged. “But in simplest terms, I require a queen. One who is good at smiling, waving, and entertainment.” 

Wouldn’t that person become a princess rather than a queen though? 

Snowball must’ve seen the question coming. He paused in front of the mirror to adjust his crown. 

“There is but one title higher than a prince, Pinky,” Snowball said once he was finished. “In order to qualify for the kingship, it’s required of me to marry first. And do you know who that queen will be?” 

“Elizabeth? Victoria?” Pinky wilted under Snowball’s intense stare. “Um...Cleopatra, final answer?” 

Snowball shook his head. “It will be you, Pinky.” 

A queen? He’d always just been the inventor’s son. An outcast no matter where he lived. How could he possibly be a queen? 

“That’s a very generous offer, Snowball,” Pinky said, once he finally found his words again. 

“Isn’t it, though?” Snowball said smugly. “You and your father will live in an extravagant new home as you perform your queenly duties, and I will be forever hailed as King Snowball. Both of us shall benefit.”

Maybe he and Papa could live in better conditions. Maybe they didn’t have to move around anymore. Maybe they could afford shoes for Pharfignewton. But at the same time…it wouldn’t be right. 

It wouldn’t be home. 

Smiling, waving, entertaining. Was that all he was good for? Was that all Snowball thought he could do? 

“I thought...marriage was for love,” Pinky said softly. “That’s what Papa always said.” 

Snowball rolled his eyes. “It’s a political marriage. It doesn’t have to be built on love.” 

Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it.

It was one of the earliest morals Pinky had learned. 

Wish for a home, only for it to be a castle. Wish for a purpose, and it’s to be married without love as a foundation. 

“Snowball...I’m speechless,” Pinky said, backing out the front door. He nearly tripped over the welcome mat, but regained his footing. “I...I really don’t know what to say.” 

Not even a narf would help him out of this situation. 

“Say that you’ll marry me, Pinky,” Snowball replied, and he stalked toward Pinky like a cunning predator, backing him against the edge of the porch. “And after you say yes, I will announce our engagement to the rest of ACME Village at the feast. Attendance is mandatory for a reason.” 

“I’m really, really sorry, Snowball,” Pinky said. He’d backed up too far, and the heels of his feet dangled precariously over the edge. Instincts kicking in, Pinky grabbed Snowball’s shoulder to pull himself to safety, though he underestimated his strength. Snowball yelped as he was pulled over the edge, falling into the mud puddle by the staircase. 

Oops.  

“Sorry, Snowball! But I just don’t deserve you,” Pinky admitted. 

The mud-covered crown slipped around Snowball’s head, covering his eyes until he took it off with an annoyed grunt. 

Pinky slipped back into the house, grabbed a small towel, and handed it to one of Snowball’s men. 

Claude, if he remembered right. 

“He can have that one,” Pinky told Claude, who gingerly took the towel like it was a fragile item. 

Snowball crawled out of the mud, his royal clothing covered in gunk and sticks. He stomped out of the mud, hands clenching against his sides. 

Snowball’s brow lowered, his pink eyes hidden in humiliation and a quiet, seething fury. 

Slowly, Pinky retreated into the cottage and hid behind the door. There was something about that look that terrified him. And it wasn’t the fun kind of fear, either. 

“You will consider my offer, Pinky. Make no mistake about that,” Snowball spat, his scrutinizing gaze directly on Pinky, despite the door between them. “Claude, quit being daft and hand me that towel already!” 

Pinky waited in the cottage until he could no longer hear their voices or footsteps. They must’ve gone back to the tavern for the feast. 

He didn’t feel hungry though. Snowball’s proposal left a sour taste in his mouth, like he’d just sucked on a lemon.

“He asked me to marry him,” Pinky said to his mother’s cloak, which was still crumpled on the floor. He gently picked it up, brushed off the wrinkles, and put it on. The fabric was warm against his back, like being wrapped in a ginormous embrace. “But he doesn’t love me. Narf! You can’t have a marriage without love!” 

He thought of all the married couples he knew in ACME Village. The baker couple, who were constantly at each other’s throats. Gerard the butcher was always making googly eyes at any woman who bought cuts of meat, much to his wife’s frustration. There was the stressed lady who had to drag her six kids around town while her husband played cards and darts at the tavern.

And Pinky thought of his parents. His mother had fallen in love with his father’s inventive streak when she was the daughter of a town official and Papa was just the crazy mouse whose inventions blew up a lot. 

He tied the cloak tighter around himself. Unable to take the silence of the cottage and the stifling influence of the village much longer, he allowed his feet to carry him out of the cottage and to wherever they wanted to go. 

He sprinted into the unknown. He wouldn’t be afraid of whatever he found there. The autumn wind blew golden, red, and brown leaves in whichever direction it wished as Pinky climbed the highest hill in the gorgeous flower-filled meadow. 

The peak of the hill was his favorite spot, and he was surprised that nobody else came out here to enjoy the view with him. Trees lost their colorful leaves so they could sleep for the winter, the river splashed and babbled along its banks, and proud mountains with mysterious cloud-covered peaks rose high above the landscape.

What laid beyond villages and towns, he didn’t know. 

There was something in that great wide somewhere for him. Just a feeling, an inkling, a hunch. 

But could he truly go exploring it when his home was here? 

Maybe he could convince Papa. Somehow. When Papa came back with the prize money, they could fit Pharfignewton with her shoes and they could all explore together! 

Staring into the autumn landscape, Pinky sank to his knees, careful not to squish the daisies and dandelions around him. 

Maybe that was home, but…

He didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life. Would he ever figure that out? 

He loved Papa, but he couldn’t really talk to him. And Slappy had her hands full with such an energetic nephew. Pinky didn’t want to impose. Everyone in the village gossiped about him, like he couldn’t understand. 

But he did. 

And it hurt. 

“Would be nice to talk to someone. Anyone, really,” he whispered, and he blew on a cluster of dandelion puffs. His wish scattered along the wind.

Pinky picked up more dandelion puffs. If he blew more around, maybe his wish would come true. And dandelion flowers were very pretty. 

Maybe they were considered weeds, but how could anyone call such a sunshine-y yellow flower a pest? He didn’t get it.

Then a distant, familiar neigh caught him off-guard. 

Pinky thumped his hand against his ear. Maybe he was missing Pharfignewton so much that he heard her voice? 

But he’d recognize her magnificent white coat and spirited blue eyes anywhere. 

“Easy, Pharfignewton! It’s okay!” Pinky cried. He scrambled up Pharfignewton’s leg, avoided her flailing hoof, and held onto her muzzle as she bucked and reared in sheer panic. “Shhh, it’s okay. You’re okay…” 

Pharfignewton quieted down, her frantic neighs melting into soft, worried nickers as Pinky stroked her nose. She stopped kicking, though she was wide-eyed with fear. 

Madeleine wasn’t hitched to Pharfignewton. Nor was she wasn’t the only one missing…

And Pinky suddenly understood his horse’s panic. 

“Pharfignewton, where’s Papa?” Pinky asked. “Is he okay? How did you get separated? Did he try another shortcut when I told him not to do it?”  

Pharfignewton’s hooves shuffled, and Pinky forced himself to take a deep breath. He was scaring her with all these questions, so he nuzzled her between the eyes in apology. Still, his heart raced with panic. 

From the top of the hill, he saw thick, gray clouds rolling in from the mountains. The temperature was dropping fast. 

An early winter would be upon them. They had to find Papa quickly. 

“Please, Pharfignewton. We’ve gotta find him,” Pinky pleaded. 

She whinnied in agreement, and galloped into the strange forest with all its dangerous, twisted branches before Pinky had a chance to settle in his usual spot at the base of her neck. 

Don’t worry, Papa. I’m on my way. 

End AN: Well, this is beast is complete (no pun intended). 

Yeah, poor Pinky’s usual charm doesn’t really work here. Poor mouse. 

Slappy is fun to write, not gonna lie. Love her cartoony antics. She’s also led quite the interesting life in this AU. 

The reason Snowball didn’t show up sooner was because I wasn’t sure how to tweak the proposal scene to fit. Cause for one thing, Snowball is way smarter than Gaston, but just as arrogant to boot. So I changed Snowball’s motivation into marrying Pinky because it will help him gain a higher title than a prince. He doesn’t actually love Pinky in this AU, but he’s very annoyed at him for that stunt with the mud puddle (though it’s accidental on Pinky’s part rather than intentional like Belle’s). 

The reason Snowball doesn’t go seeking a princess’s hand to gain the kingship is cause he tried that already. It was Billie of a nearby kingdom. It didn’t go well. 

Also yes the village is named ACME Village because I’m lazy and can’t come up with anything better. 

[freedom-of-writing]

The Stable Girl

Wayhaught AU: 

Waverly of the house Earp is a young princess supposed to marry the champion of the tournament organized by her father, the king, for her 21st birthday. Nicole is the new stable girl with big dreams of becoming a knight of the king's guard. What will happen when these two elements, minding their own business, finally connect? Will they become love?

Chapter 1 – Waverly’s birthday

Her 21st birthday was supposed to be the most magical day of her life. She’d been planning that day for years now. But unfortunately, things don’t always go as planned. Actually, for her it seemed like they never went as planned. Her eldest sister Willa had gotten married 4 years prior, and she had moved to another castle with her husband, prince Robert Svane. Not that she missed her. Willa had always been a bully to her. As for her other big sister Wynonna, she was a knight of the king’s guard, their father’s army, and she’d been away for ten months now. She was probably still fighting some battle, or just getting really drunk in some tavern with the rest of the knights. She’d promised she’d be back for her birthday, but she must’ve forgotten. As always. And that was it. The only other people she talked to in the castle were her two handmaids, Stephanie and Chrissy. When they were younger, she used to consider them her friends, but with time she’d come to realize they only cared about gossip, beautiful dresses and boys. She was way too educated to settle for their company. What she really needed was someone with whom she could talk about literature and science, and do all kinds of things that were not necessarily girly.

When she was a kid, she and Wynonna used to hang out with the stable boys, or the king’s guard rookies. They would wrestle each other and spar with wooden swords, and in the hot season they would ride to a lake only a few miles away from the castle, and they would swim, and talk, and play around… She missed doing all those things. But mostly, she missed being allowed to hang with her sister and the boys. It’d been so long since she’d felt that carefree and happy. Seven years to be precise. On her 14th birthday her father told her she was no longer a kid, and it was time for her to start behaving like a proper lady. She’d never understood why Wynonna was allowed to be a tomboy, while she had to give it all up. But maybe it’s because their father simply viewed his middle daughter as a lost cause. Which might also be why he had given her an ultimatum: either she got married and started acting like a lady, or she trained to become a knight of the king’s guard. But Waverly, she wasn’t stubborn enough to go against her father’s will. And that led her to years spent following Willa around and mimicking her every move, while her sister basically treated her like her personal slave. Finally, when Willa got married, Waverly was left alone. Apart from some brief visits from Wynonna, she’d been alone for 4 years now. At first it had felt very lonely, but with time she got used to the peace and quiet, and most of all, to the company of a good book or some music. She would spend most of her days in the library, reading books, playing piano and singing. When her father wasn’t at home, she would go to the stables and spend hours with the horses, the dogs and Lady Jane, a ginger cat who seemed to dislike every human but her. But she would always make sure not to be alone with the stable boys. She could see the hungry looks on their faces whenever they saw her, and that made her extremely uncomfortable. Wynonna had warned her about that: “beware of the boy who’s turned into a man, for he wants a woman not a friend”. Sometimes her sister could be quite poetic. But she was right. Those who used to be her friends now scared her, and she did not want to be alone in their presence.

Anyways, back to her birthday. You’d think having to spend it all alone was the worst of it, but no. It gets even worse. Apparently, her father had decided 21 was the perfect age for her to become officially a lady. Someone’s lady, to be precise. Her dreams of travelling and exploring the world after coming of age were all shattered by the king’s wish to find her a husband. He would have never said it out loud, but Waverly knew her father couldn’t wait to get rid of her, as bad as it sounds. She never understood why he hated her so much. He was always so attentive when it came to Willa and Wynonna, but with her… sometimes she felt like he didn’t even remember he had a third daughter. Wynonna had always told her he only became so harsh when their mother left. But why punishing his six-year-old kid for a decision his wife had made? It was not her fault she chose to leave her family behind and start a new life somewhere else. If it were for Waverly, she would have gladly left with her mother. At least the queen had always been caring and loving with her. Everything her father had never been. He had never given a damn about what she wanted, nor had he ever bothered giving her a choice.

“You’ll be a grown woman soon. It’s time we find you a husband. You can’t live under your father’s roof forever.” He had told her a month before.

Not wasting any time, he had come up with the perfect plan to find a suitor for his daughter: in honor of the princess’s birthday, the king was to host a week-long tournament, and lords and princes from all over the realm were to come and fight for a chance to win her hand.

Waverly had lost count of how many men she had to welcome and greet in the past couple of days. And it wasn’t even over yet. The last of the party were to arrive that morning, so not even on her birthday was she allowed to have some time for herself and do something she liked. That’s why she had ordered her handmaids to come wake her up early that morning. Obedient as always, Chrissy and Stephanie had knocked on her door at 7 am, two hours before the first guests would be arriving to meet her. In just a little over an hour she was up and ready, which meant she had quite some time to spend on her own before meeting her father in the throne room. The two girls had tried to convince her to let them stay so they could celebrate her birthday together over breakfast, but she had a long day ahead of her, and she really needed some peace and quiet before it started.

When the two had left, she sat down by the window to look out at the garden. Opening it a little, she let the cool breeze run through her stray locks, and she took a deep breath in. She was wearing a huge silver gown with high-heeled shoes. And her hair was tied up behind her head with little lilac flowers in it. The fresh air and the peaceful atmosphere of the garden made her forget about how uncomfortable those clothes were, and for a moment she imagined being little carefree Waverly, running barefoot in the grass chasing butterflies and dreaming about flying up in the sky with them. Her mother would be sitting under a tree making her a flower crown, while Wynonna would be chasing squirrels up the trees like a little monkey. And Willa… well she would be inside with their father, learning how to rule a kingdom. As far as Waverly could remember, Willa had never played outside with them. Wynonna used to say her big sister loved playing with her when they were little, but she was the heir and their father wanted to be sure she knew how to rule the kingdom once he was gone. That’s why Willa had stopped being a kid quite early on.

It was almost the end of summer, and the trees were starting to look less green than before. A light shade of yellow tinted the leaves, and the grass was no longer covered in flowers. In just a few weeks most of the birds would be gone as well, flying away to look for a warmer place to spend the winter. Waverly remembered a conversation she had with her mother on her sixth birthday. The last they spent together.

“The garden is a magical place, my little one. The grass, the trees, the animals moving around… everything’s alive. And everything keeps changing. I could stare at it every day for the rest of my life and never get tired. If you look closely, there’s always something new to admire.”

“But in winter it gets kinda sad. The birds all leave, and the squirrels hide. It all looks kind of naked without leaves and flowers.”

“Life’s a circle, baby girl. The old die so the new can thrive. But there’s beauty even in the silence of a sleeping garden.”

“I miss you, mama.” Waverly whispered at the wind as a tear fell down her cheek.

The king had told everyone the queen had died of a sudden illness, but the three princesses knew she had just left because she couldn’t take that life any longer. Wherever she was, Waverly imagined her sitting in the grass with her eyes closed as she listened to what nature had to say around her. And she was happy. At peace.

Speaking of, her own peace was interrupted by a knock on the door. It was time. Two of his father’s guards had come to escort her to the throne room, where the king was already waiting for her. With a heavy sigh, Waverly got up and closed the window, taking one last deep breath in. Then she turned and followed the guards outside.

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“Father.” She greeted with a slight bow when she reached the throne.

Her father barely bowed his head in return before motioning for her to take her seat by his right side. Once she was seated, she noticed lord John Henry Holliday, the king’s hand, had also taken his place on the other side of the throne. Doc, as he liked to be called, was a middle-aged man, with black hair and a thick black mustache. His beautiful blue eyes met hers briefly and he smiled warmly at her. She had never spent much time with him, but the man had always been really nice and sweet with her.

“Happy birthday, princess.” He mouthed at her.

“Thank you.” She mouthed back with a bright smile.

It was in that moment that she realized her father had not even bothered wishing her a happy birthday when she entered the room. But he probably didn’t even remember it was today. He had never really been aware of her birthday. If it weren’t for Doc, she was sure, he wouldn’t have even remembered she was turning 21 that year.

The noise of heavy footsteps approaching the room brought her back to reality. The captain of the guards, who had been charged to escort each guest to the throne room, entered the room and announced the first lord.

“Welcome to Purgatory, lord Lance” Doc greeted him once the man was standing in front of the throne.

Lord Lance nodded briefly at him, before bowing to the king. “Your majesty.” Then, turning towards Waverly, he bowed slightly to her as well. “Princess.”

“If you will, please, follow the guards, they’ll show you to your room. You can rest and get changed. The king and the princess will see you at lunch.” Doc told him.

“Thank you, lord Holliday.” He nodded again, and then he turned to follow the guards out of the room.

“These Lance… are they rich?” The king asked once the man had left.

“Very rich, your majesty.”

“Good. He seems nice too.”

“He could be father…” Waverly whispered making sure her father wouldn’t hear her.

If she really had no choice but to get married, couldn’t she at least marry a man her age? She thought to herself with a heavy sigh. This birthday was slowly turning into her worst nightmare. She could almost feel tears forming in her eyes, but she could not cry right now. The morning had just begun, she had to keep it together. With a deep breath, she pushed back the tears, and she put on a smile as the next guest was admitted into the room.

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The morning had seemed to last forever. The last of the guests arrived when everyone was ready to go to lunch, and the king refused to meet him. Doc had tried to convince Waverly to go with the king, but she refused. She hated this whole meeting and greeting the guests, but these men had come from all over the realm just for her, and the least she could do was welcoming them into her home as a princess should do. Obviously, her gesture did not go unnoticed, and the lord made sure she knew how grateful he was for her patience. He was an old man, almost completely bold, but at least he’d proved to be very polite, offering Waverly his arm as they walked to the dining room.

After an hour, Waverly was getting a terrific headache, and she just couldn’t take the noise anymore. Being the only woman in a room full of men was bad enough, but being the only woman in a room full of screaming drunk men was too much.

“Father, I’m not feeling well, I think I might retreat to the library for a while.” She tried to tell him, but the king was too drunk to process what she’d just said.

Luckily, Doc heard her and granted her permission to go. “We’ll see you at four. Have some rest, princess.”

She smiled gratefully at him, and then she turned towards the guests excusing herself. Once she was out, she ran down the hallway and out into the garden. As the fresh air filled her lungs, she felt her head beginning to pound less and less. She was free, at least for an hour or so. After a moment of reflection, she decided that going for a walk in the garden would be much better than closing herself in the library. The cool breeze would surely make her headache to go away. She just hoped no one went looking for her inside, or she would be in great trouble.

She’d been walking for forty minutes when she found herself in front of the stables. It had been a while since the last time she went in. In the past year the king had barely ever left the castle to go haunting with his lords. Taking a look around to make sure nobody could see her, she decided to go in. She was immediately greeted by lady Jane who came running towards her.

“Hey, little one. Did you miss me? Yeah?” She said as she leaned down to pet her, and the cat happily purred in response.

She stayed like that for a while, but suddenly the cat took off looking for a place to hide.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Waverly asked as she got up to see where she had gone.

“I didn’t know princesses were allowed in the stables.” A voice said from behind, startling her.

“God!” Waverly exclaimed with a little jump. “You scared me...” She said turning around to face the other person.

In front of her was a beautiful tall young woman with long red hair and big brown eyes, which seemed like they could stare right into her soul. She was wearing a pair of khakis and a sleeveless brown leather jacket over a creme shirt. She must have been a new servant or something, because Waverly couldn’t recall having seen her before. And it’s not like there were many ginger heads around there.

“Are you okay?” The redhead asked with a chuckle.

Waverly couldn’t help but stare at her. The woman was giving her the most beautiful smile Waverly had ever seen. And the dimples on the side of her mouth made her look even cuter.

“Yeah, I’m… I just had a crazy morning.” She managed to answer after a moment.

“Sorry I wasn’t there to see it.” The woman said with a smirk.

Was she… was this woman flirting with her? Waverly couldn’t help but blush a little at her cheeky behavior.

“I’ve been… I’ve been meaning to introduce myself. I’m Nicole. Nicole Haught. The new stable girl.” The redhead said trying to break the awkward silence. Offering her hand for the princess to take, she continued. “And you are… Waverly Earp. Quite a popular girl around here.” She smiled before kissing the back of Waverly’s hand, making the princess blush in the process.

In her life, she had been greeted like that from gentlemen a thousand times, but no one had ever made her feel butterflies in her stomach. Waverly felt so shy and small as Nicole’s soft lips grazed her skin.

“So… why is a princess like you hiding from her perfect life?” Nicole asked letting go of Waverly’s hand.  

“I’m not hiding!” Waverly answered harshly, catching Nicole off guard. “I’m sorry… I’m not usually like this.” She apologized when she noticed the shocked look on the redhead’s face.

“Hey… I get it. No one’s life is perfect.” She reassured her with a shrug.

“Yeah, well, mine’s feeling more like hell than a perfect life lately…” Waverly said more to herself than to Nicole, but the stable girl still heard her loud and clear and gave her a questioning look.

“I’ve spent the past couple of days smiling and waving at lords and princes who came here for the tournament. My father wants me to marry the champion.” She explained with a sigh.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’ve spent all morning cleaning your stables. Looks like my morning was shittier than yours. Both literally and figuratively.” Nicole joked hoping to lighten Waverly’s mood.  

“Might be hard to believe, but… I kinda envy you.”

“Oh, c’mon, how bad can it be? You get to marry a rich prince, or some brave knight…”

“Most of the men I’ve greeted are like forty years old! And what if I just don’t wanna get married?!” Waverly exclaimed in an exasperated tone.

Couldn’t everyone just leave her be for one freaking minute, and let her choose whether she wanted to get married or not?! All her life, she’d had to be what others expected her to be, but no one ever bothered asking what it was that she really wanted. Willa got to marry a rich prince, yeah, but he was also the man she’d been in love with ever since they were kids. And even Wynonna was given a choice. Okay, it was more of an ultimatum, but still… she wasn’t forced to marry a man twice her age. But what about her? Her father had never given her a chance to find her place in this world. All these years spent trying to be the perfect little girl her family wanted her to be, hoping to enter her father’s graces, and nothing had changed.

“What do you want?” Waverly was taken aback by that question. Nicole was the first person who’d ever asked her that.

“I… I don’t know.” She realized in that moment that she’d never really thought about that question, so used to tailor herself to the people she was with.

“Well, what do you like? There’s gotta be something that’s just… yours. A dream, a wish, a passion…”

“I… I’ve always wanted to see the world, and visit the places I’ve read about in my books. And… and I wanna drink beer at the tavern with my friends, or… hold a sword, a real sword. I wanna travel around with the king’s guard and fight in battles like my sister does. Why does she get to be a hero, while I get to be just…” She trailed off.

“Just what?”

“Me.” Waverly concluded in a sad tone.

“Hey… look, you as you are, are okay. You don’t have to be a hero to be special.” Nicole tried to comfort her by grabbing her hand and giving it a light squeeze.

Waverly looked down at their joined hands for a moment, and then she looked up only to be met by the brightest and warmest smile ever. Nicole was looking at her with so much love and compassion that she felt like she could get lost in those big brown eyes of hers.

“You’re special, baby girl. Don’t ever forget that.”

So far, mama had been the only one to ever call her that.

They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, until it became too much. Retracting her hand from Nicole’s, Waverly tried to break the awkward silence. “So, hum… what about you? What do you want?” Waverly asked while sitting down on a trunk nearby.

“Me? I’m just a stable girl…”

“And don’t stable girls have dreams too?”

“I should probably get back to work now. Those horses won’t brush themselves.” Nicole said, clearly avoiding the question.

“You know, when I was a little kid I used to come here every day and would spend hours with my horse. But when I turned 14, my father forbade me to come to come to stables. I could still ride my horse if I we had to go somewhere, but he said I wasn’t a kid anymore, and ladies can’t get covered in mud and dust. The only times I can come to the stables are when he’s not at home.”

“So why are you here?”

“I needed a break. And he thinks I’m in the library.”

“I see…” Nicole said, then she got an idea. “Hey, do you wanna help out?”

“Oh, I’d love to! Like… like to. But I can’t.” She tried to correct herself.

What the hell, girl? Get your shit together! She mentally scolded herself. You see one hot girl, and suddenly your brain can’t work anymore? OMG, did she just think Nicole was hot?

She took a deep breath in order to gain some control again, and then she continued explaining. “If I get dirt on my gown, my father’s gonna kill me.”

“I got some spare clothes if you want… you could just get changed.” Nicole offered with a smile. Or was it a smirk?

“It’s not that simple, it took me like 40 minutes to get into this gown.”

“40 minutes, huh? I bet I could get you out of it faster…” Nicole said to herself, but it was still loud enough for Waverly to hear it.

“What?”

“Help. I bet I could help you out of it faster. If… if you wanted to get changed.” She tried to correct herself.

Damn it, Haught! Couldn’t you keep the comment to yourself? This time it was Nicole’s turn to mentally scold herself.

“Right. Hum…” Waverly didn’t really know where to go from there. She had never actually flirted with someone before. Let alone with a woman. She needed an excuse to leave, fast. She couldn’t do this right now. “I… I’d better go back now. Before my father finds out I’m not actually in the library.”

“Sure, yeah. Then maybe some other time.” Nicole smiled at her. “I mean it.” She added with a hint of a smirk.

Waverly smiled briefly at her, and then she turned to leave before the other woman could notice just how bad she was blushing.

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Chapter 2 - The night shift

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Shelbys at Somme Chapter 22

Thomas X Reader

Word Count: 1823

Summary: We’re getting the band back together. 

by @adventuresintooblivion

Y/N huffed a stray curl out of her face as she walked down the street. She’d been hunting Thomas down for days trying to get a hold of him, to warn him. Hell, at this point she’d considered sending a note. But he needed to know that the possibility of a gang war was on the horizon.

It was one of the few times Y/N had visited the Shelby home. She’d mainly avoided the place up until now, letting Thomas and the others have a sanctuary. Everyone needed one. But today the streets were buzzing with activity. Runners made their way back and forth between illicit sales, the horse tracks, and the books that Thomas kept locked up so tightly.

Once inside the volume only increased as it was captured by thin walls. It wasn’t the business, however, that made the whole affair so wild. It was a handful of unexpected visitors. 

Beneath the chalkboard in the back of the room Aunt Pol stood grasping Ada as if it were the last time she was ever going to see the girl. Beside her stood her husband grinning like he was a priest witnessing the Lord rise again himself.

“Is that Freddie-fucking-Thorne I see? What happened to you getting got by the coppers?” Y/N gasped in feigned astonishment.

Freddie whipped around, his jaw falling slack as he took in the sight before him, “Y/N? Is that really you?”

She closed the distance between them quickly, “Oh, don’t tell me no one mentioned I was around. I’ve been here for months.”

In half a breath Freddie swept her up into his arms, “No, I was told all about you. I guess I never really let myself believe it until I’d laid eyes on you myself.” 

Y/N choked out a laugh as she waved in a feeble attempt to return the crushing hug. “Ada, a little help?”

Ada’s laugh rang out like a bell as she lightly placed her hand on Freddie’s shoulder, “Put her down, love. I’d like to say ‘hi’ as well.”

Freddie roughly let down the woman, letting her gasp for breath as Ada wrapped her arms around Y/N, careful to balance the baby in her other arm. 

“Fucking Christ man you’re trying to kill me all over again. And you didn’t answer my question,” Y/N coughed as she returned Ada’s embrace. Freddie bounced on his heels, the excitement too much for him to contain.

He blurted out, “Danny got me out. He’s around here somewhere. I see you met My Wife.” His hand made a small flourish in Ada’s direction as if to show her off.

“Yeah, I see you’ve even gotten her a ring and everything.” Y/N lifted Ada’s left hand and gave it a soft squeeze. A smile split across Ada’s face, making her almost glow in the dim light. “I knew there was a proper man in there somewhere. Had to bash that over Thomas’ skull a few times before he’d listen.”

Freddie froze, “You vouched for me? To Tommy?”

“Of course I did. The Freddie that watched my back in the trenches never would’ve left the woman he loved behind. Thomas just got too caught up in the business of it all.” Y/N shrugged.

Aunt Pol caught her eye, tears were trickling down her cheeks as she smiled like the whole world was right for once. It was only temporary. Even as they all spoke they knew that. Yet, when life is as short and cruel as it is, you knew to take what you could get.

“So, how come I haven’t heard about you getting engaged?” Freddie coughed uncomfortably. He reached for Y/N’s left hand, inspecting it as if it held all the answers. “Cause when Ada told me you were back, I just knew that’s what you came back for.”

“Freddie…” Y/N warned.

Ada cast a glance back towards Aunt Pol. “Yeah, you said she came back for Tommy didn’t you?”

 “It was a joke you’d hear them making all the time. Honestly, if things had gone right you’d probably be looking at a real Mrs. Thomas Shelby right now.” Freddie teased.

Y/N thunked Freddie on his sternum, her eyes narrowed as he doubled over. “Thanks. Share that with everyone. Please. Continue.” 

“Alright. Alright. But seriously, You two aren’t getting married? I thought he’d be ecstatic to see you,” he said as he righted himself.

She shrugged, hoping the movement showed him just how uncomfortable she was. “He’s got a thing for a barmaid at the moment. And you know how I am, second place really isn’t my style. Besides, we’re not on the best of terms right now.”

Aunt Pol stepped forward to place her hand on the back on Y/N arm, “While I knew Thomas liked you, I didn’t realize it had gotten so far. We’ll talk about this later.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Y/N shot Freddie a look that could kill. 

They were interrupted by the door bursting open. One of the many men who worked for the Peaky Blinders stumbled in gasping.

“They’ve got him! The Rothschilds have Tommy!”

The air left Y/N’s lungs all in a rush. That was a name she prayed to never hear again. The whole room stood still. Violence raised her bloody crown whenever the Rothschilds marched and every man, woman and child knew it. And now they had Tommy. It was Arthur who broke the silence.

“Out with it man! What happened?”

The man fumbled forward until he collapsed into a chair, shaking his head. “We were on our way to meet Kimber’s boys. We had to cross the bridges to get there cause Kimber was at some fancy party and we got jumped. I swear there were at least ten of them. Beat the shit out of us and tossed Tommy in a carriage when he couldn’t get up anymore. It was bad, Arthur.”

Aunt Pol was visibly trembling as she reached out for the man, “How do you know it was the Rothschilds? Tell me, there is a fraction of a chance that you were wrong.”

He shook his head, “It was them Ma’am. The carriage they brought, it was a beat up old thing but it was painted in their colors. And...And I saw him. Sid, himself showed.”

Arthur glanced around wildly, “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go get Tommy.” He grabbed his coat and began running for the door.

“Arthur, STOP.” It was Y/N. “They let this man go. They let him go so he would tell us. Sid knows everyone here would die for Tommy, without question. If you run off like you plan to, you’ll just be running into whatever he’s got set up waiting for you.”

“Then what the fuck do you think we should do then, Miss Knows Everything.” His face was steadily turning a brighter shade of red.

But Aunt Pol simply collapsed. She grabbed for a chair as she went down, the resounding crash caught Arthur’s attention as his fists clenched and unclenched. He rushed forward, encircled her in his arms as sobs ripped through her chest, “NO! No. No. No. No. My boy!”

Arthur stared down at her bewildered, “Aunt Pol, We could go after him. We could-”

“No! She… She’s right. Either they’ll kill him or they’ll make him watch as we try to save him. The Peaky Blinders will be slaughtered.”

John paced back and forth, “I know we’re outnumbered, but it’s Tommy. We can’t just give up.”

Freddie ran his fingers through his hair, “I know I’m not a part of the gang scene, but didn’t these guys almost wipe out Kimber’s gang before he got a hold of the race tracks?”

John nodded, “Yeah, he pays them to leave him alone. They have a whole army of people.”

Aunt Pol’s sobs stuttered to a halt as she rounded on Y/N. “They’ve got an army and we need a miracle. You, you’re the impossible girl.”

Apparently the idiotic moniker had been making the rounds, Y/N sighed heavily as she silently cursed that random Lee.

“Pol, I know I’m pretty stubborn but the Rothschilds?” Y/N shook her head. “It’d take weeks of planning and if we go after Tommy we’d have to leave NOW.”

“I know who you are. Tommy told me. You smuggled priceless goods while in the army. You came back from the dead. You walk on two legs while your spine is held together by sinew and sheer will. You know where that monster is taking my nephew. Now get out there and. Bring. Him. Back.” She spat the order at Y/N.

Arthur stared up at her in quiet astonishment, “Well, I guess you’re in charge of this one, mate.”

Y/N’s mouth set into a thin line. Gears began turning in her head about what she knew, the memories flooding forth unbidden as she relived her childhood. The carriages, the beating, the lone survivor. It all rang a bell. 

She began to pace, “It’s too risky to have this war in Birmingham with that new Inspector sniffing at our heels. They’d have to take him out of the city to ambush us properly.”

Freddie glanced at her, “Which means we need to get Tommy before they leave the city.”

She nodded, “Their carriages are also altered. They have better maneuverability than anything coming out of a factory. Not to mention they’re skinnier so they can fit down roads most cars won’t be able to.”

“How do you know all this?” Ada asked, bouncing her child gently to calm him in light of all the noise. 

Y/N let out a nervous chuckle, “You’ll find out tonight if I get back.”

Arthur’s brows furrowed, “I thought you just said we couldn’t go after him.”

“The entirety of the Peaky Blinders can’t. But maybe, just maybe, a smaller team could get this done.” Y/N glanced around. “Hey Freddie, are you up for an adventure?”

He saluted her, “For you and Tommy? Always.”

Y/N glanced at Ada, who answered with a silent nod, before asking, “Isn’t one of you Shelby’s a gunner?”

John stepped forward, “That’d be me. They handed me most of the big guns but I remember how to work a proper sniper rifle if that’s what you need.”

Her fingers tapped out a nervous rhythm as Y/N’s mind grasped at straws. A vague plan was forming at the edges of her mind, knitting itself together into something that could possibly work. 

“Alright. No, the big guns are exactly what we need right now. John, Freddie, meet me at the corner by the West Bridge.”

“You’ve actually got a plan?” John asked hopefully.

Y/N grimaced, “I’ve got something. I wouldn’t quite call it a plan yet, but come on boys. Let’s go get Tommy back.”