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zepskies · 1 year ago

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Hahaha I know, I'm the worst with these cliffhangers! 😅 Getting into your lovely comments below:

It was fun to call back to their time in Medellin in the first scene! (Even though she was technically a captive lol 🤪). But it really does show how far they've come since even the moment in her dream. Now they're at the cusp of being honest about how they feel, but each are just shy of stepping off that cliff. But Ben now has intentions, even if she doesn't know it yet.

Butcher: Cockblock and dream killer extraordinaire -- absolutely took me TF out!! 🤣🤣 But Ben is such an old ass man, isn't he? Calling Butcher Churchill was probably my favorite line to write for this chapter. 😂 Along with her teasing him for his "day slippers."

Yeeah Ben's starting to wake the fuck up a bit. Finally realizing what choosing him is costing her -- not just with her friends, but it also puts a target on her back out in the world (Noir included).

Jon the Asshat comin' in hot. 🙄 As for your theories (if Ben will get his hands on him, if Jon's got ulterior motives), all I can say is stay tuned for the next chapter...

[Ben wondering what's for dinner and WHEN]: LOL I had fun with that part. He ain't gonna change over night, that's for damn sure. But he'd never admit that he doesn't want his head verbally bitten off by her again either.

About "keeping his promise" to protect her...oof, that's gonna come back BIG in the next chapter. (You'll see. 😏)

["You...were his." line]: The growth! He's so close...

Oh, for sure the biggest parallel/irony of this story is Jon's relationship with the reader vs. Ben's relationship with her. Jon's just as psychologically abusive as he was physically. But that's how those kind of abusers operate (according to my research). Jon's just as self-deluded as he wants her to be. But yeah, I couldn't finish this story without bringing back Frank and Loco for the finale!

Butcher's fate is also in the balance, unfortunately! Too much untested V24...

But I'm freakin' proud of Ben too! He's actually second-guessing his first inclinations to be selfish. Even though the "execution" got a bit fucked up. 🤣 We'll see how he tries to resolve the situation, from Stan to saving her from Noir and the Tower collapsing.

Thanks so much for reviewing (as always)!! Next chapter (and "Love Actually") coming soon...

Break Me Down - Part 15

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

Word Count: 4,500 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smuttish. Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, peril, and a cliffhanger…

Part 15: The Tower

You dreamed of Medellin.

Of being back in that mansion on the cliffside, during a Columbian summer. Sometimes it was sipping a vodka cranberry by the pool.

Other times, it was getting poker lessons from Loco and Saul while Frank smoked a cigarette. Or reading by yourself in the garden, surrounded by yellow flowers, as the salty wind from the nearby waterfall kissed your cheeks and rustled your sundress.

And once, it was getting caught by Ben on your way back to your new, bigger room. Pretending to be coy, fully aware of him following you, feeling his stare on your ass.

Then when you got to the door, you paused and turned in the doorway, boldly meeting his gaze.

And you pulled him inside your room by his shirt, just like you had the first time. He pawed at your dress, those heavy hands dragging underneath, probing between your thighs.

You held him to you, reveled in the scrape of his beard against your neck, sighed shakily in his ear as he walked you back, your ass bumping into the dresser.

Ben turned you around. You allowed his manhandling as those hands wrapped around you and found your breasts, kneading every curve before he bent you over on the dresser.

You braced yourself on the hard wood when those nimble fingers of his teased you through your underwear. Soon enough you sucked in a sharp breath, felt the burn of the lace ripping off, sliding from between your already slippery folds.

But before he gave you what you wanted, what you were begging him for without words, he reached around and took your face in his hand, encouraging you to lift your head.

Your gaze found his in the mirror, scorching lust and naked desire. And yet, you still wondered what he saw when he looked at you.

You just couldn’t know that he was wondering the same thing.

But he forced you to watch him, to watch yourself as he entered you. Your mouth opened on a gasp.

You woke in bed with a jolt as your cell phone rang and vibrated on the nightstand. You pressed a hand to your rapidly beating heart and sighed.

You didn’t quite remember the dream, but your skin was tingling all the way down to your toes. Not to mention the suspect heat between your legs…

You grabbed your phone, frowning in annoyance at the caller ID.

Fucking Butcher again. But you answered, and he had unexpected news for you.

When you eventually hung up with him, you got ready for the day. Ben must’ve already been awake, as his side of the bed was empty when you woke up. You later found him sitting on the porch outside in an old wooden chair, smoking a cigar.

How can he smoke so early in the morning? you thought with a shake of your head. He looked up at you, his lips lifting around his cigar.

“Morning,” he said, puffing away.

“You shouldn’t be hanging out here in the open,” you reminded him.

He shrugged and reached out a hand to you. Sighing, you took it, and he tugged you over to sit in his lap. You waved the smoke out of your face, giving him a look of amusement and disbelief.

“Where the hell did you find a cigar?”

“Had it ordered in,” he said with a smirk. “That French fuck knows his shit.”

You shook your head at him with a small smile. You assumed he meant Frenchie.

“We gotta go,” you told him. “Butcher just called.”

“Churchill can calm his tits for ten more minutes,” he said. He offered you a puff of his cigar when he caught you eyeing it. “Want to try it out?”

You grimaced, but part of you was curious, as you had never smoked one of these before. You took the cigar and inhaled a bit, and immediately started dying. This was nothing like smoking a joint.

“Shit,” you coughed out smoke. Ben rumbled with laughter, and you playfully hit his arm.

“Here, take this thing back,” you said, still coughing. He rubbed your back and took the cigar from you. He continued to puff away.

“Lightweight,” he teased you.

“Old man,” you countered. “Out here in the heat with your day slippers.”

He glanced down at said slippers with a slight raise of his brows. Then he rolled his eyes.

“Eh, fuck off.”

“Mhmm,” you said wryly. And you took the cigar from his mouth.

“Hey!”

Ben didn’t appreciate being dragged all the way back to Supe Affairs, just to be told they couldn’t nail down Stan fucking Edgar.

“I got you Neuman. So what’s the damn problem?” he groused.

“We haven’t been able to find anything concrete to pin him with, legally speaking,” said Hughie.

You, Ben, Grace, and the rest of the team had gathered in a large conference room near Grace’s office. You sat while Ben stood to your right, his arms crossed grumpily.

“What the hell does that matter?” Ben said. “We know what he’s guilty of. I’ve been ready and waiting to take out that fucking weasel.”

“He’s got a bit of a point, actually,” Butcher said. Annie raised an incredulous brow at both of them.

“Because we can’t go around assassinating people,” she said. “That’s not what this group is about.”

“You’re a late comer to this fucking group, to be fair,” Butcher pointed out, crossing his arms as well. M.M. shot Butcher a look that said, really?

“We do have Victoria,” you spoke up. “Even if she isn’t holding anything else back, she can still help us.”

Grace considered you. “Yes. She can get through his network and give him a call, try to set up a time to meet.”

“And what then?” Annie asked, gesturing at Butcher and Ben. “These two assholes vaporize him?”

“We know they cloned Black Noir,” Hughie jumped in. “Along with a lot of other experiments that are so not fucking legal. We just need to find evidence in the lab.”

“And in the meantime, we get ahold of the slippery bastard,” Frenchie added. You nodded in agreement.

“The sooner he’s behind bars and Vought is dismantled, the sooner I can bring my family out of protective custody,” you said.

Grace then turned to M.M. “Marvin, what do you think?”

All eyes turned to the man, who took in the various stares with a resigned sigh.

“Let’s get this shit over with,” he said.

With a plan made, Grace, M.M., and Butcher went to visit Victoria upstairs in her holding cell. They coached her through her call to Stan.

Meanwhile, Ben could care less about how the others eyed him with mistrust. (Well, Hughie tried to “buddy buddy” himself by offering up a cup of joe, but Ben mostly ignored that cum-guzzling moron.)

No, he’d expected that. He noticed more how they treated you, still with polite distance and awkwardness, making glances between him and you.

“You don’t seem to understand just how much shit I’m in for trying to help you right now,” you’d said to him once.

Ben understood a bit of what you meant now.

You later led him out of the conference room and to the cafeteria with your head held high, but he could see that you were hiding it. How people’s stares and whispers were affecting you as the two of you walked down the hall.

He had plenty of practice with that, letting attention (wanted or otherwise) roll off his back. But Ben realized that he’d marked you now, in more ways than one.

You later picked at a caesar salad while Ben was busy inhaling his second Italian sub. He subtly watched you, wondered what the hell you were thinking.

Before he might’ve bit the bullet and just asked you, your phone buzzed on the table.

You read the text from Butcher in the group chat:

Stan agreed to meet Neuman. Tomorrow night at her apartment.

“Good,” you breathed in relief. And you showed Ben the text. He nodded around a mouthful of salami and provolone. Though he had a bit of mustard at the corner of his mouth.

You smiled a little. Grabbing a napkin, you reached over and wiped it away. Ben let you do it. His lips curved as he watched you while chewing.

“Okay, let’s meet up with them after this. There’s going to be a lot to set up,” you started to say. But your phone trilled once again in your hand, this time a call from an unknown number. Frowning, you answered the call.

“Hello?”

“He knows you’ve got her.”

Your expression slackened at whose voice was on the line. Ben noticed, and it actually made him pause on taking another bite of his sandwich.

“You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve,” you said tersely.

Your father sighed. “Listen. Stan has no intention of meeting with Victoria.”

You reluctantly perked up at that. Ben raised an expectant brow at you. Your lips pursed; you really wanted to hang up on principle, but you knew you couldn’t. You held up a finger at Ben that said, wait.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Exactly what I said. He knows you have her. He knows you’re trying to trap him,” said Jon.

You sighed, rubbing at the ache starting to form between your eyes. But then your hand fell back to the table. Your expression hardened.

“Did you order the fucking hit on me?” you asked.

“Sweetheart—”

You closed your eyes.

“No. No. You don’t get to sweetheart me after you broke my fucking ribs,” you snapped. “Did you know?”

Ben’s frown darkened as he finally realized who you were talking to. His hand curled into a fist on the table.

“…No, I didn’t know,” Jon replied. “Why do you think I’m calling you now?”

“I really don’t know,” you said. “Why the hell are you trying to help me? Isn’t this a conflict of interest?”

You heard a heavy sigh on the line, and you waited. Your patience was starting to thin. You could also see Ben’s mood darkening now that he knew you were talking to your father. You angled yourself slightly, so he couldn’t reach over and grab the phone from you. (You saw his fingers twitching.)

“He crossed the line sending Black Noir after you and your sister…and your mother,” Jon said. “I can help you on this.”

“There’s no world in which I’d ever trust you again,” you said flatly.

“You’ve just gotta think here,” said Jon. “Do you want Stan Edgar or not?”

Your lips pursed. But you listened to what he had to say.

When you eventually hung up, Ben walked with you back up the stairs to the conference room. He watched you explain to Butcher and the rest of the team what your father had said, and what he’d proposed as a solution to the problem of Stan Edgar.

Stan was due to come into the office at Vought Tower for a meeting with presidential candidate, Robert Singer. With Jon’s help, they could squeeze through a gap in security and intercept Stan before the meeting. The idea was to arrest him, but if Black Noir made an appearance, then that was Soldier Boy’s cue.

And all bets would be off then.

After Ben sat through the more boring logistics, he was relieved when the meeting finally dispersed, with the goal of meeting back here bright and early tomorrow.

Even back at the safe house, you were antsy, pacing back and forth across the living room. Ben had changed out of his supe suit into some jeans and a shirt, and he now watched you from the kitchen with a beer.

He wanted to ask you what you were planning on doing for dinner (and when, for that matter). But he was pretty sure you’d verbally bite his head off if he mentioned it.

Not that he was afraid of that, by any means…but he’d just rather not get into it with you right now. Not when things had been going good for the past few days.

So he went into the living room to sit on the couch. He was about to turn on the TV, before you sat down heavily in the lounge chair beside the couch. Your face looked so pensive, so troubled as you rested your chin in your hand, that Ben let out a breath.

He set down his beer on the coffee table. Then he sat back and crossed his arms, glancing over at you.

“If we’re going to do this, you need to get your head on straight,” Ben said.

You looked over at him, not willing to admit you were upset (and that he was right), but unable to lie either.

“Let me figure out dinner,” you said instead. You got up, but Ben’s voice stopped you.

“When you see him, don’t give him an opening,” he said. You turned to meet his eyes, and you knew full well who he meant by him.

“You’re smarter than that,” Ben added, giving you a more reserved smile.

You crossed your arms. Emotion rose high in your throat, and it threatened to choke you as your eyes started to burn.

“Am I?” you asked.

Ben’s attempt at a smile faded at the sight of your burgeoning tears. He sighed deeply, and he held out a hand to you.

“Come ‘ere.”

Your head tilted in slight confusion, but you went to him. He took your hand, and once again guided you into his lap. He settled you across his thighs and soothed a hand over your hair. You grabbed a fistful of his shirt for support, and you sucked in a shaky breath.

“Bet you wish I’d knocked him a bit harder against the fucking wall,” he quipped.

You uttered a laugh at his dark humor, wiping at your eyes. “Heh. Maybe. It’d certainly make my life less complicated.”

You sighed and rested against his chest, leaning your head on his shoulder. A smile raised your lips when his arm slid around your waist and held you. His thumb soothed back and forth across your thigh.

And it was then you knew that he really did care about you.

You turned into him, and hid your face into his neck when your tears burned anew. This time for a different reason, as you realized what this meant to you. How this man had broken through your defenses and slipped his way under your skin.

You had a suspicious feeling that he was there to stay, no matter what happened after this mission was over.

“Want me to finish the job?” Ben offered, barely even half joking.

“Ben, please,” you implored into his skin. You shook your head, and your fist curled tighter into his shirt. “Just…”

Ben hesitated, but he held you more securely. He soothed a hand up and down your back.

“I gotcha, sweetheart,” he rumbled. “We had a deal didn’t we? Long as I’m around, you’ll be all right.”

You nodded with a sniffle, and Ben felt your tears against his skin.

His hands really itched to finish the job he started with your father—and rip out his throat next time. Matter of fact, as soon as he saw that limp-dick piece of shit, it was on sight.

And with that bone-deep thought, Ben knew that this was different. What he was doing here with you meant something to him. Whether you knew it or not…

(And you will, he thought.)

You…were his. That was just how it was going to be.

He decided this in his mind, after he pressed a kiss above the patch of bruising along your temple.

You were his.

The following morning, Stan straightened the blazer of his navy suit as he got off the elevator.

His office lied at the top floor of Vought Tower, and it was newly renovated after the battle that took place last week. His bodyguard opened the glass door for him before he stepped through.

He reached his new desk and sat down at the plush leather office chair, took up a freshly brewed mug of coffee (cream, no sugar), and enjoyed a satisfying sip.

Then his bodyguard was pulled away from the front of his door, thrown down the hall. Stan raised his head, but didn’t startle as the door was wrenched open.

“What the fuck! Not yet—” Starlight’s voice in the hall. But the next guest in his office was a different former employee.

Soldier Boy stepped through in his familiar green suit.

Stan remembered when this version of the suit was commissioned, to replace the dull gray with a pop of military color for marketing purposes.

“Good morning,” Stan greeted, raising his mug. “Care for a cup? Perhaps a donut.”

“Still fucking smarmy,” Ben said. He stood in front of the man’s desk, flexing his half-gloved fingers. He glanced up at the walls of this office, this tower in the sky. “We’ve been doing this dance for a long time, you and I.”

“And yet, on entirely different tempos,” Stan replied. “How can I help you, Soldier Boy?”

Ben raised a finger.

“See, that’s what I can’t fucking stand. A goddamn hypocrite,” he said. “When you came to me in ’84, you said partnering with the military on that Nicaragua mission would call back to my unveiling in ’44. Forty years of service in the making.”

And forty more that would be stolen from him.

Ben’s hand clenched into a fist. “My mistake was believing you.”

“And my mistake was replacing you with more of the same,” said Stan, with his usual bland stoicism. “For all that you’d claim otherwise, you and Homelander shared more than just chromosomes.”

Stan stood from his chair, but was discreet in pressing a small button under his desk.

“In all this posturing, I see an insecure child, yearning for attention,” he continued with a mild shrug. “Your strength is…nothing but a mask for how truly empty you are.”

Ben’s jaw tightened, but he resisted losing his temper. He knew that would only goad this little prick on. He watched as Stan rounded his desk, pulling his hands behind his back.

“The cold truth is, you sold your humanity so that someone in the world would deign to love you. And if not, to fear you,” he said simply. “I sell it to win.”

Ben’s senses prickled just in time to raise his shield against a metal spike aimed at his head. It ricocheted and speared into the ground.

Stan frowned; this tile had just been replaced. But he stepped to the side as Black Noir burst into the office and went for Soldier Boy. He carefully avoided the fight as his bodyguards came to pull him out of the fray.

Stan’s eyes only widened when the first two guards were shot dead by Billy Butcher and his team.

While a fight brewed in Stan Edgar’s office, you were in the familiar bowels of the tower, back in the Security & Surveillance command center…with your father.

The two of you had taken control of the room, dismissing the on-site personnel, and now were in the process of evacuating the tower. At this point, who knew what could happen in the fight between Ben and Black Noir. You weren’t willing to abet any collateral damage, even here.

Out of several monitors on the big screen, you kept one eye on the fight in Stan’s office. You and Jon noticed a breach in the hall.

“Butcher, you should be on your way out already,” Jon told him through the communicator in his ear. “The secondary team is also on its way up.”

“Right.”

You watched with a measure of concern. Butcher seemed to be waning against a common security guard. He’d needed M.M. to grab the guy from behind and hurl him into Stan’s desk. Stan himself was plastered against the far corner of the wall, letting his security attempt to subdue Butcher and the rest of your friends.

Your eyes moved to Black Noir. He’d also brought the same gun from last time—the one that had disrupted Ben’s powers. He was evading well enough so far…

“Soldier Boy is dangerous,” Jon said, breaking your attention from the screen. “However he’s managed to manipulate you into thinking he’s a good guy, there’s no hiding the fact that he can’t control that fucking A-bomb inside him.”

Your lips pursed in annoyance.

“Oh, he is dangerous,” you agreed. “He wanted to finish what he started, caving in your skull as well as your chest. If I were you, I’d duck out quick when this is done.”

Jon didn’t answer, but when you glanced at him, you saw the way he stilled, his jaw tensing.

“Aren’t you glad I dropped him off at the lobby?” you quipped. Then you pressed a button on the control board and overrode the overhead speaker in the Administration office, where you saw people still milling about.

“Evacuation was not a request,” you said into the speaker. “Put down the fucking chai tea latte and exit through the stairwell to the garage please.”

Jon turned to you while sitting in his chair.

“After this is over, you’d be smart to start fresh…I could help you.”

You met him with a flat glare. “Now that’s just plain delusional.”

You had half a mind to get Ben on the comm to let Jon know exactly what he’d be in for if he tried to take you anywhere, but you didn’t want to distract Ben right now.

And maybe he didn’t know that you were alone with your father.

Meanwhile, Jon’s mouth firmed into a line. A tendril of wariness (and maybe fear) laced down your spine. Your hand slowly moved to your belt…but he merely inclined his head.

“All right. Maybe I deserve that,” he said. “But no matter my methods, I’ve always sought the best for you.”

“The best for—” You paused with a sharp sigh. And you steeled yourself before you replied. “I don’t know what fucked up fantasy world you’re living in, Jon. But after I left, I could finally see it clearly. You are the reason I hated myself.”

Jon didn’t show the true depths of his reaction. That wasn’t his way, but his steely eyes hardened as they held yours for a long moment. Then, he turned back to the screens.

You released a subtle breath, though your hand stayed resting on your belt.

Only Ben and Grace knew the truth about the injuries you’d sustained after being picked up at Vought. This time, you weren’t without a weapon. You had a gun on one hip and a taser on the other.

Ben had only agreed to your role in the mission because you’d called for backup. They should’ve been here by now, actually. In fact, they were supposed to meet you in the lobby, before you met up with your father.

Maybe they got stuck in traffic, you thought. You’d been checking your phone for the past ten minutes.

But then a silent text came in: your backup team had just arrived. In fact, they strolled into the command center in full tactical gear, with guns drawn. Seeing the room was clear except for you and Jon, Frank nodded to Loco and stepped further inside.

“Hey, welcome to the party,” you said, greeting both men with a grateful smile. Jon glanced at you, then the men with a frown.

“Who the fuck are these two?” he asked.

“My reinforcements,” you replied tartly. You felt better with them here as your spine untightened a bit.

Frank nodded at you and remained standing to watch the door, while Loco grabbed a chair at your side. You gave him the lowdown of the control settings on the dashboard in front of you.

“Oh shit,” Loco said when he glanced up at the screen. You followed suit, and a gasp fell from your mouth.

Ben managed to unmask Black Noir.

The helmet hung from Ben’s gloved hand. It was Earving all right, but it also wasn’t. His eyes, normally a dark brown, were misted over with gray and almost lifeless.

“Noir, destabilize him,” Stan commanded from his cowering corner. The supe seemed to hear him, and only that order.

Ben realized now what these fuckers had done. Not only did they create this Noir clone with Homelander scraps, but they’d made the perfect soldier. One that only took orders.

Butcher noticed too, with widening eyes. Fucking hell.

But he had to brace a hand against the wall as a hacking cough rose unbidden from his chest, worsening the roiling pain in his stomach and the ache behind his eyes. Hughie grabbed his arm to support him, and his face was picture-perfect concern.

“What’s wrong?” Hughie asked. Butcher couldn’t answer him, because on the last cough, a spew of blood coated his hand (and the younger man’s shoes). Hughie’s eyes widened.

“What the fuck’s going on with you?” he exclaimed. Butcher just grabbed his arm and pulled him a few feet over, so they wouldn’t get caught in the blast of Noir’s energy gun.

Ben was grappling with him. He focused on summoning the nuclear power collecting in his chest. All he needed was one clear hit, and he’d be able to end this motherfucker for good.

But before he could fully charge up, Black Noir aimed a well-placed kick to his sternum, sending him back a few feet. It gave Noir the opening he needed to shoot Ben right in the chest with his energy gun.

An electrifying blue met pulsing red, and swallowed it up. It took Ben along with it. Luckily his shield was clipped onto his back, so it didn’t get eaten up in the initial blast.

Now, he fairly crackled with red and blue fractals, which coursed together into a violet haze. He felt dizzy and wrong, knowing that all this power had to come out. But if that happened, he knew he couldn’t contain it. He didn’t know what would happen.

Part of him knew it would solve his problem, killing Noir, Stan, Butcher, and the rest of those assholes in one powerful swoop.

No collateral damage.

It was your voice in his mind. And he remembered you were here too, somewhere in the Tower. He closed his eyes, a strained yell erupting from his throat.

He couldn’t stop it. The sheer force brought him to his knees before he could angle it up into the sky. Instead, it released into the ground below.

The nuclear blast tore through concrete like a drill, and it didn’t stop until it reached the very foundations of the tower, deep into the earth.

Afterwards, everything was still. Ben could only stare into the chasm below him while he caught his breath.

Until the ground, the walls, everything began to tremor and shake.

“Oh shit,” said M.M.

During the blast, he’d held onto the far wall with Annie, Kimiko, and Frenchie. But now, he grabbed Annie’s arm to pull her up. The shaking grew worse with every second.

“What the hell was that?” you commed in. No one could answer you yet, but at least it let Ben and the rest of them know that you were alive.

Annie reached out to Hughie, who grabbed onto her hand in relief. He also helped Butcher straighten, putting his arm across Hughie’s shoulders. Butcher glanced up at Black Noir, who was heading towards Stan. Meanwhile, Ben was stumbling to his feet.

“It’s gonna come down like the fucking Eye of Sauron!” Hughie shouted.

Butcher shared a grim look with M.M. “Like the bloody Twin Towers.”

AN: 🫨 The Tower's falling! But how'd you like Ben contemplating getting his hands on Jon? 😏

We're heading into the real action here, folks!

Next Time:

You pressed a shaking finger to the comm in your ear.

“Ben, where are you?” you asked. Maybe he heard the tremor in your voice, because you certainly read the concern in his.

“You’re not on the second floor. Where are you?”

You closed your eyes for a beat. “On the first floor. The garage is blocked and Noir has us bottlenecked.”

“I’m almost there. Just stay put,” Ben said. His tone was firm, and it reassured you. You nodded, despite the fact that he couldn’t see you.

“Yeah, not going anywhere in a hurry,” you whispered.

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what-i-call-men · 3 years ago

Text

Happy Wife, Happy Life

James March x fem!reader

Plot: reader was a party girl in college and now that she’s a housewife she misses it dearly. James tries his best to recreate it for her birthday

Warnings: drinking, angst if you squint, James being a simp for his wife

Obviously due to the cultural differences between you and James, there were things you were accustomed to that he found strange and unusual. You usually chose to conform to what your husband wanted, as he commanded a certain level of professionalism even in your marriage. After a visit from some of your college friends to the hotel, you began to miss those wild days in college when you’d go to a frat party and get wasted.

The blue parrot lounge could only do so much to quell your thirst for binge drinking and irresponsibility. James also hated when you got unruly and wasted to the point he had to carry you to your shared room. The last time you did that was on your wedding night, three years ago. And although James didn’t say anything about it, you could tell he wasn’t that overjoyed.

He had just come back to your shared room after meeting with the Countess when he saw you looking through an old photo album that he doesn’t remember ever seeing. “Darling,” He said as he shrugged off his jacket, hanging it on the coat rack. You turned to James, smiling a bit before flipping through the pages again. “Hey James, how was your meeting?” you asked and looked over the pictures again.

“It was alright. I missed you.” He stated and you smiled at him, still more intrigued by the album. This was weird for him because usually you’d hug and kiss him and ask him about every detail of his day. He walked over to where you sat at a small table, looking over your shoulder to the book, just in time for you to close it. “I missed you too James. What would you like for dinner tonight? I was thinking of some roasted chicken and green beans.” You turned to face him, he almost immediately noticed your makeup had smeared a bit under your eyes.

“Dearest, have you been crying?” He asked and pushed back a single hair from where it had fallen from your perfectly styled hair, that of which you only ever did for him even though you could never leave this damn hotel- usually not even leaving your room. Dressing up and acting like the housewife you were now was never your plan growing up, but here you were now, dressed up and making dinner for your husband every night- missing your college years when you didn’t have to do any of this.

“I’m fine James, you’re home earlier than I anticipated. I’ll go start dinner.” You stated and grabbed the album, standing up quickly before your husband's arm caught you in your spot, taking the album from your arm. “What is this?” He asked and held it up before looking away from you to flip through the album. You hang your head a bit, his eyebrows furrowing as he saw the album your friends had gifted you.

The photos that lay tucked in the pages showed you and your friends, frozen in time while chugging beer from a beer bong. Another page showed you dancing on a table. Another one showed you having a pitcher of beer poured over your shirt. James didn’t mean to, but his lip curled up a bit in disgust. The pictures were all of you in the clothes from the 21st century, dancing on other men, in tight skirts, even some of you that you had taken yourself, your chest pushed out, makeup smeared a bit with a red cup in your hand.

Obviously James knew about your past before he married you, but he was from the 20s and even the mere sound of Lil Jon's “YEEah” would probably put James in cardiac arrest if he wasn’t already dead- so obviously he didn’t know the extent of it. From what he had heard he would “joke” about how you were very easy bait for serial killers with how sloppy you used to get.

His disapproving looks just made you want to run away and hide. He was the reason you no longer dressed or acted like that, but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. “Let me put that away and I’ll go start dinner.” You muttered and gently closed the book and walked towards your things, setting it down. The dress you wore suddenly felt tight and uncomfortable, your body craving nothing more than sweatpants and a bowl of instant noodles, but you knew your husband would never approve.

James had barely mentioned a word of the album throughout dinner. Actually he didn't mention it for about a week. In that week he had seen you go through that album about 4 more times, even going as far as bringing it to the lounge to show Liz. Later that day, Liz, being the angel she is, mentioned to James he should let you throw a get together. He initially hated the idea, but as he saw you grow a bit more upset and uncomfortable in your place as his wife, he remembered some of the advice his mother gave him before he went off to college “Happy wife, happy life.”

That weekend was your birthday. Usually James would have some extravagant fancy dinner with just the two of you, showering you in expensive gifts. This time around James hadn’t asked what meal you’d like or asked for your help in online shopping. On the day of, he went to work as usual. You were left sitting in your room, every once and a while having Iris drop off a small gift like jewelry or shoes to your room.

Later in the afternoon, James had called your room from his office, saying there was something in the lobby arriving soon that you had to go and sign for. Getting up, you shrugged off the sweatpants you wore in favor of one of the simple dresses James had bought you over the years. You slid on some heels and walked down to the lobby, Liz waving you over to the front desk to chat you up for a few minutes, wishing you a happy birthday.

Someone had walked into the lobby and asked for your name, handing you 2 boxes of pizza. Liz also had your mail for you, choosing to go upstairs with you, grabbing one of the room service carts to bring everything with you. “I don’t know why James bought me pizza, he knows it’s my birthday right?” You muttered and opened the door to your room as Liz followed suit.

“I don’t know hun, you know how unpredictable he is. Just be glad you can’t die twice otherwise I'd say it was poisoned.” Liz commented and grabbed your mail, two packages labeled with your name. You opened one and pulled out another dress, but this was different from James’ usual purchases- this was a tight black clubbing dress. Your eyes widened a bit as Liz gasped in excitement. That note that accompanied it was ‘Wear this tonight’.

Liz helped you get into your dress, the both of you fawning over it and watching as you got a bit more comfortable in the more modern outfit. While you fixed up your makeup a bit, you heard the telephone ring in your room, Liz answering it and speaking quietly before hanging it back up. “Who was it?” You called. “It was your husband. He said to meet him in his office when you get a chance.” You peeked out of the bathroom door and smiled excitedly at Liz.

Your feet barely touched the ground as you almost ran to his room with the other box in your hands. You gently knocked on his door and stood outside for a moment. “Come in dear.” You heard from the other side of the door. Opening the door, you walked inside and immediately saw your husband standing very uncomfortably in the room, his shirt unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up in an attempt to seem more ‘modern’.

“I thought we would celebrate your birthday as you used to. You have conformed to my ideals so much I seem to forget that they’re not yours as well. I thought you’d enjoy a night to get in touch with what you seem to miss so much.” He said and Liz opened the door behind you, the cart with food and drinks now being pushed in the corner.

As you followed to pour yourself some drinks, James grabbed his knife to open the box for you. Inside lay a beer bong and you couldn’t help but laugh as you stared at it. “Oh boy if we’re using that I'm definitely going to need a few drinks.” You laughed as Sally and Iris joined the group, James apparently inviting a few of the other residents. Eventually Elizabeth, Will, and Tristain joined.

James followed your lead, encouraging the others to follow as you poured shots. You also introduced (and quickly beat) James to beer pong and with the ego he had, you had to keep playing until he won at least once. As Sally and Liz took over the game, James came over to your side, leaning your head on his shoulder as you watched the party, having finally had enough alcohol to feel a buzz. “Happy Birthday my love.” He said softly.

“Thank you James.” You grinned up at him and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Now let me teach you how to use a beer bong. Then beat you at beer pong again.” You said and grinned up at him, his own eyebrows raising in interest before following you, his hand held in your own.

#james patrick march #james march #James Patrick March x reader #james march x reader #james patrick march fluff

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deathsmallcaps · 2 years ago

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@boopboopboopbadoop if you’d like to see the rest of them :)

June 2022’s 38th Win A Commission story is Wildwood Dancing, by Juliet Marillier! I’ve adored this story since I was nine, ever since I ‘accidentally’ wandered into the teen section at the library lol. If you’d like to see the first chapter, see the rest of my art, and my notes, please

Wildwood Dancing will take you to another time and indeed another world. For proper pronunciation of names and for details about select Romanian terms, please read this first section. (End of original note by the author)

It is not the full version, as I’ve only included terms that appear in this chapter. Also, to those using screen readers, it is unlikely your readers will pronounce everything as it should be - sorry. There is also a character who speaks without quotation marks or words like ‘said, replied, shouted,’ etc etc. Visually, I’ve made his speech different, but I’m unsure of how to audibly apply this difference without changing the text. If you have any ideas or think it would ultimately be better to post a screen reader friendly option, please let me know.

Also, should I start doing image IDs for my illustrations within the stories? I rarely change a scene described in the story, and I often go into artistic choices within the notes. Is that too inaccessible? Thanks for any feedback! (End of note by me, the following is the pronunciation dictionary for the Romanian terms.)

Braşov A merchant town in central Transylvania. Pronounced Brah-shove

Ciorbǎ Traditional Romanian broth. Pronounced chor-buh

Constanta A trading port on the Black Sea coast. Pronounced Kahn-stahn-tsah

Piscul Dracului Devil’s Peak. Pronounced Pis-kul Drah -koo-looy

Tara Romǎneascǎ A region south of Transylvania, also known as Wallachia. Pronounced Tsah-rah Roh-muh-neeyes-kuh

Taul Ielelor Lake of the Iele. Iele are female spirits who lure folk to their doom. Pronounced Tah-ool YeHeh-lor

Tuicǎ Plum brandy. Pronounce tswee-kuh

Vǎrful cu Negurǎ Storm Heights. Pronounced Vur-fool koo Neh-goo-ruh

Voivode The head of a Transylvanian territory; princeling. Pronounced voh-yeah-vode

Anatolie Ah-nah-toh-yeeah

Bogdana Bohg-dah-nah

Cezar Cheh-zahr

Costi, Costin Koh-tee, Kohs-teen

Dräguta Druh-goo-tsah

Florica Flo-ree-kah

Gogu Goh-goo

Grigori Gree-gohrree

Ileana Eel-leh-ah-nah

Iulia Yoolee-ah

Jena, Jenica Jeh-nah, Jeh-nee-kah (J pronounced like g in mirage)

Marin Mah-reen

Nicolae Nee-koh-lie-eh (lie & sky rhyme)

Paula PowHah

Petru Peh-troo

Salem bin Afazi Sah-lem bin Ah-fah-zee

Sandu Sahn-doo

Stela Stel-ah

Tati, Tatiana Tah-tee, Tah-tee-ahrnah

Teodor The-oh-dor

I’ve heard it said that girls can’t keep secrets. That’s wrong: we’d proved it. We’d kept ours for years and years, ever since we came to live at Piscul Dracului and stumbled on the way into the Other Kingdom. Nobody knew about it—not Father, not our housekeeper, Florica, or her husband, Petru, not Uncle Nicolae or Aunt Bogdana or their son, Cezar. We found the portal when Tati was seven and I was six, and we’d been going out and coming in nearly every month since then: nine whole years of Full Moons. We had plenty of ways to cover our absences, including a bolt on our bedchamber door and the excuse that my sister Paula sometimes walked in her sleep.

I suppose the secret was not completely ours; Gogu knew. But even if frogs could talk, Gogu would never have told. Ever since I’d found him long ago, crouched all by himself in the forest, dazed and hurt, I had known I could trust him more than anyone else in the world.

It was the day of Full Moon. In the bedchamber our gowns and shoes were laid out ready; combs, bags, and hair ornaments were set beside them. Nothing would be touched now, until the household was safely in bed. Fortunately, it was rare for Florica to come up to our room, because it was at the top of a flight of stairs, and stairs made her knees hurt. I did wonder how much Florica knew or guessed. She must have noticed how quiet we always were on the night of Full Moon, and how exhausted we were when we stumbled down to breakfast the next morning. But if she knew, Florica didn’t say a thing.

During the day we kept up our normal activities, trying not to arouse suspicion. Paula helped Florica cook fish ciorbă, while Iulia went out to lend a hand to Petru, who was storing away sacks of grain to last us over the winter. Iulia did not enjoy the hard work of the farm, but at least, she said, it made the time go more quickly. Tati was teaching Stela to read: I had seen the two of them ensconced in a warm corner of the kitchen, making letters in a tray of wet sand.

I sat in the workroom with Father, reconciling a set of orders with a record of payments. I was good with figures and helped him regularly with such tasks. The merchant business in which he was a partner with his cousin, whom we called Uncle Nicolae, kept the two of them much occupied. Gogu sat on the desk, keeping himself to himself, though once or twice I caught his silent voice—the one only I could hear.

You’re upset, Jena.

“Mmm,” I murmured, not wanting to get into a real conversation with him while both Father and his secretary, Gabriel, were in the room. My family didn’t truly believe that I sometimes knew what Gogu was thinking. Even my sisters, who had long ago accepted that this was no ordinary frog, thought that I was deluding myself—putting my own words into the frog’s mouth, perhaps. I knew that was wrong. I’d had Gogu since I was a small girl, and the things he told me definitely didn’t come from my own head.

Don’t be sad. Tonight is Full Moon.

“I can’t help it, Gogu. I’m worried. Now hush, or Father will hear me.”

Father was trying to write a letter. He kept coughing, and in between bouts he struggled to catch his breath. Tomorrow he would be leaving on a journey to the port of Constanţa, in the milder climate of the Black Sea coast. His doctor had told him, sternly, that if he tried to get through another winter at Piscul Dracului in his present ill health, he would be dead before the first buds opened on the oaks. We five sisters would be looking after the place on our own, right through the winter. Of course, Uncle Nicolae would help with the business, and Florica and Petru with the house and farm. It was not so much the extra responsibility that troubled me. Father was away often enough on business and we had coped before, though not for so long. What chilled me was the thought that when we said goodbye in the morning, it might be forever.

At supper we were all quiet. I was thinking about what Father had confided to Tati and me earlier. Up till then, none of us had mentioned the possibility that Father might die of this illness, for to say that aloud would be to put the unthinkable into words. But Father had wanted his eldest daughters to be prepared for whatever might happen. Should he die before any of us girls married and bore a son, he’d explained, both Piscul Dracului and Father’s share of the business would go to Uncle Nicolae, as the closest male relative. We were not to worry. If the worst should occur, Uncle Nicolae would see we were provided for.

Uncle Nicolae’s family home was called Vǎrful cu Negurǎ: Storm Heights. His house was quite grand, set on a hillside and surrounded by birch and pine forest. He ran a prosperous farm and a timber business, as well as the trading ventures that had made him wealthy. When we were little, we had lived in the merchant town of Braşov, and Vǎrful cu Negurǎ had been a place we visited as a special treat. It was hard to say what I had loved best about it: the dark forest, the forbidden lake, or the excitement of playing with our big cousins, who were both boys.

But there was no doubt at all what Father had loved. Next door to Vǎrful cu Negurǎ was Piscul Dracului, Devil’s Peak. Father had first seen the empty, crumbling castle, set on a high spur of rock, when he was only a boy. Our father was an unusual kind of person, and as soon as he clapped eyes on Piscul Dracului he wanted to live there. There’d been nobody to inherit the ruin and the tract of wildwood that went with it; perhaps the many strange tales attached to the place had frightened people away. The owner had died long ago. Florica and Petru had been custodians of the place for years, looking after the empty chambers and eking out a living from the small farm, for they were hardworking, thrifty folk.

Father had waited a long time to achieve his dream. He had worked hard, married, and fathered daughters, bought and sold, scrimped and saved. When he’d set enough silver aside from his merchant ventures, trading in silk carpets and bear skins, spices and fine porcelain, he’d quietly paid a large sum to an influential voivode, gone into partnership with Uncle Nicolae, and moved our family into Piscul Dracului.

I think Mother would have preferred to stay in Braşov, for she feared the tales folk told about the old castle. It looked as if it had grown up out of the forest, with an assortment of bits and pieces sprouting from every corner: tiny turrets, long covered walkways, squat round towers, arches, and flagpoles. The eccentric nobleman who had built it had probably been someone just like Father. People seldom ventured into the forest around Piscul Dracului. There was a lake deep within the wildwood, a place unofficially known as the Deadwash, though its real name was prettier: Tǎul Ielelor, Lake of the Nymphs. Every family had a dark story about the Deadwash. We got ours soon after we moved into the castle. When I was five years old, my cousin Costi—Uncle Nicolae’s eldest son—drowned in Tǎul Ielelor. I was there when it happened. The things folk said about the lake were true.

Before Father became so ill, Tati and I had scarcely given a thought to such weighty matters as what might happen to Piscul Dracului, with no son to inherit our father’s property. My elder sister was a dreamer, and I had a different kind of future in mind for myself: one in which I would work alongside my father, traveling and trading and seeing the world. Marriage and children were secondary in my scheme of things. Now—with Father’s cough ringing in our ears, and his white face regarding us across the supper table—they had become a frightening reality. I remembered Aunt Bogdana saying that sixteen was the ideal age for a young woman to wed. Tati was already in her seventeenth year; I was only one year younger.

Father went off to bed as soon as the meal was over; he’d hardly touched his food. The others disappeared to our bedchamber, but I waited for Florica to bank up the fire in the big stove and for Petru to bolt the front door, and for the two of them to retire to their sleeping quarters. Then it was safe, and I ran up the stairs to our chamber, my worries set aside for now, my heart beating fast with an anticipation that was part joy, part fear. At last it was time.

The long room we sisters shared had four round windows of colored glass: soft violet, blood-red, midnight-blue, beech-green. Beyond them the full moon was sailing up into the night sky. I put Gogu on a shelf to watch as I took off my working dress and put on my dancing gown, a green one that my frog was particularly fond of. Paula was calmly lighting our small lanterns, to be ready for the journey.

With five girls, even the biggest bedchamber can get crowded. As Tati fastened the hooks on my gown, I watched Iulia twirling in front of the mirror. She was thirteen now, and developing the kind of curvaceous figure our mother had had. Her gown was of cobalt silk and she had swept her dark curls up into a circlet of ribbon butterflies. We had become clever, over the years, in our use of the leftovers from Father’s shipments. He was good at what he did, but buying Piscul Dracului had eaten up a lot of his funds and, even in partnership with his wealthy cousin, he was still making up for lost ground. I saw the books every day—he had been unable to conceal from me that finances remained very tight. We sisters had to improvise. We made one new dancing gown anytime a cargo contained a little more of a certain fabric than the buyer had requested. I wore Tati’s hand-me-downs; Paula wore mine. Iulia, with her fuller figure, did rather better, because she could not fit into either Tati’s clothes or mine. All the same, she complained; she would have liked a whole wardrobe of finery. Tati was clever with her needle, and adjusted old things of Mother’s to fit her. Mother was gone. We had lost her when our youngest sister was born. Stela was only five—easy to dress.

Paula had finished lighting the lamps. Now she crouched to bank up the fire in our little stove and ensure its door was safely shut. One year Iulia’s junior, Paula was our scholar. While I was good at figures, she shone in all branches of learning. Our village priest, Father Sandu, came up to Piscul Dracului once a month to provide Paula with private tutoring—I shared in the mathematical part of these lessons—and went home with a bottle of Petru’s finest ţuicǎ in his coat pocket. Most folk believed education of that kind was wasted on girls. But Father had never cared what people thought. Follow your heart was one of his favorite sayings.

“What is it, Jena?” Paula had noticed me staring at her. The heat from the stove had flushed her cheeks pink. Her dark eyes were fixed on me with an assessing look. Tonight she was wearing dove-gray, with her spectacles on a chain around her neck, and her brown curls disciplined into a neat plait.

“You look pretty tonight,” I said. “So do you, Stela.” Stela, our baby, was rosy-cheeked and small, like a little bird, maybe a robin. Her hair, the same ebony as Tati’s, was wispy and soft, and tonight it was tied back with rose-pink ribbons to match the gown Tati had made for her. She was standing by the oak chest, jiggling up and down in excitement.

“What about your hair, Jena?” asked Tati, doing up my last hook. “It’s all over the place.”

“Never mind,” I told her, knowing nobody would be looking at me while she was anywhere near. My elder sister’s gown was a simple one of violet-blue that matched her eyes. Her hair rippled down her back like black silk. Tati didn’t need jewelry or ribbons or any sort of finery. She was as lovely as a perfect wildflower. It always seemed to me a generous fairy must have presided over her christening, for Tati was blessed with the kind of beauty that draws folk’s eyes and opens their minds to dreams.

I didn’t make a big effort with my appearance. When people commented on our family of sisters, Tati was always the beautiful one. If they noticed me at all, they called me sensible or practical. I had bushy hair, brown like Paula’s, which refused to do what I wanted it to, and eyes of a color somewhere between mud and leaf. My figure was a lot more straight-up-and-down than Iulia’s, even though I was two years her elder. The one special thing about my green gown was the pocket I had sewn into it for Gogu, since he needed a safe retreat if he got tired or upset. Tonight the only ornament I carried was the frog himself, sitting on my shoulder. You look lovely, Jena. Like a forest pool on a summer’s day.

Tati darted across to make sure our door was bolted. Then, by the shifting light of the lanterns, we moved to the most shadowy corner of the chamber: the place where we had once sat playing games by candlelight and made the most astonishing discovery of our lives.

We dragged out the heavy oak chest from against the wall and set our lanterns on it so their light was cast into the little alcove where the chest had been, an indentation that wasn’t even big enough to store a folded blanket in.

“Come on,” Iulia urged. “My feet are itching for a dance.”

The first time we had done this, in our earliest days at Piscul Dracului—when I was only six, and Stela was not yet born—Tati and I had been amusing the younger ones by making shadow creatures on the wall: rabbits, dogs, bats. At the moment when all our hands had been raised at once to throw a particular image on the stones, we had found our forest’s hidden world. Whether it had been chance or a gift, we had never been sure.

It made no difference that we had done this over and over. The sense of thrilling strangeness had never gone away. Every Full Moon, our bodies tingled with the magic of it. The lamp shone on the blank wall. One by one, we stretched out our hands, and the lantern light threw the silhouettes onto the stones. One by one, we spoke our names in a breathless whisper:

“Tatiana.”

“Jenica.”

“Iulia.”

“Paula.”

“Stela.”

Between the shadows of our outstretched fingers, a five-pointed star appeared. The portal opened. Instead of a shallow alcove, there was a little archway and a flight of stone steps snaking down, down into the depths of the castle. It was dark, shadow-dark.… The first time it ever happened, back when there were only four of us, we had clutched one another’s hands tightly and crept down, trembling with excitement and terror. For the others the fear had dissipated over the years; I could see no trace of misgiving in any of them now, only shining eyes and eager faces.

I was different. The magic drew me despite myself; I passed through the portal because it seemed to me I must. There were eldritch forces all around, and the only thing sure was that the powers of the wildwood were unpredictable. It was curious: from the first I had felt that without me, my sisters would not be safe in the Other Kingdom.

Lanterns in hand, we made our way down the winding stairway, holding up our long skirts as our shadows danced beside us on the ancient stone walls. It was so deep, it was like going to the bottom of a well. Gogu rode on my shoulder down the twists and turns of the stair, until we came to the long, arched passage at the bottom.

“Hurry up!” urged Iulia, who was at the front of the line.

Our slippers whispered on the stone floor as we glided along under the carved extravagance of the roof. Here, there were enough gargoyles and dragons and strange beasts to decorate the grandest building in all Transylvania. They clung to the corners and crept around the pillars and dripped from the arches, watching us with bright, unwavering eyes. Subterranean mosses crawled over their heads and shoulders, softening their angular forms with little capes of green and gray and brown. The first time we saw this Gallery of Beasts, Tati had whispered, “They’re not real, are they?” and I had whispered back, “Just nod your head to them, and keep on walking.” I had sensed, even then, that respect and courtesy could go a long way to keeping a person safe in a place such as this.

As we passed now, I felt something jump onto my shoulder—the one not occupied by Gogu—and cling there, its needle claws pricking my skin through the soft fabric of the green gown. It was doing its best to look like a frog, rolling up its long tail and bulging its eyes, while casting surreptitious glances at Gogu.

The frog tensed. Interloper.

The little creature poked out a forked tongue, hissing.

“Lights out!” ordered Iulia, and we each covered our lanterns in turn. As our eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness, a pale expanse came into view ahead of us: the mist-wreathed waters of a broad lake, illuminated by the moon. Through the vaporous cloud we could see the bobbing torches of those who were waiting to escort us on the last part of our journey.

“Ooo-oo!” Iulia called in a falling cadence. “Ooo-oo!”

The little boats came, one by one, out of the tendrils of mist—high-prowed and graceful, each shaped in the form of a creature: swan, wyvern, phoenix, wood duck, and salamander. In each stood a figure, propelling the craft by means of a slender pole: push and lift, push and lift. The response to Iulia’s call came in five voices, each different, each as uncanny as the others. Our guides were what they were; the only human creatures in this midnight realm were ourselves.

The boats pulled in to the shore. The boatmen stepped out to help us board. The next part, my frog didn’t like. He began to quiver in fright, a rapid trembling that went right through his body. I was used to this; he did it every time. I held him against my breast and, as I climbed into the boat, I murmured, “It’s all right, Gogu, I’ve got you. We’ll be there soon.”

Tǎul Ielelor: the Deadwash. This was the place where Costi had drowned. Our mother had warned us about it, over and over: we should never go there, for to do so was to risk harm at the hands of the vengeful fairy folk who had robbed us of our cousin. And yet, since the very first time the portal had opened for us, the realm that lay beyond had shown us warmth and kindness, open arms, and welcoming smiles. I was still cautious; I did not have it in me to trust unconditionally. All the same, it was impossible to believe that the person who had drowned our cousin was one of those greeting us on our nocturnal journeys.

The folk of the Other Kingdom had their own name for this expanse of shining water—at Full Moon, they called it the Bright Between. The lake waters spanned the distance between their world and ours. Once we set foot in their boats, we were caught in the magic of their realm.

Time and distance were not what they seemed in the Other Kingdom. It was a long walk from Piscul Dracului to the Deadwash in our world—an expedition. Gogu and I had made that forbidden trip often, for the lake drew us despite ourselves. At Full Moon, the walk to Tǎul Ielelor was far shorter. At Full Moon, everything was different, everything was upside down and back to front. Doors opened that were closed on other days, and those whom the human world feared became friends. The Bright Between was a gateway: not a threat, but a promise.

It was all too easy to lose track of time in the Other Kingdom—to forget where you were and where you had come from. This might be the familiar forest, the same one in which Petru farmed our smallholding, and Uncle Nicolae harvested pines to sell for timber, and Cousin Cezar went out hunting in autumn. It was the same and not the same. When we crossed the Bright Between, we entered a realm that existed at the same time and place as ours, with the same trees and hillsides and rocks. But it was not open to humankind, except for those lucky few who found a portal and its key. And the folk who lived there lived by their own laws, laws not at all like those of the human world. Any aged man or woman with stories to tell knew that. There were tales about men who’d gone through a portal and spent a night among the forest folk, and when they’d come back again, a hundred years had passed, and their wives and children were dead and buried. There were stories about people who had visited the fairy revels and been driven right out of their minds. When they returned to the human world, all they did was wander around the forest in a daze, until they perished from cold or hunger or thirst. There were still more accounts of folk who had gone into the forest and simply disappeared.

So, although we believed such misfortunes would never befall us—for we were constantly assured by the folk of the Other Kingdom that they loved and welcomed us—we had made a set of rules to keep us safe. If anything went wrong, the others were to come to Tati or me immediately: they were to do as we told them, without question. There was no eating or drinking while we were in the Other Kingdom, except sips from the water bottle one of us always brought from home. There was no leaving the glade where the dancing took place, however tempted we might be to wander off down beguiling pathways into the moonlit forest. We must keep an eye on one another, keep one another safe. And when Tati or I said it was time to go home, everyone must go without argument. Those rules had protected us through nine years of Full Moons. They had become second nature.

The boats swept across the Bright Between. As we passed a certain point, the air filled with a sweet, whispering music. Swarms of small bright creatures that were not quite birds or insects or fairy folk swooped and rose, hovered and dived around us, making a living banner to salute our arrival. Underwater beings swam beside our craft, creatures with large, luminous eyes, long hands, fronded tails, and glowing green-blue skin. Many dwelled in or on Tǎul Ielelor: ragged swimmers resembling weedy plants, their gaze turned always up, up to the surface; the beguiling pale figures of the Iele, from whom the lake got its name, reaching out graceful white arms from bank or islet or overhanging willow. Should an unwary man from our world be passing, they would seek to entice him from his path forever. As we neared the opposite shore, an assortment of tiny folk rowed out from the miniature islands to join us, in a bobbing flotilla of boats made from nutshells and dried leaves and the discarded carapaces of beetles. We reached the far shore, and my escort—who was three feet high and almost as wide, with a scarlet beard down to his boot tops—handed me out. He made a low bow.

“Thank you,” I said as the gargoyle made a flying leap from my shoulder, then scampered off into the undergrowth.

“Delighted to be of service, Mistress Jenica. I’ll expect you to return the favor, mind.”

“You shall have the first dance, of course, Master Anatolie,” I told him.

The dwarf grinned, revealing a set of jeweled studs in his front teeth. “I’ll match you step for step, young lady. You’ll find me a more satisfactory partner than that slippery green friend of yours. He’s shaking like a jelly—wouldn’t know a jig if it jumped up and bit him.”

Gogu stopped shivering instantly. I could feel bunched-up irritation in every part of him.

“You’ve upset him,” I said. “Frogs have feelings, too, you know.”

The dwarf bowed again. “No offense,” he said, his eyes on Gogu. “It should be an interesting night. We’ve got visitors. Night People from the forests of the east.”

A bolt of horror shot through me and I stopped walking. Ahead of us, my sisters and their assorted escorts were disappearing along the broad, leaf-carpeted track that led away under tall trees, following the sweet call of a flute. The branches were festooned with colored lights shaped like birds and beetles and flowers. “Night People?” I echoed, and heard the tremor in my voice. Fragments of dark stories crept into my mind: tales of blood and violence, of evil deeds and terrible retribution.

“Nothing to worry about,” said Anatolie offhand.

“Yes, it is!” I protested. “Florica, who works for us, says they come at night and bite people in their beds. She says the only thing they drink is human blood.” My sisters were too far ahead to be called back.

“This would be the same Florica who said all dwarves were liars and thieves?” Anatolie asked, feet planted apart and hands on hips. His cloak was ankle length and lined with what appeared to be bear skin.

“Well, yes,” I said.

“The same Florica who told you not to go too close to the Deadwash or you’d be scooped up in the magic fishing net of Drǎguţa, the witch of the wood?”

“Yes, but … but Night People, everyone says—” I stopped myself. Anatolie was right. If I had never met one, it was unfair to judge on the basis of stories.

“You and your sisters are quite safe here,” the dwarf said as we started walking again. “Hasn’t the forest queen herself allowed you to visit her revels these nine years of Full Moons? Believe me, if her protection did not stretch out over the five of you, you would not be here now.”

“I don’t like the sound of that at all,” I said, wondering whether he meant we would have met the same fate as the foolish folk in the stories: dead, mad, or vanished.

“The Night People will not touch you while Ileana is queen of the wildwood,” Anatolie said. “You have my word.”

“Thank you,” I said, but I was full of doubt. I could not remember hearing a single good thing about the Night People, and I had no wish to meet even one of them. They’d never been to Dancing Glade before; at least, not when we were there. I thought about garlic, and silver crosses, and everything else folk used to keep such dangerous forces at bay. I hadn’t brought a thing to protect myself or my sisters.

When we reached the glade, the festivities were in full swing. A circle of autumn-clad trees sheltered the grassy sward, their branches hung with still more lanterns. These cast a warm light over the brightly clad revelers, whose gowns and masks, robes and jewels filled the open space with a swirling mass of color. Above them, creatures performed aerial dances of their own, some borne on delicate, diaphanous wings, some on leathery, creaking membranes. Some of the guests were tall enough to bump their heads on the lanterns; some were so tiny, one had to take care not to step on them. I saw my gargoyle perched on the branch of a holly bush, waving its paws in time with the music and beaming beatifically.

The musicians sat on a raised platform at the far end, under the biggest oak. The instruments were the same as the ones in the village band—flute, drum, goat-pipes, fiddle—and yet they were not quite the same. Each possessed a strangeness that set it apart. What ordinary drum cries out poetry when beaten? What flute plays three tunes at once, each blending perfectly with the others? As for the goat-pipes, they had something of the voice of the creature whose skin had provided their air bag, plaintive and piercing. The fiddle soared like a lark.

The sound of this band was intoxicating to the ears, the kind of felicitous blend a village musician aspires to and may achieve once in a lifetime. It made feet move faster, pulses race, faces flush. It set hearts thumping and coaxed smiles from the most somber mouths. It was a music we would keep on hearing in our dreams, days after Full Moon was over and we were gone from the Other Kingdom.

Iulia was already out there, dark hair flying, her face wreathed in smiles. Tati danced more sedately, her hand in that of tall Grigori, an imposing figure with long, twisted dark hair. It was said he was a kinsman of Drǎguţa, the witch of the wood.

Paula was not dancing, but had gone straight to her usual group of friends, a clutch of witches, astronomers, and soothsayers clad in long, raggedy robes and swathing, vaporous cloaks. All wore hats—I saw tall pointed structures decorated with stars, and scholarly felt caps, and here and there a mysterious shadowy hood. They were gathered around a table under the trees, deep in debate as always, their arguments fueled by a continuous supply of ţuicǎ. Paula was seated among them, waving her hands about as she expounded some theory.

Stela was with the smallest folk, down near the musicians. There was a double ring of them, weaving in and out and around about in a dance of their own. Some had wings, some horns, some feathers, and some shining, jewel-bright scales. They were chattering like a mob of little birds as they pranced to and fro, and still managing to get every step perfect. We’d all started here; as we grew older, we had been welcomed by different folk, collected by different ferrymen, and permitted to mix more widely. Dancing Glade had its own set of rules.

“Hello, Jena!” my little sister called, waving wildly. Then she plunged back into the circle.

The pattern of the night was always the same. The revels would begin with chain dances, circle dances, devised so everyone could join in, the big and small, the clumsy and dainty, side by side. We sisters had been part of this since the first time we came across to the Other Kingdom, when kindly folk of all shapes used to take our small hands and guide us through the steps. We needed no guidance now, for we were skilled in all the dances. The first was always done with our boatmen by our sides—it was their privilege to lead us onto the sward. At some point in the evening the queen of the forest would hold formal court; this was the opportunity for newcomers to be greeted, petitions made, questions asked. Later on, the music would change, and with it the mood of the crowd. That was the time for couples to dance slow measures in each other’s arms, floating in their own small worlds. By then my youngest sisters would be getting tired, and we would all sit under the trees and watch until it was time for the last dance—a grand gathering of the entire crowd, in celebration of Full Moon. Then we would pass across the Bright Between once more, and go home to another month of hard work and dreaming.

The music was making my feet move even before I trod on the sward. I took the dwarf’s hand and we threw ourselves into a jig. The drumbeat made my heart race; the goat-pipes seemed to speak to something deep inside me, saying, Faster, faster! You’re alive! Anatolie gripped my hand tightly as we ran and jumped, as we turned, and swayed, and pointed our toes. Gogu had retreated to the pocket, where he was safe from falling and being trampled by the multitude of stamping, hopping, kicking feet. When the dance was over, I fished him out and set him on my shoulder once more.

“All right?” I whispered.

If you could call being shaken about like a feather duster “all right,” I suppose so.

I was looking around the glade as my heartbeat slowly returned to normal. “Where are the Night People?” I asked Anatolie.

“They will come. Wait until the moon moves higher; wait until you see her between the branches of the tallest oaks. Then you’ll catch a glimpse of them, around the edges.”

“Don’t they dance?”

Anatolie grinned. “I’ll bet you a silver piece to a lump of coal that you can’t get one of them to step up and partner you,” he said. “They stick to their own kind, those black-cloaked streaks of melancholy. They don’t come to enjoy themselves, but to observe—to take stock.”

Out of long habit, because I was the sensible sister, I checked on the others, one by one, to make sure they were safe. Over at the far side of the sward I saw Stela, now playing a chasing game with her bevy of small companions. Those that could fly had a distinct advantage. Iulia was with a circle of young forest men and women. When I had first seen such folk, I had thought of them as fairies—though they were far taller and more elegant than the tiny figures of my childhood imagination—with their garments constructed of leaves and cobwebs, vines, bark, and feathers, and their features unsettlingly not quite human. There was no sign of Paula, but she would still be at the scholars’ table.

There was a ripple of movement. A fanfare rang out and the crowd parted before an imposing figure clad in a gown that seemed fashioned of iridescent gossamer. It was Ileana, the hostess of these celebrations and queen of the forest people, sweeping across Dancing Glade. Folk said every bird of the wildwood had given one feather to make up her crown, which rose from her head in an exuberant crest. Her golden-haired consort, Marin, was a step behind her. This grand entrance was a feature of every Full Moon’s revels. Walking behind the queen and her partner tonight was a group of folk I had never seen before.

“That’s them,” Anatolie hissed. “Sour-faced individuals, aren’t they?”

I did not think the Night People were sour-faced, just rather sad-looking. They were extremely pale, their skin almost waxen in appearance, their eyes deep set, dark, and intense. All were clad in jet-black. The pair who led them was especially striking. The woman’s lips were narrow and bright crimson in color, whether by nature or artifice I could not tell. Her fingernails had been dyed to match. Both she and the man had bony, aristocratic features: well-defined cheeks and jaws; jutting, arrogant noses; and dark, winged brows. They made a handsome couple—he in billowing shirt, tight trousers, and high boots, she in a formfitting gown whose plunging neckline left little to the imagination.

I spotted Tati, standing in the crowd close by Ileana, her dark hair shining under the colored lights of the glade. The forest queen beckoned; my sister stepped forward and dropped into a low, graceful curtsy. A moment later Tati was being introduced to the new arrivals. I felt a sudden chill. If Ileana singled out anyone for this kind of attention, it was not the little human girls from Piscul Dracului but the most formidable of her own folk, such as the tall Grigori or the most powerful of the soothsayers. I saw the black-booted stranger lift Tati’s hand and kiss it in a cool gesture of greeting. Then the Night People seemed to drift away into the shadows under the trees.

Ileana and Marin were not the real power in the Other Kingdom. They presided over the revels and sorted out minor disputes between the forest folk. They made sure the daily life of the wildwood went on in its usual pattern. The folk of the Other Kingdom were often less than forthcoming when questioned about their realm and its rules, but Paula had picked up a great deal at the scholars’ table. We knew that the one who was the heart of it all—the one who held the ancient secrets and wove the powerful magic—was Drǎguţa, the witch of the wood. Drǎguţa had been in the forest since before the castle of Piscul Dracului sprang to life in the imagination of the eccentric voivode who built it. She had dwelt in the depths of the woods since these great oaks were mere sprouting acorns. Drǎguţa did not come to Full Moon dancing. She stayed in her lair, somewhere out in the wildest and least accessible part of the woods. If folk needed to ask her something, they had to go and find her, for she wouldn’t come to them.

Once, I had questioned whether Drǎguţa really existed at all. Only once. A chorus of horrified gasps and hisses had greeted my doubt—“Don’t say that!” “Shh.”—as if the witch were everywhere, watching and listening. Drǎguţa was real, all right, and folk’s fear of her was real fear. In our world, Florica spoke her name in a trembling whisper, and Petru crossed himself every time he heard it. For every boy or girl from our valley who had perished in the forest or drowned in the lake, there was a story about Drǎguţa and her minions, about hands coming up out of the water to drag the hapless under. For every crucifix the villagers had erected on the outskirts of the Piscul Dracului forest to keep evil spirits at bay, there was a tale about someone who had ventured too far and walked into the witch’s net. Perhaps it was not surprising that our castle had stood empty for so long.

The forest queen had finished introducing folk to her black-clad guests. Calling for the music to start up again, she moved out onto the sward with her hand in Marin’s. I danced with Grigori, whose alarming appearance tended to mask the fact that he was a model of courtesy. I danced with a forest man who had ivy twists for hair, and another clad all in cobwebs. The music wove its way into my blood and made my feet agile and my limbs supple. My head was full of colors and lights: I smiled at nothing in particular and felt that I was beautiful. Only when the earlier dances came to an end and folk stood about the edges of the sward while the band had a rest did I remember that Father was leaving in the morning. Once my mind escaped the lure of the dancing, once my body stopped bending and turning and swaying to the music’s enchantment, I found that I was thinking only of the long winter ahead, and how we would cope without him.

Something of my worry must have shown on my face. Grigori came over to ask what was troubling me. Anatolie offered the opinion that I must be unwell. Gogu showed his own awareness of my unease, snuggling up to my neck, under my hair. It’s all right, Jena. I’m here. It helped that he was close, for I felt suddenly cold and, surrounded as I was by folk making merry, curiously alone.

While we waited for the band to commence the slower, more beguiling music that signaled the start of the couple dances, platters of delicacies appeared: tiny, gaudily hued cakes; creatures fashioned of spun sugar; strange vegetables carved into castles and trees and giants; and mounds of gleaming fruits that in the real world would not appear until next summer. Flasks of ţuicǎ and elderberry wine made the rounds. Little glittering goblets were borne on trays that floated conveniently at waist height.

There was no need to keep watch over my sisters. Tati and I had drummed our rules into the younger ones time after time over the years, and they abided by them without question, even when the music had them in its thrall. The rules helped us remember who we were and where we belonged. Dancing Glade was our sanctuary, our joy, our bright adventure. But we did not belong in the Other Kingdom. We were here as guests, through luck, not entitlement. Besides, as Tati had once pointed out, if you had a party every day, parties would soon become a lot less exciting. We were mortal girls, and every one of us would want a mortal life. For most of us that would mean a husband and children.

I frowned, remembering what Father had told us. To be pushed into marrying early in order to provide an heir for Piscul Dracului would be horrible. It would mean not being able to choose properly. It could mean spending the rest of your life with someone you hated. Our father had married for love; he had made his choice with no regard for what folk expected. I did not think we would have that luxury, not until one of us had produced the required son. I shivered as I gazed out over Dancing Glade. We had been lucky so far. We had had the best of both worlds. I hoped it wasn’t time for our luck to change.

The music struck up again, and the folk of the Other Kingdom began, languidly, to form couples and move out onto the sward. Gogu nudged me with his cold nose and I felt my skin prickle.

Look. Over there, under the oaks.

I looked over to the spot where the Night People had retreated into the shade of the trees some time before. I did not see the dashing, black-booted man or his crimson-lipped partner. But there was somebody else there. His eyes were as dark and deep as theirs. His face was as pale—though this was an ashen pallor, white rather than waxy—but the somber lips were more generous in shape. He was young, perhaps our cousin Cezar’s age. He wore a black coat—high-collared, long-sleeved, and buttoned in front, sweeping down to his ankles. What struck me was his intense stillness. He hardly seemed to blink, he barely seemed to breathe, and yet the eyes were intent, keenly focused as he stared out into the moving throng. I followed his gaze, and there was Tati, moving across the sward to join the dancers.

Now that my sister had turned sixteen, it seemed that Ileana had granted her permission to participate in these far more grown-up dances. Tati was hand in hand with a big, blunt-faced figure: the troll, Sten. Her cheeks were flushed with delicate rose. Her hair, stirred by the dancing, spilled over her shoulders like a dark silken cloak. Her gown was modest in design, yet under the lights of Dancing Glade, its plain cut emphasized her perfect figure. Many eyes were on her.

But these eyes were different. The person in the black coat was looking at my sister as if he were starving. He didn’t need to move a muscle for me to read the hunger on his face, and it chilled me.

As I watched my sister dancing—first with Sten, then with Grigori, then with a young man clad in what looked like butterfly wings—my unease grew stronger. I made a decision. We would need to be up soon after dawn to see Father off. We must bid him farewell with looks of cheerful confidence on our faces. That would be impossible if we were exhausted from a night with no sleep.

“Gogu,” I murmured, “we’re going home early.”

He shifted on my shoulder, bunching up his body. I’m ready to go. Don’t worry, Jena. We’ll look after things, you and I.

I gathered up my sisters and we made our formal farewells to Ileana and Marin, thanking them for their hospitality. I cast an eye around, seeking the Night People, but could see none of them, only a group of solemn-looking owls, perched on a branch of the nearest oak.

Ileana said, “Our guests were impressed. Human girls are not bold enough to visit such revels in their part of the world. They asked for your names and commented on your beauty.” Her gaze wandered over all five of us as she spoke, which was unusually polite of her. Almost certainly the compliment referred to Tati, or possibly Iulia. Stela was too young to be called a beauty. As for Paula and me—whichever fairies had offered blessings over our cradles, they had clearly valued brains before looks. We were, in a word, ordinary.

We made our way back to the boats, accompanied by a bevy of folk jostling to hold our lanterns for us. But only the designated boatmen took us across the water, through the mist, back to our own world. In my hands Gogu trembled with terror, and I soothed him with gentle fingers. As my feet touched the home shore, I felt the surge of relief that always filled me at this point. We’re back again. I’ve kept them all safe.

Then it was along the Gallery of Beasts—the gargoyle’s scuttering feet could be heard behind us until he reached his own archway—and up the long, long, winding staircase to the portal.

No shadow play here, just a simple laying of hands on the stone wall. I was last. As my fingers touched the rough surface, the portal swung open, admitting us to the warmth of our bedchamber.

The younger ones were asleep the moment they laid their heads on the pillow. Tati gathered up the gowns they had shed and laid them over the oak chest, while I helped Iulia take the pins out of her hair. By the time I had scrambled wearily into my night robe, she was no more than a gently breathing form under her mounded quilt.

“Jena?” Tati’s voice was quiet as she sat up in bed, brushing out her dark locks.

“Mmm?” I was filling Gogu’s water bowl from the jug, making sure he would be comfortable for what remained of the night. He sat, watching solemnly—a shadowy green form on the little table next to the bed that Tati and I shared.

“Did you see that strange young man?” my sister asked. “The one in the black coat?”

“Mmm-hm. I thought you hadn’t noticed.”

“I wonder who he was,” Tati mused, yawning.

Once the water dish was ordered to Gogu’s liking, I got into bed. The warmth of the goose-feather quilt was bliss over my tired legs. In the quiet of the chamber I could hear little splashing sounds.

“One of them,” I said, my eyelids drooping with tiredness. “Night People. You know what people say about them. They’re dangerous—evil. Dead and alive at the same time, somehow. They can only come out after dark, and they need human blood to survive. I hope Ileana doesn’t let them stay. Did you speak to one of them? I saw Ileana introducing you. What were they like?”

“Cold,” Tati said. “Terribly cold.”

There was a silence, and I thought she had fallen asleep. Then her voice came, a whisper in the shadowy chamber. “I thought the young man looked sad. Sad and … interesting.”

“If you asked Florica,” I said, “she’d tell you that the only thing Night People find ‘interesting’ is sinking their teeth into your neck.”

But my sister was asleep. As the light brightened and birds began a chirping chorus outside, I lay awake, thinking about the winter to come and whether I had been foolish to assure Father that we could cope. After a while, Gogu hopped out of his bath and came to nestle on the pillow by my face, making a big wet patch on the linen. I’m here. Your friend is here. I was still awake when the sun pierced the horizon, somewhere beyond the forest, and down in the kitchen Florica began clattering pots and pans in preparation for breakfast.

Wildwood Dancing Explanation

Isn’t this story so full of imagery? Don’t you feel like you, too, are a part of swirling wonder? I was almost literally enchanted when I read this book. All of Juliet Marillier’s books I’ve read so far (she has a marvelous name) contain such splendor, but this was my first, you know? Also, to be honest, I think this one is aimed at a slightly younger audience, because it has less ‘mature’ themes than her adaptations of the Six Swans fairy tale, Sevenwaters. It also has a cool sequel (different tonally but still enjoyable) called Cybele’s Secret, so let me know what you think if you read them!

The book cover, which I love immensely (it’s very pretty and rich in detail) is unfortunately inaccurate in fashion, for both the area and the time period (medieval). Besides the embroidery patterns, and the hijabs on Tati through Paula, my drawings are actually more accurate! I should've drawn at least one with a vest on over their shirt (that style is called an ie), though - we can just say that the girls didn’t wear any so they wouldn’t hinder movement. The aprons (fotǎs) stay on because they look pretty while twirling. Also, the cover makes it seem as though the book takes place in spring or summer, not autumn.

As the religion of the family is never discussed, and yet they’re considered outsiders who value education, I headcanon that their Dad is Romanian (hence his outfit in the second picture) but their mom was Turkish Muslim. There was a lot of trade between the two countries, and as such their populations swapped a bunch. However, most of the Muslim minority was found in cities/by the coast, so in order to avoid feeling alone, it makes sense the Mom wanted to stay in their old home. But they didn’t, so the girls embroider their clothes with Turkish patterns and wear hijabs, in honor of their religion and their Mom. Stela is a bit too young, to take that aspect of the religion seriously, so she wears a maramǎ, traditional Romanian headwrap, like Florica instead. It’s supposed to only be worn by married women, but do you think a little girl who is surrounded by head-wrapped women will want to be left out? Heck no! So she has a cute little fabric flower on hers, instead of any patterns. Also, frogs are not haram except when it comes to eating them, so it wouldn’t be too weird for Jena to have a pet frog.

Each girl has a different font for her name, when they chant them to open up the portal. I was just goofing off and trying to find ones that fit their personalities and that were still legible XD. Also, for posterity’s sake, each name used to be on a different line, but it was easier and nicer looking to format them in a line, side to side.

Well, I don’t have much else to say in prelude, so let’s talk about the art!

I totally phoned it in for this title picture too. Frankly by the time the other pictures were done I knew this present was going to come to you late, and as I sat down to start on it, I felt like crying. I was very tired and pulled mostly all-nighters that week. So, I just found a font that was similar to my vision, and excused myself. I considered drawing leaves on it digitally, but it looked bad. And that was that. It’s kind of odd that I do titles last, but they’re supposed to be breathers, shrug.

Alrighty, the second picture: I actually did this second to last, lol. Wowed by my success with the Last Unicorn’s scenery picture, I decided to try something similar with the Piscul Dracului. You see, what I put out on paper isn’t often the image or vibes I imagine, partly because of my artistic limitations and because I don’t have any set characteristics in mind. It’s all very annoying. So yeah, to be honest, the castle came out bigger, less craggy and less on the edge of a mountain than in my original vague vision. But I’m satisfied with my work; it has character, perspective, and a mysterious little fox and small woman off to the side ;). I’m hoping to explore this interest in creating scenes and background in later books - I’ve often struggled with scenery and I’m tired of blank spaces.

The third picture was ridiculous, figuring out their positions, clothing patterns, and how to show their personalities. I’m not sure this is what the author imagined when she said they did a five-pointed star together. But I like the result! I wasn’t sure how to draw the portal however lol. Going from left to right, let me describe the sisters and Gogu.

Iulia - it’s clear that she has new clothes (because of her different body shape) and likes to stand out. She has a fan and different type lacework on her fotǎ, instead of a fringe, and a sardonic sort of excitement on her face.

Gogu - he’s an Agile Frog, a species native to much of Southern Europe. He’s just chilling on Jena’s shoulder. I wish I had a chance to draw him larger but I am also tired of drawing frogs.

Jena - I’d like to say her position, as sort of short and behind everybody, showcases her outer personality. She doesn’t mind tooooo much being in the shadows, watching and supporting others, being quiet and dutiful. And yet, she has a septum piercing. As the book goes on, you’ll find that there’s so much more to her ;). I put a brooch on her hijab because I saw one when I looked up Turkish hijab designs and thought it looked cool. She has the most obviously-a-flower-designs because she has the deepest connection with the forest ;). Find out for yourself, I dare you.

Stela - she’s just happy to be doing fun stuff with her big sisters. I’m sure you would know nothing about that ;). Like I said, Stela is wearing a marumǎ, not a hijab, but is otherwise dressed very similarly to her sisters. I adore the little tassels on her sleeves.

Tati - She ended up a bit tall, whoops. And when I started inking, her nose changed :(. But I love her all the same (it helps that she has such a simple pattern all over her outfit lol). She’s looking over everyone, but she isn’t really watching; you can kind of tell her head is already up in the clouds.

Paula - It feels kind of mean but we don’t ever get a good look at her. Maybe you should check out Cybele’s Secret, where she is the main character. Hint hint. Anywho, she's watching the portal open - Paula loves to study and Know things. You can’t tell me that even as a young girl, Paula wouldn’t have been questioning the phenomena.

The fourth picture was kind of a stinker to ink, but it was fun to draw! I meant to make it look more crowded, and to have a blank space around Jena (I absent-mindedly traced it ugh), but this time I tried to be respectful of my time, lol. I drew the werewolf first, in Adam’s outfit from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast, in homage to my original vision for my Beast (look in your sister’s second volume). Then, I drew a big orc lady, because I thought she looked cool (she has a crush on the werewolf but he hasn’t a clue), then the dwarf (she’s what I think Cheery Littlebottom from Discworld would look like), and so on and on. I goofed off and drew the head of Garnet (from Steven Universe) at the bottom center, a couple characters described in the actual story (like Mr. Leafhair), and then the Animorphs in Andalite and bird form on the bottom right (Please check Animorphs out).

I really thought I would enjoy drawing this Jena more, but it was actually a pretty neutral experience. I added her design to this picture first, because it was big and I could reference it. I also decided to give her hooded eyes and the septum piercing while adding details, because I need practice for the first and just thought it was a cool quirk for the second. Gogu is again chilling on her shoulder. I originally meant to have his whole body sit comfortably upon her shoulder, but I wanted to draw him big. Also, while all Muslims are traditionally not supposed to show hair to mahram (non-family members), the average Muslim person would not shame another if person 2 had been dancing or doing a lot of physical activity and some hair came loose. So I did that to show that my girl has been MOVING, and showed some escaped bits of hair on the other sisters in the following picture. Also, it allowed me to show Jena’s beautifully curly hair. (Below is my initial sketch)

The last picture was the most fun, actually. The perspective for the steps was annoying, and I don’t think it’s perfect, but all the same I like how it turned out, especially since my original plan was to draw a straight one. I’m glad I challenged myself and drew a spiral one instead :D. Now, let’s go down the staircase.

Iulia is in the lead - she’s tired and self-important. So, I only show her fotǎ and foot XD.

The little winged creature and its porch - literally a last minute addition. I thought the space looked too empty.

Tati is carrying a sleeping Stela - while I think it would make more sense for Jena to carry Stela most times, I needed Jena to be free, and maybe they take turns. I really like how Tati’s face turned out in this one, also, you know if Stela’s leg was swinging free like that, she would keep accidentally kicking the back of poor Tati’s thigh, lol. I like how the clothes' wrinkles turned out in this picture. I just really hope it’s clear who is who, what with how Stela is entwined with Tati’s right arm.

Next half, Jena and Gogu: I wasn't sure what to do with her right arm but it turned out alright. Gogu is limp and tired from a long night of Being Jostled. I adore Jena’s face - it’s concerned-but-also- -amused. She’s just checking to see if Paula is there, hence the ‘OK?’ hand signal. Don’t come at me about the historical inaccuracy, at least I corrected the fashion XD.

The little gargoyle going up his own stairs; I drew him in the moist detail first. He’s the little guy who hitched a ride on Jena’s other shoulder. I originally wanted to draw him more similar

Lastly, poor Paula. I could totally see her being the last to leave, asking people a kajillion questions and observing each aspect of the night for just one last clue, some little detail that answers her queries. ANd as such, she has to run up the stairs to catch up with her sisters! That’s why shes so dramatically behind Jena and has to hold up a thumb to indicate that she’s alright. Also, that part is historically accurate :p - Roman emperors did it to indicate approval or to say ‘good’ a thousand or so years before this book is set.

Below are links to my takes on the 12 Dancing Princesses and the Frog Princess, which are more or less partial inspirations for the book :).

(The Twelve Dancing Princesses) (The Frog Princess)

#wildwood dancing #juliet marillier #win a commission #wac #the princess and the frog #the frog prince #12 dancing princesses #twelve dancing princesses #the twelve dancing princesses #Transylvania #New Zealand literature #new Zealander literature #apparently those tags didn’t exist before lol #it’s set in Transylvania Romania but written by a New Zealander #Muslim Romanians #Muslim Romanian

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gumnut-logic · 4 years ago

Photo

“Gordon did what?!”

“Borrowed Thunderbird One to look for Sherbet.”

“The dog?”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

Virgil stared at the hologram of his orbiting brother. “You’re kidding me.”

“No, scout’s honour.”

“Does Scott know?”

“Yes.”

“Will I have a Tracy Island to land on?”

John shrugged. “Maybe. Scott is still on his way in on Thunderbird Three. Gordon is on approach.” John’s eyes shifted to the left, obviously scanning readouts. “Assuming he manages to dock TB1 without landing her in the comms room, the Island should be safe.” A smirk. “I tend to think Gordon himself is likely a right-off.” John’s eyes shifted to something closer to serious. “You may be needed, big bro.”

Virgil sighed. “FAB.” Great. Just what he needed after spending all night on the other side of the planet disassembling a terrorist attempt. The GDF had called both him and Kayo in on this one. Kayo for her subtlety and Virgil for the opposite. Turned out that he had been less needed for his heavy lifting and more for his engineering skills. He had ended up butt up in the components of an automated harvester that had been reprogrammed to harvest more sapient crops than wheat. Yet again, he was left stunned that there were actually people on this planet who would do something like that.

Kayo had assisted the GDF in rounding up the culprits, Virgil had killed the harvester, and he’d spent the rest of the time hauling the massive chunk of machinery back out of the city to the nearest GDF base where it could be examined.

In short, he was tired, annoyed and disappointed in people.

A Scott vs. Gordon showdown was more of a headache than he needed.

Another sigh. Whatever.

Tracy Island was a welcome sight in any case and as he kicked in VTOL on approach to land, he felt some of the stress fall off his shoulders. Kayo had already beaten him home. Thunderbird Two was the slowest of all their craft, something his brothers never let him forget, but he loved her with his very soul and would take those extra few minutes over the fastest of their ships any day.

After all, who did half of them have to wait for anyway?

The solid, but soft thump as her wheels hit the tarmac and she trundled through her palm tree guard of honour, the cliff face bowing to her entry. A spin on her axis, he killed her engines and let her whine down to silence.

His shoulders dropped, he closed his eyes and took the moment to just relax.

A breath.

Another.

Pause.

Eyes open, he shoved his chair back.

Okay, next.

-o-o-o-

“You did what?!”

“C’mon, Virg, help me out here.” Gordon had the biggest puppy dog pleading look on his face Virgil had ever seen, and he’d seen doozies.

“Tell me why?”

“Because you are my brother and you love me?” Okay, was that doubt in that eye crinkle?

“I’m considering disowning you.” Virgil glared at Gordon. “You are trying to tell me that you boarded TB1 smelling like that?! And now you expect me to help you clean out her cockpit?”

“Yeeeah.”

“Before Scott gets back which is likely within the next half hour?”

“You got it in one.”

Virgil grit his teeth, but rolled his eyes. “And you wonder why I rarely let you fly my ‘bird.”

“Hey, it was an accident.”

“It always is. You said the same thing about the pink paint.”

“That was not my fault.”

“You were dating the girl, Gordon.”

“Yeeah...uh, can we get on with this? Clock’s ticking.” Gordon knew how to screw up his face to plead.

“You’ll owe me big time.”

“Anything you need, big bro.”

“Anything?”

“Just help me fix this, please.”

Another sigh. Well, it was better than a Scottonuclear detonation when the man found out. “Give me the damn cleaner.”

Stowaway

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Gordon Tracy #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #nuttyfic reblog

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sirensofthefiveseas · 4 months ago

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"Yeeah, training you. By sending you to those monkeys." She didn't like the humandrills, when she first arrived they chased her around until she found the castle to hide in. Floating next to Zoro as he stood back up Perona huffed slightly at him, watching him finish wrapping his new wounds up. "You've lost enough blood to make a small child since you started, I don't know how you keep getting up."

He really was scary with that. She had only seen people get up like he did when it was one of Moria's puppets, and those were dead before. Zoro seemed to be able to keep going no matter what happened to him. It was almost an empowering moment to watch him, until she realized how far he'd ignore his own body just to keep moving forward.

Or in the wrong direction.

"Waaait!" She shot herself forward, passing through him to use the ghostly sensation to stop him quickly. "You're going the wrong way stupid!" His sense of direction was second to none in how bad it was, Persona was kept on Thriller Bark but even she learned the right way to travel after a few days. Huffing and putting her hands on her hips she poked him in the chest again "You're going to get lost again, just follow me."

He'd been ignoring her for the most part since Mihawk had arrived. Contemplating on how to get the Warlord to train him during his time away from his Captain. Which had come in the form of defeating the humandrills. A task he'd almost completed until his wounds had once again held him back. Even his bones ached, leaving him feeling nearly brittle as the aftermath of what he'd taken in order to save his captain and crew continued to ravage his body. A fact that he had a suspicious feeling Hawkeye knew.

Some of the orders from the Warlord had been close enough to commands to rest after all. Ones he'd taken with a few grumbles even was he knew they were the best choice overall. It was the same as when he'd been a kid and his sensei had helped him through his grief. Only this time he had an annoying Ghost Girl around to pester him as well.

He'd gone as far as stuffing his ears with cotton one night just for some peace and quiet. Which had resulted in her hollowing him into a state of depression for three hours.

So when her finger poked at his open wound, only half felt due to her astral form, like cool water brushing against his skin, he glared at her. "He's practically already training me, idiot. Honestly, the two of you are like mother hens."

Rising from where he'd been seated as he bandaged himself back up he slipped his swords back into their place at his side before heading back towards the castle. In the entirely wrong direction.

#ghost princess: perona threads #3katanas

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enigmawrappedinhypocrisy · 5 years ago

Text

Quest! For alone time - Barley Lightfoot x reader

*Fandom- Pixar’s Onward

*Pairings- Barley Lightfoot x F reader/you

*Warnings- NSFW - Smut Oral, fingering, safe sex, Fluff, constant cock blocking, Barley’s a good boy. Pre-established relationship. 2nd person pov

*Summary* You and Barley recently made the jump into the world of relationships but have found it infuriatingly hard to get any time alone together.

**A/N** So I haven’t really found many reader insert fanfics with Barley and only 2 that had smut, I think... so I decided If I want it I aught to write it...

**A/N 2**So I’m super positive Barley has to be at least 19 So you’re both ‘adults’ and your family treat you that way… the interruptions aren’t them intentionally trying to prevent your relationship or the more physical aspects of it. They’re more rooted in those people not being used to you being in a relationship… they never had to worry about walking in on something when you and Barley were only friends so it’s a bit of a transition for everyone. They’re also kinda oblivious to how annoying it is.

* ❀✦ Master List✦❀

You and Barley had been dating for a little while now, but had been friends for much longer before that.

So now that you were transitioning from friends to couples it was often hard to find times and places to be alone, as the people in both your lives would often disturb you. Thinking nothing about walking in on you whenever it pleased them.

You were both adults, and generally treated as such so the interruptions weren’t exactly intentional. Your parents weren’t trying to stop you from being affectionate with each other, but it was becoming increasingly more frustrating as time went on.

“Sorry dear I forgot”

“Oops i’m not looking- ignore me… just gotta get the laundry”

“Hey do you know where my- ahh Barley! Hang a sock!”

Going out on dates was fine. Unless friends decided to interrupt and make it a ‘friend thing’… twice!

Kisses good night- they were lovely. But did often result in “ohhs” and “ahhs” from nosy parents (and their cop boyfriends).

There were good morning texts, and phone calls late into the night. You’d often fall asleep talking to each other.

If ever one of you had a bad day the other was always a phone call away, and would often show up with cuddles and favorite snacks.

You let him rant to you about his mom’s boyfriend, and he held you whenever you had an argument with your mother.

All in all the relationship thing was working out nicely. You and Barley clicked really well and were able to help with whatever problems or insecurities arose in your lives.

There was just one problem…

That couldn’t be helped...

It had been about a month now since you two decided to become intimate but, due to circumstances, that was still a thing you’d been unable to achieve. Barely having enough alone time to make out let alone anything more than that, was starting to get frustrating.

He was really good about it though. Patient and understanding. Maybe he assumed you were nervous and didn’t want to push you into anything you weren’t ready for. He definitely didn’t want to mess up what you had, nor did he want to risk hurting you.

You weren’t nervous though, well maybe a little, but it wasn’t about that. You’ve loved him for years, wanted him for years. Ever since the day he found you walking to school, crying about some fight you had with your mother before leaving the house that morning.

He drove up beside you and offered you a ride. Despite knowing it wasn’t a good idea to hop into a stranger’s van something about him told you it was okay.

He listened to you, and made you laugh. Took your mind off your problems and reminded you of the good in the world.

You skipped school, driving to some secluded place with him, and talking for hours. By the time he dropped you at home you simply couldn’t imagine life without him. Even if you didn’t know it at the time, you fell in love with him that day.

Tonight though, tonight it was happening! Come hell or high water you were getting that boy in bed!

<How fair you, my lovely maiden?> your phone dings with a text from Barley

<Feeling kinda lonely> you respond, biting your lip awaiting his response.

<What about your parents?> He asks.

<On my way!!> He responds quickly, causing a smile to stretch across your face.

You quickly make sure everything is ready, your hair, your make-up, you wanted to look extra special for him tonight.

You’re just finishing as you hear Guinevere 2 pull up, and great Barley at the door with a kiss.

“Hey” He smiles down at you, hands planted on your hips.

“We got lucky” you take him by the hand and lead him through your house.

He follows you obediently, cheeks flushed. “When are your parents coming home?”

“Not for hours” You tell him, pulling him onto the couch. You wanted to take this a little slow, ignore how ‘booty call’ it really was. “They’re going to that restaurant they like”

He pulls you to sit in his lap, “That’s good” he strokes your thighs.

You lean in for a kiss, no matter how long you were together this never got old. The kiss was soft and loving, during which you clung to his jacket keeping him close.

“How was your day?” you ask between kisses.

“Better now, yours?” he chases your lips.

“Okay, I missed you a lot though” you nuzzle into his neck, kissing him again and again.

“Missed you too” Barley pulls you closer to him, inhaling your scent, using it to erase the stress of the day.

With the house empty for hours there was no reason to rush, and you wanted to enjoy all the alone time.

That was until the door opened, your parents entering in a hurry.

“Hey honey- you’re dad’s got an upset tummy so we had to come home early” your mom explains as your father rushes past her towards the bathroom. She pauses when she sees you, on the couch, on Barley, frown on your face. “Oh sorry, we’ll stay upstairs and out of your hair, just let me make some soup for your father… do you want anything?” she asks without really offering.

You sigh and fall forward slightly, your head resting on Barley’s shoulder. “No, don’t worry mom we should be heading out anyway”

“Oh… you seeing that new movie?” She asks, “the one with the space thing?” she tried

“Uh… yeah…” you force a smile before getting up, pulling Barley with you.

Every time…

Once outside you and Barley sigh, “so what do you wanna do?” he asks, brushing a piece of hair out of your face.

“You” you grin.

Barley laughs, “Okay, but… Oh! I think mom’s out with Corie tonight”

Your eyes light up, “Why didn’t you say so” you tug him towards Guinevere 2.

Soon you were on his bed, music blasting, fully wrapped up in a heavy make-out session.

“You locked the door right?” you lean back, pulling off your shirt.

“Lemme check” he pulls away from you, eyes never really leaving your form. This causes him to stumble over something.

“Careful” you chide playfully tossing your shirt at him.

He catches it with a grin before the door suddenly slams open.

Standing there with wide eyes is a very pink Ian.

“Did you need something?” Barley steps between his brother and a half naked you.

“Oh uh… mom wanted to make sure you took out the trash…”

“Okay- thank you,” Barley shuffles Ian out of the room.

He turns to you and ruffles his hair with a sigh.

“Now what?” he groans flopping back on the bed, arm thrown over his eyes.

You recover your shirt, pulling it back on, before you remember an obvious solution.

Crawling on the bed, getting closer to him, you ghost your fingers over his chest.

“Baby” you coo.

“Hmm?” he raises his arm to look at you.

“Guinevere” you smile at him.

“Um… okay? You want me to take you home?”

“No,” you pull him up, “You have a van”

“Yeeah?”

You tilt your head.

“Oh!” he grins, “good idea!”

You preen at the praise.

He suddenly jumps out of bed, grabs a few things, and is pulling you along behind him.

Taking the trash out on the way- cause he’s a good boy.

Barley drives around for a little while before finding a secluded spot, on the side of the road, to park.

Putting on some music he pulls you into a kiss before you scamper away towards the back.

Flopping down, you smile up at him doing grabby hands.

With a laugh Barley lunges towards you, instantly attacking you with kisses. His hand moves up your shirt while you giggle about his cold fingers.

Pushing him back you demand he removes his shirt while you do the same tossing them together in a pile.

He returns to you as soon as possible, taking his time worshiping your body. Kissing down from your jaw to your chest, he runs his hands over your soft flesh before you pull him back up for a fiery kiss.

“I can’t believe we waited so long” you sigh as he pulls down your leggings.

“I didn’t want to pressure you” he runs his hands up your legs to grip your thighs, encouraging you to spread them.

“Our families didn’t help…” you gasp as he leans forward placing a kiss on your warmth, still covered by panties in his favorite color.

He ‘hmms’ before pulling the fabric aside and smirking up at you. Leaning forward he kisses your pussy once before diving in.

His tongue, his lips, he was amazing and you couldn’t understand how anything could feel so good. Hands tangling in his hair you quickly lose yourself to the pleasure, gasping his name again and again.

You were almost there, nearly at the edge, legs wrapped around his shoulders when a heavy knock sounds on the drivers window.

“Son of a!” You hiss, only now seeing the police lights.

“This isn’t possible!” Barley groans, pulling on his shirt and wiping his face, causing you to blush.

Covering yourself with a convenient blanket, you stay out of sight while Barley goes to the driver's seat to deal with the cop. Who, unsurprisingly, also doubles as his mom’s boyfriend.

“Yes Colt?” he sighs.

“Barley, what are you doing out here?!” the centaur questions, trying to look into the van, his tone accusing.

“Just thought i’d sit here for a bit, listen to some music,” the elf half grins. It wasn’t a full lie…

The centaur officer begins lecturing Barley on safety and rules and such. How it wasn’t smart to park on the side of the road at night, no matter the reason.

You’re not really happy with the way he talks to the man who one day might be his step son but keep your mouth shut wiggling into your pants instead.

“Alright, alright I’m leaving” the elf gives in with an irritated groan, putting Guinevere in ‘O’ he pulls out and drives away.

By this time you’re, once again, redressed and you join him up front with a frown.

“It’s okay Barley baby, we can try this again tomorrow” you offer and are surprised when he grins at you in response. Raising an eyebrow you question him.

“I have one last idea” he winks, driving down the dark road for a short while before taking a barely visible side path that leads up a hill to a cliff overlooking the city.

“I found this place after a particularly bad day” he tells you, before ordering your eyes closed.

“Barley” you whine but have to give in when you see the starry eyed way he looked at you.

Holding his hand for guidance you step out of the van.

You open your eyes at his instruction and are amazed at the sight before you. The bright lights of the city below contrast with the glittering stars in the dark sky above. The moons are large and bright as fireflies dance around you.

Once again you find yourself amazed and totally enamored with this sweet sensitive elf.

Ever since you were younger he was constantly showing you how lovely he was. This was the place he took you that day so many years ago, and several emotions grip your heart all at once.

“Barley...” you coo in a small voice.

Arms wrap around you from behind, and he presses a kiss to your hair. Leaning back into his chest you find yourself content to stay like this forever.

“I love you, you know that right” you purr up at him.

Blinking down at you in surprise Barley looks almost in tears. Surprised and worried you turn in his embrace grasping his face gently.

“Barley?” you question but soon let out a sound of surprise as he scoops you up, hands on your ass holding you tightly to him. He promptly pulls you into a needy kiss to which you happily respond wondering why he was reacting this way.

Then you realize this might have been the first time you had actually said it, even if you felt it for so long.

“I love you too!” He tells you, once he pulls away enough to do so.

“You’re amazing” you nuzzle him, legs wrapping around him for support.

He kisses you again, this time softer and more romantic.

You pull back before he was ready, “Barley baby-”

“Hmm?”

“I remember something mentioned earlier... about you... doing me…” you nip his jaw playfully trying to get him back on track.

With another laugh - music to your ears - Barley walks back over to the van.

Never letting you down, he reaches into the back and pulls out the blanket you used earlier to cover yourself. He lays it on the ground before placing you on top.

Looking down at you with heart eyes he once again removes your pants. He blushes before catching your eye.

“Oh no… looks like I left my panties in your car, must not have put them back on before” you shrug trying to appear innocent.

“I never took them off you” he chuckles, brushing a finger over your folds.

“oh-Ohhhh” you begin with a teasing tone which quickly becomes a needy moan as he gives your clit a little flick.

“Bad girl” he chides.

You only grin and pull him down into another kiss, during which he slowly begins undoing his shorts just enough to pull his elfhood out, hissing as it’s exposed to the cooler air.

Leaning back a bit, Barley teases your pussy with his cock. Wetting it with your juices, and finding himself thoroughly entranced by sight of you spread before him. Open and eager for what was to come. He’d seen your pussy several times before but it was always like the first time.

“Please baby,” you gently encourage him, lifting your hips slightly, needing to be closer.

He smirks down at you, dragging his tip against your clit all the while applying more pressure.

“Oh!” he stops suddenly, and for a moment you swore if you were being interrupted again you’d jump off this cliff. Instead he reaches into his pocket pulling out a little plastic square. Aww, Good boy…

You watch with a smile as he quickly pulls the condom on and returns to teasing your entrance.

“Barley” you huff in half annoyance. Having been teased all night, you were eager to get on with it. You needed him inside you and were getting tired of waiting.

With a smirk he suddenly pushes into your opening, slowly sinking all the way in; shuddering with the pleasure of being fully sheathed in your warmth.

Your eyes widen with surprise at how complete you felt with him inside. He was so thick and filled you completely.

“You feel so good,” he tells you, his ears flushed, eyes glued to your face. “Warm, soft” he sighs softly.

You wrap your legs around him in an attempt to pull him closer to you, and encourage him to begin moving.

Taking the hint, Barley buries his face in your neck, inhaling your scent deeply as he adjusts to being inside you. He kisses your neck and smiles at your soft moans.

Slowly at first but soon picking up speed he begins thrusting into you. Before long a pace is set and you’re letting out needy little sounds, not even sure what you were saying anymore, or if it was comprehensive at all.

“Don’t you dare stop” you whine, once again so close to your release as your arms wrap around him tightly.

“What was that?” he teases pulling back to watch your face.

“Barley I swear” you growl quickly transitioning to a whine when he reaches down and begins rubbing tight circles into your sensitive clit.

“‘You almost there?” He asks, eyes showing both amusement and reverence at the same time. Which shouldn’t be possible. Why is he so flippin’ cute?!

You whine.

“Hmm?” he smirks.

“Yes, yes! Barley I’m almost there pleease” you cling to his arms and try to remember to get revenge later.

“Ugh- me too” he huffs out and begins fucking into you harder.

He’s so deep and manages to hit every sensitive part inside you. It was as if you’d been having sex for years, and he had long since memorized everything about you. Everything you liked and everywhere inside you that made you cry out his name.

“Oh cum with me baby, Barley cum with me” you babble, too lost in your pleasure.

Your nails dig into his arms slightly as your eyes close, you’re almost there...

With a sharp cry your eyes open wide as you cum. They’re fixed on his face and you watch the man above you come undone, brow furrowed, jaw clenched, he’s so, so handsome; and you’re so in love.

Pulling out of you with a sigh, Barley collapses next to you on the blanket.

“Why did we wait so long?” he pants, eyes closed.

You smile and shake your head turning towards him, “You were playing hard to get.”

He lets out a breathy laugh, “Sorry it won't happen again”

“Better not” you move, suddenly, leaning over him.

“What ‘chu doing?” he asks, opening one eye to watch you curiously.

With gentle fingers you reach for his cock, brushing down his length softly.

“Hold on baby i’m not-” he tries to sit up.

You shush him, and encourage him to lean back with a gentle push.

“Just,” you pull the condom off, tying it and leaving it aside, “Trust me”

“Oh” he blushes.

You lean down and lovingly clean his cock with your tongue, before tucking him away and refastening his pants. Not before making a mental note to repay his teasing in the future.

You quickly pull your leggings back on before rejoining him on the blanket, resting your head on his chest.

“Worth the wait?” He asks wrapping an arm around you and pulling you closer to him.

“Oh, definitely” you nuzzle into him, content and happy. “I love you” You remind him.

“Love you too” his smile was bright and that alone was worth the wait.

❀✦ Master List✦❀

#Onward #barley lightfoot #Barley #Barley x reader #Barley Lightfoot x reader #Barley x you #Fluff #Smut #Fanfic #it's kinda cute though

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blackstar5078 · 5 months ago

Text

EggCartonSMP Day 19 to 25! (Part 4)

Summary under the cut…

Day 25

(This happened during June 29th).

Wither woke up and found Bluebell sleeping in another, newly build, room.

After their meeting with Sky (Wither needed help with very important materials to be able to protect Bluebell better and have better backpack functionality), they decided to go to visit Soup. It was time for that conversation they wanted to have with Wither.

Soup: Yeah, so I wanted to talk a little bit about Vee, and also I want to show you something, Wither. Bluebell has already seen it.

First it was what Soup wanted to show her, so they went upstairs.

Soup: So, I haven’t INTENTIONALLY shown this to anyone else yet. Vee accidentally found her during one of her pranks… And then Bluebell saw her during a visit, which is okay. I found her in the dark oak forest by my house. She’s in my bedroom upstairs.

Wither went up without adding anything else, and that’s when she found the little allay.

Wither: She’s so cute!!

Soup: Yeeah :D When I found her, she was too weak to even fly.

Wither: Aww, I’m glad you were able to get her back in good health.

Soup: My assumption is that she somehow escaped a pillager outpost. I’ve never seen such a young allay doing that before.

Wither: Oh yeah, those places are rough. Last one we found it was already in flames.

Soup: Yeah, they’re the reason why the allays you usually see are always so young… We rarely last long anymore.

Wither: Noooo, I’m so sorry, that’s terrible D:

Soup: She’s setting in pretty well, all I have to do is name her.

They discussed it briefly until coming to the conclusión to maybe name her after the golden apple she was holding.

Soup: I’ll think about it. Please don’t tell anyone about her, I want to introduce her slowly.

Wither: I won’t, don’t worry, I care about her safety too <3.

Soup: Thank you! <3 Speaking of, like I said, I wanted to talk about Vee.

Wither: Yes? I’m also interested in that conversation.

Soup, on purpose, placed the next signs away from Bluebell’s line of vision.

Soup: Did Bluebell fill you in on what Vee’s been doing the last few days.

Wither: She allows me to read her journal, so a little bit.

Soup mentioned how they did a prank on her house recently, putting bugs all around, and how, considering stuff that Vee said, she thinks that there was a cry for help.

Wither: Mm?

Soup: She got really serious and apologized to me, and implied that she doesn’t really want to do it. I am worried about her, and even moreso Magma.

Wither: Well, I’m worried about Magma since yesterday. Stuff happened.

Soup: I heard about some stuff that happened today with Vee, getting Magma involved in her ‘’pranks.’’ I didn’t know Magma was involved yesterday too.

Wither: Yeah, he got hurt, and also scared Bluebell a lot.

Soup: Yeah, it’s one thing for Vee to be doing these things, but getting gators involved like this…

Wither: That’s not the only thing we know, though.

Soup: Oh? What else do you know?

From this point forward, they placed signs on Bluebell’s line of vision again.

Wither: Maybe it’s past association, but… Bluebell and Rox found a thing called the Transporter at her house, and… In my experience, they are usually not of trust.

Soup: Oh… I have never heard of it before o-o

Wither: Individuals in lab coats will use them to get resources as far as I know, and those resources can be… painful.

Soup: That sounds VERY ominous, like… samples?

Wither: Or tools that can cause pain to someone…

Soup: What in the… I knew Vee was suspicious, but I thought she was mostly harmless… I mean, putting bugs in someone’s house isn’t what I expect from evil scientists.

Wither: Not bugs precisely, but Bluebell did tell me that she said the ‘’in a scale of 1 to 10’’ phrase, which I also associate with lab coats.

Soup: That is VERY ominuous D: What do we do about it?

Wither: So far, like with the little allay, we are keeping it a secret. We want to figure out more before we take actions and make drastic decisions.

Soup: How did you guys find it? Where is it?

Wither turned around towards Bluebell, as that was a piece of information she did not have.

Bluebell: Oh! There’s a warplate up the ladder of her house. Not very hidden I’d say. Think we should go look?

Wither: I would wait on Rox, they had a plan with invis potions.

Bluebell: I could make some, I can ask Sebastian. I’m good with potions too :3

Soup: Are you sure you want to come, Bluebell? It’s not my place, but the idea makes me worry.

Bluebell: I mean, I’m the one who knows where it is.

Soup: Well, touche… Just gotta be extra careful then…

It was at that momento when Soup remembered something that may be worth to mention.

Soup: An enderman holding a grass block tp’d into my house for the first time in a WHILE. Vee was here, and for some reason she was all like ‘’oh that’s just my co-worker Tim’’ or something. I think maybe she was just nervous and making weird jokes lol.

Wither slowly turned towards Bluebell, and then back to the signs.

Soup: But like, isn’t that such a crazy thing to say?

Wither: Soooooooooo, this might be worse than we thought if that wasn’t a joke. A couple of weeks ago, a C.A.T revealed that there are endermen spies from another government deparment. The ‘’Experiments’’ deparment.

Soup: WHAT, WHAT. This is INSANE, everything I learn about Vee gets worse…

Wither: Yeah, and we have been haunted by them so far. More than once they got into the house and observed Bluebell while she was trying to sleep, which is why the ‘’prank’’ ended up so badly.

Soup: I’ve seen them around, but the first time one got into my house was the DAY I brought this allay home. Gosh, I’m shaking.

Wither: We’ll try our best so the allay is safe. I did not want to think that everyone else was also being haunted, but… This very much confirms it.

Soup: Welp… We’re in this together at least :’D So, does this mean we’re breaking into Vee’s house now?

Wither: I guess so, Bluebell seems eager to show us the thing.

Bluebell returned with three invisibility potions with a duration of 8 minutes, and all three of them tp’d to Vee’s house while they were at Spawn.

There, Soup and Wither were able to witness the Transporter for themselves.

Wither had some difficulties around this point, once she was able to speak to the other two again, she prompted them to leave as soon as possible once she had the necessary evidence.

They got as back right as they had a minute remaining of effect.

Wither: If she truly works for the government, then this is really a very bad situation.

Wither: I propose that, so far, we keep an eye on her. And if she does something harmful, I will not hesitate.

Bluebell: And when Rox returns… We let her on this too.

Wither: For sure.

Soup: I’m already aware of a few flaws about this idea, but my first thought would be interrogation.

Wither: What kind of interrogation, though. I think it’s best if we don’t tell them that we know what we know.

Soup: True, it could put both her and us in danger. I could try to get more info out of her like a concerned friend and see if she’ll share more with me.

Wither: I think that’s the best approach.

Bluebell: It might be risky to bring up ‘’the accident’’ I told you about. But she might slip stuff, I don’t know.

Soup: Good to know, I won’t mention that then. I’ll be more vague.

Soup: I’m glad I can help you guys out. Thank you for showing me that transporter and trusting me!

Wither: No problem, glad that we can be on this together <3.

Bluebell: I’m still upset with Magma, but we apologized to each other when Vee wasn’t looking.

Soup: Yeah, I think we need to keep an eye on him. It’s odd that she’s involving him in her antics.

Wither: That worries me too. I’m concerned for the stuff they could get him involved into.

Bluebell: If we can prevent him from being like his mom, then I’m a happy gator xD

(OOC Bonus of this:

)

Soup: Well, I believe that’s all the information we can get for now. I haven’t seen any C.A.T.S at my house yet, so I think talking here isn’t too bad of an idea whenever we need to.

Bluebell: I feel like the C.A.T.S are opportunists. So just not taming one will help?

Wither: Yeeeah, many have ignored the warnings about that so far.

Soup: Ooh, I see, no cute cats for me :(

Bluebell: Not all cats are C.A.T.S. Sky has a normal cat :3 Gray, white, black, and all inbetween are C.A.T.S.

Soup: Oh yeah, I keep forgetting kdjsndks. Alright, that’s good :D

Wither: We have things to do, but we’ll see ya <3.

Soup: Alright! Stay safe!

Bluebell and Wither tp’d back to the bunker, so they could expand it and decorate it more.

Wither continued decorating, until Bluebell was back, read a book and handed it over.

Bluebell: You will want to read this.

Wither was unsure of what to do, it sounded like he needed help as soon as possible. She had to idea that Bluebell writes back that he builds a safe room under his first house. The little gator wrote the response and showed Wither to check if it was good.

Bluebell came back noticeably scared.

They got to keep anxiously decorating until Bluebell could tell that Magma left a response. She brought it over.

Wither only needed to know if Magma was at his first house to tp immediately there.

Bluebell: We came as soon as possible.

Wither managed to message Soup to let them know about this and tell them to please come over to help if possible.

Wither asked Magma for his consent to let Soup read one of the books, to which he accepted.

Wither checked the map, and ended up finding a place that could work. It required traveling to get there, but they got to it, as Magma broke the waystone to his first house too.

Once there, Magma made the safety room underground, and only gave the waystone to Bluebell, Wither and Soup.

Eventually, they discussed about what to do next while Magma was building and decorating.

Soup: I know it’s a lot to ask, but would she be able to stay at your place for a bit?

Wither: The new one?

Soup: Yeah, I just want her somewhere where Vee won’t find her. Especially because Vee knows about her.

Bluebell pointed out the difficulties that would be attempting to get the little allay to their new home, considering both the distance and the way of entrance.

Then, Soup considered leaving her with Magma in the safety room instead, so they brought her over with a waystone tp and a lead.

Wither didn’t get to see what Magma brought back, since it was time to go to sleep.

Once back to the bunker, both her and Bluebell hugged goodbye and it was time for slumber. It was a very exhausting day, emotionally.

---

That was it, holy sh t, that was straight up a whole week. 7 days.

I’m so mentally tired after making these posts, so… I’m leaving credits, bonus images and leaving for the day kdjsnkds.

Creeeedits:

Bluebell: @bluefoxproductions

Rox: @iglooshoe

Sky: @sky-bee42

Soup: @starsoup-x

Vee: @bbqfrank

Magma: @ghostnotfoundyt

Lillian: @lilliancdoodles

Karl: @itskarlhere

Arachne: @Arachne12

Seth: @SethsDead

And if I forgot someone, please let me know, because I crave to turn this PC off to think about it now KDJNSKFJNDSK.

Bonus images on separate post because f cking image limit.

See y’all kdjsnkds.

EggCartonSMP Day 19 to 25! (Part 1)

(Had a busy week, so you get summaries of various days in one reblog thread. These will not work as usual, as I’m trying to keep them as brief as possible, plus every important conversation will most likely only be written instead of showing the pics of the signs).

Summary under the cut!

Day 19

(This happened during June 21st).

Wither woke up and Bluebell was awake to greet her as usual. The little gator mentioned that a new person woke up around the area and also that something odd happened. Wither only had the journal as source of explanation next.

Wither: That’s sure interesting. I am not sure what the redstone thing is, but I would love to meet the new people.

They noticed that one of them was still around, so they went to say hi.

Wither: Hello, nice to meet you :D

Seth: Greetings.

Seth looked at Bluebell.

Seth: This Is Your Guardian?

Wither: You could say I’m a guardian, yeah!

It was then when Seth gave Bluebell a gift.

Seth: Now You Can Cut Free.

Bluebell: Oh wow! Thank you! :D

Seth: Of Course.

Seth mentioned that she was looking for the ocean. Wither and Bluebell offered to help. They traveled together to a perfect spot. There were interesting conversations on the way while Wither had to be absent for a little bit.

Bluebell: We don’t entirely know to be honest. She’s different from everyone else on the island.

Seth: I See. Did She Find You Or Did You Find Her?

Bluebell: We woke up in a place around the exact same time. Found each other really.

Seth: Acknowledged.

Bluebell: There’s the ocean! :D

Seth: I Thank You. I Missed The Creatures Here.

Bluebell: They are very pretty! :D

Seth: They Are. Have You Met Some Of Them?

Bluebell: I have some fish friends at home! And I’ve swam here before :3

Seth: That Is Very Good. Do You Remember The Water When You Were Younger?

Bluebell: I didn’t… see the water when I was younger.

Seth: A Tragedy.

Bluebell: White walls… Loneliness… C.A.T.S

Seth: You Did Not Have A Guardian Then?

Bluebell: I don’t really remember…

Wither returned in the middle of this conversation and didn’t say anything, just hugged Bluebell.

Seth: It Is Good You Are Here.

Bluebell: I’m happy to be here, yes :3

Wither: I’m happy you’re here too <3

Seth: You Shall Be Here For Much Longer Under The Stewardship Of Your Guardian.

Bluebell: Yeah! I feel very safe with Wither around :3

Seth: This Is Good.

Seth observed the area of the beach around them.

Seth: My Social Matrix Seems To Not Have Sustained Damage. This Is Good.

Seth proposed to build an area for both Wither and Bluebell in her soon-to-be home, an idea that they eagerly accepted, before deciding to go visit Lillian and say goodbye.

Seth: Your Presence Was Worthy. Take Care.

One tp later, they arrived to Lillian’s village and found her working on the construction.

Wither and Bluebell offered to help her after a bit of a catch up of the last few days. The purple creature decided to get wool, so Lillian could mark the construction spots with carpets. Bluebell stayed behind for a while, until she reunited with Wither, explaining that she was feeling homesick without her around.

Bluebell returned to Lillian a bit before Wither was done and all three were back at the village.

She caught them on another interesting conversation, though.

Wither: Yeah, it is recommended that I don’t go…

Lillian: Recommended? By who? Or is it just from you?

Wither: From me, really.

Lillian: Do you just not like it? Is it too hot or something?

Wither: It could be very dangerous if I approach it. Not because of the Nether itself.

Lillian: Have you never seen it? Just getting closet to an entrance causes it?

Wither: No, I have sure been there, but someone helped me out.

Wither crouched to Bluebell to indicate that she was fine.

Lillian: No idea who?

Wither: Someone important, he’s a Farmer and an engineer.

Lillian: He’s not here is he? Not on the island?

Wither: No, he stayed at home. I came here on my own.

Lillian: That’s really brave, coming alone sounds scary.

Wither: I wanted a chance to find myself and my purpose. I only stopped when I found Bluebell.

Lillian: And it’s been you two ever since?

Wither: You could say. Rox hangs out a lot with us too.

Lillian: Well, I guess you could say four? Are Soul and Fire separate from you?

Wither: Yeah! They are sentient of their own. They just have a harder time trusting people.

Lillian: That’s fair. Well, hello anyways, Soul and Fire! o/

Wither: They are a bit hesitant but said hi back :D

Bluebell: It’s still there.

Lillian: Could I see it another day? Or see the coords so I can go myself? I’m a bit curious about all the government stuff… It doesn’t sound good.

Bluebell: I went back accidentally recently, it’s pretty empty. But we can show you.

Lillian: I’m mostly curious what it looks like.

Wither: Sure! When you wanna go?

Lillian: I guess whenever we’re all up next xD. We did have a project we were working on xD.

Wither said that they had to go to sleep, though. Lillian mentioned that she has a Fletcher they can use before they left.

Wither got to read Bluebell’s journal once more for the day.

Wither: She wants a cat? Well… to be fair, Soup also wanted many.

Bluebell: Yeah, but the gray one, freaked me out a Little.

Wither: I understand. It’s a bad memory association, I know how it is.

Bluebell: Like, what if all the gray ones are C.A.T.S? What then…

Wither: Fire says that they will be on the look out.

Bluebell: Ok… I trust in you, guys.

Bluebell and Wither gave each other their goodbye hugs before going to sleep.

Day 20

(This happened during June 22nd).

Wither found Bluebell cooking when she woke up.

She also found a ghost on the couch.

Wither: Hello :D

Azura: Well, hello there, lovely seeing u 2 awake.

Wither: You new around here?

Azura: Not exactly.

Wither: Oh?

Azura: I’ve been around here for a while.

Once established that she was just haunting and chilling, Wither let the ghost be and decided to go meet up with Sky at Spawn alongside Bluebell.

They talked a bit about the library and checked on him. Then they decided to go see how Karl was doing next.

They invited him to explore the Mansion they found a couple of weeks back. Unfortunately, the flames that were already there consumed everything, including the chests. Only the Allays survived.

Since that expedition failed, Wither proposed to go somewhere else for loot. Bluebell gave the idea that they could go to the Spooky City Sky was working on reclaiming.

Sky was also there to help them out.

Problem was… there was a lot of Soulfire around. Wither tried her best to remain calm and not panic around everyone else, but she could feel how overwhelming some of her senses were becoming.

Back home safely, she took a minute to sit and breathe a bit far from Bluebell, all while she was organizing inventory.

Wither looked and… Bluebell was right. She immediately backed away and sat down, trying her best to calm down again.

Bluebell was carefully getting on her range of vision, without getting too close.

Wither ran, without saying anything else. She kept going, until she stumbled upon Lillian’s village, and did not hesitate to back down on the opposite direction for a second. Until she found a place where she could enclose herself.

---

Next day in part 2 <3.

#eggcartonsmp #ecsmp wither #ecsmp bluebell #ecsmp vee #ecsmp magma #ecsmp soup

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