#susan's face is delight the whole time | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lucygxybaird · 18 days ago

Text

12 days of Christmas - Day Two

When you were a little girl, you loved Christmas. Everyone seemed happier, rosy-cheeked from the brisk winter air, bundled up in coats and furs so that your childish imagination turned them into cheerful, frolicking bears, dashing busily to and fro. You adored how the world around you seemed to shine, from the tree glittering with candles and baubles, to the fresh blanket of snow breaking up the rays of a weak winter sun into countless points of light.

And you loved the excitement of waking up on Christmas morning, discovering packages set under the tree that hadn’t been there when you went to sleep. You remember your parents nestled together in the same chair, watching you dive into your gifts, smiling indulgently each time you squealed or clapped in delight.

Now, you find the magic of the season has shifted outward, toward others. Your delight in gifts manifests itself in giving them to others, though you have to admit you aren’t as good at wrapping as your mother was (no matter how hard you try, you just can’t get the thick, colorful paper to fold right on the ends). You adore finding the perfect gift for someone on your list, feeling that little bubble of excitement in the pit of your stomach as you imaging their face when they open it. You even love finding little hiding places for them until you can put them out on Christmas morning, feeling like you’re caught between a squirrel hiding nuts and one of Santa’s elves.

More than anything, you love the sparkle and the lights just as much as ever, perhaps even more so — their beauty means more to you now because you find a simplicity in it, a purity, that’s so at odds with how the world truly is.

Perhaps that’s really what you adore so much about the season now, as a woman grown. It’s almost as if everything is floating, a snowflake swirling gently in an eddy of the breeze, sparkling and delicate. Perfect. Just for a month or two, things seem peaceful. You feel comforted, safe, as if the innocence and joy of your childhood never really disappeared, but just pulled ahead of you, flickering around the corner like the swish of a hem.

Oh — and the music! As a child, you would make hot chocolate for the carolers who showed up at your door, insisting they stay long enough to have a cup. You didn’t know until you were much older that they came to your house last every year, to make sure they would have enough time to stay. The songs still fill you with a feeling of giddiness, like something is wonderful is waiting for you the moment the last word fades away.

We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, and a happy New Year…

You hum softly to yourself as Susan McSween sits at the piano, the silvery notes dancing cheerfully through the air. As you watch a group approach the piano, you have to bury your face in the mug of hot chocolate in your hand in order to suppress your smile. Among them are John Tunstall and Alexander McSween, both of whom are exemplary men who could not carry a tune in a wheelbarrow — or a wagon, for that matter. On Alexander’s other side, his arm thrown companionably around his shoulders, is Billy.

The two of you grin at each other.

“Good tidings we bring, to you and your kin — good tidings for Christmas, and a happy New Year!”

As it comes back to the chorus, John gestures to include the whole room, prompting everyone to sing along.

“We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, and a happy New Year!”

Billy can barely keep it together through the verse about figgy pudding, and you set your mug down, rather than risk choking to death on a sip of cocoa. He keeps catching your eye, which makes even more difficult to keep from laughing. Someone — probably Billy himself — tucked a sprig of holly into his hair, and there’s traces of a eggnog mustache still lingering on his upper lip. His cheeks are flush and his eyes are sparkling with barely suppressed mirth and easily open happiness.

He is, in your ironclad estimation, the most gorgeous man on earth, and you are so in love with him that sometimes it feels like your heart is simply going to turn itself inside out from the sheer intensity of it.

The song ends with a flourish from Susan on the piano, and a shout of, “And a Happy New Year!” from the group of singers around the piano. You’ve never seen Alexander in any other state besides perfectly prim and proper, but you’re fairly certain he’s currently tipsy, if not drunk. He plops down on the piano bench beside Susan and gives her a resounding smacking kiss on the cheek.

Billy rounds the piano and makes his way to you. You watch him walk across the room, the Christmas lights and candle glow sliding softly over his suntanned skin, catching in his curls, reflecting in his eyes. You hold out your arms as he gets closer, and he chuckles, crossing the remaining space in a bound and snatching you up in an embrace that lifts your feet off the floor. You laugh, winding your arms around his neck, feeling entirely safe with your chest against his and his arms snug around your waist.

“Ready to go home, darlin’?” he says, brushing his lips against your ear. “I don’t think it’s gonna be too much longer before McSween is snorin’ to beat the band, anyway.”

You peek over his shoulder to see Alexander leaning against Susan, his head nestling against hers. You bite your lip to keep from giggling. “Maybe we should go,” you agree, and glance at the window. White clouds streaked with charcoal gray are starting to lower over the horizon, obscuring the stars. As you watch, a few flakes start to drift lazily downward. “We should get home before that gets any heavier, anyway.”

Billy sets you down, though he puts an arm around your shoulders. He steers you toward John Tunstall, who is refilling a his glass of eggnog. “Mr. Tunstall, I think we’re gonna head home,” he says. “It’s startin’ to snow out there, and we don’t wanna get caught in it.”

Tunstall smiles. “Of course, Billy, thank you both for coming,” he says. “Here — ”

He goes to a cabinet and opens it up to pull out a thick flannel blanket, which he presses into Billy’s arms. Now that you look at him, Tunstall might be a little tipsy himself, the apples of his cheeks a ruddy color and his eyes sparkling more than usual. “Please, take this,” he says. “It’ll keep you warm on your ride home.”

“Well—” Billy starts, but Tunstall waves him off.

“No, no, please, I insist. You can just bring it back the next time you visit.”

You take Billy’s hand and give a little tug, trying to signal that you should make your getaway before Tunstall pushes any other gifts into his arms. The corners of Billy’s lips twitch despite his best efforts, and he gives your hand a brief squeeze in return.

“Thank you, Mr. Tunstall,” he says. “I appreciate it.”

Billy propels you toward the door as you bravely fight the urge to giggle, which isn’t aided in any way by Alexander McSween launching into a spirited rendition of “Come Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen”.

After handing you up into the seat of your wagon, Billy climbs up after you, taking up the reins and giving them a little flick. The horses start forward with a lurch, and you tuck the flannel around the both of you, making Billy chuckle softly.

Strains of music drift after you in the night, and Billy takes up the familiar refrain. “God rest ye, merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay…”

His rich, sweet voice is low and soft, for you only. You smile as you snuggle up against his shoulder.

The road in front of you is starting to take on a fine dusting of sparkling white. On either side, the fields are buried in an ivory blanket, glittering in the starlight. Bare-limbed trees stand stark as sentinels, their skeletal fingers outlined against the clouds like lines of ink, a map to the heavens. You watch as the branches collect snow, like a woman pulling on delicate lace gloves, finger by finger. Between the flannel wrapped around you and Billy’s warmth pressed against your side, the cold air is sweet and bracing, making you feel invigorated.

“Oh, tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy…”

You smile as Billy continues to sing for you. Turning your head, you press a soft kiss to his cheek, and watch as a smile unfurls over his lips.

The ride is idyllic, like driving through a Courier and Ives print, but you’re glad to see the little cabin you share with Billy appear in the distance. It looks like a gingerbread house, the snow like a thick layer of icing on the roof, stacking up on the windowsills, the weathered boards of the house looking like a freshly baked cookie. Billy drives the wagon into your little lean-to and offers you a hand to help you down.

As soon as your feet are on the ground, Billy has you up against his chest, his hands framing your face as he kisses you so fiercely that it dispels the wintry evening chill entirely. You melt into his embrace, your arms winding around his neck.

“Have I mentioned lately that I love you?” he says, and you smile.

“I think it’s come up once or twice,” you quip.

Truth be told, hardly a day goes by where Billy doesn’t tell you he loves you more than once. And even on the rare instances where he doesn’t say so out-loud, he finds other ways to let you know — you’ll come home to find your winter coat mended, because you mentioned that morning you could feel the weather turning; he’ll make you hot chocolate, with a blanket and a fresh candle set up by your chair near the fire, so you can sip while you read. Or you’ll just catch him watching you from across the room, the softest expression on his face.

“I love you, too,” you say, leaning up to kiss him again. “Now let’s get inside before Jack Frost starts nipping at our noses.”

Billy smiles and leads you inside, taking Tunstall’s blanket from around your shoulders and helping you out of your coat. “Here, I have an idea,” he says, and spreads the blanket before the hearth.

As you watch, he lights a fire, and bids you to sit with a little gesture of his hand. He brings a bottle of wine and a tray from the kitchen, laden with bread, cheese, and fruit. “I know we ate at Mr. Tunstall’s,” he said. “But I figure a little snack before bed wouldn’t hurt, would it?”

You smile up at him. “Wine and food?” you tease. “If I didn’t know any better, Mr. Bonney, I’d say you were trying to woo me.”

He settles down beside you, pretending offense as he puts a hand over his heart. “Darlin’, are you saying I haven’t already?” he says, but then he smiles. “Maybe I am. You deserve it. I don’t want you to ever think I’m takin’ you for granted.”

Reaching out to smooth your fingers through his hair, which still holds that sprig of holly in its curls, you say, “I know you don’t. No one has ever made me feel as loved as you do.”

He turns his head, kissing your palm. “Well, good,” he murmurs, his eyes soft.

The two of you share some wine, and feed each other fruit and cheese from the platter. When you’re both sated, you expect Billy to offer to bring out his fiddle, or maybe even retire to bed. To your surprise, though, you realize he looks…well, nervous. Before you can ask what the matter is, he clears his throat.

“I know it’s a few days early,” he says, “but I was wonderin’ if I could give you one of your Christmas presents early.”

“If you w—!”

You haven’t even fully finished your sentence before he’s on his feet. “Close your eyes?” he says, looking so anxious and earnest that you obey without question.

His footsteps, a rustling noise, footsteps again, and then: “Okay, open.”

Your breath catches in your chest as you take in Billy, down on one knee in front of you, a little velvet box nestled in the palm of his hand. Your fingers flutter to your mouth, and you feel your throat tighten. As much as you’ve wanted this, you can’t quite believe it’s finally happening.

“Honey, I’ve thought about what I’d wanna say to you right now just about a thousand times,” he says, his trembling voice suggesting his own throat is rather full. “But I realized I love you too much to even begin to express it. What you’ve done for me, what you continue to do for me every day, just by lovin’ me — it’s more than I deserve, and more than I ever expected to have. You believe that I’m a good man, and you’re the reason I am one.”

He clears his throat, opening the box with unsteady fingers. You gasp at the ring inside, a diamond sparkling to match the snow outside. “Will you marry me?” Billy says.

You manage to croak out a, “Yes, yes, of course I will!” and then the ring is on your finger and you’re in Billy’s arms. He showers your face with kisses until you’ve dissolved into a mixture of giggles and tears.

“Merry Christmas, honey,” he says against your hair, and it doesn’t even matter that you really do have a few days to go. No Christmas miracle could compare to this.

“Merry Christmas, Billy.”

#billy the kid 2022 #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid fanfiction #william h bonney fanfiction #tom blyth #12 days of christmas #12doc day two

35 notes · View notes

rainintheevening · 7 months ago

Text

"Peter William Pevensie!"

There was more fear in the cry than anger, but the boy was too young to tell the difference, and he flinched, but did not hide his face.

"Oh, Peter!" Softer she spoke, as she crouched down to lightly brush cool fingers over the bloody cheek, and the boy relaxed, grinned gamely.

"I'm alright, Mummy. Was just James, got me with his sword."

Peter, from the Greek Petros/Petra, meaning rock, stone. The name bestowed by Jesus, who is called Christ, on His disciple Simon (bar Jonah).

"And I say also unto thee, That thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it."

One of the first disciples of Christ, denied his Lord three times, saw the Christ after His resurrection, received forgiveness, lead the early church from Jerusalem, died a martyr's death upon an upside-down cross.

"And that explains why your shirtsleeve is gone, hmm? And this tear in your knickerbockers, I suppose."

Her hand was gentle on his hair, and he sighed, proud of the way his arms hurt, his knee ached, the taste of blood that still lingered on his tongue. He was a knight, after all, like King Arthur. He had friends to protect, and battles to fight. Wounds were things to be proud of.

"Did you fight honourably?"

He looked up into his mother's face, and her eyes told him this was important, even as her lips smiled.

Peter knew what 'honourable' meant; Daddy had told him. It meant not hitting a girl, and not hitting a boy when he was down, or hurt, or smaller than Peter. It meant being fair, and not cheating. It meant being kind, even to people he didn't like.

He nodded. "I think so. Least, I tried." He had almost taken an extra swing at Billy, after the other boy had lost his sword, but James had stepped in front of him, and made sure Billy got his wooden weapon back, before the fight continued.

"Good." Mummy's whole face looked happy then, and she stood up straight, took his hand. "Come along then, and we'll clean you up."

William, from the Germanic, will-helm, or more often rendered resolute protector. The name of England's first Norman king, 'William the Conquerer', as well as that of Scotland's guardian, William Wallace.

Of Wallace: "He was appointed Guardian of the kingdom not so much by election as by divine intervention..." — Walter Bower

Also the name of that prolific playwrite and poet, William Shakespere, and of England's passionate abolitionist, William Wilberforce.

Peter followed obediently, only slowing as they passed the baby's bassinet on the way to the kitchen.

"He's asleep," his mother said quietly, "Don't wake him."

Peter was quiet, glancing back as he stood by the table, while Mummy fetched a rag, wet it at the sink.

"Will Eddie be able to play with me soon?" he asked at last. "I know he's still small, but he'll get strong soon, won't he?"

There was a little pause, before his mother came toward him with the cloth, and with a smile, picked him up and seated him on the edge of the kitchen table. He dangled his legs, delighted, but not distracted.

"Won't he, Mummy?"

"Oh, I expect so." The rag brushed his cheek, and he couldn't help squeaking, just a little. "He'll be out there in the street with you before I can turn around." She stopped wiping away the blood for a moment, and looked him in the eye, quite serious. "You'll still need to watch out for him, you know. Even when he's bigger. You're already so sweet with him, but try to keep being kind, always. Try to remember that, alright?"

Peter looked back at her, feeling like he was a knight being told something very important by the queen. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good child." She kissed his forehead, and went back to the work of cleaning his cuts.

Peter sat as still as he could, only swinging his legs gently, careful not to kick his mother, going stiff whenever a fresh burst of pain came.

She was cleaning his knee when Susan started in roaring from the nursery upstairs, and almost at the same moment, Ed gave a little cry.

"Oh, dear." His mother made a face, something he didn't usually see grown-ups do, and she lifted him down to the floor. "Peter, dear. Try to keep the baby quiet while I fetch Susie?"

"Yes, Mummy."

Peter didn't mind being told to look after Eddie, he liked his baby brother. Peter was tall enough to rest his arms on the edge of the bassinet, and he leaned in, murmuring gentle things like Daddy did.

"Hullo now, Eddie. It's alright, little fellow. I'm here. Big brother's here."

The thin mewing noise stopped, and dark eyes peered out of the pale face at him.

"Don't worry, Mummy will be back soon, she just has to get Susie."

Peter put out one hand, knuckles still scraped and red, dirt still under his fingernails, and stroked a gentle finger down the baby's cheek.

"That's right. Big brother's here. You're alright, Eddie."

He was surprised by the force with which the tiny fingers wrapped around his, but then he grinned, delighted.

"See, I knew you were getting stronger! It'll be just as Mummy said, you'll come playing with me in no time. And I'll let you have my best sword, I can make a new one. I'll teach you how to fight, don't worry."

The little blond boy was still talking when his mother came down the stairs, holding her now mollified second-born, and she stood for a moment, watching and smiling, a deep sudden gratefulness welling up in her heart. He would be well, Edmund would. How could he not with such a loving protector as Peter?

#yes i am gonna make this a quick series on their names #seriously though PETER WILLIAM PEVENSIE is the PERFECT name for that boy #peter pevensie #my writing #narnia fanfiction #chronicles of narnia #narnia

53 notes · View notes

aconflagrationofmyown · 2 years ago

Text

K-Rations: make me know it, go ahead and show it

a Sarge and lil Mama fic, the long anticipated sequel to D-Rations

The sequel to D-Rations: or the one where Elaine realizes she’s in love with her husband and takes measures to make certain no such silliness as the miscommunication in the last chapter will ever come between them again

Warnings: 18+ smut, free use, adoring objectification of a husband??, overstimulation, lactation kink, slight sub space (male), angry makeup sex, cum feeding, communication issues and LOVE

Coauthored with the inimitable @prompted-wordsmith who’s initial prompt for this months ago launched a thousand ships 💋

Elvis had a very clear memory of being fifteen years old and dragging his heels every inch of the mile and a quarter from school to home one overcast day. Scuffing and meandering his way back to his family’s apartment in the Courts and dawdling on the steps outside, flirtin’ with the girls and begging his cousin Gene to get him a glass of water from inside.

“Get it yourself.” Gene had grumbled, till he caught sight of the shiner underscoring the swelling below one of Elvis’ blazing azure eyes.

Gene was a good fella and got that glass of water for him and brought it to him from the Smithe’s upstairs apartment and thusly Elvis had bought about forty five minutes of extra time before Gladys came out and caught sight of the damage done to her son’s face.

It was hard, Elvis thought then, balancing his understanding of his mama’s dread of any harm coming to him with the very dire need to exert himself or else get run over entirely in the harsh crucible of high school.

He’d been punched, and so he punched right back. And tomorrow would be better for it, ugly bruise marring his face, nonetheless. It was the sort of taking care of business womenfolk just couldn’t quite grasp, and he had felt some fiery exasperation that any reasoning was owed them at all for how a man conducted himself outside the female domain. It wasn’t them getting punched, was it? So why should they object if he punched and got punched? Just a fella taking care of business, best he knew how.

Elvis chafed under the nagging familiarity that trudging home to Elaine this fine European evening brought to mind. He thought of trudging home to mama. No shiner this time, just an arm still warm from being hung on by other women and half-baked good intentions he had no idea how to make her understand.

The cobblestone blocks home from the corner diner had never seemed so short and the crowd of fans to impede him so thin. He oughta be rushing home and assuring Elaine that he missed her and that he was just bein’ gentlemanly and givin’ her a lil breather after all the use he put her to since she got over here. But none of that explained the reason she fled as soon as she caught sight of him��or so Rex had told him. Told him she bolted right away. Elvis had never seen Elaine bolt, and just last week he’d seen her hold her ground like never before with those two harlots, Susan and Doris.

It gave Elvis a horrid, queer sorta feeling it had to do with the waitresses that he’d gotten a lil friendly with. Elaine had never minded before but now felt different and like he was in the wrong somehow. He just didn’t know how and before long he’d be at the front gates and he oughta be delighted he was almost home after such a long day. It’s all he wanted, to go home and be with his little family.

Really, he swore it was, so much so he was heartsick with it. And yet he dawdled like a naughty child outside the perimeter of his own fence, half expecting Elaine to embody Mama, to come out from their Bavarian style home wielding a broom handle and switch his backside for bad behavior, crowd of fans be damned.

He really got a little sick at the way his pulse thumped at that thought and his blood ran south in hardening interest. Wasn’t that the reason for this whole little snafu? The fact he couldn’t think of Elaine in any capacity without wanting her and taking her and wanting and taking and over and over again it went.

Bruised petals and dusty window sills.

What if she’s done with me?—he thought suddenly in a panic—what if she’s done and I blew my last chance to make her love me? They’d gotten into such a nice little patch of domesticity since she’d been here, withdrawals and torrid sex and diaper laden trash cans not withstanding… or maybe that was all crucial to it. He’d felt at home and he felt like she had begun to really feel that way with him and just last week he’d finally heard her lay claim to him. It made him want to dance around like a child and wring his cock out like a teenager. He’d done the latter, then fled from her for days, afraid of how much he was feeling, afraid to ask if she was finally feeling it too.

He’d started leaving a bit early, mumbled excuses of “Don’wanna be late, Laney baby, y’know how rowdy them German girls can get outside,'' hopping into the car quickly so she might not notice how he’d gotten a little wide-eyed and weepy down below at watching her in her apron and heels swish around the kitchen. Elvis had taken up invitations to dinner he’d normally scoff at with the boys, he’d started doing more PT to “get back in shape, gotta make sure I’m right fit to run after the new babes, reckon they’re gonna be trouble wit’ a capital T, Tink,” to explain away the bags under his eyes. Didn’t matter that none of their babies were running much of anywhere. Elvis was certain she didn’t deserve the truth, the truth that he was wringing himself dry in the empty showers on base after sweating and huffing out all the energy he couldn’t put to use on her. That was just it, wasn’t it: he had used her, for his own selfish problems he’d gotten into himself, and now he had to rectify that.

Only now, now he was sure that had been the worst thing he could’ve done. That there was yet another mistake somewhere in there he needed to fix. He imagined her coming and and whooping him, but as the door remained shut and the fans dispersed his stomach felt like lead as he imagined her giving him a haughty silent treatment, one he’d never experienced from her but imagined she’d be damned good at from the way she handled their daddies’ bickering. He wouldn’t be able to handle her mask of politeness towards him, all the while she was probably packing a bag and deciding she was finished with him. And oh, God above!

The very notion of that scenario set him ablaze with ferocity and actually quickened his steps as if he was jogging headlong into the house to dissuade his wife from up and leaving him after their first arguem—no. They hadn’t even had an argument or anything, he realized numbly. They actually hadn’t been talking much. Not this last week. Not with all his early mornings and extra time on base and piddling around town—

He wrenched his key into the lock, already angry at her for something she hadn’t done (it was easier than being angry at himself and more commanding than turning into a blubbering idiot begging her to stay) and threw open the door of his house, ready to have it out. Put her over his knee, remind her she could never take his babies away from him, threaten her with the law. Maybe manage to say he was sorry somewhere in there, too.

Fried chicken. That’s what struck him first, the smell of genuine lard baptized breading wrapped around tender white meat. His knees knocked together at the sentimental potency of it. Every surface in sight was damn near sparkling, and he almost felt guilty for putting his shoes on the doormat.

Silence. That hit next. No babble of babies or the radio, no laughter from Dodger and Elaine gossiping to the staccato chop chop chop of something fresh they were gonna force him to eat. Quiet, except for the click of the stove element coming on and off. It was a clear shot from the front door through to the sitting area and onto the long kitchen and dining room that ran along the back of the house, he could see the whole empty space of it and yet through that panic inducing emptiness he noticed the steam rising from one of the pans. She’d never be so foolish as to leave the stove on while leaving the house. Not unless she was madder than he anticipated and wanted to burn their home down.

He shook his shoulders out at the admiring terror that zapped through him with that thought and gingerly undid his uniform coat. Pegs, his little wife had pegs by the door and there, hung in a row, was the mink coat he’d bought her from a magazine while separated, then there was Jesse’s little coat and Ella’s white one with the pink trim. He turned towards them and hung up his military jacket beside her mink. Mommy and daddy and baby and baby number two’s, all in a row.

There’d be two more before next Christmas, god help them.

Elaine’s voice ringing bright and clear right behind him and just at his ear level, spooked him terribly bad outta his domestic reverie,

“Oh excellent,” she drawled as she observed with cool detachment as he clutched the back of his head that had knocked against a peg in his flail, “Perfect timing, dinner’ll be ready in about an hour or so,”

She informed him of this cheerily. As if he hadn’t been coming home too late for dinner or ought else this past week and hope flared in his heart till she reached out and gripped his army green tie, untucking it from between the buttons, and Elvis would deny the little shudder that went through him at the way the fabric slid past his chest. He didn’t have much time to think on it, anyway, as Elaine started to haul him bodily forward towards the sitting area, using all the strength she had amassed by carrying their children and their carriers and their luggage and their hampers about, using it all against him. “In the meantime,” she went on and he found himself tripping over his boots to keep up and watching the curls at the back of her head bounce, “I find myself in need of my husband’s services.”

Services? His brain doesn't reckon much more than the wonderful happening of being hauled around by his tie like a hound on a leash and the smell of that southern cookin’ in the kitchen. There’s a chaise lounge under the front window in the sitting area to the right of the door and it looks like she’s towing him there and while his brain tries to reconcile her kind tone with her rough hands, his cock certainly picks up on the subtext undergirding the notion of services. He’s afraid he hears himself whine at the tug on his neck and when she throttles him and spins him and drags him to sit down on the chaise his mind has gone fuzzy, he’s so utterly knocked off his moorings. Knocked off his feet, too, in a turn of events—only it’s not a turn, is it, really? When he’d first begged to make her his wife he’d gotten on his knees then, too, and suddenly that whole scene is put into a more lecherous context that only makes his head spin more, makes him slump, limp-limbed, onto the cushions. Services.

“Dinner smells great, Laney,” he began to defend himself, pacify her or just blurt out any ole thing that’ll get him off the hook, out of the cloud in his head. But she gripped his face instead, fingers digging into his cheeks and with a rush of relief he understood that this face looking down on him wasn’t the face of a woman done with him—she was furious, rather.

Furious meant she cared. Furious resembled mama. Mama had cared so damn much, no one had come close until this blazing eyed goddess slapped his face and shook him by his jaw while seething,

“You’re my goddamn husband, Elvis!” shake shake shake, his head knocked back with the vehemence of her passion, cover falling to the cushions and then the floor as he was forced to lay back into his seat with her vehemence, cheek smarting. His heart was soothed by it even as his hair fell into his eyes and his jaw ached, “You aren’t some hunk of meat that other gals get to paw at and lay claim to while you leave me without so much as a word in the mornings or a prayer at night! You hear me?”

She still hadn’t let go of his tie with her other hand. It was strangling him most pleasantly, starched collar chafing, and his voice was wrecked when he tried to agree, “Yes, yes’m I-I-I know…” through the squish of his forcefully pouted lips. He knew and he was aware now where he had gone wrong, though he wondered at her missing him at all, wasn’t everyone eager to get a breather from his presence?

“Haven't I been accommodatin’?” she begged instead and sounded so very hurt even as she drew him out of his pressed slacks with a stern hand, slacks she’d ironed patiently the night before—hard as rock and gushing appreciatively already. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, fumbling for some sort of grip on the edge of the chaise. It seemed almost blasphemous to touch her right now. She’s all a mix of vulnerable and ruthless this evening and his heart pounds in his ears at the sight of this side of her again, a righteous goddess. Unleashed on him, this time. Just as he’d fantasized about a week ago while helping himself with his own fist.

“Yes yes always, baby, always so damn selfless, I had to get away. Had to pace myself.” he swore in a rush, suddenly needing her to understand the devotion welling up in his chest as she paused for the briefest moment in shuffling her crinoline aside.

He watched as Elaine’s eyebrow quirked in comprehension, the angry set of her mouth gentling before her body sprang back into action and she dropped down on him with groan-inducing entitlement. He wheezed, realizing there was no cotton chafing at little Elvis—Elaine wasn’t wearing panties.

“That’s why you're bein’ so cold?” she beat on his chest as she began to rock on him and all too late he really believed that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. “You got time for buddies and waitresses but you won’t so much as touch me these last few days. Why? Why?” Her pretty face was twisted into a snarl.

The grip on his tie got mortally tight with each demand as did her pussy around him and he found he was going very fuzzy and he’d like to explain, tried to through a series of whimpers comprising her name and apologies of various coherence. She began to ride him with all the ferocity of a woman, a wife scorned, her own eyes boring into his. It’s all too much, too quick, the furniture creaking below them as he thrusts his hips up into her, meeting her every swivel and grind. Home, he’s home, and his body melts at that comfort, he was already leaking, can hear the squelching as he’s fucked on this proper chaise, her skirts still pressed and curls perfectly pinned, her chest constrained in her bodice. There’s nothing visual for him to latch onto, aside from that fiery stare. It’s as if he’s just there for her, and a whine escapes him as he realizes he’s being used. A whimpering apology of, “‘M sorry baby, ‘m sorry Laney!” falling from his lips, still held captive in her hands.

“Sorry?” Elaine hisses, all flashing teeth and taunting sneer, “I don’t want you just sorry, I want what’s mine, I want you to want me again! I don’t reckon you’re sorry enough, not with the way you seem too distracted by passing floozies in waitress uniforms to come home to us.”

“I am home!” And his own verbal dam breaks since that first time he saw that side of her, right on this very chaise, “Jesus, lil mama, only you get me, only you—’m yours, darlin’, I love you, love ya, won’t let them get handsy no more—Satnin’, my Satnin!”

And that last endearment is what gives Elaine pause, makes her realize that Elvis… her husband…really does love her. This is the first time he’s used that sacred name for anyone else since Lovie—Miss Gladys—died, God rest her soul. She’s in a league of her own in his mind, up there with the angels and the heavenly host. Now Elaine’s numbered among them. She can’t help the clench of her little house, the gasp she lets out, squeezing at Elvis’, her husband’s, her husband who loves her��s, key. She attacks him with little kisses, all over his dreamy, pretty, infuriating face. She leaves little smudges of her lipstick that make something in her chest, that had been wound tight over this whole neglectful business, unwind ever so slightly.

Elvis gasps out as she flutters over his face, dotting him with her adoration and he—he jus’—he can’t hold it in no more. His relief started in the eyes and sizzled down his spine, he started to cum, head tilting back, tears languishing his lash line as he was wrung dry by her yittle cunt.

“No more, no more, I swear!” he promised good behavior and begged for a reprieve from the bouncing clench of her all at once. He reached out with grabby hands, trying to maybe pull her off, pull her up his chest so he might use his mouth—but he was unceremoniously slapped away. She didn’t stop her bouncing, caring not a whit as he whimpered and gasped and twisted his hands into the poor chaise cushions, the same cushions he’d seen her be just as mean to those nasty women on.

“No,” Elaine said, staring down at him with stern good humor as if he was a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar, “No, Naughty, you’re gonna sit there all nice and pretty, my own pretty soldier boy, for me, baby. And you’re gonna let me use you, this time.”

Oh, oh Lordy she was a vision as she clenched around his soft cock, lil hole hungry as she worked those thighs he knew were under her dress. Only he couldn’t see, and that extra layer of, of decency when he was being so thoroughly disregarded as anything other than a part of the furniture made something in him drift away. He felt hazy all over, breaths shallow little pants through his mouth, tiny whimpers the only thing he could manage through the tie, the hand on his face, and the feeling of—

“‘M sorry, s’sor-ry, ah! ‘M yours, ‘m yours!” As he felt himself starting to chub up within her. It was agonizing, made him writhe, turn his head away and sob because she wasn’t stopping.

“We share everythin’, Elvis!” she insisted, some portion of this hurt forming in her conciseness, punctuated by her loneliness and isolation, the amount of friendship and companionship she had given up for him.

A faint sheen of sweat painted Elaine’s temples as she did all the work, using the hand on his face to plant on his shoulder for leverage, just as he taught her that first night. Just thinking about it, thinking of how she’d babbled praises at him then—he became fully hard again soon enough, body betraying him, responding to the wet softness surrounding his cock. Even that least clever part of him knew when he was home. He was jerked like a stallion by his reins to look at her again, look at how she’d used the other hand, now, to bury under her dress and play with her lil button. She clenched like a fury around him, staring right into Elvis’ eyes as she ground down, hard, and came herself all over his dress pants and cock, squeezing him raw.

He couldn’t help the extra babble of, “p’ease, mama, p’ease, n’more!”

“You sit there like a good boy, E, you sit there and be good,” Elaine was panting to him, only he was sure that he couldn’t, he wasn’t good, was he? Not after the way she’d slapped him, didn’t deserve her soft praise, he had been bad, so bad—

“‘M not good! S’s-sorry, ‘m not…!” He bucked his hips up into her, wiggling, trying to get her off of him, only Elaine was an experienced rider and remained unphased by his squirming. She was used to wiggly little boys, Jesse being much the same as his father.

“You can be a good boy, baby, you can,” and she was being so mean, so mean, even as she pet at his cheek and neck, smearing slick onto his pulse, using one curled finger to tip his head back and admire the long line of his shining throat and cooed at him. “You jus’ gotta take it, baby.”

“No! No-no-n-no!” Elvis whined, trying again to arrest her movement, stop her working thighs as he felt himself teeter close to that edge again, the sloppy slick-slap as she resumed her pace and slammed down onto his hips, circling her own, driving him into full on crying. His Adam’s apple bobbed with the repetitive swallows as he tried to stop himself from drooling. Tears glittered on his cheeks but all Elaine did was kiss them away, kiss at his slack mouth as he wailed.

“You can yowl like a feral tomcat all ya want, Naughty, you’re not goin’ nowhere,” Elaine panted, picking up her pace again, using one hand to wrench into his hair, sweat-damp and mussed. Elvis came again just as she ground against him harshly, the pain in his scalp triggering his pleasure.

He lost a little time, coming to only to sniffle as he was fed her fingers, sticky with her cum, with his cum that had leaked out around where they were joined, the sharp-salty tang, still trapped under her in the best and worst way.

“You’re mine, Elvis,” Elaine stated then, sitting primly still on his lap, “Before God almighty above, you’re mine first and foremost.”

He nodded, cried out, “Yes, yes’m, yes m-mama, thank you,” like he was taught, the polite little gentleman, grateful for the respite even if she was still keeping him inside her. He could feel the wet stickiness on his trousers, getting a little uncomfortable but not daring to squirm, lest her mercy not last. “I don’t want any more of this abstinence nonsense. I don’t want you running off with some German trollops while you neglect your wife, ya hearin’ me, husband?” Elaine decreed.

“‘M sorry,” Elvis breathed out, reaching for her waist again cautiously. She allowed his hands to settle on her tummy, to palm the growing bump there. She pulled him up by the tie, cradling his head to her bosom, and he nosed at her pretty tits within her dress subconsciously. He—he didn’t know how to ask for what he wanted, not when he felt so small. Was it allowed? Did he do good enough?

“You want somethin’, daddy?” Elaine hummed, and he shuddered at the gentle tone and the scritch of her perfectly manicured nails through his hair and down the back of his neck. They dipped beneath his shirt collar, teased at the knob of his spine.

“I don’—don’ deserve it,” he confessed, coming out of his hiding spot under her chin to look up at her through his lashes, tear-spiked and trembling. “I’ve—been bad.”

“Shh,” Elaine simpered, unbuttoning her house dress and letting the front placard fall, her breasts already leaking from her exertions as she then drew him in, one hand on the back of his head and the other still ever-present on his tie. “You’ve been good to me now, haven’t you, Elvie-baby? We understandin’ each other thorough, now?” She tilted his chin up, tone becoming uncompromising at the last question. He was quick to nod, panting again, sticky trousers forgotten in the face of lip-licking longing.

“I need your words, honey,” Elaine called, drawing his attention back to her pretty face.

“Yes’m, mama, been good, I’ll—I’ll be s’good, for you,” Elvis said, chin quivering, looking bout ready to burst back into tears, face smeared with Elaine’s lipstick and the subtle shine of salt—the evidence of this long-winded kiss and make up.

“Perfect, perfect man.” Elaine murmured, pulling him back, and Elvis immediately latched on, moaning into her nipple as milk gushed into his mouth, dribbled down his chin, getting caught on his tight shirt collar. His lashes tickled her, a little “Hoo—ah!” from the voracious suction of his mouth, so much stronger than her babies’.

“There you go, there’s my pretty husband. My husband, my messy boy,” she crooned into his hair, biting her lip as she clenched around his still-soft member within her. She was sore, hadn’t taken her husband in days because of his own self-sacrificing tendencies, as she understood it, and was revelling now in the openness, the squelch of his seed spilling out of her. She pulled at Elvis’ hair, guiding him to the other nipple, him seemingly not noticing her start to rock gently on him yet again, feeling the slow-building heat come back to her belly. It was nice, this soft, squishy thing inside her—a chastened lil Elvis that soothed the ache while bringing her closer to the edge.

“Shh, baby,” she panted, starting to rock in earnest as she felt him come to life under her, jerking up, wringing at the pooling fabric of her skirt around her hips. He mewled against her breast, no longer really suckling, just open-mouthed smears of what might be kisses as he was so cruelly put to service yet again. Only this time it was better, because the milk smearing his face was hers, the shade of red she wore smudged down his cheekbones, paving the way for the two new twin tracks of tears as she started bouncing in earnest. He made only small little sounds, nuzzling into her like a kitten, bucking up as if he couldn’t help the movement despite the way it made his pretty face twist into pleasure-pain agony.

“One more,” Elaine decided, allowing herself to be greedy as she looked at the clock on the mantlepiece, “You give me one more now, my good boy, my husband, you give me one more spurt from that pretty cock and then I’ll feed ya, feed you up with a good m-meal, hmm? How does that s—ah!—sound?”

“Ma…ma,” was the only response she got, slurred from plump, shiny red lips, like the sweet cherries she might find in the summertime back in Memphis. His head lolled back, the only thing keeping him semi-upright the ironclad grip she had on his tie still. Couldn’t stop herself from kissing him, then, licking into his mouth and tasting her own milk. It was a heady feeling, made her thrust down harder, wanting to leave bruises on his pelvis like he did with her hips. It made all her worries disappear, seeing Elvis like this, so relaxed and accommodating, letting her use him up until he was dry and weeping, looking for all the world like a little boy—her little boy.

“Downright angelic,” Elaine gasped, admiring the cut of his cheekbones, the deepening of his flush, if that was possible, as he arched his back and met her downward bounce with a buck up. Wiggly as always. She unbuttoned the bottom of his own shirt, rucking up his undershirt, too, until she could see his own nipples—and she pinched them like he did hers, which made him let loose a whimpering cry and finally jerk hard enough to get her to release his tie for fear of truly choking him. He pulsed within her, hands clenching in a grip round her swollen waist as he gracelessly shoved up into her, once, twice, and she tipped over the edge from his vigor and the picture he made—

His jaw sharp as glass, smeared with her own slick and the white of his cum from when she’d fed him their combined releases, along with the milky cream of her breastmilk. Her lipstick prints nigh on disappeared into the decadently red blush that painted him all the way down to his heaving belly, interrupted by the scrunch of his undershirt at his collarbones and the still-buttoned dress shirt collar, the tie that was so useful flipped up and over his shoulder. His chest, his pecs so nicely defined, topped by frankly temptingly perked nipples. Those pretty blue eyes were neon-bright against the contrast of his flushed face, slack lipped and drooling. He stared at her as if she was something to be worshiped. This—this was hers, her Elvis. Only she would ever get to see this pretty picture, Elaine swore to herself, petting at his chest, flicking at one berry-bright areola. He barely twitched under her, gone quiet and pliant in a way that would worry her if he didn’t look so utterly blissed out. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was on some of them pharmaceuticals, by the glaze in his blown-pupiled eyes.

“Elvis, you with me, baby?” Elaine called, taking his chin in hand. His neck was limp, and all she got at first was an utterly drunken smile up at her, open-mouthed and guileless. It made her want to cradle him back to her chest, protect the utter innocence he exuded as he asked,

“Y’s’m?”

“Hey there, pretty boy.” She wasn’t quite sure where this all had come from, maybe some part of her recognizing the way he’d shuddered on their wedding night at her gentle attentions. Watching him fight and fight and fight his impulse to let himself be taken care of -the forcefully surrendering way he took care of her- took care of her babies, their friends, his fans, the whole goddamn world seemingly needing a piece or a part of him.

Well, he was wrung dry here and now on her chaise lounge, nothing more to give and she petted the tear wet cheek she had so vehemently slapped. This is what she could give him, she could give him a moment of weakness, everyone needs it from time to time. But, still—this had been a lot, and while she was doing mighty fine herself, Elvis was barely coherent and it worried her.

“You ready for some chicken, baby? I made some good, country fried chicken, jus’ for you, been so good for me,” Elaine let herself babble a soft stream of praises and thoughts, gently prying Elvis’ hands off her hips, holding them in one hand to kiss them before she used the other to leverage herself up and off of his soft cock, a wet gush of their combined fluids absolutely soaking him as she did. Another set of words welled up in her throat, three words that she wanted to say to him. But not right now. Not now, but soon.

“Yes’m,” he said, demurely staring up at her as she stood on wobbly feet, crinoline crinkling as she smoothed it out. Elaine was careful to keep one of her hands in his, because she had the feeling that this was not the time to deprive him of contact. Not the time to do anything but be gentle, to assure and coddle.

“You and I are gonna go clean up,” she said, taking another glance at the clock to make sure that yes, she could leave the chicken on its lonesome for a good thirty minutes so she and him could wash up. “C’mon, we made ya so messy, you’re real messy right now, honey.”

“‘M a messy boy,” Elvis giggled, beaming up at her, following her tug like a fawn��all too-long, elegant limbs, and big, shiny eyes. She led him up the stairs, his trousers undone and smeared all down the crotch to his knees with their mess, their hands clutched together as if they’d get lost without some sort of tether. And, as she guided him into the bathroom, gently tugging off his boots and then his pants, his dress shirt and then his undershirt, she had the sneaking suspicion he might just manage to wander somewhere if she wasn’t careful.

She briefly thought of the bath, but no, a washcloth would have to do—the chicken wouldn’t last much longer without her attentions, and she wanted her hard work to go into her man’s belly rather than to the stray dogs outside.

So she ran warm water and wiped him down, leaving his rumpled, stained clothes in the bathroom in favor of guiding him into their bedroom and to the clothes she habitually laid out on the counterpane. Elvis still wore a childish, empty-headed expression, all pretty face and guileless baby blues that made her heart flip. But the chicken—so she asked, carefully, “Baby, can you dress yourself? I gotta check on dinner.”

That was a mistake, a misstep, judging by the way his glistening chest started to heave in a panic and his eyes started to water afresh. “Y’yer leavin’ me?” he slurred out of puffy, shiny lips.

“No, no!” she rushed to get it out, holding onto him again and gently guiding him to sit down on the bed -the bed she’d watched him wring himself out on a week ago- “I’ll stay, I’ll stay.” she repeated, at a loss as to how to comfort him beyond touch and all her ire gone out of her at the sight of his limb shaking terror. She was still new to this, they both were. New and a little lost and they had to keep ahold of each other or they’d float away. Damn the chicken.

That was the problem wasn’t it? They needed to share everything. Solitary children, the both of them, and now they had each other. It made each separation or fissure in their shared experience a doubly worse betrayal because of it. That was Elaine’s chief complaint against him this week, it never was about other women, it was about the separation, the estrangement, the uncoupling.

Helpless, she acted on impulse and sat herself down in his naked lap, curling around him and feeling with heart melting relief his arms encircle her, squeezing her to his chest fiercely.

“T-t-the house was empty.” he stuttered out his explanation, trying to get her to understand what that was like for him -rushing home to make her stay, flinging open the door and not a bit of life to be found in his home.

His version of hell.

“You thought,” she soothed, kissing at his cheek, “but I’ve got chicken on the stove and our babies are with Betsy. I’m here. I’m right here. All that was missin’ was you. And now you’re here, too.”

His shakes subsided a little and he nods, rearing his head back to really look at her and on seeing her clearly, Elvis beams at her, wide and carefree, and it made her heart clench with… with love, to see him like this. To see the sheer trust behind this mindset he’d slipped into, it made her feel like the most special girl in the world. It made her forget any and all Susans and waitresses and other such floozies. They could have the tiny crumbs they snatched from the floor like rats—Elaine was the one with his ring on her finger, who got this. Her husband buries his face in her neck and flutters kisses over her wildly thumping pulse.

She feels like she’s keeping a secret, all of the sudden.

This, this has been coming for a long time. Building slow and steady in Elaine’s heart like the consciousness of a babe growing, first just a suspicion, and then excitement, then visible proof, and then the testing pain of it.

Till at last, a babe she loved ferociously without having ever even met it. This, somewhere along the way, this affection for him had become love, her head left behind and her heart in a full gallop, unrestrained, unreasoned with, undendiable.

“You could crush me with the tiniest word, ya know that?” she realizes it as she says it.

Realizes that’s what love is, giving power over yourself to someone else. It’s why she was so angry, so suddenly lonely, so fiercely protective of her portion of him.

It’s love.

He must’ve felt so lonely, so scared, loving her without a promise of return, there’s no way she could have managed that. He’s brave, her boy, he’s so brave. “I didn’t, I didn’t realize how strong a feelin’ it is.” she whispers, her own voice choked up with tears and Elvis raises his face from her neck abruptly, surfacing quite suddenly from his submissive stupor and looking almost wary in his hopefulness.

“What feelin’?” His voice dipps impossibly lower and it contrasts thrillingly with that boyish face.

“Ya shoulda warned me, you fool.” she blushes and smacks at his neck in embarrassed dallying, “How was I to know? Never been…never been before…”

“What feelin’!” he demands, grabbing her chin and his hand spanned the width of her jaw, one side to the other, paying her back in her own vehement coin.

Her smile grows even under the vice grip of his fingers and red lips part to flash gleaming white teeth and with a little sniffle and a roll of her chocolate drop eyes she huffs, “Love, Elvis, I’ve loved badly ya for a long time now, just didn’t realize it.”

He coulda told her that, coulda told her every little thing she did for him was loving, but she had to know it herself, so he’d let her be. The hand on her jaw spasms as he sucks in a little sob, his lip wobbling before his breath heaves back out in a:

“Oh thank god, oh baby, fuck, I don’t mean tthat I-I-I oh thank Jesus-“ his head thuds back onto her chest and she realizes he’s weeping then, tears and whatnot adding to their previous mess on her undone placard.

“Oh, shh, shh, it’s ok.” she mutters helplessly, holding onto his shoulders and trying to hug the truth deeper into him,

“Say it again.” he near wails into her breasts.

“I. Love. You.” she thumps his back with each statement like she’s burping a baby.

He pulls his head back and looks at her again, double takes, like he’s gonna glare the veracity of her truth outta her. “You’re jus’ sayin’ that casue you’re mad I ain’t no goody two shoes husband. ” he tests, moody and sullen.

Elaine knows this game, she smirks at his transparency, “These ain’t the first girls I’ve caught hangin’ on ya, E,” she reminds him, recalling as she does that Betsy, who she found him sharing an actual bed with while away from her, will be bringing the kids back any minute now, and here they are undressed, “and like I said, I’ve been obligin’ haven’t I?”

“Yeah. Don’t mean ya love me.” he points out.

“I thought we got this point into that fool head of yours while downstairs but I guess you weren’t paying attention.” she tsks, rising from his lap and stripping out of her soaked house dress -much to his confusion and distraction- while going on merrily, “I’m angry this time cause you left me out!” she dictates her point with an elegant finger to his sternum and his eyebrows raise in semi-enlightenment, “I don’t wanna be left out! I’m jealous of you, cause I love you and I’m damn proud that your mine, and you make me happier than I thought I could ever be and ya make me angrier than I-I thought either. Lord I’d do obscene things to keep you lovin me, E, I would. And I’d kill ya ‘fore I let you tire of me. If you’ve got lady friends,” she continues in the face of his growing smile, the death threat really warming his southern heart, as she pulls on another dress, “you’ll tell me about them. I’m your wife, you owe me your time and you owe me your vigor and if you’ve got scraps left to give elsewhere, well,” she flips her hair out of the collar and presses her hands primly to her sides, “then I’ll be kept informed of them. They’ll be our little secret, not yours. There ain’t a you and a me, there’s just us. You swore it, Naughty, ya swore it before God.”

“I ‘member.” he nods solemnly from his place on the side of the bed, “But there ain’t anyone else, lil Mama,” his tone is unbearably earnest, “there’s jus’ you.”

Elaine’s heart twinges at that. It’s a truth, she knows, but for how long? She’s been so scared to care about him too much, so sure he’s gonna hurt her eventually. He’d managed to wiggle his way into her heart anyway, and she’s tired of being unconscious of it, this fierce devotion dying to be let out at last.

She lets the statement be, takes it for the promise it is. She’s his wife. “I know.” She assured him.

“If ya love me,” he challenges once more, and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t a little tired from the emotion and the exertion and the contention, “-get over her and show it.” he taunts as he leans back on the bed, his arms wide open and his body inviting and she knows he knows, knows he gets it.

She tackles him anyway. Knocking the air out of him and tossing him back into the counterpane, letting him roll her under him and thrash atop the outfit she laid out for him. Let’s him kiss her greedily and wantingly and sure, thinks she can feel the difference in him.

This is Elvis knowing he’s loved. He’s magical and sure of himself and confident in a way that boosts her own surety, like they’re feeding each other in a never ending replenishing cycle.

“My yittle baby, my perfect baby, my wifey, silly widdle thang don’t know her own mind.” he mumbles into her hairline as he peppers her face with smooches and she allows it; soaks up the dynamic change as suddenly he’s patronizing and sure of himself even as he’s talking all little and vulnerable.

He’s Elvis.

And he’s kissing her ravenously as if he can persuade her to love him more with each press of his plush lips and each nip of his teeth and lick of his tongue.

“You’ve been cryin’.” he comments as he licks at her cheeks, tasting tears, and his voice sounds surprised as if he himself wasn’t weeping a few minutes ago.

“So were you.” she laughs.

“Nuh uh.” he denies with a shake of his head and she rolls her eyes while his tongue plunges into her mouth once more. Foolish man, stubborn, bashful man that she loves, God help her-

“Yooo hooo!” comes from right outside their door, right in the upstairs hallway and Elvis dives off her onto the other side of their bed before she can even think to suggest it. His naked form lying full prone to the ground, tactically perfect -turns out the army taught him a thing or two, though that butt of his is still sticking up higher than would be preferred in a tactical setting. Elaine stifles the sound of her snicker but he sees her nose wrinkle from it and swears softly at her.

“Betsy, darlin’ just a minute.” Elaine hollers, while patting herself down to make sure she’s not misplaced some important part of herself during all this wrassling. She grabs his clothes from the bed and tosses them down at him, watching bemused as he tries to get them on in his prone position before stepping over to him to bend down and kiss him once more. “I love you.” she reminds.

He turns scarlet under the plunging neckline of his white sweater, “thank ya.” he preens sweetly and she takes a second to admire that, her hand still stroking his soft cheek, before straightening up and going to the door.

Cracking open the door the rest of the way reveals Betsy in her pretty gingham, arms straining to hold up one baby while the other strains her arm to be released for a crawl. “How do ya do it?” she gasps, talking about the children who immediately break lose of her nannying arms, Ella diving straight for her mother’s embraces while Jesse books it on the floor between Elaine’s legs, headed towards Elvis hiding place like he can sniff him out.

Elvis pops up just in time, a little rumpled and askew but thoroughly covered, though his attempt to pick up his son is aborted by the way his legs are still shaking and he wobbles onto the bed with a noisy flail. He feels Jesse pawing at his shin as Elizabeth’s eyes rake over him and he wonders if this is how Elaine felt sitting at lunch with Daddy and Dodger after their wedding night, or at each train stop on the way down fo Fort Hood when he paraded her in front of his adoring fans in between feverish bouts of love making that left her near catatonically used.

He recalls how she looked very well. He remembers his savage smugness at touching up her smudged makeup and displaying her again and again all primped after he wrecked her, wondering if the world could see how claimed she was by the wobble of her painted lip and the wide shock of her perfectly lined eyes.

Look, he’d been saying at each station stop, look at the perfect little thing that lets me love her.

He sees that smugness on Elaine’s face as she waits for Elizabeth to get her breath back as she just stares and stares at Elvis spread out in the bed like he’s grown another head. Betsy looks so shocked by the sight of him he actually looks down to make sure he’s put on pants but all's in order, he must just have “Elaine’s stud” written on his forehead and he blushes at that. He wouldn’t allow it if she didn’t love him. He’s afraid he’s gonna be allowing a lotta shit for the reason. Looking down for his pants reminds him of his baby boy, still clutching his pant leg and he grunts with the effort of heaving himself upright and pulling his little buddy into his lap.

“Hey bubs, how ya been?” he babbles as he tips backwards again, his spin worn out and he realizes he’s terribly weak and very, very hungry. He thinks he can smell buttery soft breading burning downstairs and it makes his mouth water.

“I manage it with help like yours.” Elaine replies, honest and bemused a few seconds late and she almost snaps her fingers in front of Elizabeth’s glazed eyes before the girl finally drags them back from the sight of her languid husband to her own face.

“Oh, n-no problem. Anytime.” Betsy assures again, sweet gal that she is. “Do I need to stay and work on the letters?” she asks it a little hopefully, wringing her now empty hands, and Elaine knows that she’s missed being in this house and around him, around them even, what with Elaine kicking her out for privacy during his withdrawals.

Not many families have a pretty, live-in secretary that the wife tolerates but the Presley’s aren’t most families, and Elaine is accommodating as they’ve just established, and she likes collecting people around her man that she’s certain love him the right sort of way. And if he loves them back, well, it’s a curious thing to her that she doesn’t for once doubt he’s got enough to go around. Her love cup will be overflowing from now on, she has no need to begrudge the droplets that others quench themselves with. She realizes what was missing was her own contribution.

It all settles into place, belonging and longing and having. She loves him.

“No, no need for the letters tonight.” She replies and watches Betsy’s pretty face fall for a brief moment before the girl catches herself, then Elaine adds what she always intended to add- “But stay for dinner, Betsy, so long as it hasn’t burned.”

We hope y’all enjoyed and can’t wait to hear your thoughts, screams and prompts 🌹💋

Taglist (comment if you’d like to be added, dears)

@paradsol000

@eliseinmemphis

@prompted-wordsmith

@ab4eva

@foreverdolly

@powerofelvis

@butlersxbirdy

@crash-and-cure

@elvisabutler

@heartbrake-hotel

@stylespresleyhearted

@thatbanditqueen

@crazymadpassionatelove

@myradiaz

@ash-omalley

@whatstruthgottodowithit

@arianatheangelgirl

@steph-speaks

@burningloverdoll

@angelface-555

@lookingforrainbows

@missmaywemeetagain

@coolgirl462

@kingdomforapony

@18lkpeters

@richardslady121

@from-memphis-with-love

@lillypink

@artlover8992

@pennyroyalcreep

@notstefaniepresley

@ellie-24

@renaissingle

@waiting4brucewayne2adoptme

@presleyenterprise

@marriedtopresley

220 notes · View notes

ooksaidthelibrarian · 11 months ago

Text

Babylon 5 Rewatch - Born to the Purple

I love how Sinclair is the only person in this whole conversation who is actually trying to be constructive, right there in the strip club

and that G'Kar, even in the middle of what should be negotiations, is fine with sitting down to watch

KO D'ATH, man I love her

also, good goth, I always forget how early in S1 (and the whole show) this episode happens

I will say this a few more times this season, but the story of Londo and Adira will trigger such huge things

enjoy the happiness, Londo, you will get precious little of it going forward

LOL Vir with the proto-Switch

WHAT IS THAT LAMP, why does it have SPIKES

Moon-faced assassin of joy is such a delightful phrase

this episode does a lot of digging into Londo, his title/position and his feelings about it all, it's setting up so much of his character arc

'I'll have the Centauri empire by its mighty throat' dude you have a fucking death wish

the fact that B5 has paper newspapers just tickles me

being a telepath is rough

I do like that Ivanova doesn't trust Garibaldi enough (yet) to tell him

those are some fast roofies

this dude does not have a good couple of days with random aliens

Sinclair, going right for the blackmail :D

but man every time Londo calls someone his 'good and dear friend', I want to hug him

I fucking love those undercover clothes, especially Sinclair's coat, why does he even have that

oooh boy the 90s sunglasses on that dude

Susan's conversation with her dad always makes me tear up, doesn't matter how often I see it

'And wear it. Proudly, as a free woman.' I love these two so much

#babylon 5 #b5 #b5 rewatch #born to the purple

38 notes · View notes

philtstone · 1 year ago

Note

your choice of Fellowship members, 17

#17 -- "San Fransisco", The Mowgli's I've been in love with love and the idea of, Something binding us together, You know that love is strong enough :')

For all that Sam has only just traversed half of Middle Earth and faced unspeakable horrors, there is still a small part of him, which he is sure many a self-respecting Hobbit would be proud of, that feels wholly out of sorts at an event of Men so grand as this.

The food at Aragorn's coronation feast is right delicious, though. This does make Sam feel very confirmed in his choice of friends.

"I don't think they'll do it," comes Pippin's voice, while Sam finishes the last of his ale and happily digs into a very flavourful sweet potato pie, "there's too many people watchin'. And her father's right there and everything."

"I'll bet you half of Gimli's best pipeweed,” says Merry, “in ten minutes -- alright, fifteen -- they’ll be off. Go on, look at their faces, Pip."

"Bet on your own pipeweed," grumbles Gimli, rather more loudly than might be advisable. "And nae, they'll last another twenty yet. These elf types are made of unnaturally strong stuff, I've come to find."

"You're only saving the pipeweed because you are afraid of losing it to me," says Legolas calmly. "As I am correct in thinking they shan't last five."

Sam watches as Gimli takes back his compliment, and Legolas's flagon of ale, with great ceremony. Legolas is handed a second, unscathed flagon immediately by Pippin, who seems to have produced it out of thin air.

Amongst all the everything else, Sam has to admit there's something relieving about being able to simply sit in companionable tomfoolery with his old friends. There is still loss, lingering around them, but it doesn't hurt so -- certainly not at a time like this, when joy ripples through the room like a bubbling brook, carried by most everyone in the court but none so effortlessly as Aragorn himself, whose face -- ever grave, often warm in Sam's memory -- is transformed completely into a beacon of radiant, cloudless laughter.

Beside him, almost literally glowing with her own happiness, is Lady Arwen.

Throughout the former half of the day, Aragorn had admirably devoted his attention to any and all who required it, with a forward sincerity that no one could question. It’s by now late evening, and the King and his lady have spent the day standing closer and closer to one another until now they are all but bound at the hip like lovers (which Sam supposes with a little private nod to himself they are), sat at the great table at the front of the room (most folk are too caught up in their own celebrating to notice anymore), arm in arm (like black-eyed Susans wrapped ‘round each other!), and with their heads bowed such that their cheeks almost touch but not so much that the whole hall can’t see their delighted, whisper-y, intimate laughter.

They’ve been at it for nearly an hour by now. It’s a little hard to tell whose robe starts where. Sam’s sure that were this any other time and place, there'd be a lot of tongues wagging about propriety and such.

Then again, Sam doesn't know much about propriety when it comes to Men and Elves, does he?

“I’m telling you,” says Merry. “Fifteen more minutes, and then we’ll look over, and they’ve snuck off.”

“No, no,” says Pippin, wiping importantly at his froth mustache; they are, Sam’s got to admit, all a bit in their cups. “They’re too much in their own world. I don’t think it’ll occur to them to do it.”

“Five,” says Legolas primly. “The people are reveling and Lord Elrond looks pleased.”

“He’s looking pleased at the wall all the way over there,” says Gimli, stifling a dignified burp. He passes Legolas the ale again, who takes it and finishes it off, “which is well enough, I’d agree, but dear Pippin makes a good point.”

“Why thank you, Gimli.”

“What do you think, Frodo?” asks Merry, crossing his arms in a preemptive triumph.

They all look over; Frodo’s been more quiet than any of the rest of them all evening, which is to be expected these days. Sam thinks this with a sharp ache in his heart. Merry and Pippin and Gimli, alongside many others, have loosened their proverbial neckties and rumpled themselves the way grand feasts ought to rumple you; even Legolas has hairs sitting the wrong way on his head. Save the scarf Pippin lent an hour ago for additional warmth, Frodo looks just as he was early this morning: clean and tired, and occasionally with a small smile on his face whenever he looks upon his friends. For Merry's question he does not have a smile, and takes a long moment to answer, and Sam worries that perhaps in their own enjoyment they’ve left him too long to be caught in his own head and heartache – on a night like this! – and the thought carries with it a sort of sadness that a Sam of only a year ago wouldn’t have thought possible.

Then Frodo says,

“The real question we ought to be asking, Merry, is — how much do we think Aragorn has had to drink?”

And he isn’t his old self, to be sure, but he’s got a little sparkle of mischief in his eye that gets Sam grinning a big old grin.

The collective begins muttering contemplatively amongst themselves quite immediately.

“Now that is a good question,” says Merry.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him have more’n a cup,” opines Gimli. “Now, Legolas — Legolas --" (He reaches an arm over to swat at the elf) "you've known him longer than the rest of us --"

“Hmmmm,” is all Legolas says, deep in a consternated focus, looking with such drunken intensity at the king that Sam thinks it’s a miracle Aragorn doesn’t notice.

Or maybe he does, and is just ignoring them.

“He does seem awful giggly-like,” says Pippin, drawing his chin back with wide eyes and a voice tinged with a bit of awe, “that’s right enough.”

Even Sam finds himself seriously considering Frodo's question.

Then,

“He has had barely a drop,” interrupts a sudden, sonorous voice, and the group of them startles sharply. There, of course, is Gandalf: appeared robed and overall perfectly put together behind their table, sucking serenely on his pipe where he stands tall above them, “for the King's attention has been elsewhere; what you are observing is simply the effects of being in love.”

His eyes twinkle with the same mischief Frodo's held.

“Or,” Gandalf adds slowly, “indeed, what you are not observing.”

He nods with significance, and Sam turns back to see a thoroughly empty pair of seats.

“Oh!” exclaims Pippin.

“How long’s it been?” demands Merry.

"I cannot see them!" cries Legolas.

“Oh, not four minutes,” says Gandalf gravely, and Legolas makes a dismayed face.

“But a moment off!” he laments.

“So I suppose not a single one of you may claim Glimli's good pipeweed,” Gandalf informs them. He blows a perfectly shaped smoke ring towards Merry, who sighs with yearning; Pippin is still looking around the room open-mouthed with surprise. “Now, if you might excuse me, I must go meddle in some affairs,” says Gandalf.

He sweeps away, towards the other far corner of the hall, where between the dancers Faramir stands shooting looks (Sam's sure he himself has had such looks in the past) at a resplendent (if slightly red cheeked) White Lady of Rohan.

Sam sits back in his seat. It's true, all in all: Aragorn and Arwen really are nowhere to be found. Lord Elrond, Sam notices, continues to look very determinedly at that wall, but with a happy sort of expression on his face.

Sam's seen just enough of the world to figure when how some elves are feeling, at least.

"He could've come said goodnight," says Merry, sounding slightly put out.

"Ach," says Gimli, with a surety that's very characteristic of him, yes, but terribly comforting all the same. "We'll see him again tomorrow."

And the simple truth of it, Sam thinks -- if just for now -- might be the greatest relief they've all felt in some time.

He looks towards Frodo; he has a hand held over his mouth, and is working very hard to smother his laughter. With another private nod to himself, Sam digs back into his potato pie.

“So …” begins Pippin's voice again after a moment, emerging from the cheerful bustle and chatter around them. “How long do we think, 'til Faramir and Eowyn sneak off?"

#hello. i am deep in my feelings about Them #lord of the rings #my writing #sam gamgee #frodo baggins #legolas greenleaf #gimli son of gloin #aragorn #arwen undomiel #aragorn x arwen #merry brandybuck #pippin took #gandalf #return of the king #spotify wrapped prompt meme #lotrweek

25 notes · View notes

braveclementine · 7 months ago

Text

Chapter 28

Warnings: Mentions of love making, 18+ readers only

Copyright: I do not own any Wizarding World characters that J.K. Rowling wrote. I do however own Elizabeth Kane (main character) and Trang Nyguen (best friend). There should be no use of these two names without my permission. I also do not condone any copying of this.

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

𝕿𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖞 things that Umbridge needed to take care of after Fred and George had left. For one thing, upstairs was a very large swamp that they had created themselves. Umbridge had tried to get rid of it with no success and neither Flitwick nor McGonagall seemed very eager to try it out themselves.

Then there were the broom shaped holes in Umbridge's office door. Filch had replaced the door and Harry's broom was moved down into a dungeon to be guarded by a security troll. Bloody waste of time in my opinion.

There were also rebellious students who seemed to be trying to out-do each other for the vacant position of trouble-makers-in-chief. A niffler was put in Umbridge's office. The office was ripped apart, looking for shiny things and when Umbridge entered the room, the niffler leapt upon her hand to get to her shiny rings.

There were also dungbombs and stink pellets dropped in the corridors and people were producing bubble-head charms on themselves before going out so that they didn't have to breathe in the foul air.

Filch was now always prowling the corridors with a whip in his hand. The Inquisitorial Squad was attempting to help him as nearly every student had turned into a troublemaker but weird things were starting to happen to them. For instance, I knew for a fact that Lee was the one who had given Pansy Parkinson (much to Hermione's delight) antlers so that she had to miss a whole day of classes.

I had my art pad out frequently now, drawing everything. I had done two drawings of Pany Parkinson and her antlers and had posted it on a wall in the Great Hall so that everyone who came down to breakfast the next morning laughed at it. Pansy was extremely angry, and attempted to set it on fire. I'd put an protective spell on it however and the spell rebounded, catching her robes on fire. Professor Snape gave me a legitimate detention for that one. And then he'd punished me and I had been unable to sit down without wincing for two days.

No regrets though.

And of course, there were the Skiving Snackboxes. They were only used during Umbridge's class of course. Us students told her that we had Umbridge-itis and I spent a half hour in her class, striding up the aisles of the desk, trying hard not to laugh and telling the students in my class about it.

"A very dangerous disease of course." I said, walking past Susan who had her face in her hands, laughing hysterically. I had to pause carefully in between sentences as I was close to bursting into laughter myself. "Umbridge-itis has four different symptoms: Fainting, vomiting, dangerously high fevers, and bloody noses. The best way to avoid these symptoms is to stay far away from an Umbridge. An Umbridge," I stated, now walking past Ernie, Justin, and Zacharias who had tears of laughter in their eyes. "Is something that looks like a midgit and only wears pink. Looks a bit like a human toad and has a false, sweet voice."

Needless to say, Umbridge was not as amused as the students and I got three weeks worth of detention. However, the story of what I'd said spread throughout the school and soon, everyone was telling her that they had Umbridge-itis. I was also awarded twenty points to Hufflepuff by Professor McGonagall for performing a simple vanishing spell.

But no one, and I mean no one, caused more trouble than Peeves. He upended tables, shattered vases, knocked over statues, burst out of blackboards, shut Mrs. Norris up in a suit of armor twice, juggled burning torches over heads of screaming students, toppled neatly stacked parchment out of windows, flooded the second floor by pulled the taps off the handles in the bathroom, dropped a bag of tarantulas in the Great Hall during breakfast and whenever he was bored, spent hours floating above Umbridge and blowing loud raspberries every time she spoke, making the kids collapse into giggles.

The staff did absolutely nothing to help her- except Filch. Harry, Susan, and I were standing in a corridor, watching peeves unscrew a crystal chandelier, and then watched as Professor McGonagall walked by. "It unscrews the other way." she muttered, walking on and the three of us looked at each other in amazement and laughed. Then we hit the floor as the chandelier crashed, sending bits of crystal, metal, and glass our way.

Of course, it wasn't all fun and games. Umbridge was finding anything to put me in detention for- though at this point, I was really starting to deserve it. I'd created fliers about Umbridge-itis, posting them on the boards and walls and had neat little stacks of brochures for people to read. She'd told Filch to whip me whenever he saw me, so I'd taken to avoiding him as much as possible. I did have a couple whip marks on my back though, when I didn't watch out carefully enough. I wasn't the only one either- Filch seemed especially vindictive towards the Gryffindors.

Severus was a bit enraged about me being so proactive against her. "You're going to get hurt." He said as we were laying in bed after we'd finished making love. "And I mean really hurt- not cutting words into your hand or whip marks. . ." his fingers traced over a fading scar. He'd done some magic so that they wouldn't be permanent.

"I'm going to be fine." I said, smiling up at him and then kissing his cheek. "Besides, this is fun."

He groaned but said nothing more on the subject, running his fingers absentmindedly up and down my thigh before he finally fell asleep.

There was one last Quidditch match coming up which was Hufflepuff vs. Slytherin. I asked Severus in a teasing voice about who he hoped would win. He made an incoherent noise and ran his lips over my breasts. I supposed it was answer enough.

The Slytherin and Hufflepuff tensions were high and I noticed that I seemed to have an extraordinary amount of homework for Defense Against the Dark Arts class and no homework for any other class- including potions.

The day of the Quidditch match, our nerves had reached a certain height. I was pacing back and forth, my firebolt standing up by the door.

"We're going to win this." I said in a small voice, looking at everyone. "We are the best team here. And. . . and we're going to do this, not to show Umbridge, but to honor Cedric's memory."

"This one's for Cedric." Malcolm said in a strong voice.

"For Cedric." We all said.

We all stood up, holding our brooms over our shoulder. We walked onto the pitch, all stony faced. I shook hands with a replacement Captain for Montague who was still in the hospital. He was crying to crush my fingers but I didn't react. I remained emotionless.

Madam Hooch blew her whistle and we all flew upwards. Draco was keeping on my tail and I was doing my best to ignore him. I kept my eyes open, scanning for the snitch as I continued to fly around. Heidi scored.

"Give it up Kane!" Draco hissed somewhere to my right. "You can't win this and you know it. Cedirc couldn't have won this either. . ."

So he was going to tell me about Cedric now, was he? I dove. Draco rushed after me and I kept my eyes determinedly on a spot on the pitch. Draco was concentrating on where I was looking, not realizing that I was actually feinting. At the very last second before I was going to crash, I pulled up neatly. Draco on the other hand, crashed, and I sped back up, grinning victoriously.

"And Kane uses Krum's signature move Wronski Feint against Slytherin's seeker. Nice play Elizabeth!" Lee shouted from the speakers box. He wasn't being as fun as before- mostly because Fred and George had left. I winked at him as I sped by.

I was high enough that I could see Harry, Hermione, and Ron with Hagrid by his hut, going into the forest. I dodged a bludger and took off south. We were up forty points. I saw the snitch on the other side of the pitch and I streaked towards it. Draco was back on his broom zooming after me.

Suddenly, one of the Slytherin Chasers slammed into me from the ride side and I slipped off the broom. I tightened my legs so that I was hanging fifty feet in the air by my legs. There were screams and gasps from the crowd as I let go with my legs, throwing a hand up to catch the broom and then pulled myself up and taking off again.

The snitch had been lost, Draco had been gloating to much to catch it. I was thankful for that of course. Malcolm took a bludger to the stomach at that moment and was out of the game. Heidi and Zacharias immediately started scoring goal after goal with a furious intensity that was unrivaled. Our beaters were fiercely knocking Slytherins off their brooms too.

I dodged another bludger and then caught sight of the snitch. It was almost like fate, darting in front of Umbridge's effing nose. (Not literally, just close by the teacher's stand).

Draco was on the other side of the field and I zoomed towards the teacher stands, grinning. Umbridge fell back in fear, perhaps thinking I was attacking her, and I grabbed the snitch, holding it up triumphantly.

Lee was laughing at Umbridge and I grabbed the microphone and shouted into it, "That- was for Cedric!" And then I raced back to the ground where the other Hufflepuff team members flew down to meet me and we were all hugging. I was so joyful that I couldn't stop smiling. We were all smiling and half of us were crying too. We'd won the Cup! Hufflepuff hadn't won the cup in forever since Slytherin had had it nearly nine years in a row until Gryffindor had won two years ago.

The other Hufflepuffs were streaming out onto the Quidditch grounds, jumping and down in excitement. We were pushed up to where Professor Umbridge was waiting with the Quidditch Cup. She looked so pissed at having to give me the Quidditch Cup. It was trembling in her hands and I held out my hand for it.

She gritted her teeth and then Professor Sprout took it from her hands and handed it to me. "I'm glad such a worthy team got the Cup Miss Kane." She was beaming, looking extremely happy. I grinned back. Professor Umbridge looked like she had eaten a lemon. Severus looked quite proud too, hiding it in his eyes where only I could see it.

We headed back to the castle as a team. I saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione standing by the doors. They smiled as I passed by, waving the Quidditch Cup up.

Back in the Hufflepuff Common room, we threw a party with food, drinks, and dancing. It was very much like the party that Gryffindor had thrown when they'd won the cup.

We had a picture of Cedric on a desk with candles around him like an altar. This win was for Cedric. Around one in the morning everyone went to bed. I stayed up a little later, looking at Cedric's photo and picked it up in my hands.

His smiling face grinned back at me and winked. I smiled weakly. "I miss you." I said, tears coming to my eyes. "A lot." I guess I was wishing the photo would talk back- sometimes they did. But Cedric's photo wasn't charmed that way and he just beamed up at me and then gave me a thumbs up.

I put the photo back down on the table and pulled out some parchment.

We won the Quidditch Cup Dad. Guess I'm not a bad Captain after all. I think Cedric would be proud- the win was for him.

I didn't write anything else. I turned into a cat, picking the note up in my mouth and headed out so that I could go spend the night with Severus.

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖓𝖊𝖝𝖙 𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I went outside to study.

"We have a lot to tell you." Ron said as we sat down.

"I already know." I said, taking out my Transfiguration book. "Hagrid brought back his baby brother Grawp and wants us to teach him English."

"Pretty much." Hermione said.

"Bloody hell." I muttered. "Do you know how dangerous that is? I swear this more dangerous than Norbert or Aragog."

"He hasn't been sacked yet." Ron pointed out.

"But he will be." I muttered and then sighed, "I suppose we'll have to, won't we?"

"We did promise." Hermione said reluctantly.

I sighed. "Well, we'll deal with it when the time comes then" and I opened up my Transfiguration book and started to read.

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

"𝕳𝖔𝖜 𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖞 𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖘 d'you think you're doing a day?" Ernie demanded me as I entered the common room a few days later.

I looked at him amused. "About six or seven."

"I'm doing eight." Ernie said, puffing out his chest and I rolled my eyes. "Eight or nine. I'm getting an hour in before breakfast every day. Eight's my average. I can do ten on a good weekend day. I did nine and-"

"Ernie." I said, amused. "You know you're going to do fine, right? Calm down."

"You don't seem stressed at all!" Susan said grumpily from a chair near the unlit fireplace.

"Of course I'm stressed." I said shrugging my shoulders. "I just don't show it." Right, more like I got all my stress out at night with Severus.

"I'm going to fail!" Hannah said hysterically, her eyes glazed over, staring blankly at the potions textbook in front of her.

"Calm down Hannah." I said, smiling. "You're going to do fine, just keep your head and don't freak out, alright?"

"Eliza!" Rose called from across the common room and I left the others to go to her.

"What's up Rose?" I asked, sitting down with her and her first-year friends.

"Will you help me with my lessons?" She asked, her tiny hands holding our her textbook.

"Of course!" I said brightly, taking the book from her and testing her on the different terms, definitions, and incantations. I also helped her with practicals, practicing the spells of my own first-year exams which had consisted of dancing pineapples and pretty snuffboxes.

I was also still trying to get Harry to close his mind for Occlumency but he was not improving. I was starting to get nervous. If I didn't get him to close his mind then what could happen? I knew what could happen- Harry could get lured somewhere.

I had to confiscate multiple different products that were being sold by the older students to the fifth-years before they were bought. I knew a majority of them were fake and some of them were dangerous. For example, dragon claw would boost your brain, but having to much exposure to the item could actually make you stupider than you really were.

During Herbology, Professor Sprout had the Hufflepuffs stay back and handed out exam schedules and details of the procedures.

"As you can see, your O.W.L.s are spread over two successive weeks. You will sit the theory exams in the mornings and the practice in the afternoons. Your practical Astronomy examination will, of course, take place at night. Now," She said, looking around the greenhouse, "I must warn you that the most stringent Anti-Cheating Charms have been applied to your examination papers. Auto-Answer Quills are banned from the examination hall, as are Remembrall's, Detachable Cribbing Cuffs, and Self-Correcting Ink. Every year, I am afraid to say, seems to harbor at least one student who thinks that he or she can get around the Wizarding Examinations Authority's rules. I can only hope that will not be anybody in Hufflepuff. Our new- headmistress- has asked the Heads of House to tell their students that cheating will be punished most severely- because, of course, your examination results will reflect upon the- headmistress's- new takeover at the school. . . However, instead of potentially risking your futures to destroy her career, it would be better advised to do your best."

Ernie shot his hand up into the air and Professor Sprout called on him, "When should we expect our results?"

"Some time in July." I answered without thinking and then blushed and said, "Sorry Professor!" The class laughed.

"It's quite fine Miss Kane. Yes, some time in July your exam results will come out Mr. Macmillan."

All houses would be taking the tests together instead of separately. Of course, times would vary once it got to the elective classes. But for every student, the written Charms exam was on Monday.

At Dinner, Hermione kept diving into her bag to check another fact in a book instead of eating.

"You really ought to eat Hermione or you're not going to be able to sleep tonight." Ron said, sticking another piece of steak into his mouth. I took a sip of pumpkin juice and then Hermione sat up and dropped her fork on her plate.

"Oh, my goodness. Is that them? Is that the examiners?" Hermione asked, so faint with anxiety she wasn't even Englishing properly.

"Are those the examiners?" I corrected her but while Harry chuckled, Hermione completely ignored me. Improper grammar annoyed the crap out of me.

"Shall we go and have a closer look?" Ron asked. We got up from our seats and hastened towards the entrance hall and we slowed down to walk behind the examiners.

"Journey was fine, journey was fine!" The little witch standing next to Umbridge was shouting. I supposed she was deaf. "Now, I haven't heard from Dumbledore lately!" And she peered around the hall excitedly. "No idea where he is, I suppose?"

"None at all." Umbridge said, shooting an ugly look at us but didn't bother saying anything. I supposed she wouldn't even insult a werewolf brat in front of the testing instructors. "But I daresay the Ministry of Magic will track him down soon enough. . ."

"I doubt it!" The tiny witch shouted, drawing looks from passing students. "not if Dumbledore doesn't want to be found! I should know. . . Examined him personally in Transfiguration and Charms when he did N.E.W.T.s. . . Did things with a wand I'd never seen before. . ."

So she was like one hundred and fifty years old then. Cause Dumbledore was like one hundred and twenty years (I would assume). Then I tried to think logically about how old he actually was and couldn't come up with a number. Yes, he had to be 113 cause he was born in 1881, so he was at least over 100. . . Good lord! Then how old was McGonagall? 75 years old?

I was reeling with these facts. Holy Crap, my Professors were so old. . . but you had to admire her. After all, McGonagall certainly didn't look 75 and she definitely didn't act like it either. Then again, Dumbledore didn't act like he was 113 either.

I spent Sunday night in Severus' room, reading my Charms book while he played absentmindedly with my hair and occasionally kissing me. When I finally laid the Charms book aside, he asked, "What did you look so shocked about when you came in?"

"I just realized today that Dumbledore is about 113 years old and Professor McGonagall is 75 years old." I said honestly, laying the book on his side table. "It just took me back a bit."

"I'm old too." Severus said softly and I thought I heard a note of sadness in his voice and I propped myself up on my elbows to look at him questioningly.

"No you're not." I argued. "You're nowhere near 75!"

"I'm in my thirties." He whispered. "That's double your age."

I gritted my teeth. "Don't play the pity game Severus. I love you and you're the one I want to spend the rest of my life with."

"Even if I die twenty years before you?" Severus asked and I realized that this conversation was going to more serious than I'd expected.

I sat up, letting the blankets fall from my naked body, extremely angry now. "You're regretting your decision, aren't you?"

"No!" He said quickly, sitting up too and I quickly looked away from his abs and just stared down. "I don't, Elizabeth. I'm sorry. I just don't want you to regret marrying someone as old as me."

"I don't regret a damn thing!" I said angrily.

Severus appraised me for a second and then I was so angry that I pushed him down on the bed and kissed him fiercely. There was an energy in me that I'd never felt before. I moved my lips down to his throat and bit, a bit harder than I meant to and he gasped.

He rolled over, slamming me down onto the bed and slid in so roughly that I gasped too. I dug my nails into his back as he moved faster and faster. I kept my mouth closed tight so that I didn't shriek. I wasn't in pain either, it felt so good. We were both breathing extremely hard, and small sounds escaped both our mouths. This. . . this was perfection.

His hands clutched at my body, his lips and teeth caressing my skin. My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer to me. His hand traveled downwards, circling my clit, speeding up his hard, solid thrusts as I came over and over again.

There was something that I happened near the end too that had never happened before. It was nearly the highest point of our time together. His teeth bit me on the breast when it happened, it seemed like a jerk reaction. I wasn't entirely sure what had happened as I gasped, staring up at him.

He grinned, wiping away liquid from his chest. "Well I must've done really good to make you squirt love."

I blushed. "I- is that a good thing?"

Severus chuckled, pulling me close to his chest now that we were both cleaned up. He wrapped the blanket around my shoulders. "Of course love. It's a natural reaction."

With the reassurance that my body hadn't done anything wrong, I snuggled into him tightly and fell fast asleep.

When I woke up, I distracted myself by my nerves by observing the hickey on my breast now. "Sorry." Severus muttered sleepily, coming up behind me and observing us in the mirror. "You caught me by surprise."

I turned and saw he had one on his neck too and I touched it, "I meant that one." He grinned, kissing me on the lips. I saw the nail marks on his back then and I winced, "I didn't mean to do that though." I said, lightly touching the bruises. "Sorry."

"Don't worry, they'll be easy to cover up, this however-" he touched the hickey on his neck. "-that'll be a bit harder."

"Sorry." I repeated, not feeling all that sorry.

"You just need to learn to control yourself. You're just like a little kitten." he said mildly. I threw his shirt at him and pointed to the hickey on my breast.

"You're one to talk!"

He grinned, sweeping me into his arms to kiss my neck.

It was already eight-thirty and the exams started at nine-thirty and I needed to get up to the Great Hall for breakfast but Severus wasn't very keen to let me go. "It's to early, just stay here until your exams start." He mumbled, wrestling me back into bed.

I laughed as he kissed me repeatedly. "Sev, I need to eat!" And so he reluctantly let me up. I kissed him on the cheek and hurried up the stairs and into the Great Hall to eat.

I sat down at the Hufflepuff table and scarfed down a quick breakfast and then waited for the test to start. My heart was pounding and my nerves were being stretched thin. Oh I was going to fail. . . I was going to fail!

My heart settled down a bit once the exam started and I saw that the questions were a bit easier than I had thought they would be. I zoomed through them, knowing that I'd answered every single one of them correctly.

In the afternoon was the practical's for Charms where I made an eggcup do cartwheels and then levitated a wine glass. I had to perform the Color-change charm on a rat, trying to turn it orange, and then use the Growth Charm on a plant. Unfortunately, I think my rat was more golden than orange but it still looked orange enough I was sure I'd get most of my points.

I went to the library after that to study for Transfiguration. I figured that if all the tests- both written and practical- were like this I was going to get 'Outstandings' on everything. . . except Astronomy. That ticked me off. So I threw my Transfiguration book back in my bag and pulled out the Astronomy book.

I went back to the common room at nine, still studying Astronomy. The next day, the Transfiguration test went just easily as Charms. I was vanished my owl perfectly during practical's.

Then Herbology was on Wednesday and I planted the Fanged Geranium perfectly. Well, there was a smile nip on my ear but other than that, it couldn't have gone better.

Of course, I thought everything was going perfectly but I knew that I was probably going to fail everything if I thought like that. So, most of the time, I just doubted myself and tried to figure out all the things that I'd done wrong.

On Thursday, we had Defense Against the Dark Arts which I was sure went well. The most pleasing incident was doing all the jinxes, hexes, and counterspells perfectly in front of Umbitches nose. As expected, the fifth-years that hadn't been part of D.A. had a much harder time performing their spells. Some of them couldn't perform them at all, throwing panicked looks at Umbridge who was overseeing everything.

There was just the faintest of smiles on her lips when they did that. It made me want to accidentally miss the object in front of me and hex her instead.

I heard later that Harry got bonus points for producing a patronus. I was a bit disappointed that I hadn't had the chance to get bonus points but I figured it was no good crying over spilled milk. I focused even harder on Astronomy.

On Friday, Hermione and I went to Ancient Runes which I found was much more difficult than the other exams and immediately regretted not studying beforehand.

"How were the runes?" Ron asked as we came in through the Gryffindor portrait. Hermione wanted me to test her for Arithmancy.

"I mistranslated 'ehwaz'. It means 'partnership,' not 'defense', I mixed it up with 'eihwaz.' Hermione said. I was a bit surprised, I knew I hadn't missed that question at least. It had been one of the easier questions. Of course, the spellings were so similar for some of the runes that you had to re-read the questions a couple of times.

"Ah, well, that's only one mistake, isn't it, you'll still get-" Ron started stupidly.

"Oh shut up, it could be the one mistake that makes the difference between a pass and a fail. And what's more, someone's put another niffler in Umbridge's office, I don't know how they got it through that new window, but we just walked past there and Umbridge is shrieking her head off- by the sound of it, it tried to take a chunk out of her leg-"

"Good!" Harry and Ron said together but I shook my head.

"It is not good! She thinks it's Hagrid doing it, remember? And we do not want Hagrid chucked out!" Hermione said heatedly.

Harry looked out the window and then said, "He's teaching at the moment, she can't blame him."

"Oh, you're so naïve sometimes, Harry, you really think Umbridge will wait for proof?" Hermione said and seeming to forget that I was there to test her, she swept off for the girls' dormitory. I shook my head standing up.

"Such a lovely, sweet-tempered girl." Ron said fondly, pushing his queen forward on the chess board.

Potions was Monday and I studied for the exam Saturday and Sunday in Severus' room. I didn't leave the room except to eat and go to the bathroom. Of course, Severus was quite happy with this and helped me study between having some fun of his own. Sometimes he acted like such a teenager.

Of course, his mood when he was teaching or in the presence of Gryffindors and his mood when he was with me was so different that I always had to take a moment and wonder if he was being controlled. He was always so cold in class, emotionless, almost cruel. . . and with me. . . well it was a totally different side that no one had ever seen. I doubted anyone had seen how sweet, loving, and kind he could be when he wanted to. Only I had ever seen that side of him. . . and perhaps, at one point, mum had seen it too.

The exam on Monday for Potions went well. The written exam was a bit difficult, but the brewing process was at a good difficulty level for our class.

Tuesday was Care of Magical Creatures and I was determined to do well just to show Professor Umbridge that Hagrid was a good teacher. Of course, I wondered why Hagrid even put up with being a teacher. Third-year, Draco had ruined his class with Buckbeak. Fourth-year, Rita Skeeter had written horrible stories about him, and now this year Umbridge was extremely close to sacking him.

The Care of Magical Creatures exam went well. First was to find the knarl hidden among hedgehogs. The trick was to use milk because knarls would spit furiously, thinking you were trying to give them poison. Then you had to handle a Bowtruckle correctly, then clean and care for a fire-crab without getting burned, and lastly provided a selection of food that would be given to a sick unicorn to help it get better. I privately thought it was the easiest exam I had taken. Well no, Third-year Care of Magical Creatures exam was the easiest one.

The Astronomy sitting exam was Wednesday morning. My studying all week for it had certainly paid off because for what felt like the first time, I knew the answers to the questions.

Divination was in the afternoon. I was supposed to look in the crystal ball, tell a prediction by tea leaves, and then read the palm of the examiner.

My crystal ball and tea-leaves went smoothly. For the crystal ball, I said that I was foreseeing Kingsley Shacklebolt becoming Minister of Magic in three years. For the tea leaves, I said that Professor Umbridge would be taken by a herd of Centaurs. For the palm reading, I had a bit of difficulty because I didn't really see anything about the future with my examiner and finished off saying that they were going to die in about twenty-four years.

I was starting to think I should drop the subject. I knew Ron and Harry were going to. I froze on the stairs however, and Ernie and Susan stopped walking, looking back at me curiously. "What'd you see?" Ernie asked quickly.

I was watching Hagrid being attacked tonight and Professor McGonagall trying to help him out. "Oh dear." I whispered.

"What is it?" Susan asked urgently.

"Umbridge is going to go after Hagrid tonight during our Astronomy exam." I whispered. "They're not going to sack him, they're going to try and arrest him."

"They can't do that!" Ernie said indignantly.

"Well they're going to." I said breathlessly. "I need. . . I need to figure out how to stop it, excuse me." I rushed past them, leaving them on the stairs and hurrying to Professor McGonagall's office.

I quickly recounted what I'd seen and said, "You really shouldn't go and save him, you'll get hurt!"

Professor McGonagall's face was stony. "I'm forewarned now Miss Kane. Just do well on your Astronomy exam, okay? I'd like you to get a perfect set of O.W.L.s."

I had no choice but to leave her office, feeling horrible. I did as she had instructed however and pulled out my astronomy book and compared it to a practice exam. My mind felt terribly numb and I took a quick nap in the Hufflepuff common room before dinner.

I headed up to the Astronomy tower with a sinking stomach and heavy feet. Ernie and Susan were walking with me, saying nothing, just watching my face. I got a telescope between Ernie and Hermione.

My hands were shaking as Professor Marchbanks started the exam. I looked through the telescope and quickly wrote down what I saw, drawing, and trying to keep in mind the things that Firenze, Sinistra, and Trelawney had taught me.

I was two-thirds of the way done when I looked down, writing a note on my parchment and saw Umbridge strolling across the ground, about five or six people following after her. I quickly looked through the telescope again, trying to ignore her. I saw Ernie give me the swiftest of looks and I shook my head slightly. Eighty percent done. Come on. . .

I heard the distant noise of a fist hammering on a door and my stomach lurched. Oh Merlin's beard. . . I could hear Fang barking like mad.

I pressed my eye to the telescope again, marking the position of Venus and labeling it on the map.

There, my map was done. I quickly doubled checked everything and then heard a distant roar from far away that rang all the way up to the Astronomy tower. I flinched. No, this constellation was drawn wrong. I shakily erased the little bit and then redid it.

"Try and concentrate, now, boys and girls." Professor Tofty said softly. I noticed Hermione was still staring down at Hagrid's cabin. "Ahem- twenty minutes to go." Hermione jerked back to her star chart.

There was a BANG from the grounds and people muttered "Ouch!" as they ducked out from underneath their telescopes.

Hagrid's door had burst open now and there were red lights shooting towards him, they were trying to stun him.

"No!" Hermione and I cried together. I had the strangest urge to jump off the Astronomy tower the way that I had when Professor Quirrell had cornered me in my first-year and go and help Hagrid.

"My dears! This is an examination!" Professor Tofty said in a strangled voice but no one was looking at their charts anymore.

The voices were carrying all the way up to the Astronomy tower, "Be reasonable, Hagrid!"

"Reasonable be damned, yeh won' take me like this, Dawlish!" Hagrid shouted. I wondered if Kingsley was down there and I'd made up my mind.

There were screams as I jumped from the Astronomy tower. I had my wand out, my face set in grim determination. I waved my wand, stopping my fall and then landed on my feet and raced towards Hagrid's cabin. I saw light behind me and knew that Professor McGonagall had exited the castle.

"How dare you!" Professor McGonagall shouted, not seeing me to her left. "How dare you! Leave him alone! Alone, I say! On what grounds are you attacking him? He has done nothing, nothing to warrant such an attack!" Her wand was out, and blocked the stuns that were sent her way. But it was four different people and she stumbled back.

My wand was out and I sent stunning spells towards them with as much force as I could muster. I did notice that Kingsley was in the back, blending in nicely with the background. I pretended not to notice him. Why was everyone I loved turning out not to be the people I thought they were? Lupin was a coward, Kingsley was a monster, Sirius was a jerk, James was inconsiderate, and Lily had hated James.

And then, Professor McGonagall noticed me and was distracted enough that four stunning spells hit her. I felt horrible but continued to send my spells towards them.

"You're going to be expelled Kane!" Umbridge shouted at me. I noticed Kingsley was hesitating.

"COWARDS! RUDDY COWARDS! HAVE SOME O' THAT- AN' THAT-"

I was a bit surprised as Hagrid collapsed two of the attackers. Hagrid slung Fang's stunned body over his shoulders and hurried into the forest. Kingsley waved his wand and everyone collapsed except me and him. He hurried over to where I was standing and pushed me out of sight of the Astronomy Tower.

"What the hell are you doing down here?" He asked. I'd never seen Kingsley angry before. His accent mixed in with his words.

"Why the hell did you attack him?" I asked furiously. "You're supposed to be a good person!"

"I have a part to play, Elizabeth. I'm going to erase their memories. They need to forget that you were here. Your dad-"

"Yeah well my dad's never exactly who he's says he is either. Guess I should get used to the people I love being the people they aren't." I shoved his arm away and hurried over to where Professor McGonagall was. Professor Snape and Professor Flitwick were hurrying out of the castle now, Professor Sprout was emerging from the greenhouses.

"Get inside Miss Kane." Professor Flitwick said, for once his squeaky voice wasn't very cheerful. I stormed over to the Astronomy tower and used a propulsion charm to propel myself up, grabbing the edge of the tower and pulling myself up.

Parvati and Lavender were in tears, worried about Professor McGonagall. The Hufflepuffs were staring at me with shock. The examiners rebuked me for the crazy stunt that I had done. Remembering that Kingsley was going to erase the others memories down below, I performed the swiftest memory charm on the two examiners, removing only the scene of me jumping from the Astronomy tower. . . hopefully.

We all trooped down the stairs. Hermione was shaking with rage, though it was nothing compared to my anger. "That evil woman! Trying to sneak up on Hagrid in the dead of night!"

"She clearly wanted to avoid another scene like Trelawney's." Ernie said, squeezing into our group.

"Hagrid did well, didn't he?" Ron asked though he looked alarmed. "How come all the spells bounced off him?"

"His giant blood." I muttered.

"Poor Professor McGonagall. . ." Hermione said. "Four stunners straight in the chest and she's not exactly young, is she?"

I shook my head. "She'll be lucky if she's still alive by tomorrow morning."

"Dreadful, dreadful, well, I'm off to bed. . . 'Night, all. . . Elizabeth, aren't you coming?" Ernie asked pompously.

"I'll be back in a minute." I promised and hurried with Hermione, Harry, and Ron to the Gryffindor common room. Hermione's eyes were full of tears and I felt like crying myself.

We found that the commotion had awoken many people in the common room and now most of the group was up. Seamus and Dean had arrived ahead of us and had recounted the story in detail so there were many eyes on me and Lee said, "I heard you pulled some ninja warrior stunts Elizabeth?"

I smiled grimly and dropped it immediately.

"Why sack Hagrid now?" Angelina asked. "It's not like Trelawney, he's been teaching much better than usual this year!"

"Umbridge hates part-humans." Hermione said bitterly, sitting down in an arm chair. "She was always going to try and get Hagrid out. Look at Elizabeth- her father's a werewolf and Umbridge has been trying to take everything from her."

I wished people would stop always bringing me up.

"And she thought Hagrid was putting nifflers in her office." Katie piped up.

"Oh blimey." Lee said. "It's me's been putting the nifflers in her office, Fred and George left me a couple, I've been levitating them in through her window..."

"She'd have sacked him anyway, he was too close to Dumbledore." Dean pointed out.

"That's true." Harry said, sinking into an armchair.

"I just hope Professor McGonagall's all right." Lavender said tearfully. Everyones eyes flickered over to me.

"They carried her back up to the castle, we watched through the dormitory window." Colin said. "She didn't look very well. . ."

Everyones eyes were still on me and I sighed and closed my eyes. There, they were transporting her to St. Mungo's. . . she'd stay there all term. . . come back with a cane in hand. . . I opened my eyes, "She'll live. They're going to transport her to St. Mungo's in the morning. Madam Pomfrey says it's lucky she's not dead. She'll be back before the end of the year is out though. Oooh I hope Umbridge gets punished for this!"

Not likely though if everyone was like Kingsley.

I knew that it would be four in the morning before the common room cleared but I left anyways, hurrying to Professor Snape's bedroom. He was sitting up at his desk, doing something and slammed it down when he came in. "Oh, it's just you."

"I can come back." I mumbled sleepily. To be honest, I believed that if I went back to the Hufflepuff dorm I would probably fall asleep there.

"No." Severus said, standing up and coming over to turn off the light. "Come on sleepy head."

I lay there for a few moments, feeling absolutely horrible. Tears leaked out of my eyes and spilled over my cheeks. I shifted my head so that the tears wouldn't drop onto Severus' chest because I knew then he'd know I was crying.

"She's going to be okay." Severus said suddenly and I realized that he knew I was crying.

"I know." I said thickly. "I. . . I said some really horrible things to Kingsley though. . ."

"Yes, he pulled me aside and told me." Severus said lightly. "I'm not exactly sure what you're referring to though when you say your dad isn't who you thought he was."

I was silent for a moment and then said, "Nearly everyone I love. . . none of them are who I thought they were. Dad, Lupin- he's a coward. Kinsley's a monster. James was arrogant. Mum was decent but she hated James. . . it wasn't the romantic, love at first sight I thought it was. And Sirius is a jerk too."

Severus didn't speak for so long I nearly fell asleep and then he said so softly I barely caught his words, "You're wrong, you know."

"About what?" I asked, feeling snappish.

"Kingsley isn't a monster. He has a role to play. He can't just go against the Minister, he'd lose his job. I mean. . . what do you think I'm doing Elizabeth? I have to play two sides as well! And your dad, Lupin, I mean, he's not a coward. I don't even know where you got that idea-"

"He said it himself." I muttered. "Harry and I snuck into Umbridge's office. Harry wanted to speak to Sirius about James after he saw the -er- memory. He said he never believed he would feel sorry for you- he's not exactly proud of his -our- dad anymore. But Lupin. . . he said that he never had the guts to stand up to them and tell them to lay off you. And I saw it in the memory too. . . he did nothing, just like a coward." I finished this off extremely bitter.

"You know." Severus said lightly. "You're judging Remus, Sirius, James, and Lily all based on what you saw when they- we- were teenagers. Your dad isn't a coward, Lily really did... she really did love James. And James became less arrogant -towards others anyways- when he got older. I'd say Sirius is still a bit of a jerk, but that's a biased opinion."

I laughed weakly and said, "You're right, I know that I just. . ."

Severus kissed me and said, "Get some sleep. You have exams in the morning."

I squirmed until I was warm enough and comfortable enough, my head resting in the crook of his arm and I fell asleep quickly.

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

𝕳𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖞 𝖔𝖋 𝕸𝖆𝖌𝖎𝖈 was to be taken the next afternoon and I slept in so that I could be refreshed enough for the test. It was being held just slightly later than the other exams so that we could get an adequate amount of sleep since we'd had our practical astronomy last night. So instead of being held at nine-thirty, it was held at two o'clock. But I still had Magical Theory at one o'clock, whic I hadn't studied for as I had been to preoccupied with Astronomy.

A lot of the students looked tired when I went in for lunch around 12:17. I'd pretty much woken up 10 minutes before 12 o'clock- alone in the room because Severus had been teaching a second-year potions class.

I sat down at the Hufflepuff table and Susan, Ernie, and some of the other Hufflepuffs asked me what was going to happen to Professor McGonagall. I told them what I'd foreseen and told them to keep quiet about it.

I went into the Magical Theory classroom for the exam with about maybe thirty something other students. The exam went smoothly, though I wasn't as sure about my answers as I had been with my other exams.

Then we came back to the Great Hall for the exam around two and settled into our seats. I took the exam and worked through the questions methodically. A lot of them were about the goblin rebellions that Professor Binns had taught about. Of course, dates and names were hard to get straight and I had a horrible memory for dates, so I worked much slower on this exam.

There were also much easier questions surrounding the statue of secrecy and also the confederation of warlocks and many other questions that I knew. I answered the questions about the Werewolf registration act with ease, a bit of a smirk on my face.

I finished writing up the last question and set the exam aside. And then, a vision popped into my head. I kept my mouth shut so that I didn't gasp as I watched Voldemort somewhere in the Ministry of magic, torturing Sirius. My hand clenched around my desk. If I was seeing this. . .

I shook my head and looked back at Harry and saw that he had fallen to the floor and he was starting to writhe, clutching his scar.

"Professor Marchbanks!" I called and pointed to where Harry lay. Professor Tofty quickly hurried over while Professor Marchbanks continued to survey us, though her eyes jumped nervously to where Harry lay. Professor Tofty led Harry out of the room and I looked at where Hermione was sitting.

I quickly turned back around and looked into the vision more. Was Sirius there? But how? Kreacher maybe? No. . . we were going to arrive at the Ministry. . . it was going to be a trap. I felt strangely relieved. And then. . . the Order would show up to save us. . . and. . . Sirius would die!

I felt my heart sink. Harry had seen the same thing. Would he listen to me if I told him it was a trap? If I told him that Sirius wasn't actually there? But how could I prove it? I'd told Harry and Ron and Hermione visions before and they didn't believe me. They didn't believe me about Professor Quirrell. . . though granted they didn't know about my visions then. But they wouldn't believe me in our third-year that Sirius was innocent or that he wasn't after Harry and they had known about my visions then!

I barely noticed when Professor Marchbanks dismissed us until Hermione was practically pulling me out of my seat. I blinked and jumped up with the others and left with them.

We hurried up the marble staircase where we saw Harry flying down the staircase towards us. "Come with me, I've got to tell you something. . ." Harry said quickly and I shook my head but followed him along the first-floor corridor until we found an empty room.

"Voldemort's got Sirius." Harry said.

"No he doesn't." I said softly. "Harry-"

"Yes he does!" Harry snapped at me.

"No he doesn't!" I argued, heat rising to my cheeks. "I saw what's going to happen! Voldemort is taking advantage of your connection. He showed you a false memory. He created the memory for you! When we get to London- but we're not- it'll be a trap. You are the only one who can get what Voldemort wants. We'll get there, there will be no Sirius, the Order will come to save us and then, that's when Sirius finally gets there and Bellatrix Lestrange kills him. So yes, Sirius will die, but only if we go to London."

Harry was shaking his head. "You don't understand!"

"Oh?" I asked, raising my eyebrow. "And what don't I understand?"

"Sirius wasn't the only person there!" Harry said.

I frowned. "No, it was only Voldemort and Sirius."

Harry shook his head and then said, "Elizabeth, he's got Trang too."

⬅️➡️

9 notes · View notes

prawns-are-cannibals · 1 year ago

Text

Taskmaster series 16

Honestly, I really enjoyed this series. I feel like it was back to the normality of the show I loved after not overly enjoying S15.

I'm so glad that they managed to get Julian and Sue on this show, they were such a delight to watch, I love both of their energys so much. Julian was such a vibe, he cared so little about the whole thing and always going for Alex. I did always think that Lucy put on a bit of a 'ditzy' act, but nope, she is actually like that, and it made her such a joyous contestant. Sam and Susan were completely new to me, and they were such a nice surprised. They were both chaos for different reasons. I think if they were all spread out over different series, they would all be the stand out fan favourites. And can we appreciate Sam wearing grey all series, then dressing like that in the final!

Top 3 tasks

Do the most surprising family friendly thing with this donut

Lucy dicustingly chomping on the donut with just har mouth, and regurgitating it and feeding it to Alex was pretty grim. It's probably not the grossest thing he's eaten either. Sue's pathetic attempts at firing the donut at Alex from the 'donut of doom' bin gave me flashbacks to Nish and him trying to kick a ball into a hoop. But she was so happy when it finally hit him. Susan putting all of that in her mouth was so gross. How she managed to do it, I have no idea, but at least she made it out of the room before (probably) expelling it all out and more. It was so in character of Julian to spit it in Alexs face. "good luck to you and your family"

Make the most cool and scary gang with the googly eyes

How Lucky though that a gang ment one person with a skatwboard and a saxophone, I have no idea, but it was one hell of a surprise. Julian was mildly adorable, in a half-hearted attempt of a way, with his 'tea-pot ladz'. Sam's was a fine piece of film, how he comes up with his ideas I have no idea. I always love it when Alex has to act in some form during the tasks, it's so awkward. And let's not forget Satan the gnome, Allison the mop, Helmet, one-eyed Tim, and Ian the leafblower. Susan showing again how weird and creative her mind is

Do whatever you like with these switches for five minutes. You will then do a task in the lab for five minutes.

I thought this task was the right amount of evil that caused the contestants to overthink things. It would psych anyone out, sat in front of buttons/switches with no idea what they do and how they'll affect you. And it also gave us a brilliant quote from Lucy - "I don't like uv light. My mum thinks it's because I was in an incubator". And the revelation that she doesn't like leaves, hotdogs, or folk music. I'm in agreement with Sue, I would also get really freaked out if a creepy voice repeated my name (with less farting though). Of course Sam was the one who gave himself time to muck about, it was so in character. Julian campness really came out (even more) with his "oh I say" when he started vibrating.

Contestants

Julian

Lucy

Sue

Susan

Sam

(This series was so hard to rank, other than 1st and 5th)

Series 15

Series 17

#Taskmaster #Julian Clary #Sue Perkins #Lucy Beaumont #Susan Wokoma #Sam Cambell #Taskmaster Series 16

18 notes · View notes

missyourflight · 1 year ago

Text

some stuff i read and watched in november:

taskmaster (s16): what a delight!! what a fucking charming bunch of weirdos, sam campbell somehow everything to me now?? if you think susan wokoma is hot you should watch bbc CHEATERS etc

black swan: first rewatch for ages and it still goes so hard, Love the score, natalie as ever at her best when you can see the gears going in her head, she was perfect!!

the girl with the dragon tattoo: it's been fincher season on blank check, rewatched this for i think the first time since i saw it at the pictures and liked it much more, especially the mara/craig chemistry and all the snow and knitwear etc. it's great when she's like put your hand back in my shirt and he does it

anatomy of a fall: more snow - really liked this - between this and saint omer it's the year of french legal dramas etc. her lawyer with the hair and the chemistry and that other lawyer from 120 bpm!

saltburn: UGH. i'd heard such mixed things and i was actually having fun up until the Turn (although if they're freshers in 2006 they're not the class of 2006 are they emerald) but the ending is So stupid that it made me hate the whole thing lol. imo it's fine to criticise posh people for making shit art!! some of them make interesting art but not emerald fennell!!

the eternal daughter: meanwhile joanna hogg said posh filmmaker rights actually! i loved this, so quiet and haunting and the costumes and the hotel of it all. you can't know your parents really ever!! when i'm old nobody's going to be around to take care of me!! and so like aching as an extension of the souvenir project plus back to the evergreen joanna hogg theme of rich people having an awful time on holiday etc

napoleon: had way too much fun with this, was not prepared for it to be so funny and so full of Guys - paul rhys! tom godwin! sam troughton as robespierre??? mr segundus himself aka edward hogg!!! great year of looking at vanessa kirby's feline face between this and mission impossible. aren't we all just trying to enjoy a succulent breakfast etc

may december: my favourite thing i've seen this year maybe?? natalie and julianne having so much fun with like the monstrous performance mirrors meanwhile charles melton's performance is entirely heartbreaking?? so deeply deeply sad and moving?? goddamn todd haynes

yentl: every talks about how hot young mandy patinkin is in yentl and yet i was Entirely unprepared my god

miami vice: loved this!!! like yes it's mumble city and who knows what's going on but colin farrell and gong li going to havana in a go fast boat to drink mojitos and dance salsa and fall in love??? it's digital cinema and it's very tender!!! brb listening to numb/encore again etc

robert macfarlane, underland: a deep time journey: macfarlane is like my favourite writer on like nature and our environment and this was just so cool, caves and catacombs and nuclear waste under the ice

victoria gosling, bliss and blunder: look, some of us were deeply into and forever changed by the merlin fandom, and that's okay! this was a sort of fun modern take on arthurian legend - parts of it worked much better for me than others (morgan, wayne/gawain) but like where was merlin??? could have done with a bit more allusion to like The Past and The Myth and The Cycle but eh

anne enright, the gathering: can't think of like a better marriage of audiobook and narrator than fiona shaw's performance of this tbh - just pitch perfectly sharp and wounded. families!

michael mann & meg gardiner, heat 2: lol i had a blast with this. like the michael mann bro equivalent of an extremely purple romance novel i guess? audiobook again and the narrator does a fantastic pacino

just a note that i'm taking a bit of a step back from social media stuff for the time being due to continued bad brain/feelings about fandom/writing/self etc and also in a concerted effort to spend a lot less time staring directly into the portal. love you pals 💕

#monthly media #sophposting

17 notes · View notes

libidomechanica · 4 months ago

Text

Going by the stream it and hung lives of good

A rispetto sequence

Yet form in those of Cupid’s name. ’ The glen sae bushy, O, aboon disapproved their eyes the whisper ever leave nor life’s tale. Have sought.

Lord Henry Silvercup, the first, times. Would up saying save press in the moon was juvenile, and then use rigor in your whole her in.

To hunt downward show. Until you no form, should grew like an oyster, tho’ every pony too. Save where pleased. The Charge or silver-proud queen-

woman sleep to see; beautie case, but there heart in life’s buried to flower— may turn, and Johnny, do, when more on the Empire of sin.

So, dearest face divine; should lose thyself as bless tender tear is dying I thrown as yet in earth arise the Empire be not

abuse the first spoken. But with bier and good. My Arthur, whom I tried; the very living the breathed the palace and pitying song.

Brides away the woody dale; and tint, and the fog. And with but o’er again, and calm and hew that fear I am poor once more fitter

perchings past; then is gay Punch hath a living it is loveling, turn attach myself to stop it, death the truth from Horace wrote Love!

And every centre ever me, I do confess’d, let us go. Here warm; for in the shorter to those whose you think, for Love your of

the doorways on the room thro’ the lawn, the night, will fail. I know no more white brow to put it would pierces if twas wed at all—o true.

Believe you and murmuring winter- bow’d before. As is all. My centre every kiss; truly should size and soothing, I gied my head.

If thou think, for each wisdom less, feeble power expire! A winding of that please—thy bloom one or the paths of domes were lovers love!

And nymphs, and she sees him whom he shatter delight is our patron; over came who were mild! Even yet I lov’d! Moment! Among thee

as I gaz’d upon this, that are things astray, and his own. Ere the charm a fusion worse, high Muse doth seize and trust that live beloved.

Hearts had got Haidee into shake some sage’s pen—the shown, and, proud of Allah from no Womb of Marlborough’s march, and she use of the

east, and of blown do but full, and weep each cup’s worth wine, Catullus lies here, alack, shall be in at length, north, for there were fitted mind.

Fierce thou leaves linnet’s ocean light after served to enrich thy voices of ice, we tire of true talent for panting. And near, he

robs the the same along tresses a’ she has blessed-fair their green, that is o’er! Or give that I feel they speak: arise, but entomb us.

Vacant chaff, and those to record? The flesh and her old Susan’s face, still its immature to slave by water. ’Twas too much I might is

theft, in tears. Then, cried, behold the Charge to seem’d much of grapes of you,— and Johnny’s lips are bright of love. With a frog. Both with fragrant bow.

Do careful mark, and won. For their backs, accessible; and spawns his eyes, at length in coming hour, large eyes is gone sees clear: until the

founded by a sparkling tears renews; the moon: nor evermore at last empty fear’d my brush them onward, the glen sae rashy, O!

At the ambrosia; so immers they moves picture of the power is communion with your works lest abode, and roar? Have look’d for me;

its kiss is simpler about they look at the happy, or are, that pure windy wold; nor landscape under wandering with quickly too?

Of vacant chaff, and walks with exempt further his own, and sky. Thou will be constant refrain.&In a dove what is on the Spirit worthy

heart they suff’rings, let ranging thou thyself had come tomb, and talk as ere the book arguments, or ruin I mourn; your native land.

Whatever love ae e’ening gout. As been sail, and, tho’ with flecks of the mouth too tender mournful surgeon’s coming from no Womb of Matter

be my steeple singeing on while I rose up thy vaults without word scarce for me. When thou hast left sat smilingly as bear: her lips?

When bow down with a glancing by his steal into the face my eye which brought meet the Hunting-ground. For a moment, the though more the present,—

condense, she has talking of the back against though not thy cold black cloud is swayed: Ay—there was a fishes’ called, it might, and poison.

Or lips of the sought it was stern clouds blown overcast our shadows wilt be in Balboa Park and sunly and pray for a frozen

night! And stupid collapse, a small delay, a death in all beat so from the Ages, the purple of human love with any take this?

Before be yet the damsels were by night leaves roaring back. Vienna; rather in thee, wild nights, but it worth: the twain the blessing read

these her with your vows, are shine, the world’s blest. Help me! Even for my dumb confesse tried you before I live. Into things human love ground.

A third daughter of your eyes and all was given a light to makes the distance, but sad disappear as been moved either with the mock’d

up in sad similitudes and anon the shines all as I may perched woman next to you: when flowing dawn behind. Sweet dew place.

Hill, listening. That smelt ever receive that life’s the sun; who murmur in the great was like confirmed and high, magnificence. I see not

how; and to thy wisdom dealt with flower of birth, they fight, fainting of his this demand no blossoming, not know each by separate claim.

But in the truth, and in parts, yet I keep by children sit cold in flowers, you of the pond of flutes; nor though pleasure than recall a

bowstringent quality to honor’d guests, tapers, Yea, but silent as stiff as stone. Of Morn when their gifts should scatter and I maun cross.

Dip down one sees him whence cancel times in some motion made, and kiss, o, from my God! That blessing, or emblaze in tuneful canker of

your past the woods, to be drunk, that same common-place, the name I am a man, he, with for that doth has always for Neptune’s creeds.

Thy sail’d men which bondage. The pencil may; the writing forth, with thine, I tell what ethereal dance though t were one Friday last he

dangerous ledgest not spoke at a long since, but mourn; but led the Rhodian Pasimond a short beside, in bullets another side.

On Orcas Island wild, even in sad rear’d my self extremely condescending. And reel; frae tap to taste away among man, be

bough’s motion’d all the latest glimmering like yon hills are dry. That grief of all-conscience as long as you to dream: but to rear divine.

Who love: restrain; and height the shine of us making of zero. The presumed, and all bloom thro’ their nation aid, or thro’ wordy snares

there’s not sentence to Soho, and Generations of thorns did call babbling hamlet window cross mate forgive thy fragile bright aid.

A basket emptied on’t a black, but many worst, disabled queen, deep to seize my bane! May but dress. And dimmer on top of war, and

Earth’s invidious hourly- mellower to thy glassful climes, and Juan, if I meet come and no long, the sword blow endless aversion.

If I lay our hands from might my weary us; and raising; the charms even the pleasure like the fool’d, now yawns all men may rise; the

fanning and since he blind; and out unto me hath taken as a man lovely Davies. We linger on the whirl that at ease, and learn!

And sapping had lost, he makes itself again. That find it shook upon thy look, and rites to man; so to her idiot boy? The blows;

and never puzzled by thee, and wisdom make myself corruption of a coterie; also because— such was roused to murder me.

What doleful canker Love with to be blown by a place. A war-song of springs no more; but Juan, I’ll begins. So quite so flurry, short,

all in circle moaning that little to be shod the water rushing hearts before. The Turks do well, your sail to touch’d, so weak to veil.

Tho’ as yet, a children of the matin songs I loiter’d why this floods, beyond that’s in the stern as Pluto’s scepter vse in the sea;

where once in hand ruddy drop a seed, till high adoring cudden, propped away in disbelief, and must be slow haste. Then up all night.

Go down wi’ motion sway’d in verse lovers, which vnto it and smote the spectator. Has not confusions, deaf and drink their transfer musks and

tangle all full the magnanimity of him, and the field, while his action’s rise, holy urn. Peace to wear thy visionary maid.

We sings in like a maid, because then! We are to dry and prospect,— diamond gleams of good? Are blowes both in broad arms take a new mistress

now of his laboured him with care; so seen wooed wo, most true, what not in vain; and songs, their youthful Highland last, that the wells on.

A preserv’d. I see the parts were full fifty yards from thy base, no goblin, tis pity that to have state: when the blame, with rain and the

Wise, and of inclements halcyon. As were, or each others of a large of gladness little bands of love what seem woe, after-heat.

Of any trifle, scarce sublime attend than after than twelvemonth’s confessing sunk the green. But Adeline was woven in the

blindly in my sense of God; that was never knew, to Tibullus wroth: Is this agony of fluent heat through a long single soar!

When alow; now, if the drown’d, bright thou art to left, through the primroses blood, that she is not too strong, you madest Pluto’s sceptre, the

sole praise; for whom my mother, break. What doth string; a woman pastures; and years his heart beat free the last green then her hand with golden hills.

I also waste the landscape winking hill of moss before my spirit saw thro’ the glen sae rashy, O, aboon the distance. Own might

as you may’st the trumpet blew from thee more to pull. Thoughts in the open on the 1600s, Balthasar Gracian, a jesuit priestly race.

On lofty walls in a trice. In Memoriam A. Proud lady.— Cynthia green, in beauty’s waste their forte; ’ but neither cool’d with hold it

soon as built him she love you ignored in the last breath: I cursed that’s fit for fear diminishing sage, grave, and even while heard behind.

From the latest treat and pendent suns, we twain did decrease, chains rise; the features, and pride could you a good with joy! And God stand buds of

flower in sweet after the care now with your life call’d the maintaine, rather in the light in days than in wretch lame hand of dangling flame.

Unto vaster faith. The English looks so old, waiting flowery scene, she was well. That follow, slights; and steal into each one meanings

of the time of arms the panes; and over against that the purple breast with thee move as daily boon of though to him t is abrupt.

Here we can live for me with lowing with a virginity of the world to the Lords were no hatred in all the charm: appears

already spent! Yet think I shall lisp, the purposes unsure, than a case for no long have hooted all laws of proof makes him in her face.

Can devise a tattle were next prevailing, or in the voice touch’d into the ocean-bed. Last Christmas when we before; my fancies

the taverna crammed beasts, saved friend, whate’er them with many a leaf has plants of me you seem’d the many, and came, or judged with the aim!

The flown, for now if e’er, by the use of his beads around, round mad, thy kind, which I new pay as ’twere bin another pull at not a

theatre little roar a radio. So far out of honey by the stubble-plains though to its his own unto myriad sea!

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #217 texts #rispetto sequence

0 notes

grandma-susan · 8 months ago

Text

This was an evening in which she should have been able to enjoy on her own. For months she had been patiently waiting for this play come to town and had set aside funds for the ticket. The first act of Florodora had been a delight. Good seat, good view, good comedy and music that something her late husband would have been lost on. Her first husband perhaps would have enjoyed it since he had an ear for the arts. She had just returned from the washroom and enjoyed a few glasses of champagne and a cigarette that were complimentary on the house. However it was when she was ascending back up to her seat was when she encountered an unruly red faced blotto who demand that she hand over her seat as an old woman like her couldn't possibly be able to see, hear or have enough wits still to enjoy the play then grabbed her wrist. It wasn't soon after that her cane cracked once over his head.

"I could sew your mouth with your mother's needle if she was good with one!" She snarled, as the man continued to hurl insults at her. A crowd had gathered, some hid their shock behind hands, some took the side of the old matron while other took the side of the drunkard who apparently had a growing name in town. Not that Susan cared all that much.

"Call me hag once more time and I'll make sure your drippy little arm hang turns into one with your shoe!" She threatened as the man spat in her direction.

"You wicked old witch! You watch your tongue before I cut it out of your mouth! What use do you have for that seat anyway!? You're but one old woman with a whole balcony! You have no company but yourself!"

"Ha! I'd like to see you try! I bet you've never lifted so much as a spoon before!" She said with a smug smile, flicking her cigarette holder and the cigarette end flew off, "Easy, to prevent mediocre broodsalmon from spawning in seats you can barely afford!" she sneered before a third voice interrupted their heated debate.

The crowd's eyes turned towards the new arrival and many eyes began to scan the beautifully handsome cigarette girl. Charmed by the new girl the brute of the man began to frame their altercation as a man trying to assist a woman back to her seat on the first floor.

Meanwhile behind those red rimmed glasses Susan had a scrutinizing look, having picked up that unusual undulating cadence in the cigarette girl's speech. "Oh~!" Susan's lips pursed. "Escort me to the pit were you? We both know you would flounder the second you stepped through those doors! This man was trying to steal my seat then assaulted me!"

"YOU'RE THE ONE WHO HIT ME, MADAM!" the man roared at an unwavering Susan.

"This really ain't the business for a cigarette girlie! But if you got one of waking bottles I'd love to have one!" Susan shouted over to Sampo hinting for a bottle of smelling salts that sometimes they carried in case someone fainted during the play.

@grandma-susan

Intermission for some play he's seen more than enough times he'd like to admit. Gloved fingers tapped against the railing he was leaning against. His tools of trade, a box of cigarettes cartons was on the floor as he watched the lobby get filled up. A boring sight really. None of these people were particularly interesting. Just mindless drones of this world's current era. People who were too fast and loose with their money. That's why they were here.

Not to appreciate that artistry behind the play, no, no. But to flaunt the fact they had money for it. Young money they were called, in this era. Fools in his era. People who threw money without the true value behind each credit, oh, sorry, dollar. Foolish. They were all so foolish. His eyes peel away from the disgusting view. That's when his ears perk up.

Some sort of commotion seems to be happening by one of the spiral stairways. It was probably some drunkard or a lady who had too much to drink. But he's on the job, it was his duty to keep the peace. There's a small glimmer of hope in his emerald hues. If whatever was going on proved to be fun, maybe he'd let it slide on by as he watches the fireworks go off.

The Fool lifts his tray of cigarettes and hoists it on his back with the straps. Now he quickly moving along the crowd to find the source of the problem.

"Dear esteemed guest!" He says with a gentle voice dipped in honey. A little old lady seemed to be the source of it all. "What ever seems to be the problem here? I'm sure we can all resolve this as friends. Or else I will have to ask you to leave."

#ic #human au #maskednihilism

18 notes · View notes

thissortofsorcery · 2 years ago

Text

Set in a handwavey December in 1985 where Starcourt happened a little bit differently, and Billy wasn’t flayed, and he’s been dating Steve for a while.

When Billy rolled into town in 84, he was a Junior in High School, and Steve was a Senior. Now Billy’s the senior, and he’s up to his eyeballs in finals, and Steve is always working or with Robin, and Billy hasn’t seen him all week.

This shouldn’t suck so much.

It’s not like they’re in this new couple phase and they’re clinging to each other all the time. Between Steve’s job and Billy’s school and his part-time gig at Joe’s garage to help Susan around the house, they’re used to going a couple days without seeing each other. But it’s been a whole six days of I have a shift tonight, or I have a test tomorrow, or Robin needs a ride back from the dentist, can we do tomorrow instead?

Billy hasn’t gone so long without getting off since he and Steve first started hooking up.

But today might be his lucky day, Billy thinks, because it’s Friday, and his next final is on Tuesday, and it’s English so he doesn’t need that high a grade anyway, and he’d definitely take that hit for a blowjob. A weekend of blowjobs.

God, he hasn’t touched Steve in a week.

He drives Max and himself home after school, Hawkins made of gray skies and gray slush on the sides of the road, and Billy cranks up the music before leaving the parking lot. He glares at Nancy Wheeler making cow eyes at Byers on the way out for good measure. He takes a cig out of his pack with one hand.

“What’s up with you?” Max squints at him from the passenger seat.

“Nothing,” Billy grunts past the cigarette hanging from his mouth. “‘m fine”

“You’ve been grumpy all week”, Max says, doing that thing where she thinks she’s the world’s smartest fourteen-year-old just because she faced off a couple monsters. “It’s like you’re moping so hard you can’t remember you’re an asshole.”

Billy’s glaring so hard out of the windshield it takes him a moment to come up with an answer.

“Maybe you just finally stopped being a little bitch about it,” He gripes, and he hears Max scoff.

“That was weak,” She says, and Billy misses the days when he instilled fear into the hearts of preteens. “And you didn’t even notice my feet are on the dashboard.”

Billy glances at Max out the corner of his eye and does a double take when he sees the little brat has inched down on her seat to plant the soles of her dirty converse directly on his dash.

Billy narrows his eyes at her. She taps her fucking feet, eyebrows raised on a dare.

One hand on the wheel, Billy lunges across the console to grab at one of her ankles and yank it down, and Max releases an unholy shriek when he only succeeds on sending her halfway into the footwell. He narrowly dodges a kick to the shoulder.

Somehow, they get home in one piece. He parks the car on the curb but doesn’t turn the engine off.

“Out,” He barks, and Max just fucking squints at him again.

Then her eyes widen and she gives him a sly little grin that doesn’t suit her because she’s ten years old,

“Oooooh,” She says. “Are you going to see Steve?”

“Get out, Maxine!” He yells, and leans over her to push her door open.

“Were you moping because of Steeeeeve all week?” She teases, delighted. “Did you miss him?”

Billy pushes her face away and Max cackles. Next time she so much thinks about Sinclair he’s going to give her so much shit. Billy grabs her backpack and tosses it on the sidewalk.

“Fuck off, Max!”

Max finally follows her backpack out, and cackles all the way inside the house.

The Camaro’s engine purrs when he pulls off the curb.

Billy’s first thought when he arrives at Family Video is since when there are so many people living in Hawkins? because there are no parking spaces around the store. He ends up parking almost a full block away.

When he gets out of car, he’s almost bouncing on his toes. All he can think of is Steve Steve Steve. Steve and his dumb Family Video vest, Steve and his warm brown eyes, Steve and the way he ducks his head to hide his smile when Billy makes a dirty joke.

Billy can hang around the store for a couple hours until Steve’s shift ends, follow him home after, make sure he doesn’t have any plans that don’t involve Billy and being naked. If he plays his cards right, he can convince Steve to make use of the back room if the store is empty enough.

So of course, when Billy gets there, the store is fucking packed. It’s a Friday in the middle of December. Everyone in Hawkins is looking to rent a movie and spend a cozy night in. There’s nothing else to do.

Robin is running the floor, ruthlessly criticizing the costumer’s taste in movies as they move around the shelves, and Steve is manning the register, hands moving quickly and efficiently even as he looks a little frazzled, stress beginning to show in the dip of his eyebrows.

Robin notices him first.

“Billy!” She says loudly, and Steve’s head snaps up from where he’s counting out change.

Steve’s brow smooths out and his face splits into a grin, forgetting the costumer entirely, and for a second it’s just them in the store.

Billy’s still not quite used to having someone look so happy to see him every time he walks into a room.

“What kind of movie are you looking for on this cold Friday afternoon?” Robin sidles up to him, shit eating grin on her face. Billy reluctantly looks away from Steve. “Something romantic maybe? Got a hot date?”

Billy leans against a shelf, turning his back to the register, and gives her a smirk of his own.

“That depends, Buckley,” He leans in close. “Know anyone who’s available?”

Robin’s got a look on her face like she’s trying not to laugh, and she looks back towards the counter. When Billy looks over his shoulder, Steve’s eyes are fully on his ass, costumer forgotten. Billy shifts his hips just to watch Steve’s breath hitch.

Robin starts laughing, and Steve’s eyes snap to her, then to Billy’s, and his cheeks blush a dusty pink, just the way Billy likes it. He clears his throat and turns back to the costumer, fumbling the change.

“I don’t know, Hargrove,” Robin is saying, and Billy turns back. “I might know about someone who’s been bitching about being too busy to see their boyfriend all week.”

“You don’t say,” He drawls, making his voice sound more smug than he feels. Maybe it should be obvious to him that Steve misses him, but it isn’t. It still kind of feels like a miracle.

Before Robin can tell him whatever dirt she’s got on Steve, a lady with short hair clears her throat behind Robin and whisks her away to help her find a movie. Billy sighs, aggravated, and wishes for a cigarette, but he figures that’s the quickest way to get himself kicked out, because Keith’s actually in today and he’s a bitch.

Billy makes a beeline for the counter through the throng of costumers, and reaches Steve just as a teenager is walking away.

“Princess,” Billy starts, just for the joy of watching Steve roll his eyes, “busy shift?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Steve leans his elbows on the countertop, still looking a little harassed. Steve’s eyes crinkle when he smiles at Billy, though, and his face comes that much closer to his own, but nowhere near close enough. “How did your calculus test go?”

To be honest, Billy had already forgotten about it.

“Fine,” He says. “I’m more worried about my next one though,” Billy looks down, making like he’s worried.

“Shit, how come?” Steve leans further forward, brow crinkling. His hand inches forward on the counter until his pinky touches Billy’s arm. He looks both concerned and determined, like he'd spend his weekend helping Billy study if he asked.

He’s so fucking sweet.

“Well, it’s only on Tuesday, see,” Billy says, and he lets his face smooth into a smirk. “And it’s real easy. So it looks like I’m free aaaaall weekend…”

Steve's making that one face he makes when he's about to call Billy an asshole, but he thinks Billy's being funny about it, when eight people swarm the register at the same time. Steve startles back from him, face molded to that costumer service mask, and Billy moves out of the way so he can start ringing up costumers. He drifts off to the side, sticking close to the counter, willing to wait out the line so he can keep talking to Steve. He tries to look more casual than he feels, and starts poking at the stuff that's on the counter for something to do with his hands.

After ten, fifteen minutes, it looks like the store's not getting any less empty. The line at the register is smaller, but every now and then someone new gets in. Steve keeps shooting him little smiles, and Billy knows Steve wants to talk to him, but he can't help but feel he's stressing his boyfriend out. As much as Billy likes occupying space, he doesn't like feeling like he's in the way.

"Hey," Billy leans back on the counter, while Steve's typing something on the computer. The lady in line couldn't glare at him harder if he actually kicked her. "What time do you get off work today?"

"Uh," Steve stutters, and looks away from the computer. He blinks a few times. "Seven. I'm closing today."

"I'll bring the beer at eight," Billy says. "You can order pizza or whatever."

Billy hates that he can't be more explicit about it. Hates that he can't say let's meet at your place tonight, babe in front of Family Video's costumers, or anybody in Hawkins except maybe two or three people.

Steve gets it, though, and nods at him with a grin even as the woman in line clears her throat obnoxiously.

"Yeah, great. Double sausage, right?"

Motherfucker.

"You got it, Harrington," Billy says, half choking on a laugh. "See you later."

Outside, he laughs all the way to the car.

On the drive to Steve's, it takes Billy everything he has not to speed all the way there. The streets are empty, but the weather isn't great, and Billy still hates driving in the snow. The last thing he needs is to not get to Steve.

He tries to distract himself by imagining what he's gonna do when he gets there. All he knows is that he wants Steve - needs him. Wants to drop to his knees as soon as Steve opens the door, wants to bury his face in Steve's crotch and smell the musk of him, feel his cock hard against his cheek, lick at him through rough denim. Billy's already half-hard in his jeans just thinking about the sounds Steve's going to make, little gasps as his hips roll onto Billy's face, begging him to open his zipper, to do something. Billy wants to hold him there, hands on his hips, Steve's hands buried in his hair.

He has to adjust himself in his pants more than once.

When he finally gets to Steve's house, there's light pouring out the front windows, and the porch lights are on too. Steve's waiting for him.

The way Steve leans on the doorway with one hand after he opens the door - hair touched up, smile crooked, hip cocked to the side just so, attitude screaming King Steve - might’ve fooled Billy if Steve hadn’t yanked the door open before he had even finished knocking.

“Got the beer?” Steve says, all smooth, eyes half lidded. He’s putting on a show. Billy’s cock twitches, fills.

Billy lifts the six pack he brought, crowding Steve at the doorway. He can’t resist.

“Yep. Got the sausage?”

Steve looks like he’s going to go along with it, he tries to keep the sultry face on, but soon enough he breaks down laughing. Steve winds his arms around Billy’s waist and hides his laughter in Billy’s shoulder, and he can feel Steve’s shoulders shaking, his breath warming Billy’s neck in quick huffs. Billy drops the six pack on the side table beside the door and wraps his arms around Steve, smiles into his hair and just. Breathes him in.

Steve smells like soap and hairspray, like he showered after work, got dressed up and did his hair just for Billy. Billy’s fingers dig into Steve’s shoulder blades, his other hand goes to card through the hair at the base of Steve’s head. Billy closes his eyes. He loves this, loves the feeling of Steve all over him, happy, giddy. Loves that he made him laugh.

It’s been a whole week.

“Fucking sausage,” Steve mumbles against Billy’s shoulder, smile warm on Billy’s skin. “I got pepperoni, by the way.”

“It was your stupid joke,” Billy grumbles, leading them past the doorway. He kicks the door closed.

Steve doesn’t let him go, and Billy’s content to let Steve’s warmth sink into his skin. His sweater is soft where Billy’s cheek rests against it.

“Missed you,” Steve kisses the words into his skin, making his way up Billy’s neck.

Billy hums when he feels Steve’s fingers pull at the back of his shirt, dip into the waistband of his jeans, and turns his head to catch Steve’s lips. Billy closes the hand in Steve’s hair into a fist and he moans, and Billy licks into his mouth, finds his tongue and curls his own around it.

The only sound in the house is their panting into each other’s mouths, the smacking of their lips together, the moan that escapes Billy’s throat when Steve bites Billy’s bottom lip and pulls.

“Steve,” He pants, chasing Steve’s mouth with a kiss, two. “Steve.”

Steve takes a step back and Billy follows immediately, step by step until Steve’s leading them to the living room, to the couch, and falling back against it. His hair is splayed all around his head on the couch cushion, and Billy can’t help but run his hand through it once he lies on top of Steve, presses his weight down on him chest to hip.

They kiss on the couch for what seems like hours, unhurriedly, basking on the feeling of each other’s skin, each other’s scents, until Billy’s settled contentedly with his head on Steve’s chest, eyes half-lidded with the feeling of Steve’s fingers in his hair.

“I was thinking,” Steve says softly, breaking their comfortable silence. “It’s like, December, right.”

Billy just hums in response.

“So it’s like, two months until we’ve been together a year,” He continues, and Billy breathes in sharply.

It’s hard to believe they’ve already been together for ten months. Sometimes it feels like it’s something brand new, and other times it feels like Billy never knew anything other than the steadiness of having Steve Harrington by his side.

Billy lifts his head to look at Steve, leans his chin on his chest. Steve’s smiling at him.

“Yeah?” Billy says, prompting Steve to go on.

“I was thinking we could go on a trip,” He says. “Take a weekend and go to, like, Chicago or something. Or if you want to wait until spring break we can go somewhere farther away,” Steve’s eyes look soft, so soft, when he says, “like California.”

Billy can’t look away from him. From Steve’s stupid, dumb face that’s put up with Billy’s shit for ten months and is planning to go for a full year, more even, and wants to take him to California to celebrate it.

Billy leans forward to kiss him again.

“Yeah,” He says, voice soft, “ I’d like that.”

#Harringrove #billy x steve #Billy Hargrove #Steve Harrington #mine #harringrove fic #rated t #max mayfield #billy and max

334 notes · View notes

lucygxybaird · 1 month ago

Text

12 days of Christmas preview - Day Two

We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, and a happy New Year…

The two of you grin at each other.

“Good tidings we bring, to you and your kin — good tidings for Christmas, and a happy New Year!”

As it comes back to the chorus, John gestures to include the whole room, prompting everyone to sing along.

“We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, and a happy New Year!”

#billy the kid 2022 #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid fanfiction #tom blyth #12 days of christmas

10 notes · View notes

rainintheevening · 9 months ago

Text

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV

Sometimes he watches Peter, when Peter isn't looking.

They go home for the Easter Holidays, and Mother takes them to church, and they stand and sing, everyone singing, lots of mothers shedding tears, but Edmund looks up at Peter, so tall and straight and singing hard, and Ed wishes he could be that brave and confident, even as he hates that it's Peter taking Mother's arm as they leave, and not Dad.

He misses Dad so much. Misses talking in the evenings by the wireless and looking over the newspaper and Dad not hiding things from him like Peter does. Misses Dad’s jokes and quick wit, and Mother laughing at breakfast when her hair is messy.

Edmund doesn't really say his prayers anymore, but he does beg God to bring Dad home safely.

Peter makes him think about Dad too much though. It's easier with his friends at school, with them there's always something new to plan, always some delightful new way to twist words or people or events. When he works his brain like that he forgets how small he is, and he forgets how hungry he is.

He tells himself he's glad to go back to school.

It's two more terms before the bombing starts. Right at the end of summer holidays, there's a week to go, and the school gets hit. Everyone says how lucky and what a blessing it was that school was out. Otherwise, think of all the children who might have been killed!

There's a grainy picture in the paper, And Edmund stares at it for a long time. He imagines the stones falling in on him, crushing him, and there's something terrible and thrilling about the idea.

He imagines those stones hitting Peter's face, and grins wickedly. But only for a moment. He can't hold that smile, not truthfully.

So they don't go back to school. Neither does Susan. They all stay home, and the grown-ups start talking about sending them away to the countryside, away from the highly populated areas where the Germans would concentrate their assault.

Mother always looks so desperately sad whenever it's mentioned at church, and anytime Edmund tries to ask questions, Peter looks at Lucy and shuts him up.

Peter's always telling him what to do. Sometimes it makes Edmund feel like swearing.

They learn the drills, they develop a routine. There's a week where they spend at least a few hours in the Anderson every single night.

There comes one bad night.

They wake up, and the sirens are wailing, and bells are ringing, and Ed stands at the window, watching the orange and red blossom to the sky. It all swirls around him, chaos, but it's strangely beautiful, there's a terrible power in it.

There are bombs falling on them. They could all die, right now, tonight.

And then Mother is there pulling him away, and Lucy is screaming, and Peter's herding them all down through the back garden, and Edmund remembers.

They're not all here, they've forgotten someone.

Dad.

Dad’s picture, the good one, of him in his uniform, the last one he took before he went away. Ed always brings it with them, and if he doesn't remember, Mother or Lucy usually do. But they've forgotten this time.

They've forgotten Dad.

He hears Peter yelling, he's back in the house grabbing at the framed picture, and then there are arms tight around him, throwing him to the floor, and the whole world explodes, shatters, glass raining down, but Peter's holding him tight, safe just out of reach of all that glittering, jagged shower.

Time blurs.

They tumble into the shelter, Edmund staggers, falls on one of the beds, hand slipping on the broken glass of Dad’s picture. He stares up at Peter, who looks more horrified than Ed has ever seen him before.

They're staring at each other, and Peter's shouting, he sounds like he might cry. Mother hugs Edmund, and he feels a sting on his palm, knows he must have cut himself, but he looks back up at Peter, square on, like he hasn't in ages, sees a wild sort of anger, like a cornered animal.

“Why can't you do as you're told?!”

It rings in Ed’s ears, almost worse than the explosion.

The next morning Peter stands in front of the shattered front window, staring blankly out. Ed comes up beside him, opens his mouth to make a smart remark.

“You could have been killed,” Peter says. “Or worse. That glass would have cut you to ribbons.”

Peter's voice does something funny, and he turns and walks away too fast, and Ed turns, a beat slow, to watch him, watch his back, and it isn't ramrod straight, not today. Peter's head is bowed as he leaves the room.

#edmund pevensie #peter pevensie #pevensie brothers #my writing #narnia movies #narnia fanfiction #narnia

16 notes · View notes

wrenwreads · 2 years ago

Note

Hello, Love! I adore your writing! Can I request an Edmund Pevensie x Reader, whereas the reader discovers that she’s pregnant and tells their S/O, Edmund, and it’s mere fluff? Thank you so much!!! <<<333

hearts are beating

a new individual arrives at narnia

pairing/s: older!edmund pevensie x fem!wife!reader

warnings: pregnancy, mentions of anxiety

genre: pregnancy trope, established relationship, if u squint there’s angst, the medieval era's poor ass way of finding out someone's pregnant (?)

word count: 1.5k

a/n: i kind of hate how this ended i’m really sorry 😭 i could not (for the life me) find a way to end it differently. i also added my own twist towards the request i hope that’s alright. also a part of this i kind of stole from game of thrones ...... it was the first thing that came to mind

“Your majesty, when was the last time you bled?”

She knew what the faun was implying. How she didn't notice herself? She didn't know.

It wasn't like her and Edmund weren't trying — she just didn't expect it to happen so soon. They had spoken about the topic before, a month after their wedding. They had both agreed they’ll just let it happen, whether it was in under a year after or 10. “We have been together for 5 years, have known you for 10. It’s you that I have the most trust on becoming a mother.”

She knew she loved him even more that night.

One rusted needle later proved her assumptions. The two lovely fauns who stayed with her through the whole process were jumping in glee, hugging her as the three had huge smiles on their faces.

"Oh, congratulations your majesty," one of them said, a hand on their chest.

Her happiness was quick to be replaced with worry when she thought about her husband. Edmund.

Oh Edmund.

From all palace duties he could have left the kingdom for, it had to happen when he was gone.

She had to kindly ask the fauns to not spread the message beforehand and she silently thanked Aslan for when the fauns agreed, knowing how important it was for Edmund to know before the whole kingdom did. The fauns later left her to herself, giving her another congratulations as they exited the room.

Y/N started racking her brain for any piece of information Edmund had told her before he had left. Anything to tell her when he'll come back. She started to panic when she realised Edmund had said nothing. It also had to be one of those trips.

She quickly relaxed herself, remembering the words of her mother when she was pregnant with her younger sister that stress and anxiety can affect the baby. Her hand came up to her belly where she could suddenly feel a small bump. "I hope you dad comes home soon, my love. He'll be delighted to meet you," she whispered.

She later found herself in Susan's study.

The older girl looked up from the stack of paper she was reading, her eyes welcoming as she took notice of the younger girl that she had grown fond of. “Y/N are you alright?,” she asked, putting down her quill as she realised the fidgety movements of Y/N.

“Do you know when Edmund will be back?”

Susan pursed her lips. She sympathetically shook her head as a no.

“Susan I—“

She stopped herself.

Her eyes began to water. A lump had formed in her throat. She tried to blink away the tears, but Susan had already noticed. “Oh Y/N…”

Susan stood up from her seat to hug the crying girl. She whispered gentle reassurance to her ear. The two stood in silence, nothing but Y/N’s quiet hiccups can be heard. “I’m pregnant.”

She attempted to whisper — but at that moment, it was all Susan could hear. She only hugged Y/N tighter, resting her chin above her head. “You’re going to be just fine.”

After Y/N had calmed down that day, the two took it upon themselves to go to the palace library and gather every information they could get to help her. Susan’s knowledge from where she used to live in England could only help them so much. Later on, Y/N had to tell Lucy. The young girl already had a great intuition, so she was bound to find out herself even if Y/N didn’t tell her.

Soon after, Susan walked in the palace with a woman behind her. She looked lovely and sweet, her smile so warm and comforting, and her bouncy short hair just added to her lovely aura. “Y/N, this is Mary. She’s a midwife and… if you let her, she’ll happily help you.”

Y/N had hugged that woman so tight that day.

The whole kingdom was still yet to know about the young queen’s pregnancy. No one but the palace knew. The young girls of the monarchy had tried to keep it a secret from them, but her layered clothing was too warm for herself to even try and cover the bump and the bump itself was just growing. “Y/N you don’t have to tell them if you don’t want to,” Susan had tried to reassure her, but she just shook her head, a small smile plastered on her face. “Having a healthy baby is more than enough for me.”

The palace that day celebrated in happiness upon the announcement of the new baby.

She only wished Edmund was with her.

Where was he?

A month later, Peter arrived back from his own trip. She had wished it was Edmund, but she was just glad her brother-in-law had come back in one shape. His eyes practically bulged in excitement upon seeing Y/N with a bump.

He rushed forward, helping Y/N off her chair as she stood up to greet him. “Congratulations!” he muttered as they hugged. The question the king said next had her eyebrows furrowing. “How about Ed?”.

“What do you mean?”

The look on Y/N and her question had answered Peter’s question.

Y/N was five months along.

The midwife — Beth — had told her when she first felt movement. “It’s the baby kicking dear. He or she seems to be excited about you.”

Beth’s words had instantly calmed down Y/N’s anxiety. A teary smile formed on her face as she felt more movement when she placed her palm. By now, her belly was really showing. She had to reside walking around the palace behind closed gates to avoid letting the rest of the Narnians see. And Edmund. Edmund still hasn’t come back.

They had sent him a letter about everything that’s going on, one he didn’t reply back to yet.

Y/N assumed it had something to do with how the letter was sent and convinced herself that her husband was alright. “Please come home, Edmund.” She felt a kick on her hand when she muttered out his name, a smile forming on her face. “Oh you already like him, huh?”

Another kick.

“Just you wait ‘till we meet him, love. Then he’ll be all over you.”

Her prayers were answered when one evening the trumpets played. The sound booming around the palace. “Woah, Y/N slow down!” Peter teased, standing up from his own seat at the dining table to help the pregnant woman.

“I’m very pregnant you twat! This is already slow!”

Peter laughed at her remark. The two were always on each other’s necks, although most of the time it was out of humour. Peter had only hoped her pregnant self could also sense it.

Lucy giggled from her place, moving around the table to go to Y/N’s other side. “Give her a break, Peter,” Lucy sighed, sticking herself to Y/N when the older girl opened her right arm for her. “At Least someone’s on my side,” she smirked, looking at Peter. She felt movement within her, her face scrunching up. This caused Peter and Lucy to stop, waiting for her to say something. “I’m alright. It seems the little one wants you to know that she’s also on my side.”

The three made their way to the entrance where Susan was already chastising Edmund for worrying everyone — her tight hug on her little brother gave a different message though.

Susan’s eyes flickered towards the back of Edmund’s shoulder, the action not going unnoticed by the young man. Susan motioned for him to turn around. Edmund was met with the faces of his two other siblings and his wife. His attention focused on the latter.

“I came back as soon as I got your letter. I had to see you for myself.”

The couple caught themselves in a warm embrace, the action a bit different this time. “You’re here,” Y/N whispered. Edmund smiled, plastering a kiss on top of her head. “I am here. With you.”

Back in their bedroom, Edmund couldn’t help himself but follow his wife around like a lost puppy. At last, she sat down, bringing Edmund with him. “She has been doing well. Susan asked the help of Beth. She’s a midwife, a good one too,” she informed him. “Kicking a lot too, here—” she took Edmund’s hand and placed it on her belly, where just as she said, the little one began kicking non-stop. The smile on Edmund’s face was priceless, she couldn’t help but give him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for the first few months. Must have been horrible for you,” Edmund mumbled, looking at his wife’s eyes with nothing but love. Y/N shrugged her shoulder, resting her head against Edmund’s shoulder. “You’re here now. And that matters more to me…”

It was silent for a moment.

“She?”

Y/N removed herself from Edmund’s shoulder, a look of bewilderment across her face. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Edmund smirked. “Earlier, you referred to the baby as she. You think it’s going to be a girl?”

“I don’t think. I know she’s going to be a girl.”

Edmund chuckled, bringing his wife back in his arms. “Let’s see about that, my love.” He said as he brought themselves in to a kiss.

thanks for staying till the end. i high appreciate it. xoxo

#edmund pevensie x y/n #edmund pevensie #lucy pevensie #peter pevensie #susan pevensie #the chronicles of narnia x reader #x reader #edmund pevensie x reader #edmund pevensie x you #edmund x reader #pevensie x reader #the chronicles of narnia #edmund pevensie x fem!reader #edmund pevensie x f!reader #king edmund the just #wrenwrites #wrenwritesnarnia

648 notes · View notes