#at what point does 'there was a mouse last night' turn into 'we have mice'

[curiositys-cat]

Burn Up The Light: Chapter 7

Sandstorm keeps a careful eye on Fireheart these days, though maybe that’s nothing new. Even when she hadn’t wanted to, back in the beginning, she’d always been  aware  of him and his bright coat, the way his voice cut through crowds, the-- just about everything, really. No matter what he did, he had a way of filling the space.

Maybe that wasn’t accurate. Other cats didn’t seem to notice it, so maybe it was this-- no matter what he did, Fireheart had a way of filling her thoughts.

But she watches him now, because he watches her-- because he  knows  her, and she’s going to get him right back.

Dustpelt had just scoffed when she’d told him this particular plan. He does that whenever she mentions Fireheart. He’s been doing it a lot lately.

“Fireheart looks off today,” Sandstorm murmurs over the rabbit she and Dustpelt are sharing. She keeps her voice down, but his ears prick in acknowledgment. “Do you think something happened with Cinderpaw?”

Fireheart plods across the out of the medicine cat’s den, coming to a rest at the base of highrock, where a shadow stretches for just a few tail lengths. When he lays down, it’s more of a collapse. Sandstorm frowns.

“Does anything new need to happen?” Dustpelt asks.

“Hm. Maybe not. He looks exhausted, though,” Sandstorm says. “More than normal. And he looks like he hasn’t had a proper groom in a moon.”

“Someone should fix that. Why don’t you go over and share tongues, hm?”

Sandstorm almost chokes on her rabbit. “What?”

“You said he looks ungroomed. Offer to do it for him, if it bothers you so much,” Dustpelt says with a roll of his eyes, and Sandstorm gets the definite feeling that she’s missing something. She’s quick to shake her head and follows the impulse to leap to her feet, legs suddenly jittering with nervous, buzzing energy.

“I’m not doing--  that -- but I can do something else for him.”

“Suit yourself,” Dustpelt says, looking at her with unimpressed half lidded eyes. “Make sure to get a good sniff of him while you’re over there so you can describe how he smells to me again.”

“It was important to the story!”

“Sure was. I’m not saying I was  glad  when Tigerclaw interrupted to give me dawn patrol, but...”

Sandstorm resists the urge to box him around the ears like she would’ve when they were apprentices-- she’s a warrior now, and she’s got more important things to do than tumble around camp with her best friend, no matter how much she’d like to see his face if she took him down right now. If Bluestar saw, she’d fix Sandstorm with one of those  looks .

But. Bluestar isn’t around.  

Sandstorm sends herself hurtling at Dustpelt, eyes gleaming with sharp light. They’re laughing before they hit the ground.

--

Cinderpaw’s accident lays like snow over the clan, the kind that melts during the day and freezes thicker at night, trapping everything beneath it in sickly ice. No one knows what to do. There’s sympathy, of course, and hope, and a sense of relief and heartbreak in equal measure from the nursery, where Frostfur minds Cloudkit with an almost obsessive fervor. She stinks of guilt and grief and a fear that hasn’t gone away since the day Cinderpaw came off the Thunderpath.

In it all, no one else seems to notice how badly Fireheart is doing. Maybe they do, but with all eyes on his apprentice, Fireheart’s pain seems smaller. It is. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t hurting, and Sandstorm hates seeing the way his steps grow heavier with each passing moon. He’s a creature meant for crowing, not for this slinking half-sleep.  

Sandstorm, once she’s brushed herself off, heads over to him, on a warpath to make his life easier. She gets his murmured permission, and then goes to hunt down his old apprentice, and the extra one he seems to have taken on these days with Graystripe’s absences. She’s noticed those too, of course, but that’s none of her business. For now.

Cinderpaw and Brackenpaw meet her at the thorn tunnel. “Are you both ready to head out?”

“Yep! Weather’s great!” Cinderpaw chirps. Sandstorm gives a look at the heavy clouds and shakes her head.  

Her brother is more subdued. He always is, but he seems even quieter in the shadow of his lightning crack of a sister. It’s slow going, but Cinderpaw keeps a steady pace, and a steady stream of infectiously good natured commentary as they go.

“I think we should hunt here,” Brackenpaw starts before they’ve gone far, tail twitching nervously.

Sandstorm look at him curiously. “We’re too close to camp. Prey won’t linger this close to cat-scent. Has Graystripe not--?”

“No, he has!” Brackenpaw asserts, a little too quickly. “It’s just that I haven’t been going out as much, and it’s pretty cold, and I guess I just think I don’t want to go too much further.”

“I see.”

“Sandstorm’s too nice to say it, so I will,” Cinderpaw cuts in. “That’s a mouse-brained idea if I ever heard one. Let’s go.” She doesn’t wait for them to reply, pushing off deeper into the woods.

They continue in silence. Cinderpaw no longer seems to want to chat, eyes trained in front of her, jaw set as she pushes the pace. Brackenpaw scrabbles behind, hovering uncomfortably as he goes.

When they arrive at the spot Sandstorm’s picked for hunting, a shaded grove near the Riverclan border, Cinderpaw’s breath is puffing out hard in front of her. Sandstorm makes no comment. Let her be the judge of how hard she wants to push. When someone hurts like that, sometimes exhaustion is the best you can do-- wear yourself to the quick and when the night tries to haunt you, at least you can escape to sleep.

“Yellowfang said you’d be able to collect some herbs for her out here,” Sandstorm offers. “You know what you’re doing?”  

“I do,” Cinderpaw says. “Catmint and dock grow in wet, shaded areas like this. I’ll have a sniff around and see what I can find. You two enjoy hunting.” Her eyes flash as she says the last bit, but she turns before Sandstorm can see any more.

“We’ll be nearby.” Sandstorm touches her tail-tip to Cinderpaw’s shoulder before the apprentice starts away. She wishes she could do more, but saying it aloud would be worse. If Cinderpaw doesn’t want to acknowledge that she might need accommodation, she certainly doesn’t want anything that Sandstorm could tell her about grief.

Sandstorm’s heart aches for the apprentice, but she’s smart enough to keep that to herself.

“Shall we hunt?” Sandstorm turns to Brackenpaw.

“Yes!”

A few beats pass. Sandstorm cocks her head when no further response seems forthcoming. “Brackenpaw, can you tell me what prey is around?”

Eyes going wide, Brackenpaw drops his mouth open so far to scent she’s surprised it doesn’t hit the ground. “I think there’s a vole over in the roots there,” he finally says. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize. Different warriors do things differently, I suppose. I just assumed Graystripe had taught you like my mentor did me.”

“I think he might’ve,” Brackenpaw squeaks. “I just-- I guess I forgot.”

“Why don’t you see what you can do with that vole?” Sandstorm prompts.

She watches him drop into a hunting crouch-- not a bad one, all things considered. But it’s clumsy, and he’s only getting as far as he is on natural talent, not training. She’s not surprised when he overshoots, only barely managing to avoid bonking his head on the tree-trunk.

“When was the last time your mentor took you out hunting, Brackenpaw?” She asks.

“Sorry, I know I jumped too far. I think I could’ve gotten it if I’d been a little more careful.”

“Probably,” Sandstorm agrees. No point in lying to apprentices. “When did Graystripe last take you out here?”

Brackenpaw looks away. “Not that long ago.”

“The half-moon?” The moon will be round in the sky tonight.  

He still won’t look at her.

“The day before the last gathering,” he says. “But it was really good! We caught enough prey for all the elders-- and Dappletail said my mice were extra plump!”

“She knows good prey when she sees it.” A full moon since his mentor had last taken him out-- maybe there’d been a patrol or two since then, but it's worse than she’d thought.

“I’ll get the next one,” he says. After a pause. “I’ll try.”  

“Yes, I’m sure you will,” Sandstorm says, shaking her head as she tries to drive her wonderings away. Graystripe’s business is his own business, and if Bluestar feels he’s neglecting his warrior duties, that’s for her to say. Sandstorm has a job in this clan, and minding everyone else’s apprentices isn’t it. “Let’s find you something warm to sink your teeth into.”

It’s the middle of leafbare, and there isn’t much to go around to start with. Between Brackenpaw’s earlier attempt and the way her thoughts wind round her head like honey-suckle vines, it’s slim pickings. Brackenpaw does his best, but when all he has to show for his efforts is a half-starved mouse, it’s hard to miss the sag of his shoulders, the shame that slicks down his ears.

“We should find your sister,” Sandstorm meows around her blackbird. It’s not much, but it’s something.

“Can we just hunt for a little longer?” Brackenpaw casts a look around, as if prey is just going to wander into his paws. “I’m not ready to head back yet.”

“The prey’s all bolted to their holes.”

“Then we’ll find some more birds! There are always birds, even in leafbare,” Brackenpaw protests. Then, seeing Sandstorm’s unmoved expression, he adds, “please, I can’t head back with just this.”

He scuffs a disdainful paw over his mouse, turning it onto its stomach. It’s barely enough to feed a kit, and they both know it. What an earnest little cat he is, all rushed apologies and open worry. Sandstorm shakes her head, but before she knows it she’s agreeing.

“Fine. We’ll stay for a little while longer, but I want to see you working hard-- we need something more than fluffed fur to show for a whole day’s hunting.”

He nods solemnly, like she’s said something profound rather than muttered an instruction.

“Do you think that you could-- I know that I’ve been an apprentice for a while, but, could you just remind me about hunting?”

“What, in general?” Sandstorm asks, blinking.

“I mean, or just birds, or whatever we find!” Brackenpaw hurries to add.

Stars above. “Yeah, okay.” She drops down into her best hunting crouch and walks him through the basics-- stuff he should’ve had down moons ago, but from the way he’s drinking it in, it seems like at least some of it’s completely new to him.

He copies her, body low to the ground and almost deathly still. He starts padding forwards. His ears angle towards a scuffling that she hadn’t noticed until he’d started towards it. Another mouse maybe. Even if he misses, she’ll commend him for getting wind of it before she had.

His steps are light on the frost-crusted ground, quiet enough that even a mouse won’t notice his approach. He’s a quick learner, despite everything.

Just a tail-length away, one puffed breath between him and his prey, Sandstorm notices him slow. The next trembling paw he puts down slips on an ice-slick leaf, and all at once he’s a scrambling frenzy as he tries to hook the mouse before it manages to retreat. From the way his tail  thwaps  against the tree, she knows that he’s failed.

“Fox-dung!” Brackenpaw curses. “If I hadn’t  slipped --”

“It happens to the best of us,” Sandstorm says.

“But now we’re just taking back  this  , and everyone’s going to be hungry because I  slipped ! It was a stupid mistake!”

Sandstorm takes a step towards him, ready to try and comfort him-- she’s no stranger to a hot-blooded outburst after a bad hunt. “We learn and do better next time. What did we learn there?”

“That I’m a useless hunter,” Brackenpaw spits. “Can’t even catch a mouse.”

“The evidence to the contrary is in a hole with my blackbird.” Sandstorm keeps her tone even. “What else?”

Tail lashing, Brackenpaw looks away in frustrated silence before he finally breaks. “To pay more attention to where I’m putting my paws, I guess,” he says. “But I already knew that. I just forgot, because I’m  always  forgetting.”

“We learn by doing,” Sandstorm says. “And it seems to me that you haven’t had much practice.”

“Because I’m not good enough for Graystripe to mentor!” Brackenpaw returns, with more fire than she's ever seen in the calm apprentice's eyes. “I’m just-- not good enough.” His voice breaks, softens. “I didn’t understand it at first, but now I know. He doesn’t want to train me because he knows it’s  useless. ” There's a lower venom in that hiss, the kind that only the young really feel, self-revulsion big and loud enough to break the banks of a frozen river.  

“Brackenpaw,” Sandstorm says.

“I miss going hunting with him,” Brackenpaw continues. “But he’s so busy, so it’s not really surprising that he doesn’t want to make time for it, you know? It’d be okay if I were learning faster from Fireheart, but--”

“Mentors don’t get to choose whether or not they  want to train their apprentices, Brackenpaw-- it’s a duty, just like hunting and patrolling. If Graystripe’s not doing that, it’s a reflection on him,” she meets his eyes, “not you.” She knows before she’s finished saying it that it’s useless. Platitudes, no matter how true, are as good here as a twig in a forest fire. They only make it worse.

Brackenpaw snorts. “It’s not his fault his apprentice has three left paws. And Cinderpaw doesn’t want anything to do with me either, and I just-- I don’t know how I’m so  bad  at  everything .”

“I can’t make Graystripe a better mentor, but I can let you know-- you might feel lonely right now, but you’re not alone.” Brackenpaw’s shoulders climb high and tight. “Brackenpaw. Look at me. I mean it.”

Begrudgingly, he meets her gaze, but he breaks it almost immediately.

“If you want to be a good warrior, that’s the first thing that you have to know. No one in a clan stands by themselves. From the day we’re born to the day we die, we’re always just one part of something bigger,” Sandstorm says.

“I know all of that,” Brackenpaw shoots back. “But that doesn’t mean I want to be the weakest part of it! Cinderpaw’s going to be a medicine cat and save lives, and I’m just going to be-- here.” He looks around the empty clearing, to the scrap-pile of prey. “I just want to know what I’m doing  wrong .”

Nothing, she wants to say. You’re too young for these mistakes to count. Even with his sister-- and she can see what’s happening there, his overbearing concern coming hard on a cat who wants nothing more than to live freely-- it’s an honest mistake, an easy one, and it’ll all be salvageable when they figure it out.    

Instead, she finds herself thinking of Fireheart.

“Fireheart’s done worse than you ever have.”

Brackenpaw snorts again, but he can’t hide the way his ears prick in interest.

“You may be too young to remember it, but I was an apprentice with him,” she says. “And the  list  of things he got in trouble for-- it goes on. I’m not exaggerating when I say he spent half  his apprenticeship picking ticks off of elders-- you can ask Dappletail yourself later.”

“I’m just good at pretending,” Brackenpaw says. “Nobody but Graystripe has noticed how useless I am out here--”

“And what am I? A tree trunk?”

“You’re just being nice,” Brackenpaw shoots back.

“You and your sister-- when did I get nice?" She mutters. "Look, I’m trying to make a point. Fireheart was an  awful apprentice. He was always sleeping in late for patrols, and going off wandering in the night doing Starclan knows what-- he talked back to the senior warriors, and he couldn’t catch birds for a moon longer than the rest of us. And Bluestar was his mentor.”

This gives Brackenpaw pause. “Bluestar?” he asks.

“He was a kittypet mess, and she didn’t give up on him. Because she knew that he was a warrior at heart-- that he  wanted it.”

“Wanting catches no prey. It doesn’t matter”

Sandstorm flicks him with her tail. “Wanting got Fireheart to a warrior name, and plenty more besides it. He wanted this life so badly that he rebuilt himself around it-- burnt everything that he was down to the ground and grew again from that little wanting root. And for a little while, he was really, truly alone.”

“What did he do?” Brackenpaw

“His best,” Sandstorm said. “That’s all he ever does. I really don’t think it’s anything more than that-- he’s just got a good heart and this infuriating tendency to follow it further than anyone with his head screwed on right would do.”

“Is that-- a good thing?”

“Unfortunately.”

Brackenpaw’s face twists in confusion. Sandstorm changes tack.

“What I’m trying to say is that you just have to keep trying, with all of it. No one knows it better than Fireheart, and it sounds like you’re going to have to learn it well too. You have to figure out what you want, and if the answer really is to be the best warrior you can, you’ll do it. You just have to decide,” she says, tasting Fireheart’s words on her tongue.  

“You said he was lonely,” Brackenpaw says. And it’s that part that he cares about more than the rest of it-- he doesn’t just feel useless, he feels  abandoned , alone in a way that no clan cat was ever meant to be. Alone in the way that so many felt, with the way that the forest seemed to claw youth out of its apprentices, leave them scarred and grown before the kittenfluff had left them. “But he’s not anymore.”  

“I should hope not!” Sandstorm gives a laugh.

“And now he has someone like you,” Brackenpaw murmurs.

Sandstorm’s eyes go wide. “Well-- and Graystripe and Yellowfang and the rest. He has all of us. But--” she gives a hasty lick to her fur, “I suppose he does have me, too.”

And where had all that come from? Why was Fireheart her first idea when she tried to think of a good warrior? Was he that much on her mind?

But how wouldn’t he be? Fireheart’s the brightest star in any sky-- you’d have to be blind not to see it, willfully ignore him, like she had when she was younger. And the way it feels to think about him, too, like catching a rabbit racing across a clearing, exhilarating and all-consuming. Like waking up to thunderclap, jolting into blood pumping wakefulness. Like--

A rustle of the bush at the edge of the glade and Cinderpaw bursts through, crying out around a bundle of dark leaves in her mouth-- but Sandstorm realizes quickly she’s not running away from anything. Instead, she’s  herding , a fat vole scuttling just before her paws.

Sandstorm could snap its neck in a single move, but she ignores her rumbling stomach. “Brackenpaw!” she calls.

He freezes, startled for a single suspended heartbeat, and then he snaps into action. Brackenpaw leaps, landing squarely on the creature’s back this time and sinking his teeth into its skin. One solitary squeak and that’s it.

“Thanks, Brackenpaw!" Cinderpaw pips, muffled around her herbs, eyes shining.

“That was great-- you drove it right into my paws,” Brackenpaw says.

A moment of hesitation, and Cinderpaw’s eyes flick over her brother, searching for a trace of insincerity. She doesn’t seem to find it, though, and when she purrs it’s with her whole chest. “I just saw it and thought--”

“Good catch, the two of you!”

Sandstorm starts off towards camp, leaving the siblings to exclaim over their catch without a warrior looming over them. On the way back she thinks of Fireheart-- and the fact that she can’t stop thinking about him.

#wc #warrior cats #warriors fic #sandfire #sandstorm #firestar #cinderpelt #brackenfur

[the-knights-who-say-book]

Of a Witch, a Gossip, and a Library

The library on the corner of Oak and Vine was an accident. The crown didn’t bother opening libraries this far out west, so far from any of the major cities—so far that the townspeople joked to each other the king might someday forget to send his tax collectors out there, too. So Feldwidth had never had a library before.

When the local witch died a few years back, nobody quite knew what to do with her narrow corner cottage, with its living space upstairs and walls lined with shelves of witchcraft ingrediants on the single ground floor room. The witch hadn’t any children or relatives to continue living there, and nobody else claimed the space in the months after her death. The downstairs room, shelves on all four walls (even on the inside of the door!), just didn’t invite new inhabitants. No one in Feldwidth, except for the general store owner on Main, practiced a trade which required so many shelves, and no one wanted the tedious task of taking them all down.

It was Margorette Clay, who lived just outside the village and came in once a week supposedly to sell produce but mostly just to gossip, who said they ought to get themselves another witch.

“Not like you find them growing in a road ditch,” Jame Clott said irritably, because Margo was leaning against his fence. As far as he was concerned, no one who hadn’t painted that fence themselves were allowed to lean on it.

“Suppose not. Guess that’s only where you find Clotts,” Margo said, and ducked the dirty sheet that Jame had been beating out on the stone path and was about to beat out on her head. Cawing her distinctive laughter, she ran down the street, apron full of apples jostling and jumping with her loping stride.

Jame leaned over his fence to yell after her, “And they find Clays on the streets after it rains, too dumb to get back into the dirt!”

Margo’s laughter drew Catty Loose to the open doorway of her house as sure as if she’d had a ringing bell to announce new gossip. “What’s got Jame worked up?”

“Cause I said you ought to get yourselves a new witch,” Margo said, barely half-truthful as usual. “Buy an apple? They’re almost as blushing pretty as your kitling.”

Catty’s smallest daughter went red and buried herself deeper in her mother’s skirts.

Another kid, barely older, leaned against Margo’s leg and pulled her hand, nearly spilling all the apples from the apron she was holding up. “Why nother witch? What for?”

“Ah, every place ought to have one,” Margo said vaguely. “It’s the way of things. One apple for each of your kitlings, Catty, and I’ll throw two in free.”

————————

“Margo’s right,” Catty Loose said after temple that Saturday, as the townspeople gathered in the yard to mingle and eat, her arms full of children and another two playing at her feet.

With preternatural hearing, Jame Clott turned from speaking with his husband Willem across the yard to say loudly, “Margorette Clay has never been right once in her life.”

Catty ignored him. “We ought to get a new witch. Sooner or later we’ll want one.”

“That’s crap,” Jame said, coming into the circle that surrounded Catty, which seemed to be half made up of her own children. “What’ll we want a witch for? No one’s been cursed in ages.”

“Aida Macintosh,” someone put in.

“Aida Macintosh ate the red berries by the stream. That’s not a curse so much as a punishment for stupidity.”

No one could really disagree.

“Need one for love shpells,” a tiny Loose kitling named Alfed suggested.

Jame crouched down, his face softening, to look into his small, earnest face. “Love spells are a gross affront against consent and should have been outlawed years ago,” he said gently.

Little Alfed Loose sneezed in his face.

“For getting a baby when you can’t make one yourself,” Mendy Hark said, one hand squeezing her daughter’s shoulder protectively.

Jame, wiping his face, didn’t say anything.

————————

“So how’s one get a witch anyway?” Lukey Keening asked, continuing the conversation from several days ago without preamble, as he tended to do. He and his overly long teenage limbs were sprawled in the grass of the meadow where the families of Oak street gathered once a week for a community meal, conspicuously not helping.

The eldest Loose girl, siblings hoisted on either hip, made a thoughtful sound. “You don’t get one, I think, they get you.”

“I don’t wanna get gotten,” one child on her hip sniffled.

“That’s only bad witches that get you,” Lukey said.

Lettie sighed. “No, I mean, you don’t do something to get a witch, they come to you.”

“That’s right, girly,” Margo Clay said from her perch watching over a pot of stew on the open fire. She had not been invited. Like witches, Margo simply appeared without being fetched. “But I tell you what, you can make them know you want one.”

“How’s that?” Daff Keening asked, arms crossed over his comfortably large belly. His sudden and stout presence made his son scramble up and pretend to be busy helping Lettie wrangle several children, all of whom resembled her as nesting dolls resemble the one they fit inside.

“You make a place ready for her.” Margo’s brash tone, as ever, drew more people from their tasks to pay attention to her. “Like baiting a trap. Can’t expect a mouse to walk into your trap unless you make it look inviting.”

“What do you know about mice?” Sal Hark asked skeptically.

“They’re close relatives of hers,” Jame Clott said, unable to resist. “The better question is, what does she know about witches?”

————————

Margo Clay was an incorrigible gossip, but people who liked gossip liked Margo, so she was listened to anyway.

Catty Loose sent Lettie  to sweep the empty store and dust the unnecessary amount of shelves. Lukey Keening tagged along to clean the small windows and help keep three small Looses in hand. The gaggle of children in and around the shop drew Jame Clott to poke his head in and see what was going on.

“Well! It looks clean, but it doesn’t look like a witch’s shop,” he declared.

“He’s right, Mama,” Lettie told her mother that evening. “I tossed out all the shriveled up herbs she had in there when I cleaned the shelves. Some of them had crumbled near into dust. But with the shelves empty it doesn’t look much like a witch’s place.”

Catty relayed this to the Macintoshes, who were eager for a replacement witch, in case anybody got cursed like Aida had last year.

“Mmhmm,” Catty said to that.

“I think the Harks have the magic books the old witch left,” Theo Macintosh said. “We can put those in there.”

—————————

Sal Hark brought the books around the shop a few days later, squinting in the sunshine at the man who was already there. “Hey, Jame. Witch showed up yet?”

Jame Clott startled back from the window he was peering through. “Nah, no witch is coming.”

Sal let out a whistle of agreement, but his smile was amused, like he thought Jame was wrong.

“Not with the shop looking that shoddy, anyway,” Jame said with a sniff. “There isn’t even a sign.”

“Blew down in a storm a few years ago, I think,” Sal said. “We know what shop it is, anyhow. Not like we’ve got shops every which way.”

“The witch wouldn’t know, since she’s new,” Jame said testily. If the whole town was going to take up Margo’s logic, they had better be consistent.

“Tell you what, then, you ought to paint a new sign. You’re the only one here who knows which end of a paintbrush goes where.”

Jame shook his head and waved goodbye. He wasn’t making a sign for an empty shop, a shop that would remain empty.

That night he saw Willem look out their kitchen window at that empty shop, something sad and wistful in his eyes, several times during their quiet dinner. Their dinners were always quiet, though they told each other about their days in detail, and debated if Margo’s pumpkins were any good at length. It was the quiet of something missing, the kind of quiet the Loose’s house down the street, full to the brim, had never known.

“Sal Hark said I should paint a sign for the witch’s shop, to make her want to come,” Jame said, surprising himself.

Willem tore his eyes away from the window and looked at him. After a moment, he smiled. “Face it, Jame, they won’t get her to come without your help.”

————————

Jame put up the new sign next week, his back so stiff-straight that nobody dared tease him about coming round to Margo’s thinking, though several people gathered across the street to watch.

The sign was big and square and sturdy, and painted on both sides was an open tome with stylized curls of magic shooting from it. Willem held the ladder steady while he hung it up, and Jame felt almost hopeful. Through the shining little windows passersby could see the neat shop room and the witch’s small collection of spell books sitting on one of the many shelves, and it looked almost inviting.

————————

Margo, who lived outside town, was the first one to realize someone had come to town overnight.

“Your witch is here!” she crowed, all but dancing down Oak Street in the early morning. “What did I tell you? Make it nice and she’ll come!”

“Quiet your racket,” said an irritable Jame, poking his head out his door. “Witch isn’t the word I’d use for you.”

“Wheel tracks!” she yelled at him. “Fresh wheel tracks down the road before I left my farm! Who brings a cart into town except for me and the tax collector? And the tax collector wouldn’t have set up shop in there!” She pointed one victorious finger at the corner shop where Jame’s sign swayed gently in the breeze. A rickety wooden cart was collapsed on the ground below it.

Jame opened his mouth but couldn’t think of anything to say.

Down the street, Catty Loose stuck her head out the window. “Margo, what are you whooping about? Oh my—Lettie! Lettie, find my shawl!” Her head ducked back inside, and before the last copper curl had followed it out the window, she was rushing out the front door, Lettie close on her heels.

Jame snapped his mouth shut and hurried after Margo, Catty, and Lettie, following them to the corner shop. A sleepy bundle of Loose kitlings, a couple of Keenings, a herd of Macintoshes and even a Hark or two were all heading in the same direction.

Someone had moved into the witch’s shop.

There were muddy shoe prints down the stone path, a new blue-checked curtain drawn over the window, and Margo standing triumphantly in front of the house, hands on her hips. “Didn’t I tell you! Didn’t I!”

“So you did,” said Sal Hark, “but quiet, Margo, or you’ll wake her up. She must’ve come in dead of night.”

Margo ignored him. “Well, I hope you all remember this. When I’m right, I’m right!”

Behind her, the witch’s door cracked open.

The girl who opened it was no older than Lettie Loose, and probably younger. Her face was nervous, but as she took in the crowd outside her door, it broke into a shy smile. “Oh. Hello. I didn’t expect... I’m not all set up yet. But I suppose the library can be open now if you want.”

“What?” said Margo.

“Library?” said Catty.

“I knew it,” said Jame. “You didn’t catch yourself a witch. You caught a librarian.”

Margo glared at him, apparently lost for words.

The girl looked back and forth between them. “I’m sorry?”

Margo rounded on her. “A librarian! Is that what you are? Then you have to leave. We’re waiting for a witch.”

The girl’s mouth opened and shut, her eyes big, and then she looked down and sniffed.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jame snapped, a protectiveness in his voice so fierce that Margo took a step back from both him and the girl. He glared around him, making sure no one else was going to follow Margo’s lead, and then turned back to the girl. All anger dropped out of his face immediately, replaced by a gentle warmth. “Have you got family?”

“Not anymore,” she said. “I’m... I’ve just been taking my library around. That’s my family. I thought we could stay here, maybe, If that’s alright.”

“That’s just fine. We’ve never had a library before, we’re all real grateful you came. Come have breakfast.” He didn’t wait for an answer, already thinking of having a full kitchen, and Willem no longer staring out the window, and needing to find more eggs for breakfast, and who in town might have extra shoes to replace the worn-thin boots on her feet.

A layer of tension seemed to slough off her. She stepped out of her doorway and a few feet onto the path to follow Jame, then paused. Looking back at them, she said, “When you take a book, write the title and your name in the ledger, and return it in two weeks.”

Skipping to catch up with Jame, she grabbed his hand with an easy sort of trust. She turned her face up to him. “If it’s not for a library, why is it full of shelves? Why were there already books there? Why does it have a book sign?”

“Sometimes,” Jame said, “People think they’re waiting for one thing, but they’re really waiting for another.”

“Were you?” she asked.

He saw the moment Willem noticed them through the window, saw hope dawn in his eyes as he watched them come up the path; his husband, and a girl who looked like she needed a home.

“No,” he said. “We were waiting exactly for you.”

#this got out of hand. it was supposed to be a story about the librarian but then i decided to explain how she got there and. well. #original fiction #short story #fantasy #My writing #Of a Witch a Gossip and a Library

[jaeminscoffee]

Misunderstood | T. Lee

Pairings- Ten Lee x Reader

Genre- Angst, slight fluff,

Warning(s)- Character death.

Word count- 1.88k

Type- requestedddd

It was a whole cat and mouse game at the beginning. 

You know how it's always portrayed that all cats and mice despise each other? Well maybe it's because the friend and foe never really go together since they indulge in a much predator and prey relationship. That's how you and Ten's blooming relation started.

Just like any other fable, or the famous cartoon, might as well be a life lesson, Tom and Jerry; Ten and you never got along. You weren't meant to get along. After all, which super agency's top sniper would befriend a wild criminal? Apparently you did. You'd always find yourself letting Ten off the hook each time in the last minute. The lad was fun to have around. And just like any other untold truth of the behinds of a story, the mice in your story was also only just a misunderstood soul. Ten was more than what he portrayed himself to be. 

Chasing Ten and catching him, the first glimpse was your mission. Bringing him back to the headquarters dead or alive was your mission. To turn a deaf ear to anything and everything he'd let out was your mission. To heartlessly end him if he pulled a smart stunt was your mission. But having him voice out his thought processes and you gladly listening to the entirety of it was most definitely not your mission. 

You'd been known as the top all rounder sniper of your agency, one for your amazing skills, two for your ability to make ends meet, and three for being a kind soul yet thick skulled if the situation called for it. Your boss, the head, of course ended up assigning a very confusing mission to you as, for the matter of fact, were a very trusted pawns of his. It was intriguing yet confusing because you weren't given much insights on why you're asked to serve summons on him. 

Ten on the other hand was to this point, tired of running. Hurt. Wounded by having to bear the weights of his family when all he'd wanted was to lead a normal life of his own. To not wake up in cold sweat, fearing for whether his days would shorten the next second. To make it until arvo without anyone, or anything hot on his trail. To make his way back home from his work space; a small corner dance studio where he'd teach the one's who'd not be able to afford trying to learn at those fancy known dance studios who charged way more than what's required, without having someone tackle him to the floor. To sleep after supper without having to wake up every other minute, paranoid whether one of those people trailed him back home and somehow managed to sneak in. 

"He's still watching ,you know?" Ten rasped out loud enough for only the two of you to hear his voice which helped you step out of the cloud of guilt for what you were about to do. 

You, just as assigned, started immediately. Still confused, of course. The boy seemed little to not harmless at all. But nevertheless, you went about it. Watching the boy feed stray animals on the way, smile brightly at passerby's, buy a drink or two for the hungered on the pathway, keep the dangered ones accompany on a night walk, he seemed like a moral, ideal member for the lacking society, nothing like the heartless murderer he'd been described to be. 

"I know, b..but i can't, Ten" you sigh out, shutting your lids tight to clear up your blurred vision. 

He seemed to be the only calm in the chaotic, messed up world you lived in. Now obviously, you did try catching him each time only to let him go, thinking of all those out in the streets and beyond waiting for their daily dose of hope in this dark realm. And to keep a close eye on the said predator, of course. 

Finding him crouched down by the alley turn towards his usual workplace, you found it a little heartbreaking to continue heartlessly end him. He seemed so.. vulnerable, broke, and nothing like the walking sunshine he'd been since the beginning of your mission and definitely nothing of that of a murderer. He seemed just like the misunderstood feline in all fables who are usually portrayed as the predator and heartless and only wanting to fulfill their needs type. But much matured and smart you'd finally, spiritually understand the personality of the character, hurt, scared, 'does want to care and show it to all but scared to be misjudged again is what they really are. 

"Oh? That most definitely wasn't how you felt when you'd first initially pointed the same rifle at me, remember?" Ten chuckles from in front of you, still in the uncomfortable, cornered, back pressed to the brick wall with your left arm on his chest the other pointing straight to the middle of his skull. His retort making you let out an airy, shaky laugh of your own. 

The first time you'd done it, your eyes were fueled with determination, you'd get this done and there would be nothing bold enough to dare stop you, except Ten, he was bold enough apparently. "That department store just got mobbed and you're going to stand with a stupid toy gun pointed at me who's not proven guilty of anything? Seems right enough for me that you work as a puppet for that messed up government," your eyes widen at his statement, turning back to see nothing but a tranquil customer filled store, turning back to the lad to find him out of sight. Ten lee had relatively gotten much more experienced and better and running out of sight, "Ten, You drive me crazy," you speak through gritted teeth. 

"You were the first one to outrun me, you know?" you lean closer, only to hear your colleagues get their own weapons off safety and ready to fire any second,

"Now, isn't that why you're so drawn to me? Your work would've been so much more boring if it weren't for me, if anything, you're welcome." Ten replied smugly, proud of all his interactions too absurd to be categorized as normal, nevertheless the few of moments in his life that makes him happy thinking back at it. "Tsk," you slightly pout, feeling your eyes glaze over the nth time that night, this would all soon fade into memory and for what? For the fact that no one was ever ready to listen to the wrongly framed. 

"Is the target acting hard to surrender, Agent 02?" you hear from your in ear piece, immediately responding with the most stable voice you could muster, "No, Sire, not at all," you reply, "Then why is it taking you so long, Ms. Y/l/n?"

"It's time, isn't it?" Ten asked with a sad smile on his face. All the days of running were finally coming to an end yet he felt like that wouldn't make up to all his lost days. Yes, he was more than grateful to you. For showing something humane exists where no one ever tried caring for what the other does or says. He liked that, though with the choice of path or career that called for some serious human emotion control, you nevertheless wanted to remain human. Ground to earth, and kind enough to valid his feelings. Valid his existence. Valid him and not see him as a target of any sort. 

"I don't want to, Ten. I could try explaining this to them-but-" 

"But they aren't like you, they work for those on a higher post and won't stop even when given a solid reason to and you know that better than anyone else," Ten explained rather calmly.

"Yes, but you don't deserve this.." You let your voice waver, finally, gripping the deadly weapon tightly, mindful to keep your fingers away from the trigger, "Agent 02, pull the trigger when I count down to 1." you flinch at the sudden voice interrupting the intimate moment between you and your now, friend. 

"15.."

"I shouldn't have accepted the tasks, then i wouldn't have had to be the one doing this, and i wouldn't have had to meet you, and right now, at this moment, more than anything, I wish i'd never met you," You scramble through your words to form coherent sentences and the stipulated time you're given, 

Ten laughs out a closed mouth laugh, "14.."

"Really? But i don't wish so," He hums, closing his eyes to fully indulge in your warmth. The same familiar warmth that embraced him during one of the most vulnerable nights of his life. The same warmth that kept him company on each day following all while still radiating coldness of suspicion, "13.."  which slowly but surely turned into nothing but warmth all after uncoiling what most before you didn't even bother to, "12.."

"It's not that I wish i didn't meet you, it's just i wish we'd met in different circumstances," One where you wouldn't have to go for all the cat and mouse chase all over again, where he'd be, "11.." a normal bachelor and you'd be one too, who'd oh so much in a cliché manner meet at a café,

"Well, we don't get everything we wish for now, do we?" His voice sounded so exhausted, yet, no hints of fear or despise or cruelty shone through. Just exhaustion, and maybe a bit of….relief? "10.."

"Ten, we still have a chance. I can still give it a..-"

"Y/n, look at me." 

"You being ready enough, human enough to study me thoroughly before conclusion has been more than enough for me to prove that humanity still exists, that listener still exists. And I wouldn't want anyone, rather you put an end to this little game of ours,``''9.."

"You need to do nothing else other than stay the same, " he started once again, this time, finally allowing his vulnerability to shine through his voice, "8..", "And to do the same you'd done with me with all those potential targets of your people," "But Ten, just-" "7.."

"It's either you or me, doll. Your helpers there look more than ready to shoot any betrayer," "Then so be it! But i can't.. I can't get myself to- I love you, i car-" "6.." 

"There. The only words that were left for me to hear," "5.." 

"Your people seem generous enough to let me go in this much of a, how do I put it? Grand.. Way?" "Ten I've got 5 seconds to change my mind, I can do something you know?-" 

"Y/n, my love. You're making this hard for both of us, so.. "

He did the said stunt move your head had warned you about, swiftly shifting your positions so that you were the one pressed against the unbelievably uncomfortable wall making your eyes widen, words "I love you too, doll" and "Fire!" mixed together, all you could see the next moment was a small smile on the lads face, red seeping through the material of his white hoodie before his now lifeless body slouched and fell right in front of you. 

The misunderstood had been deprived of their life once again. 

#kpopscape #nct angst #nct ten #ten lee #superm ten ff #wayv ten ff #wayv au #wayv ff #nct ff #nct soft hours #ten lee ff #li yongqin ff #li yongqin au #superm #nct #wayv #ten angst #wayv angst #nct smut #nct fluff #ten x reader #nct fanfiction #nct fanfic #ten smut #ten lee wayv #lee youngheum ff #Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul #Ten lee #Ten lee angst #ten lee fluff

[nukyster-blog]

CC Chapter 33) Of Mice And Men

.-.-.

Out of troubles and pain will emerge strength and triumph, that was what kept Ivar from devolving back into the Bloody Bear of Kattegat. The Giant hadn’t bothered to unshackle him due to his poor state and a few days had passed, of which he’d spent mostly in solitude. Stubborn solitude, because Piglet did her best to strike up a conversation: 

“Ivar I’m-” Piglet started, but Ivar cut her off.

“Do not say you’re sorry. You despised her!” Ivar snapped, rediscovering his voice and his temper, “you hated her!” 

Piglet pursed her lips and kept them firmly shut, the look upon his face frightened her. She must have noticed the change within him, too. The Djinn or Wrath had been pushing him to his limits. His physical limits, too, because every damn day that he was shackled like an animal, Ivar used to regain his strength. Carrying his lower body across his box, over and over. There was something empowering about those repetitive actions; it was mind over body, because his body ached due to the recent beating. 

“I want more food,” Ivar demanded after the Giant locked the door for the night.

“I want golden slippers and a dress made of silk,” Piglet answered matter-of-factly, while knitting a new scarf, “but we don’t get what we want.” 

Her reaction made Ivar shut his mouth for the rest of the evening, deciding he needed to lower his standards in order to regain more strength and muscle. He’d never been a very picky eater and desperate times called for desperate measures. 

After dusk settled and Piglet curled up beside him, Ivar kept his eyes open and his knife raised above his head. Uttstot’s interested cawing echoed as Ivar held his breath and pricked up his ears. 

Soft squeaks slowly erupted from the floorboards, during the night it was mice that ruled the shed. Fast, scurrying little bastards; always curious and eager to find crumbs of food. 

Ivar remained motionless, supporting his weight on his elbow, careful not to make a sound. Until a very brave mouse came too close and signed it’s own death warrant.

Ivar’s knife met with flesh; tiny limbs spasmed for the last time. He pulled the mouse off the blade, careful not to tear the small thing up. 

Ivar was used to skinning rabbits; but mice turned out to be a challenge. It required special skill to slice the fur and organs from such a small body. He made a mess and decided that the kill was so meager, he’d also have to eat the organs, too. 

If he had to describe the taste, he’d have to go with quite pungent and gamey. But the taste wasn’t bad enough to make him gag. Besides, Ivar never had any aversion to the taste of blood. 

Tearing meat from a tiny hipbone, Ivar failed to pick up on the sound of keys stealthily twisting into the lock of the shed, before a shadow of a monster lurked inside. 

While chewing on vermin meat, Ivar locked eyes with Ludolf who froze in the doorway. 

Candlelight illuminated his face, which immediately fell when the young ruler lay eyes on the cripple slave. It must be a peculiar sight, seeing another human’s  mouth covered in blood, ripping the bones and intestines from a mouse. 

It was enough for Ludolf to snatch a handkerchief out of his pocket and press it in front of his mouth, muffling a squeamish gag noise.

The disconcerted whimper that followed from those lopsided lips was enough for Ivar’s ego to rise and stand taller than the Giant. 

He ripped off the tiny head of the rodent and held its ear between his thumb and index finger, bringing it in full view.  

“You see this, spineless bastard?” Ivar spoke toneless and wiggled the head before pressing it into the palm of his hand, “if you ever cross Piglet’s line, yours will be next,” and with all the spite he could muster Ivar rammed his fist into his palm.

Blood and specks of gray matter splattered across Ivar’s face, and the absolute disgust coming from Ludolf’s throat was simply music to his ears. 

Ivar held his palm up, so that the young ruler could have a front row seat to the bloody mouse pulp before bringing it to his mouth. 

For the second time Ivar managed to cast Ludolf out of the shed by grossing him out. Stumbling over his own legs Ludolf fled their shed. As the keys locked the door, Ivar wiped the crushed skull and brains off on the hay covered floor and held his breath. 

Piglet’s calm nasal weeze indicated that the young woman slept through the whole scene. 

“Not to be all sanctimonious, dear Piglet,” Ivar whispered to the sleeping form of his companion, “but you don’t know the half of what an incredible safe keeper I am to you.”

.-.-.

Piglet woke up with a lot of dramatic noise and gestures. Stretching her arms, cracking her neck, and exhaling a deep yawn. Ivar rolled his eyes at her, arms tucked behind his head and still wide awake. During the hours traveling towards morning he’d decided not to tell Piglet about Ludolf’s nightly visit. What good would it do? None at all, and it would be nice if at least one of them had a proper sleep during the night. 

All were wrapped in silence; Piglet was still rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Utstott hadn’t made a peep ever since Ludolf pressed the keys into the lock. That feathered creature was a lousy guard dog. 

And Ivar was simply brooding, inwardly declaring war on the entire world. 

Piglet eventually broke the silence: “What happened to your face?” she asked and bobbed her index finger against his cheek. 

Realising his face was still covered with specks of mouse splatter, Ivar dully rubbed the back of his hand over his cheek and with a shrug  muttered, “I fell.” 

“Into what, paint?” Piglet retorted, raising an eyebrow, “that’s blood,” she stated and took hold of his chin, “what did you kill?” 

Ivar roughly slapped her hand away, “this does not concern you,” he growled. 

“If the Toothless finds animal carcasses in here it is my concern,” Piglet rapidly bit back, getting into his face again, “what.did.you.kill?” 

It was evident  that Piglet would continue to pester him about his nocturnal massacre until she reached his breaking point and had her front teeth knocked in by his fist. As that would do neither of them any good, Ivar sighed deeply and extremely annoyed.

“Fine,” with one swift move he wiped away hay and plucked four badly scalped mice furs from the dirty floor. Tossing them in front of Piglet’s bare feet, the young woman screeched and shoved herself backwards on hands and feet. 

“W-what did you do with-” 

Ivar cut her off: “-the rest? I ate it dear Piglet, because I am sick of being hungry all the time. And since you refuse to do anything about it, well, let’s say I had to take matters into my own two hands. Bloody hands.” Ivar added, showing his palms.

It wasn’t often Ivar managed to leave Piglet speechless, but his ability to absolutely disgust others knew no limits. He of course learned from the mistress herself. 

“You are eating rats in the middle of the night?” Piglet eventually muttered, forming her disgust into a question.

“Mice,” Ivar corrected her. ‘I scared away a spineless rat though,’ he thought to himself, but kept his lips firmly pressed shut. 

“Mice…” Piglet dully mumbled more to herself then to Ivar, “Hamar, by Allah, he’s eating mice…” 

.-.-.

A/N: I’m sure there are others that share my worst nightmare: people finding out the things you google. For this chapter the worst search was: ‘what do mice taste like?’ Interesting fact, apparently there are many ways you can eat mice. Another fun fact about this chapter, I wrote it while eating a jelly doughnut, which about halfway through turned out to not be the best idea. So yes, our Prince is eating vermin, grossed Ludolf out and saved Piglet’s virtue for another day. I’ve had a bad case of writer's block but I am recovering, so that’s why the length of this chapter is rather short for my books. 

Hopefully next chapter won’t take as long, 

Xoxoxo Nukyster  

The kickass beta: @sarahh-jane The tagged ones: @youbloodymadgenius​ @xbellaxcarolinax @saldelys ​ @shannygoatgruff​ @pieces-by-me​ @apenas-mais-uma-pessoa​ @readsalot73​ @lauraan182 @conaionaru @sarahh-jane @peachyboneless @adhdnightmare If you’d liked to be tagged, please let me know:)

#ivar the boneless #ivar oc #ivar ragnarsson #ivar lothbrok #ivar the boneless fanfic #ivar's heathen army #vikings #vikings fanfiction #vikings fanfic #vikings fandom #viking fanfic #alex hogh andersen

[allycryz]

WOL Challenge #3: You

[Prompt List Here]

[Filled Prompt List Here]

Haurchefant x Nerys, set immediately after Ardent [Ao3 Link]

Heavensward, right after Inquisition trial and before “Keeping the Flame Alive”

Rating: T for off-screen sex, sex talk

~*This is 2K words, most of it is fluff and I revel in it*~

The Fortemps library is a grand one. Haurchefant is not certain how it compares–he has only been in Haillenarte's with Francel–but imagines it is the finest in Ishgard. His father is a man of letters, a true believer in the power of words. And one who expected his sons to follow suit.

His education differed greatly from his brothers’ the day he became a knight’s page. Even still, his lord father sent him monthly parcels of books. He was expected to read them all and send detailed reports on the contents. Had he ever kept up his thaumaturgy studies, he would have been hard-pressed to find the time.

As it was, he’d stayed up often to fit in the poetry and novels not on the list. Count Edmont was a modern man and his syllabus reflected this–vetted popular authors and poets made it into the parcels. Never in the quantity Haurchefant would have liked. And never some of the one-gil books he bought in The Pillars.

When he was a boy, there were songs for sale about body functions and noises; exaggerated tales of heroes fighting all manner of beasts and foes. As a youth, these became long, violent epics of battles and bravery. As a young man: lurid poems and explicit romance novels. Some as grand and sweeping as the classical romances his Father promoted. Some were not.

He has managed to introduce some contemporary poets into the collection. Not all. Edmont’s tastes in poetry run more traditional. Some of the rising stars of the field are roundly rejected.

Haurchefant is working on that.

Today, he feels romantic in both classic and literal senses. And as his Father has ordered him to stay for a day and night, indulging in a novel sounds just the thing.  It seems that getting trapped in a blizzard–even if things had gone fine, more than fine–means your noble father turns to such decrees.

At least, that is what it means now they are growing close, as they never had been. Another miracle Nerys has wrought with her coming. And as Haurchefant has full faith in Corentiaux and the rest...he allows himself to be thus ordered. 

Someone else is in the library. He can sense it soon as he enters. A soldier learns to tell when others are near, even in safe environs such as this. Haurchefant softens his footfalls, peering about the shelves. There, in the alcove reserved for study, he finds the source of today’s romantic mood.

Nerys looks up, eyes turning soft. His heart swells in his chest, his mouth cannot help but smile. It’s unstoppable and he does not ever want it to cease. Was it really only yesterday? That she told me my love was returned?

It seems a dream now, albeit the sweetest one he has ever had.

Her hands sweep at the papers she has laid out, pulling them into a stack. Flips over the one on top. “Hello.”

“Hello, my dear.” How nice to call her that. “I thought you were on a shopping expedition with Emmanellain?”

“I was.” She touches her neckline. So caught up in her eyes, he hadn’t noticed the gown she wore.

Scarlet as the unicorn on his shield, set off with dangling garnets in her ears. The heart-shaped neckline shows off her elegant neck and collar bones. The sleeves are slashed to reveal white fabric beneath and the cuffs have delicate pearls. “I found this. For when I’m here at the manor and not about to fight Inquisitors or dragons.”

“You are breathtaking in it.” He circles the table to take her hand. Bows over it before pressing his mouth to her knuckles. Etiquette demands he should kiss the air above it but surely exceptions are made for lovers. 

She is my lover now, he thinks in wonder. Her cheeks stain with a fetching indigo shade. “My lord is kind.”

Haurchefant drops to one knee before his lady and turns her hand. Her palm is just as lovely to kiss. “Your lord means everything he says. But if you require further proof of my ardor…”

Nerys darts a glance about before tilting up his chin. Her kiss is sweet and soft and not a little heated. Would that he might lay her upon the table in this temple of learning and know her better.

Alas, Nerys has asked for discretion. Time to better acquaint themselves as lovers before declaring themselves. They are still friends–always will be, if he has anything to do with it–but this dynamic is new and strange. Haurchefant can understand why the most public figure in Eorzea might want some measure of privacy. 

Though, he reflects as he parts from her. Half the fun would be keeping quiet and avoiding discovery.

“I know that look,” she says. “You’re thinking of something lascivious.”

“When I had this look before I confessed, what did you think it meant?”

“The same,” she admits. “But that your love of innuendo was good-natured teasing.”

He heaves a sigh. Either he is not as obvious as Estinien always accuses him or she’d been in deep, deep denial. “Dearest love, how-”

The library doors bang open and the culprit whistles as he walks inside. Haurchefant rises, knowing exactly who it is before he comes into view.

“Old Girl! Old Man!” Emmanellain grins. “You didn’t tell me we were having a party in the library.”

“Impetuous Youth,” Haurchefant shoots back. “What if one of us was deep in study?”

“Oh I don’t deal in ‘what-ifs’. You two are having a conversation, not studying; ergo all is well.” 

“He has a point. I think,” says Nerys. “By the by, if Haurchefant is ‘Old Man’, what do you call your eldest brother?”

The two men exchange looks. Smile. Say in unison, “Artoirel.”

Nerys groans and flaps both hands at them in dismissal. “Go fetch whatever you two were looking for. I am actually working on something.”

“Am I to be banished for my baby brother’s crimes?” Haurchefant presses a hand to his heart. “Mistress Eluned, you wound me.”

“If I must be quiet and meek like a mouse, so must you. After all, I am the true leader of our brotherly trio.”

“You are right of course. I could never compare to you.” Haurchefant shakes his head. “Very well, Impetuous Youth. As mice scurry to cheese, let us go to the books we seek.”

“Ordered to seek,” Emmanellian mutters. “I’m to review Ymbelet’s Theorem of Command and deliver a report. As if we hadn’t put our schooling well behind us.”

Haurchefant does his best to soothe his brother. They quiet down at last: the younger man taking his volume off to his chambers, the elder settling into an armchair within eyesight of Nerys. (Far enough away that she may stop hiding her work.)

His novel is a work of popular fiction he’d garnered approval to stock here. No erotic scenes, but romantic enough. Should he ever get his eyes to stay on the page.

Alas, the white-haired sorcerer-king and his beloved princess and his soul-eating sword are no match for the Warrior of Light. The curve of her cheek. The braided coronet of purple and white hair, crowning her while the rest of her curls are a lovely raiment over her shoulders. The quirk to her dark, sweet lips.

She lifts those golden eyes, meeting him. If he were not already lovestruck and bedazzled, that gaze would ensnare him. He smiles and lifts his shoulders in a helpless shrug. Haurchefant isn’t sorry for lingering before a sunset; and that natural wonder is naught in comparison.

“My lord,” says Nerys, her voice carrying. “May I help you?”

“Nay, Mistress.” He shakes his head. “Simply exist as you are and I am satisfied.”

That is when Alphinaud bursts in, looking drawn and pale. If Haurchefant is annoyed at another interruption, that vanishes at the sight. He jumps to his feet. “My lad! Are you alright?”

The youth shakes his head. “Nerys. Tataru has grave news about General Aldynn. We must be off at once.”

She rises, hurrying over in a rush of white and red silk. In an instant she has changed from playfulness to resolute determination. Always ready to become The Warrior, his Nerys. 

“Do you require anything?” He asks them. “You know my sword is yours, as is any resource at our disposal.”

Alphnaud shakes his head. “No one must see us enter Thanalan or leave. As soon as we cross back into Coerthas, we’ll send word.”

“I thank you. If you needs must bring the General somewhere safe, Camp Dragonhead’s doors are open to you.” If he must return to his command rather than fight at her side, at least he might be of some use to her. He loves–truly loves–his role but lately, his dearest wish is to be a shield at her back and a sword in her arsenal.

Ah, well, even Sorcerer-Kings do not get all they want. Why should he?

He dips into a sweeping bow to them both. Alphinaud returns it before rushing out, every emotion writ upon his usually perfect diplomat’s mask. Should the General die, the youth will carry it as he does everything else that occurred with the Braves. Haurchefant sends a prayer to Halone, asking for mercy on him.

Nerys takes his hand. Squeezes it. He squeezes it back. She smiles before picking up her skirts and rushing afterward.

It proves impossible to focus after that, even more than before. For a moment he entertains armoring up and following. This isn’t Dragonhead and so none of the knights with orders to keep him safe are here. (That time with Iceheart, Corentiaux had actually sat upon him.)

But they have asked he stay behind. So he will.

Haurchefant can take care of Nerys’ papers for her. He means to pointedly not look at the contents. He truly does. But he sees a piece of paper with his name on top, another with his last name, and his resolve crumbles.

The first piece of paper is titled “Minako” in large, neat letters. Beneath are names like Mamoru, Umino, Motoki. Her Yellow Chocobo is named Minako. Therefore, this is for…

The next sheet of paper confirms his suspicions. Under the heading “Black Chocobo” are the names Endymion, Starlight, Twilight, Onyx. Below that, a subheading “Elegance” with virtue monikers: Noble, Dignity, Charming.

And so, when he arrives to the last three papers (titled “Haurchefant”, “Greystone”, and “Fortemps”), he cannot contain his joy. The little note scribbled atop “Haurchefant” tickles him further. He gave you the Chocobo and you adore him. Will he be offended? He might be offended. 

Haurchefant is certainly not offended. 

He delights in the candidates, even some of the ones she crossed out. Sadly, there is no option for “Haurchefant” or “Haurchefant II.” I suppose that might get confusing.

Grinning, he picks up her leather folio and tucks her work inside. Hopefully, she will forgive his snooping because he has some ideas about this.

--

The Lord Commander’s bed at Camp Dragonhead may be the most comfortable place in Eorzea.

Nerys should get up to clean, brush her teeth, all the little nighttime rituals. But she is so pleasantly exhausted and the blankets are so soft and warm. She stretches, luxuriating in the feel of them against her skin. It has been a harrowing few days since her abrupt departure from Ishgard. But all is well and now, she feels nothing but comfort.

The bed could be warmer with her companion. But then she wouldn’t get to see his bare bottom as he slips into the bathroom. Halone must adore him to bless him with such a lovely rear.

“My love,” he calls after a while. “I have a confession to make.”

“Oh? Should I be worried?”

“I hope not.” He returns with a washcloth, his black silk robe barely closed against the cold. The fireplace sends flickers of light across his sculpted chest.  “I may be overstepping but...I must say that I truly adore the name Grey. Though Tempsy is charming. Also, may I suggest Haurchon?”

What does he...oh. Oh! Nerys groans and buries her face in a pillow. She had been in such haste to rescue Raubahn–rightfully so!–that she had left all her papers there. All face up, all in the open.

The mattress dips as Haurchefant sits beside her. One hand strokes her hair, gentle and sweet. “I should not have pried but Nerys–my dearest one–I am utterly and truly touched by the idea. Though of course, if you pick a different name I will not be offended.”

“I only...well, I wouldn’t have him if not for you,” she mutters into the pillow, heat filling her face. “And if not for him, we wouldn’t have been in Coerthas that day.”

“So we owe him a great honor, for bringing us together at last.” His lips press against her bare shoulder. “Of course, the truest honor would be to name him after yourself-”

She turns then, mortification at last leaving her. Cups his face in her hands. “I am not playing this game where we go on for hours about who is better.  Let’s agree it’s you and end it there.”

“Oh my love,” he sighs, bending down to her. “Though you are wrong, I must obey if it proves to you the depth of my regard.”

“I know another way you could prove it,” she says, pulling him atop her.

--

Grey likes his name.

#seaswolchallenge #nerys eluned #haurchefant greystone #haurchefant x wol #emmanellain de fortemps #Alphinaud Leveilleur #they're cute! #I love them #I love writing him when he's in love #and he is so often in love #:3 #ally writes

[cosmica-candy]

Chapter Three: Curiosity Strikes at 12

Another chapter, illustrated by yours truly, and written by @mechamastermind!! this is yet another chapter in our Coraline NSR AU! For the previous chapters check out my blog, and make sure to follow me for future chapters, we are going to write this to the very end!! But for now, Enjoy!!

Chapter three

Whirring, Turning of bumping of the clockwork mouse echoed through the portal, it smacked against the door frame, going to wriggle it's way into the attic. Slowly, inch by inch it buried its giant metal buck teeth further and further into the corner of the trapdoor. Prying and prying the corner off bit by bit like it was chipping away at the food on its plate. A mouse on a mission… Rescue the boy. 

Neo woke up in his bed, expecting one of his dads to be next to him… but no one was there. He walked out into the living room, expecting anyone to greet him and tell him good morning. But no one was there. He did hear the sounds of everyone scurrying around outside, to which he was racing out to see. He saw his fathers both sprinting towards the van with briefcases sloppily tucked with clothes, sleeves dangling out and flailing in the wind. 

Neo managed to catch his father, Neon, rushing by him.

“Daddy?! Daddy what’s goin on!?” 

“D-Does that mean Papa will have some free time finally!?” 

“Oh the most wonderful thing Star Shine! Your brothers got asked to do a local concert!!”

Neo’s eyes lit up, stars seeming to beam from, but his iris as he got on his toes, seeing his moment. 

Nova stood by the van, Sol, Aquos, Stello, and Snow all lined up next to him, as he grabbed them, lifting them up with both hands like a bouncer to a bar throwing out drunks, except he was throwing his boys into the van. 

“Sorry Neo… I’ll be busy working from home to schedule the next tour…” 

That felt like the last straw, but this time no one would see Neo cry, he just stood there balling his fists in anger. Snow and Stellos noticing their youngest brother angry, they were much more attuned to their baby brother’s moods than their father. Stellos managed to run over to Neo before Snow could, as he knelt down next to him, 

“Hey there neo! Gonna miss you little buddy!” 

“...Yeah…”

“...You know… I heard you talking about your new friend last night, Yinu was it?”

“Oh!?” Neo’s eyes suddenly shot up. 

“Remember by our old house… we had that well? And the funny circle of mushrooms around it?” 

“Playing in the fields right?”

“Yeah!” 

“...Uh huh?” 

Stellos patted his brother’s head, before being scooped up by nova, and tossed into the back of the van. Snow then walked over, putting his hand on neo’s head and brushing his hair. 

“Well, if you go playing again in the fields, make sure you and your little friend stay away from the circles, you might fall in, and we might not see you again.”

“Oh… Okay Stelly…” 

“Hey,” Snow said “Don’t have too much fun without us alright little bro?”

“I don’t think it’ll be that hard…” Neo pouted, before snow knelt down and looked him square in the eyes.

“You know how hard daddy and papa work, don’t you?”

“....mhm…”

“And you know why they work right?” 

“They love you Neo… Even if they don’t show it…” 

“....so we can get more juice boxes…”

“That’s right, just like I told you…”

Snow pulled neo up to sit on his knee as he gave his brother a hug.

Neo just whined into his brother's shoulder, still hurting from last night… 

Snow set him back down before rushing to the driver's seat, hopping in and then driving off. 

Nova and Neon stood there waving their oldest boys off, when Nova suddenly got a call, “Work” coming across his screen as he answered it, walking away from his husband. Neo had enough at this point, he ran back inside slamming the front door behind him. Neon turned around to hear the sound of it slamming as he held a hand up to his mouth and softly gasped… he had never heard Neo get so upset…

Neo scurried up the stairs and began sitting on the top most step, looking down at the rest of the house, as he held his hands up to his face and cupped it… whimpering softly into it as he kicked his feet out in frustration and sadness… 

For a second though he becomes silent, as he hears something in the walls… 

Scrt scrt scrt…. 

He looked behind him to see the wall paper pushing out, like a small animal was scratching at a hole in the wall that was covered up by wallpaper. 

Neo got on his hands and knees looking at the poking bit of the wallpaper, fascinated by what it could be… 

Pop!

Neo jumped back a bit as he saw this metallic mouse roll out on sets of wheels under its body… it looked like a toy!! Neo was softly gasping, he had never seen anything like it, and it was cute and fun looking!! 

Suddenly the mouse went from zero to one hundred in a matter of seconds. As one second it was looking at Neo, the next it was racing down further into the house, before smacking hard into the farthest wall with an audible THUNK!!

Neo ran over worried over his new mousie friend, only to see that it managed to smack the wall so hard, it knocked down the stairs to the attic neo didn’t know about. 

Somehow the mouse was able to jump up each step and wheel itself up into the attic, with neo following close behind, calling out to it

“Hey! Mousie! Wait!”

Neo looked around the attic, seeing many many boxes from the previous owners, and even an old grandfathers clock… it oddly seemed compelling that he take a closer look at it. He saw engraved on the pendulum a large X. It was so ancient looking, it didn’t even have a screen which baffled Neo. He couldn’t understand how anyone read this clock, as it was only a bunch of I’s and V’s and X’s. 

He scanned past the clock and along the floor, to find the mouse burying its face into the corner of a panel on the floor… looking closer and closer… it was trying to pry the panel open, and that’s when Neo realized it was a trap door!! 

But from its position it would just lead back into his room… but there’s no trap door in his ceiling, not from what he saw… 

What could possibly be underneath? 

Neo dug his fingers into the chewed off corner of the trapdoor, getting them right under, as he began to lift up. But the door was quite stuck, and he couldn’t get it open with his baby fingers alone. So he got up on both his feet, planting them firm and strong as he lifted with all his strength, with the might of half a man!! 

The little mouse stood by his feet, clicking with joy as neo felt something snap, and the door went flying open. Neo stumbled as all his weight was suddenly thrown in the air, and he fell down into the trapdoor, the mousey following after him. 

Neo began to fall, and fall, much farther than should have been physically possible. As he fell past what would have been the second floor, and fell past what would have been the first floor, and what would have been the basement. He fell for what seemed like minutes through an ethereal veil lacking a true shape, expanding out indefinitely with waving colors. 

Neo then finally found the other side as he rolled out along the floor. Looking back he saw that he just fell out of the chimney of the mansion, his path making no sense at all. 

His blood ran cold when he suddenly heard the humming… humming of his father, Nova… He was already shaking, still hurt by his father's actions, when he noticed it was coming from the kitchen, a first for nova. 

Neo slowly walked over and approached the door to the kitchen, peering in from the doorway as what he saw shocked him. 

He saw his father, well dressed as always, tall and strong, but just the slightest bit off, something seemed very stiff and metallic about him… Neo couldn’t place what was off until the man turned around and he saw his eye. In place of a pupil, he had two broad strokes crossed through the middle in the shape of an X. Neo gasped and stepped back as he saw the odd eye, alerting this stranger to his location, as this false nova turned and looked at him while holding a mixing bowl, he spoke in his father’s voice. 

“You’re just in time for supper, Dear.” 

Meanwhile, in the mansion, Nova came back in after his call from work, he was excited and happy as could be, he proudly called out 

“Neo!! I got off work for the day! I was thinking we could go look at the fields behind the mansion!” 

But no one answered. 

“Neo? Neo where are you buddy?” 

But no one answered. 

Nova panicked. 

He raced up the stairs looking around for his boy, checking his room first. Nothing. 

While he was searching however, the mice began to move… gears turning as they worked fast, grabbing the drawstring for the ceiling and pulling the stairs to the attic up and out of sight, while pushing up on a window in the hallway that leads out into the garden. 

Then he raced into the kitchen, maybe he was grabbing a snack.

Nothing. 

Finally Nova just started calling and screaming out his name over and over again, fearing his boy has gone, when it all came to a screeching halt when he noticed the now open window, and his heart nearly stopped when he considered the possibility that his sweet star child had run from home.

#nsr #no straight roads #milkys art #neon j #1010 #dj subatomic supernova #neo #cora au

[pinkysfaultorbrainsfault]

animaniacs - s3e8: don’t tread on us

i am. so sorry this is late. i wish i had a good reason but actually it was because i spent saturday night drinking bacardi with my mom. and then sunday morning throwing up all the bacardi. i have only just resumed feeling like a normal person.

haha.

episode summary: pinky and brain post racist things on facebook. no, i’m kidding and i’m sorry for the slander. they actually draft up an alternate version of the declaration of independence that names brain as supreme ruler of all things. very cool.

the rundown:

it’s boston, in 1775.

people are coming to boston for lots of reasons, such as A, they are an old timey family in old timey clothes, and B, they are elmer fudd.

“i’m hunting wedcoats!”

okay. enough of you, elmer. thankfully, the camera pans away before we’re forced to experience any more of that, and we are greeted with mice, instead.

“at last, pinky, a new world to conquer.”

“egad, brain, i forgot to turn off the lights in the old world!”

of course, back then this obviously didn’t apply to actual lights, so pinky just left a bunch of candles on. good going, pinky. it’s probably on fire by now!

unfortunately then the drunk frat boys arrive. brain helpfully informs pinky that they are “not real indians”, which scans, because india is quite a long way from boston. they’re not native americans, either, which is probably what he means.

“the colonists are revolting.”

“oh, i dunno, brain. i think the costumes are rather fetching.”

(obviously brain means revolting as in “starting a revolt”. kind of like rioting. more importantly, pinky should never be allowed to make that face again.)

WE WON’T PAY THE BRITISH TAX, yells a man off screen. the mice do not care. brain just has to keep explaining to pinky exactly what is going on around them, because if he stops being condescending for five minutes, he dies.

“they’re carried away with the spirit of independance.”

and so are they. hoo hoo.

bonk.

“ooo, earl grey. my favourite.”

thankfully, we then have a small timeskip to

PHILADELPHIA 1776

where thankfully we see that the mice have not drowned again for the second time in a row. hello, ferdinand von aegir! good to see you.

“at last, pinky. after a year of watching and waiting, it is time to put my plan into action.”

“you mean we’re finally going to learn to harmonise, get a choreographer and move to detroit?”

OOOOOH LA LA LA LA

“no.”

brain is talking about His Plan. he is finally going to ascend to his rightful position in this budding democracy!

EMPEROR.

man, i wonder when they stop doing this. does it happen in the spinoff? i don’t remember it being quite so prevalent.

but ok. ok look. so brain tells pinky about the declaration of independance.

“all the governing principles of the nation are being put into that document.”

“oh haha too bad it doesn’t say anything about you being the leader”

and brain is surprised. and then is like, oh are you pondering what i’m pondering. (”i think so brain but where do you stick the feather and call it macaroni?”) like he hadn’t thought of this originally?? so???? what was his plan going to be???? magnetise jefferson to the floor by his pocket change????

don’t look at pinky like that, you silly little man.

so anyway they go off and do that.

“we shall simply replace their declaration of independance with this! the declaration of obedience.” technically i think it’s more A Declataslion Of 9rediek, but i’ll give that to brain on the basis that he is a mouse and writing with a human pen must be hard. i’m not entirely sure i could write with materials bigger than me, either. so, yknow. no hard feelings, bee. it’s all good.

but just look at ths, though.

“we hold these truths to be self evident that-- a mouse named brain will be leader. that’s b, r, a, i, n. hoorah.”

“ooo, i like the hoorah part.”

eventually, brain figures out how to spell his own name (good for him) and they get to the crux of the plan; getting it onto the table.

via paper plane, apparently? they have a whole diagram, which is cute. brain goes and stands on the table, pinky launches the declataslion of 9rediek, and they make the switch while... the... founding fathers aren’t looking, i guess. pinky does point out that they might notice, but brain brushes him off.

because they’re all wearing those RIDICULOUS BIFOCALS invented by BEN FRANKLIN and you CAN’T SEE A THING THROUGH THEM

<gay little hand flip>

so, as his arch nemisis ben franklin arrives, complete with the rest of The Continental Congress Delegates, brain puts his plan into action.

“i hope the signing goes quickly, citizen adams. i have to get back to my experiments with electricity.”

(adams’ response to this is “go fly a kite”. i feel like this is important to mention.)

conclusion:

exhibit a: mousie on the shelf. he peep. brain tells pinky to get into position before plonking himself there. it’s cute.

air mouse (nyoom). upon receiving the signal, pinky launches the paper.

bonk.

woosh!

...........ah.

so. uh. turns out brain’s “meticulously calculated trajectory” was actually entirely incorrect. either that, or ben franklin’s head is just that big. but anyway, the declataslion is stuck in his stupid receding mullet, instead of on the table where it’s supposed to be.

“huh?”

meanwhile, it turns out this is not the only trajectory calculated wrong. air mice nyoom ends in the same way every single other air mice nyoom ends, and pluto has another cause of death to add to their art collection.

💚

o he fall in the inkwell

meanwhile, ben franklin finds the declataslion. he reads it, says “hmm”, and then just proceeds to steal it and run away.

but not on pinky’s watch!

or brain’s, once he manages to get out of the inkwell.

WHAT A LOVELY STORM, yells ben franklin, for no reason. in a desperate attempt to get his declataslion back, brain climbs... directly on the kite.

“pinky, follow me!” homeboy already knows what’s going to happen. cartoon sixth sense. that face.

“once i get this declaration signed, i will be a shining example of american leadership!”

oh dear.

oh no.

“are you a leader yet, brain?”

“only in the field of electric discovery.”

as jefferson pulls the big bell to let everyone know the declaration of independance has been signed!

it.... causes random parts of the mice to inflate until they vibrate themselves off the side of the building.

i don’t know either.

anyway. could brain have calculated his trajectories better? absolutely. but not only did ben franklin own slaves, and brain would never, he... also just stole some random guy’s paper and fucked off with it, which was a mean thing to do.

brain: 3 ½ pinky: 5 ½ outside influence: 9

“do you think they’ll object to changing the national currency to cheese balls?”

“once this nation’s leaders unwittingly sign it, they’ll have no choice.”

hmm.

#patb #a! #pinky and the brain #animaniacs #this was a good episode i think! #definitely better than the last one. lol

[hearthmistress]

and still i sleep

Pairing: Castiel/ Dean Winchester, Implied Dean/OCs, Implied Castiel/OCs

Tags: endverse, bedsharing 

Word Count: 1,884

Summary: He’s not sure when they began to share a bed, just like he’s not sure when Castiel’s cabin becomes a facade for something else. There’s a lot Dean is not sure of anymore. 

(Read on A03)

Dean isn’t sure when they began to share a bed.

-

The cabin is dark and smells of rot and dust. Inside there will be cans forgotten, mice running rampant, and smell of musk so deep and terrible that it will take Dean a minute to remember how to breathe again. But outside there is a porch with wooden deck chairs, all of them covered in leaves and dust, untouched and ready, and beside the camp there is a steady supply of water that might just last them years.

Dean presses his foot to the step of the porch and listens as the wood creaks and bends. Dust rises up, and inside creatures scatter, but it feels steady, like it might hold, and Dean steps back.

“This is it,” he says.

Castiel beside him nods. He presses gently the barrel of his rifle to the wood, as if at moment the wood will give up and break, and the whole thing will crash down upon them. He frowns when nothing happens, and steps back. “Seems like it,” he agrees, though Dean can’t tell if Cas is happy about this or not.

“Home sweet home,” Dean quips, but Cas ignores him and heads into the cabin, leaving Dean to pick up his duffle and hurry after him.

Inside they break open windows, the hinges that holds the shutters closed long rusted. Dust rises up as the light enters the cabin, revealing it to be all one room — a queen-sized bed shoved into one corner, a now useless stove shoved in the other. But it’s shelter and it’s safe and it is, despite Dean’s teasing, home.

Castiel helps him set up. They pull a large metal table into the middle of the room and spread out maps, they search the cabin for salt and supplies, and gather it into the middle. They unmake the bed and check to see how damaged the mattress is (only partial chewed and lightly filled with mouse droppings). They grab lanterns from Baby as the sky darkens and night comes closer and continue to work before both their stomachs rumble, and they agree to pause.

There’s knocking on the door and the other campers (survivors? victims? idiots?) have gathered out front announcing that dinner is ready.

When they step out of the cabin, a young woman with dark brown hair hurries forward and grabs Castiel’s arm eagerly.

“And where is your cabin?” she asks, her fingers curling the hair on the base of Castiel’s neck. Dean tries to ignore how this makes the pit of his stomach turn, how it makes him look away. The angel — former angel— grins wickedly and murmurs into her ear, making her giggle and blush and before Dean can say anything, Castiel walks away and leaves Dean in his cabin alone.

-

He’s not sure when they began to share a bed, just like he’s not sure when Castiel’s cabin becomes a facade for something else. There’s a lot Dean is not sure of anymore — like when Castiel shook off his trench coat and began wearing that hippie shit, or when Castiel started drinking, or self-medicating, or even when Castiel started fucking. Hell, he’s not really sure how they ended up in fucking Camp Chitaqua and he’s beginning to suspect that in his attempt to keep this entire situation together and in hand, he’s slowly losing his grip.

And it only becomes more apparent when Dean wakes up one morning with Castiel asleep beside him.

-

At night, Dean crawls into their bed. At one point it was his and now it’s theirs, and he doesn’t remember the moment they came to share it.

They don’t go to bed together. Castiel’s night habits are far more adventurous and long-lasting than Dean’s, but Dean wakes at night to the screen door slamming shut and to the smell of weed, sweat, and cum and then he feels the sheets being pulled from him, feels the mattress dip before he hears a heavy sigh and knows that Castiel has crawled in beside him.

They sleep apart, their bodies never settle enough that Dean might accidentally brush against Castiel’s arm, or that Castiel’s foot might rub against Dean’s leg. Most mornings Dean wakes alone, the space beside him long cold and his hands smooths the sheets in hope to pick up the warmth — a memory of Castiel being there.

-

Usually he finds Castiel surrounded by what Dean can only call his groupies. They laugh and talk, pulling Castiel’s attention towards them, touching, grabbing, and rubbing him. It seems like the angel basks in it, loves the act of worship.

Dean wonders when his Cas became this. He thinks it was probably when he broke his leg, laid up for a month away from the action and from Dean. The first time Dean let him share his bed, with no better shelter or space for him. (Dean admits it might have begun long before that, maybe a knife to a chest in a barn, maybe a fish scrabbling desperately to shore.)

-

At night Dean wakes.

He sleeps light now. Always has, but now it only takes a creak of a door, a light careful tread of a foot, a gentle shift in the mattress beside him for Dean to wake.

He’s not sure how he’s gotten so used to Cas being beside him. How the slam of the door or the floor creaking doesn’t send him reaching for his gun when Cas sneaks in at night. How some nights he can’t sleep without Cas beside him, to the point where he just lies awake, his heart racing, his mind wandering until the smell of weed, of sweat, and sex fill his nose as the mattress adjusts and as the blankets lift, cool air pooling in as Cas crawls in beside him.

He’s not really sure how they got here at all.

-

The thing is, Dean knows that Castiel is into him, has seen him glance at his lips, has seen his eyes linger too long on Dean’s body. There are moments between them that one motion, one unthinking step could change them forever. Dean wrestles with this like he wrestles with everything else about Cas.

One evening, Castiel comes to cabin early. So early, Dean isn’t even in bed yet. He’s sitting at a table, using a dim lamplight to view a ragged map, strategies and plans moving quickly through his head. Castiel stumbles in, a laugh dying on his lips as he takes in Dean before he sits and waits.

Dean explains, explains what they have to do next. Castiel nods and adds suggestions. He then places his hand on Dean’s.

Castiel looks at Dean. He bites his lip. An open invitation.

“Cas, no.”

Castiel snatches his hand away.

“Forgot it, Dean,” he snaps, getting up. The door slams behind him.

-

Dean will reach out one night and find his hands empty and wanting, for his entire life has been empty and wanting.

The nights Castiel is there, present beside him, are the nights that scare Dean the most. The ones where he lays, afraid to look at Cas, lest he turns and finds he has become Lot’s wife. That his sorrow will fill him and disappointment will turn him to salt. So Castiel lays beside him and Dean keeps a good space between them so that he cannot feel the angel beside him, so he will not feel the dip in the bed or the hand that reaches out. So that he will not know disappointment.

And yet it still finds him.

-

They fuck other people, of course.

This is known between them and the rest of the camp. Dean stumbles into the arms of pretty, eager, women; takes comfort in the familiarity of their soft curves, of the long length of their hair. When they find other camps or other groups while on missions, sometimes Dean takes comfort in strange men, lets them fuck him roughly in the old abandoned outbuilding just outside of the camp before he stumbles home and climbs back into his bed. Only once Castiel was there when he got in, already curled up in their bed. Dean was pretty sure Castiel was pretending to sleep. The rise and the fall of the quilt had stopped briefly when Dean had stepped near.

-

Castiel begins to hide pill bottles around the cabin. Dean finds them, orange and empty, as they rattle out behind closed drawers, tumble out of the couch cushions, or roll from under their bed. At first the sight of them brings terror to Dean’s eyes, but by the time he finds the ones hidden in the cracks of the floorboard, he has grown numb to them and gently places them back into their hiding spots.

Castiel comes back to their bed, less and less after the night Dean refuses him. When he does come back, he smells so strongly of weed and sex that Dean is immediately awoken. He watches Castiel’s gait stumbling as he clumsily kicks off his shoes, his thighs hitting the furniture before he pulls the blanket up and crawls in beside Dean. He sighs heavily and Dean hears him turn and wonders if Castiel has stretched his hand out too, has hoped that Dean would turn over and let their fingers lace together.

-

Past him has less wrinkles and laughs easily and willingly.

“I like past you,” Castiel tells him and Dean’s insides go numb.

He watches Castiel watching past him. Sees an eagerness in the angel’s eyes, one he hasn’t seen in a long time. A hope.

“I like past you,” Castiel tells him and it stabs Dean, turns him cold and deadened. He wonders later if Castiel knew what he was doing when he said that.

-

In the end, Dean has a plan. It’s cruel, it’s horrible, and it’s logical. It might not work (it probably won’t). If he dies, he dies. If everyone dies… well, it’s a numbers game in the end and he’s seen enough death that these few won’t really factor into the total sum.

The door creaks open and Castiel is there. Dean didn’t think he would show, too enamoured with this younger Dean, too pissed at him to show.

“So… what is the plan?” Castiel drawls out, slipping into the chair beside him. Dean tells him. Castiel listens, silently, his mouth become a firm line.

“You get why I have to do this?” Dean tells him.

Castiel nods.

“And? You’re on board?”

“Of course.”

(“I’m not going to lie to you,” he had told the camp. “Me and him… it’s a pretty messed-up situation we got going.”

God, if that only told the half of it.)

-

On their last night on earth, Dean reaches out and finds Castiel’s hand: palm up, warm and ready. He weaves their fingers together and turns, ready to become Lot’s wife. She, after all, turned willingly, ready to watch the destruction of what she called home, to watch her life crumble before her.

“This is it,” Dean says as he grips Castiel’s hand tighter, trying to commit to memory how Cas’s fingers feel within his, trying to remember where the calluses are, what parts have been broken and repaired.

“This is it,” Castiel mumbles, and he too grips tightly.

#spn #destiel #endverse #destiel fanfic #fanfic #*puts on clown shoes* guess who decided to publish spn fanfic in the year of our lord 2020 #this fool #my writing #i don't even go here anymore lmao #this is not a slight on anyone in the fandom fyi #i'm just putting myself on blast

[ducktracy]

173. a sunbonnet blue (1937)

release date: august 21st, 1937

series: merrie melodies

director: tex avery

starring: berneice hansell (girl mouse), mel blanc (sheriff, george washington, various), billy bletcher (villain)

the second entry in his mice trilogy (that is, ain’t we got fun, this, and the mice will play), tex avery revisits the roots of earlier merrie melodies to give us this cutesy tale about mice running rampant in a hat shop at night.

akin to the countless of other “come to life at night” cartoons of both the past and future, we open to the facade of a hat shop -- snobby hatte shoppe, that is. the streamlined, art deco exterior feels straight out of a frank tashlin cartoon. truck inside with a multi-plane pan across the dark, empty, vast shop. very moody and eye-catching.

a mouse hole in the wall is now the focus of the camera, where a trepidatious mouse pokes his head out warily. he tiptoes furtively along--the foreshortening and perspective on the backgrounds is very nice, again quite tashlin-esque--the shop, pausing right out in the open. silence except for the music score... until, in an unmistakably avery move, the mouse bellows “HEY! ANYBODY HERE!?” without waiting for an answer, he darts back into his hole.

the coast is clear. delighted, the mouse hops into his conveniently placed elevator, leading right towards a light switch. this cartoon does take extra steps to make lighting a priority, but some cases are more successful than others: as the elevator doors open, revealing a pool of light, the mouse momentarily becomes transparent as he passes the open door, thanks to difficulty with the double-exposure. nevertheless, mr. mouse turns on the lights, prompting the black button above the on/off switch to ram right into his face, sending him falling to the ground and landing safely on top of a top hat.

mr. mouse asserts that he and his mice friends have no company: they’re free to party. after all of the mice have swarmed the place from their hole, the mouse proves himself to be a casanova as he chews the shape of a heart into the wood to impress his sweetie, voiced by the giggly berneice hansell. his efforts pay off as his girl croons “oh george, you’re so cute!” i’ll never get tired of hearing hansell’s squeaky voice for as long as i live. the love-birds run to join their friends, but have unexpected company: a nefarious, billy bletcher voiced mouse. yes, folks! it’s a kidnapping picture! the kind that dominated the first 5 years of warner bros cartoons all too prominently!

 in preparation for the song number, both mice coyly pose with the hats mentioned in the song, with villain mouse crawling under a nefarious looking cap of his own to keep a keen eye out on the missus. the pans from the lovebirds to the villain is well executed. it’s not as blindingly fast as frank tashlin’s transitions, but it doesn’t need to be, either. there’s definitely a level of control present, which works to the cartoon’s advantage and disadvantage. primarily the latter. 

a mouse turns off the light-switch, another turning on a headlamp to use as a spotlight, which segues us into our song number. the song number is cute, but that’s about all it is. it’s surprisingly prominent, calling back to the earlier days of the merrie melodies where the songs were full-on songs, not sharp, witty, tongue-in-cheek quips as was becoming the norm for 1937. another pan demonstrates that the sunbonnet blue and the yellow straw hat getting wedded. the song sequence is unremarkable, but there is a bit of that avery bite as we get a rather dismal view of married life: sunbonnet mama is doing all of the housework while straw hat dad reads the paper, paying no mind to their plethora of children running around.

we’re treated with more lighting effects as the mouse operating the headlamp now uses colored visors as a substitute for lighting gels. some of the colors certainly translate better than others (that last red color in the sequence muddies up the drawings an awful bit.) nevertheless, the happy couple are greeted with cheers and applause after their cutesy little number is complete. 

thankfully, irv spence swoops in to save the day from monotony, adding some much-needed zest and fervor with his animation of “the three ratz brothers”. the clumsy brothers perform a vaudeville routine after breaking out of a dunce cap, singing “i haven’t got a hat”, the merrie melody that marks the debut of porky, beans and co. just 2 years prior. the entire ratz bros. sequence is very well done and difficult to capture in photos and words: one of those scenes that you need to see for yourself. irv’s poses are strong, defined yet loose and rubbery, and his facial expressions are satisfyingly goofy. 

the rats burst into a medley of songs, the mood drastically changing as the engineer mouse from before switches out gels. green lighting sparks a mournful dirge of “i haven’t got a hat” (with one of the brothers even crying hysterically), yellow lighting prompts one of the brothers to recite ted lewis’ catchphrase of “is everybody happy?” lighting turns blue to reflect the unanimous outcry of “NO!” again, this is a great sequence--THIS is what tex avery is about. it’s strikingly noticeable that his heart wasn’t quite in this short, but for just a minute, he’s allowed to get a word in. song numbers change, as do moods, as do colors, the rapid pace transitions once again tashlin-esque in their execution. the three brothers end the number in a lively rendition of “the lady in red”, staring at the audience with crossed eyes and big grins. gone too soon!

with the festivities over and done with, the peace now serves as the perfect transition for some prime kidnapping. the villain mouse sneaks up to the girl using his hat as a cover, and, predictably, snatches her away. george does a bit of an avery take as his ears elongate in shock--he rushes to bang a spoon against a nearby military hat. they’d have plenty of military gags to work with in the coming years, as we’ll most definitely see once WWII breaks out. for now, george summons his army of mice to go after the villain and save the day.

memories of harman and ising past revisit us once again as we get a taste of a tried and true--well, mainly tried--gag: mouse blows trumpet, prompting his pants to fall down. more hat gags, such as a line of mice marching beneath band leader’s hats with merely their legs exposed, until irv spence breaks up the monotony by animating a rat sheriff resting beneath a sheriff's hat. george hurriedly alerts him to his dilemma, prompting the sheriff to exclaim “WHY DOESN’T SOMEBODY TELL ME THESE THINGS!?”, a catchphrase whose origin is a bit muddy--some attribute it to radio show personality fred allen, others to a listerine commercial, it’s even the name of a song. it bubbled up in a number of 1937 warner bros cartoons (porky’s badtime story being one example.) nevertheless, spence’s animation is lively like always, his zest not taken for granted.

after the sheriff blows on his whistle, summoning a police and fire brigade (all spawning from police hats and fireman hats respectively), a mouse hiding beneath a cowboy hat bellows “BUCK BENNY RIDES AGAIN!”, prompting a slack-jawed, hayseed mouse to respond “hello, buck!” both are a reference to jack benny’s radio show, particularly jack benny’s cowboy persona, (as you can guess) buck benny. elsewhere, we get some more gags of the mice and their “factions”, including football playing mice and their respective cheerleaders. finally, we get a distance shot of all of the hats running together. it’s a nice bit of animation, and the lively underscore of “i haven’t got a hat” does contribute an air of jolliness to the sequence.

elsewhere, george darts through rows of hats, the sounds coming out of his mouth being the unmistakable laugh of daffy duck’s. in the midst of his franting HOOHOO!ing, george stumbles upon another george: washington. once again, irv spence animates the exchange between both mice, the Regular George asking “which way did they go?”, prompting washington to arbitrarily tack on “i cannot tell a lie: they went that way.” the scene has potential to be funny--i would have loved to have seen the washington mouse act all uppity and snooty--but falls rather flat instead.

we’re treated with a blind mouse gag (because that’s a knee-slapper, huh?) who points george in the direction of the chase. kidnapper and victim dash over a staircase of meticulously placed hats, pursued by george. george jumps onto a top hat, flattening it, and then swings the hat around like a frisbee. the frisbee effectively slides beneath the villain, sending him sliding. again, another spence scene, with some rather intriguing animation, especially that of george winding up the hat to throw.

the villain loses the girl in the process, and now flies empty handed into a knight’s helmet after the top hat springs up and launches him across the room. george closes the helmet, placing the villain in “jail”, prompting him to grumble the ever popular fibber mcgee and molly catchphrase “t’ain’t funny, mcgee!” mel blanc voices the line instead of billy bletcher for reasons unbeknownst to me. meanwhile, the mouse sweethearts reunite. george excitedly whispers into his sweetie’s ear--she nods, prompting george to do a dance of excitement while the audience waits with bated breath.

their grand secret? a wedding. the happy couple march down the aisle lined with hats, complete to a rather jazzy rendition of “here comes the bride” (which makes me think of a similar scene in a gandy goose and sourpuss terrytoon, animated by the great carlo vinci.) the officiator reflects a burst of avery humor as he gives a hilariously abbreviated ceremony: “do you.... dododododdododododo... do you?” “i do!”

with weddings come wedding gifts, and our mice are no exception. the bride does the honors of opening the box, and husband soon follows. wife peers inside and grows rather bashful, a flurry of giggles. she encourages her husband to peer in--he does so, giving another daffy-esque “WOOHOO!” of shock as he stares at the camera in befuddlement. we iris out on the big reveal, which also has the honors of being tex avery’s first use of live action in a cartoon:

this is a rather frustrating entry. i don’t like to hold tex avery up as if he’s some monolith--his cartoons aren’t perfect, as we see here. he has weaknesses and faults like everybody else. but the fact that we’ve seen what he’s capable of, it’s hard not to compare it to works like these: the letdown is inevitable. it’s clear his heart was not at all in this one. it instead feels like a merrie melody from the 1934-1935 season--the art style is the only thing boosting it from comparisons to harman and ising. it’s just not a strong entry at all. there’s hardly any bite to it, it plays the game much too safe. irv spence’s scenes are the shining stars of the cartoon, especially that interlude with the ratz brothers. that is true avery, that is what he is capable of, but the rest of the cartoon just doesn’t follow through. painfully formulaic, unremarkable, forgettable. you’re better than this, tex! i will give it points for artistic experimentation: the lighting effects, while not executed perfectly, were certainly ambitious, and some of the backgrounds are very tasteful. but, as a whole, this is a very forgettable cartoon that you can easily skip. but, for you curious types such as myself, link!

#lt #a sunbonnet blue #looney tunes #avery #reviews #long post

[littlefoxluna]

Update and Storytime

SO much for an early bedtime....

I haven't been writing much because my health as been up and down (Not COVID, pre-existing conditions). So I'm lacking spoons and my social circles have been shrinking due to life, health, and COVID. I'm still here and its been rough. So most of the health issues have been migraines and chronic pain (triggered by the weather as of late). Because of the migraines, my mental health is being affected, the migraines are taking away my online social life. COVID and life changing events have my rl social circles in a bad place.

SO STORYTME!

I didn't sleep well last night (being sat night) and finally wore down enough to fall asleep sometime before Bob came home. It's before one and it wasn't that bright out from what the cracks of light showing. Damian got me up about three times over this black mouse that Rayla was playing with and he needs to find it cause it got away. Considering the hallway was still dark due to the blackout currents, a mouse could look black with its dark winter fur in that type of lighting.

I'm like "Relax and go do something to calm down. If it was a mouse, it's not going to let you find it if Ray was playing with it." after him poking me once Bob got home. ''I'm going to nap some more because my body is still drained." So I applied if you need me, come and wake me (including the rules for the door if someone knocks as a reminder) rule.  I was dozing enough to hear him moving about downstairs in the living room, kept an ear out for anything out of the normal for his sounds. Because Damian is loud and has no quiet mode about himself or his movements, sneaky rouge, he is not. I will admit there are times he is quiet, prompting me to go check in on him.

It was close to two, things changed and because it was out of character. I get up to go investigate and find him trying to tear the room apart and moving things around for this mouse, having an anxiety attack. So I calm him down and told him he couldn't do this. Explaining this would only wear him out and cause him to crash hard if he spends the day looking for this mouse.

Then Damian explains that he was worried about the mouse's safety and wants to catch it, releasing it to the wild. Me respecting my son's concern for another life, sits him down, and has the nature talk with him. I make sure his intentions are very honorable and I respect his concern for other life, I've taught him well. I'm highly proud of him. I also explained that if the issues of a mouse infestation can cause if we don't take care of it right away. No lies, but being kind and honest.

Damian didn't realize fully mice were prey animals and was saddened by this news. However, he took it really well and gave me his response to it all.

Basically, he understands predators (hawks, snakes, wild cats.) need to survive and have to kill other animals for food sources. Rayla has us and doesn't need to kill the mouse for food, so killing it and letting it go to waste was a bad thing. Of curse, I had to explain that even though Rayla has us. She still has her predatory instincts because nature still has them wired into her. So animals like birds and mice are still prey to her and she must hunt them down. She doesn't think like us.

I stayed up for a bit, helped him with his lunch. He couldn't cook what he wanted yet. Breakfast was crackers, cereal, and a corndog he has stashed away. Felt exhausted after a bit, because migraines as of late have been fun.

Laid down to gather spoons again, not soon after Bill was up and about (4pm). Still not falling fast asleep and kept an ear out, even with Bill being up. That light dozing was soon disturbed because hello loud bass, my old friend. Yup, no more trying to pull myself out of exhaustion and did all of the precautions to prevent a migraine. However, my luck wasn't playing for an estimate of an hour with weird on and off again pauses. No, no, no it lasted till nine, non-stop. So thankfully, no migraines but overstimulated senses and an anxiety-ridden child over a mouse, enhanced by the bass. So where does this leave me? Bad anxiety attack to the point of me shaking because I was overstimulated. So while Bill and I decided to order out for ease, we sat downstairs where it was much quieter.

Between 9 and 9:30 we go up, then I start helping Tea with her webcomic. Trying to resize her picture so I wouldn't lose its quality. I have the knowledge on how to do it, I don't know my software that well to risk someone's project. Tea just got her software to draw and was still learning.

At some point when Bill slipped off and before Damian's bedtime, Damian comes up and meets me at the doorway to my bedroom (hail hydrate). He looks embarrassed as fuck, holds out his hand, and goes "I've found my mouse." It was a battery pack for an x-box 360 controller.

But wait there is more......

Around midnight, I think, I get off to start getting around for bed and I forgot to tell everyone about my exploits of today/yesterday (for those considering midnight the day changer). So I quickly tell Bob, Mike, and Bill. I didn't talk to Bob too much today due to our sleeping schedules and I didn't know how much Bill overheard. So I gave today's events in a nutshell. As soon as I was done texting Mike, a mouse ran into the room and stopped, tried to run out but smacked into the wall. Thus causing the cat to jump into action, sending the mouse to do a weird path to the bed and then beelined it to the door. It managed to escape, leaving Ray thinking it was still under the bed. During the event, I got Bill's attention, and once it fled the room, trying to redirect the cat to where the mouse went off to (it failed miserably, silly humans no nothing).

I turn to Bill and go "Damian knows nothing. I'm going to go hunt down the igloo traps." For some odd reason, in this area, those traps are hard to find. We can the crocodile ones really easily. So it was an easy find, not expensive or anything. However, for 10 dollars, they had catch and release ones that were reusable.  Thinking about how upset kiddo was over killing the mouse, catch and release ones were ordered. All we had on hand was the crocodile traps and I love my cat, I really do. But Ray is a dumbass at times and I didn't want to risk a vet bill or an upset Damian.

I'm pouring a drink after all of this. All of this was at two am and before writing this, I had to relax for a bit.

[fictional-worlds-are-exquisite]

thank you! i think you're genuinely the only person that has ever said they actually like the fact that my bathrobe is obnoxiously pink. and you're absolutely right, one of the things i like most about it is that it hurts people's eyes. i love it actually. if you ever celebrate halloween you should absolutely add your bathrobe to your costume. an amazing idea. since it has a mouse face on the hood it could be two costumes rolled into one - both a vampire and a mouse (if in the middle of the evening you get bored of one), which i think would be awesome. and you probably wouldn't get cold (is it cold in nz during halloween? because here it almost always is). we don't celebrate halloween in lithuania either though. which i'm a bit bummed about, because halloween sounds super fun. mostly because of the dressing up! but i did celebrate it once, when i was 11 or 12 maybe? me and a couple of friends decided it would be fun even if it's not really celebrated here. so we dressed up, even went trick ir treating (half the houses had no idea what was happening and also i pretty much froze to death because i was dressed as a dead bride and refused to put a coat on because then you couldn't see my dress) and also watched horror movies. 12 (or 11) year old me thought it was amazing.

oh yeah! i've broken a knife on 2 separate occasions i think. once i tried to get something out of between the blender's blades, used a knife and then accidentally turned the blender on (i'm so fucking glad it was a knife and not my fingers). so the tip of the knife broke off (the blender was ok tho). and the second time i have no idea how it happened. i was cutting up broccoli and the knife just fell apart??? i was so confused, because one second i'm holding a knife and the next it's just two pieces of a handle and the metal part, all separate. had fun explaining that to my dad. you sound pretty unlucky too! i mean, a cut every time you use a knife, but you don't even notice it at the time? i think it's just that knives are out to get us (it's my newest conspiracy theory). i actually get double vision too sometimes! mostly when i'm tired, but i just figured that it was because i have really bad eyesight

they definitely SHOULD teach about gender and sexuality in school. it's a really big problem that in a lot of places it's either not compulsory or not even in the curriculum. honestly, everything i know about sex ed or lgbtq+ i had to learn myself on the internet, because we only had one class when we were like 13 years old with a guest speaker and it was mostly biology and then a little bit about menstruation and pads for girls (i have no idea what they told boys because we were also separated). so sex ed definitely sucks a lot in my country and i bet it's the same in a lot of others, which makes me really mad

exactly!! it's so hard to tell whether i'm feeling romantic or platonic love sometimes! it's confusing. also i remember one time me and a couple of friends had a sleepover and the friend's, who was hosting, parents weren't home so we watched romance movies (scandalous i know). again we were maybe 12. and they kept going "oh he's so hot" and intensely watching the sex scenes. while i was looking away from the tv whenever sexy times were going on and commenting on how much i loved the house design and the garden. gee i wonder what that means. (still can't believe it took me this long to figure out i was ace)

the breakfast went very well though! it's so interesting how different traditions are everywhere. i hope your lunch and the rest of christmas day went well too! (also i forgot to ask last time, but what is boxing day? google says it's mostly a shopping holiday, is it that? we just call it the second day of christmas and it's pretty much the same as christmas day but there's no presents!) but yeah i hope you had fun with your extended family on boxing day!

having acid reflux sounds like it sucks. i love breakfast, it's my favourite meal of the day (when i don't have to rush that is) and i skip lunch a lot because i usually have no time for it (my schedule kinda sucks), so i usually try to have a bigger breakfast. but hey, peanut butter is good! so at least you can have something that tastes good for breakfast!

aaand i feel like this ask got away from me. sorry it's so long!

it’s because i have t a s t e. it may not be GOOD taste but it sure is...taste...and i am proud of it. and yes, i love the idea of adding my dressing gown to my costume specifically because it means i’m basically in my PJ’s. minimal effort. comfort to the max. living the dream. halfway through the night i’m tired of being the vampire no one invites in so i drop to my knees and start the mouse act. mice are good at getting in houses and getting to chocolate and such. the dream. also i absolutely would get bored of one costume within the space of a few hours knowing me, so that’s a plus. uhhhh halloween is october which is. mid-late spring so it really depends on the day. it might be a little cold, might be shorts weather. I rarely leave my house at night so I’m not an expert on nighttime temperatures sdflsdfjsd. 

I used to wish we did Halloween here but that was mostly because I wanted lollies. Although I also liked playing dress up as a young kid so maybe very young me would’ve vibed with the costume aspect. I know there’s a photo of me when I was like, 5 and my best friend of the time dressed up as witches at some point, maybe we had our own little halloween. I also possibly had a halloween themed birthday party once as a kid? I remember the little gift bags having spooky things in them and also possibly a bat cake but my memory is too bad to remember for sure. aha that’s the problem here too, no one locally would ever think to buy lollies to give out so it’d just be like um. you can have an apple I guess? at least you had fun though! i respect the commitment to the costume despite the cold. 

that is such a stressful story to read, i fear for your life. although i understand the knife breaking in that first scenario. that would be terrifying though. what if the blender launched it,,, nOPE. i’m very glad it wasn’t your fingers, that’s some horror movie shit. the second time is just,, it be like that sometimes. it was probably just waiting to happen. my parents have a cheese grater with a loose handle and it. falls off. every time. i dry it. with the dishes. and every time i fear for my life as the grating bit drops off towards my feet as i’m left holding the handle. i should expect it by now but i never do. I get scared every time it happens. knives are definitely out to get us, i fully support this conspiracy theory. oh yeah, tiredness doesn’t help with double vision. i kind of need bifocal glasses by now but I also don’t want bifocal glasses so i just suffer but I suspect having them would reduce the double vision. maybe. maybe not.

yup! i remember someone handing out tampons and pads at primary school, i assume after giving a talk about periods, idk. i do also remember a teacher pulling the girls aside and being like yo, this is what a period is, here’s a horror story about my daughter and a tampon, enjoy the trauma, go back to class. good times. we did actually get really comprehensive sex ed concerning most things at my high school but that is faaaarrr from the norm around here, clearly. although teenage boys are good at filling in gaps, in my experience. they’re like little sex encyclopedias that offer up information without you asking. i didn’t ACTUALLY want to know that but i do now, i guess, thanks michael. 

dude. the ‘oh he’s so hot’ comments are so confusing. ‘hot’ is like a category of attractiveness that I’ve never understood. ‘isn’t he hot?’ what does that MEAN rebecca. i think i asked once if it meant like, attractive or good looking. and the person i asked was like, you know, hot. you just look at them and, you know- no i don’t know. what is this. i don’t think i’ve ever watched a sex scene with people my age though, generally i just zone out for them sdkfhskdfh. i feel like there’s definitely all these indicators when you look back like oh yeah, should’ve realised i was ace then, but it’s just. such a hard sexuality to figure out. not that other sexualities aren’t but you’ve got to figure out an absence of something when you don’t even know what the something feels like- it’s a challenge.

I’m glad it did! It is interesting, for sure. I’ve always been interested in how winter Christmas’s work. As a young kid I didn’t understand hemispheres...obviously...i was like 5...and i’d go out on Christmas morning to see if there was snow. and sometimes it’d be a bit chilly in the morning and I’d be like damn. we almost had some this year. it’s a shame our climate tends to be too hot for snow on christmas :// like no you tiny dumbass it’s summer you little idiot there will be no snow no matter what. everything ended up going super well here :). boxing day is basically just a shopping holiday, i don’t know if it has any significance in any other way, i’m sure it did at one point, but i know there’s always boxing day sales everywhere. I think it’s also a public holiday (?) to give people another day off work and that, but I could be wrong there. I know I also used to regularly go to the races (horse races) nearby that were always held on boxing day, it was like a 150 year old tradition or something until people in attendance started dropping and I think they finally shut it down a couple years back. I didn’t care all that much about the horses but they also had food and carnival-type rides and such for the kids which is why I loved it. also we tended to meet extended family there for a picnic lunch.

acid reflux is like the least of my problems sdfkjshdkf. it’s annoying but it’s pretty managed with medication, I have to watch certain foods and drinks but I’m used to it by now. I think it’s also what causes me to not be able to eat large amounts normally so I survive a lot on snacks and a reasonable sized dinner. works for me. but peanut butter is good! i’m glad i can have that! I used to also have vegemite but that’s a bit more of a push, it’s easier to stick with peanut butter.

also it’s fine!! my responses are always very long too sdfjhskdf.

#i got told i probably needed bifocals like #at LEAST 2 years ago #probably more #but realistically i'm probably too dumb to use them correctly i wouldn't look in the right place for close vision or whatever #i'd probably give myself a headache #also to this day i have never gone NEAR a tampon #the horror story gave me enough trauma thanks #anyway gonna go eat an ice cream sundae and suffer #might fuck around and make my lactose intolerance hate me haha #it'll be WORTH it #i say now #in an hour i'll be dying #it's fine #Anonymous

[spiritvinex]

marichat may day 3

hi peoples! here’s my twist on marichat may day 3: mouse!

it’s a little late, sorry! but i based this chapter off of the movie 'cinderella - a twist in time' with a little bit of my own twists! enjoy, i really liked this chapter and the next one should be up shortly!

read it on ao3!

@marichatmay​

This couldn’t be happening. It was like a dream that Marinette never wanted to wake up from and now she was back. Marinette whispered, “I-I don’t understand.” 

Her stepmother had forbidden her to go to the ball, but she had anyway. With some luck, her Fairy Godmother had shown up to save her, allowing her to go to the ball with a glorious dress. Even with curfew at midnight, the night went better than she had expected. A dance with the Prince? It was almost too good to be true. 

But was it real? The slipper had fit Chloe. Was this just some silly dream she had thought of while sleeping? 

Marinette stood up, gathering the remaining pieces of her glass slipper that her stepmother, Lady Bourgeois, had broken, the only evidence of the night she had just experienced. Looking into the glass, she imagined the dance. Her in a beautiful, sparkling gown, moving through the night with the masked prince, Chat Noir. Marinette sniffled. 

“I have always dreamed that my life would be like a fairy tale, a perfect fantasy. Was it nothing more than a dream?” She stood up. Her tattered dress, flowing at her feet. Just one magic night, a single dance, had turned her life into a storybook romance. If she were to forget it ever happened, Marinette would live forever with a broken heart. 

Facing the stairs, Marinette saw Mullo and Tikki, her mice friends on the stairs. Mullo was crying on Marinette’s behalf as Tikki comforted her. “Don’t cry, Mullo! Princey knows that Mari was the one he danced with!” 

Marinette froze. Wide-eyed she turned to her little mice. “Yes, of course he does! Oh, if I just see him again, he’ll recognize me and everything will be alright!” She scooped them up, gently hugging them in excitement. 

Marinette burst out of the manor doors, Mullo and Tikki tucked safely away in her pocket, and ran down the steps to the path, headed straight towards the Prince’s castle. She found love in his arms the first time, now she had a chance to try again. If she couldn’t trust her heart to believe in that moment, how would she ever know? There was no way for her dreams to come true if she just waited. 

She bounded through the fields, hope in her heart for the life that was awaiting her. At the peak of the hill she stared, breathlessly, at the castle shining in all its glory. “I want so much more than a dream.” 

»»——————-««

Marinette sneaked to the servant’s entrance behind the castle. Peering over the corner, she saw many men carrying large stacks of cheese into the hall. Trying not to be suspicious, Marinette marched up to the cart of cheese and picked up one of the heavy mounds. She struggled to walk, but made her way to the man who looked strangely like a gorilla. He glared down at her, eyes narrowing. She pulled her sweetest smile, then he grunted and gestured for her to move on. 

She scurried into the hall, setting the cheese down quickly. Marinette walked towards the kitchen, but was at once stopped by the head maid, Nathalie. “And who are you? I know every maid in this castle and I don’t recognize you!”

Marinette blanched. She felt the mice jump out of her pocket and run towards the end of the room. “U-uh, I-I’m the…,” she stared at her friends, gesturing with her hands to go, “I’m the, uh, royal mouse catcher!”

Nathalie’s eyes narrowed. “Royal mouse catcher? I assure you, in all my years working here, I have ever, ever seen a single-,” A crash resounded from the kitchen as one of the cooks screeched: “Mouse!”

Nathalie spun around and ran into the kitchen, Marinette following quickly at her feet. The cooks were running around, trying to avoid the chaos the mice were causing. Nathalie took the matter into her own hand and lunged to capture Mullo. Mullo managed to evade her and ran to hide with Tikki. Nathalie stared, wide-eyed and turned to Marinette. She tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear. “You,” she huffed, “Go along and do your job.”

“Oh! Right. Of course, ma’am,” she curtsied and ran off to find the prince. 

 »»——————-««

Chloe sat nervously, unsure for once in her life if she knew what she wanted. Her, Lila, and her mother sat anxiously, awaiting the prince’s arrival. 

“Now, now, Chloe,” her mother cooed, “Don’t you fret, we have a magic wand now. Nothing could possibly go wrong.”

Chloe swallowed. Of course. The prince would fall in love with her and everything would be okay. Nothing could go wrong.

Suddenly, the doors burst open and the masked prince from the night before bounded through. He looked straight at Chloe, and his smile faltered. “Ah, I apologize, ladies, I must have entered the wrong room.”

He turned to leave but her mother stopped him. “No, no, my Prince. You are not mistaken. This is my daughter, Chloe, the maiden with whom you danced at the ball.”

Face contorted, Chat Noir said to Chloe, “You fit the shoe?”

Chloe stiffened. She could feel her mother’s burning gaze on her, and so she nodded. “Yes, your highness. I am the maiden from the ball last night.”

Slowly, Chat Noir moved back. Clearly confused at the situation before him. He didn’t notice the white wand that was discreetly pointed at him, or the words said by Chloe’s mother. 

The prince’s eyes suddenly glazed over for a second. Then, as if shocked, they cleared up again. “Of course! I do remember you!” he ran forward, taking up her hand, “I apologize, I don’t know what came over me!”

Chloe was startled. She desperately looked to her mother for assistance, but was only given a nod towards the prince. She grimaced. She turned back to look at him, but instead found a ring held in front of her by the kneeling prince himself. 

“Lady Chloe. Would you do me the honor of marrying me?”

Chloe spluttered, but remembered her mother’s purpose. “Y-yes. Of course, my prince.”

He grinned, sliding the gorgeous ring onto her finger. He bounced up, “We will be wed as soon as possible. I will let my father know!” He pressed a kiss to her hand, and happily walked out of the room. 

A hand was laid to Chloe’s shoulder, “Good job, Chloe,” her mother sneered, “Now, let’s move along. There is much to prepare for.”

Lila followed her mother out the door, sticking her tongue out at her sister. Chloe stared down, still unsure of how she felt about these events. 

»»——————-««

Out of breath, Marinette hurried down the hall. She turned to make sure she was not being followed, but was unsuspecting when she ran into a broad chest. “Ah! I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you!” She looked up, surprised to see the familiar green eyes of the Prince. 

“Oh, Chat Noir! It’s…,” she blushed, “It certainly is nice to see you again.”

Chat Noir tilted his head. “Um, sorry, but do I know you?”

Confusion flew over Marinette until she remembered what a big jokester he was. She laughed. “Oh, and I suppose you don’t remember our dance at the ball last night?”

“I apologize, but I really don’t know who you are. There was only one girl I danced with last night and that was Lady Chloe!”

Marinette’s face fell. “L-Lady Chloe?!”

“Yes! And I’m going to marry her! Tonight!”

Marinette couldn’t believe this. He didn’t dance with Chloe last night! “B-but, there must be some misunderstanding, I-”

 She was cut off. “You there! Royal mouse catcher!” Nathalie was marching towards her, and grabbed a hold of her arm, “I need you to rid the castle of each and every mouse by tonight. The prince is getting married and the castle needs to be in top shape!” She stopped when she saw the prince, and quickly released Marinette’s arm. “Ah, Chat Noir! Did you need this servant?”

Chat Noir shook his head and smiled. “No, Nathalie, there was just some confusion.”

Nathalie nodded and proceeded to pull Marinette back down to the kitchen. Marinette longingly glanced back at the Prince, who was unaffected by the departure. She felt her heart break slightly. 

Nathalie pushed her into the room. “Now, I need you to rid the castle of these mice. I expect you to be done before the wedding starts.” She slammed the door and Marinette fell to the ground. Her heart felt empty from what she just experienced with the Prince. It was a dream. Nothing more, and she had hurt herself from hoping in the process. 

Her eyes filled with tears. There was nothing more she could do. The Prince didn’t love her, he loved Chloe. The night that had Marinette clinging to, in hope that it was real, was nothing more than her imagination. But yet, she couldn’t seem to let go. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by the scurrying of mice as they ran inside the room towards her. “Mari! Mari! You won’t believe it!”

“What happened? Is something wrong?”

“Stepmother has the magic wand! She put a spell on Princey! We saw her!” Mullo cried. 

“Magic? A spell?” It all made sense. The Prince didn’t remember her because of magic! She just had to make him remember! “Thank you, guys! We still have a chance!”

The mice dashed back into the wall, and Marinette ran to the room in which her stepmother and sisters resided. They were very loud, the echoes resounding throughout the whole castle, leading her straight to them. 

She heard a crash from inside, here stepmother’s voice calling out for a maid. Marinette tied a bonnet, lowering it to attempt to cover her face. She cleared her throat and knocked. The door was opened and she walked over the spilt water and glass shards. 

“You certainly came fast,” Lila sneered. 

Marinette coughed. “Yes, we are very good.”

She picked up a rag and slowly started to scrub the floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Mullo and Tikki crawling up the drawer, where the wand must have been placed.

Marinette could feel that she was being watched. Her stepmother's footsteps grew closer. “Well. This is a surprise, isn’t it, Marinette?”

She snatched the bonnet off of her head. Both Lila and Chloe gasped. “What are you doing here?”

“Why, clearly, girls, she came to stop us. She didn’t heed my warning, and now, here she is. Oh, what would the King say if he knew a dirty scullery maid had snuck into his own castle? He would banish you for good,” Lady Bourgeois sighed. “Such a pity.”

Lila cackled and ran to call the guards. Marinette glanced at Mullo who finally grabbed the wand and threw it up to Tikki.  Marinette shouted, “Tikki, the wand! Now!”

The wand flew through the air and was caught by Marinette. She cast a spell towards Lila and Chloe to deter them as she ran out the door. Behind her, she heard Lady Bourgeois screaming for the guards. 

She sped down the hallway and made her way to the foyer. The guards were close behind. She shut the doors quickly and slid a sword, from one of the standing knights, through the handles. Immediately, they began to push on the door. 

She only had a few seconds to make a plan. She hurried down the steps, when the doors burst open, letting that guards run in, but also the Prince. He must have heard all the racket. She took her chance. “Break the spell! Make him remember!” She pointed the wand at him, but it was snatched out of her hand just before the spell was cast. 

The Prince ran towards her. “What’s going on?” he demanded. 

“Ah, just a petty thief snuck into our room,” Lady Bourgeois smiled, “Don’t worry, I’ll have her taken care of accordingly. We wouldn’t want the wedding to be disrupted because of her.”

Furiously, Marinette cried, “No! You have to remember! She cast a spell on you!” She reached out her hand, desperate to touch his. When their hands met, a wave of surprise flew over the Prince’s face. Before he could act on anything, Marinette was carried out of the room by the guards, “You’re under a spell, that’s why you don’t remember me!”

Chat Noir frowned. 

“Poor child. Obviously, out of her mind.” Lady Bourgeois linked her arm with his and strolled out of the room. 

»»——————-««

The Prince paced back and forth, behind his father’s fitting. “I just don’t understand it, Father. Last night, I felt something. But with Lady Chloe, it was nothing like before. And… then there was that girl.”

The King sighed. “What girl, Adrien? Remember, you are to marry Lady Chloe tonight. I agreed to your terms to marry the girl who fit the slipper, and you already found that girl.”

“Yes, Father, I know, but,” Adrien pinched the bridge of his nose. “Remember when you were telling me about Mother? How when your hands touched, you knew it was true love? Well, I think I found that, but it definitely wasn’t with Chloe. But when that maid touched my hand, it felt right.”

He zoned out, thinking about the turn of events, when he heard a small squeaking noise, coming from the fabric closet. He took a closer look, and was startled to find two mice jumping up and down, gesturing for him to come inside. He glanced at his father, who was completely distracted, then walked inside. 

“Hello? Uh, little mice?” He looked around, and found nothing. He scoffed, “Great, it’s official, I’ve lost my mind. First I’m confused about the ball, and now I’m talking to imaginary mice.”

He moved to leave the room, but stopped when the curtains were pulled open by two small bluebirds. The light shined, enhancing the mice who were calling, “Hey, Prince-Prince! Down here!”

Okay. Maybe not so imaginary. 

The two mice started blabbering. He sat down, trying to comprehend their words. “Hold on, I think I understand!” he paused, “Actually, I got nothing.”

The mice stopped and looked at each other. Then, the one in the little red dress gasped. It ran to the music box and winded it up. The ballerina on top began to spin, and the mouse with the blue dress jumped up and began to dance.

“You were dancing with a very pretty girl!”

The other mouse ran down some books, leaving a single shoe behind. “At midnight, she ran off! Well, her name was Mari, she’s the servant girl you met! She’s the one you want to marry! You can’t forget!” They began to dance together, “Mari was the maiden at the ball!”

Intrigued, Adrien leaned forward, “That can’t be. I danced with Chloe at the ball!”

“No, no! Princey only thinks that because of Mari’s stepmother!”

“Yeah, that mean old lady!” Mullo added. 

“With her magic wand, she cast a wicked spell, which is why poor Princey isn’t feeling well! You’ve forgotten Mari and the dance you shared that night at the ball!”

Adrien swallowed. “Woah, woah, woah, wait. You’re telling me I’m under a magic spell?”

The red dress mouse replied, “And here’s the worst part! When Mari tried to make things right and take a stand, the mean, old lady had her banished from the land! Now she’s on a ship, that will take her far away! So, it’s up to Princey-Prince to go and save the day!”

“Magic?” It all made sense. He looked at his hand; that’s why he felt something. Chloe wasn’t his true love. “I have to find her.” He bolted from the room. 

He ran past his father. “I have to go!”

“Go? What do you mean? But you’re about to be married!”

“But the talking mice say she’s the wrong girl!” He pulled open the doors and continued to sprint.

His father chased after him. “Son? Talking mice? This is ridiculous, Adrien! You agreed to marry the girl who fit the glass slipper! I was completely with you on that one!”

“Yes, Father, I will marry that girl. But Lady Chloe isn’t her. I just have to find the right one.”

“Adrien! I forbid you to take another step down these stairs!” his father shouted. Adrien stopped and turned around. He glanced towards the window and smiled. “Okay.”

He ran and leapt out of the window, hearing his father’s call behind him. He grabbed a hold of the vine that was cascading down the wall. Climbing down he called for his horse, Plagg. Plagg came running and Adrien jumped on, speeding towards the gates.  

His father called for him again. Adrien pulled Plagg to a stop. “Father you have to trust me.”

“Son, I do trust you. It’s the talking mice I’m worried about!”

Nathalie called for the gates to be closed, and Adrien took off again, just making it under. 

“I’ll send the troops off for him at once, your Majesty!”

“No need, Nathalie. Let him go.” The King shook his head with a small smile, recalling the crazy acts a person will do for love. 

»»——————-««

Marinette sat in a small wagon, hay laid on the floor, acting as a cushion under her. The guards stood in front of her, making sure that she could not escape. Her eyes were puffy from crying. She failed to make the Prince remember her. And now he loved Chloe and not her. 

A different guard approached her. “Time to go.” 

She pulled herself off the wagon, and slowly made her way to the ship. Before she walked up the board, she looked back at the castle. It still shone white in the light, reminding her of a lost adventure. Feeling defeated, she walked aboard the ship. 

The perfect fantasy that Marinette imagined was just a fairytale. Her hopes made her believe in something that could not be real. It was nothing more than a dream. 

The ship was unanchored and the sails were pulled loose. Marinette sat on a barrel, staring out to the sea, as the ship began to leave. 

A yell and a ripping sound pulled Marinette out of her reverie. She jumped up and spun around. A man with blonde hair was sliding down the mast, tearing it as his knife ran through it. He jumped down and looked around. He ran up the steps to reach Marinette.

The Prince came for her? Her heart thumped in her chest, once again rekindling the hope she had before. 

“Remember me?” he asked. 

She smiled. He reached for her hand, holding it up linking their fingers together. As soon as they touched, a spark ran through, making her feel warm and loved. 

Marinette laughed and jumped into his arms. He spun her around, holding her tight. Once he released her, he knelt down. “Will you marry me, Mari?”

A blush spread on Marinette’s face. “Yes, but…,” she giggled, “it’s Marinette.”

He laughed. “Marinette!”

He alerted the crew to turn the ship around. He rode with Marinette back to the castle, elated at the twist of events. 

»»——————-««

When they arrived at the castle, it was made aware that the Bourgeois family fled, only leaving behind a single white wand. 

And, of course, Marinette and Prince Adrien were wed immediately. Marinette in the most gorgeous dress she had ever seen, one thanks to her Fairy Godmother. 

Adrien, who she formerly knew as Chat Noir, was happy he finally found his bride, his true love, just as his father had when he was young. 

Everything was perfect. Almost like a dream come true.

#marichatmay2020 #marichatmay #marichat #ml fanific #miraculous ladybug #spiritvine #mouse

[thatlittlered]

Vows | Chapter Four

Summary: A faithful dog or a broken man… Whatever the case, Sandor has taken vows he does not intend on breaking.

   Like the beautiful bodies of those who died before growing old,

   sadly shut away in sumptuous mausoleum,

   roses by the head, jasmine at the feet -

   so appear the longings that have passed

   without being satisfied, not one of the granted

   a single night of pleasure, or one of its radiant mornings.

 Longings ~ Constantine P. Cavafy

◇─◇──◇───◇────◇────◇───◇──◇─◇ 

Series Masterlist.

When he wakes, the room is dimly lit, a couple of flickering candles almost burnt down to the wick. Everything seems to be covered in smoke and the foul, acrid odor of tallow.

There are stains of dried ale all over his tunic, the watery kind he’s been downing for days, and the straw bed barely beats the comfort of hardwood floors, but he got what he paid for and he’s not planning on wasting every last coin so that the Stark girl will enjoy her privacy.

There’s heavy pounding at the door, the voices outside rising to a crescendo of rage before a man barges inside the room, short and drunk as any, followed by the stocky woman who robs Sandor blind every night for a pint of ale and broth you wouldn’t feed a pig.

“You got the money yet? We gave ya two days, s’time to pay up.”

His head is pounding as he rises from the bed, body aching in every way imaginable and hand twitching at the thought of silencing the scum before him.

The man’s hands get a hold of Sandor’s shirt, and the woman gasps. when he reaches for his sword, heavy metal pulling at his muscles.

“Listen here, pest, you ever let yer filthy hands near me again, you’ll be searching for them outside the city walls. Have I made myself clear?”

“Aye, ser.”

Sandor grunts, half satisfaction, half pain when the rage inside him fades.

“Don’t let me see you again.”

They both scurry away like frightened mice, filthy insects running from his boot.

The entire place stinks of wine and piss, dirt everywhere around him, and suddenly he longs for the comfort of his own chambers. Dark curtains that spare him from painful sunlight, fine selections of wine and peaceful silence, all things that made it his personal heaven until a certain northern girl invaded his life.

Now everything in it smells of rosewater.

They are no longer his quarters. The she-wolf took over with her many braids, silken dresses, and glassy Stark eyes that he would kill for, without knowing why. In her new lair, she takes the time to heal and lick her wounds. As wolves do, away from the eyes of others in fear of proving weak and falling prey to bigger predators.

Sandor allows it.

Within the hour, he’s ready to leave.

A little girl helps him dress, meekly passing him pieces of his armor despite him telling her there’s no need. She’s small and bruised all over, an abstract sculpture of bones that has seen and felt too much. He only lets her help when he sees the fear in her eyes and suspects that should he send her back, she might receive a beating.

When he’s strapping up, she takes the chance to shove her tiny hands into his pockets, quick and smooth as if she’s been trained for this. She walks away with two copper pennies.

He allows it.

◇─◇──◇───◇────◇────◇───◇──◇─◇  

When he reaches the room, the door is ajar and he’s almost angry at how you never fail to make yourself vulnerable. There are threats left and right and you might as well be welcoming them. He moves to knock, he really does, but the wind beats him to it, pushing the door enough so that he might get a glimpse at you.

Suddenly, making his presence known doesn’t seem as appealing.

Your hair lies long and loose, obscuring the lightness of your dress, yet allowing glimpses of skin on your arms in a southern fashion. For once no plaits adorn it and it hangs in all its northern glory – a sharp contrast.

The handmaiden floats around you, hands curling in your locks as she runs a brush through them, tugging a little too painfully at every knot. He supposes a Stark girl’s hair is not made for this.

‘Any word from your brother, my lady?”

You hum and for a moment he deems it the most peaceful sound he’s ever heard from your lips, but it’s sorrowful. You accepted your fate long ago.

“Is there ever? I’m afraid the king is much too occupied with the newest impending threat. I suppose my brother is too small an enemy to consider when Stannis Baratheon is approaching the city.”

Nira gasps, almost dropping the brush and Sandor laughs to himself from where he stands behind the door. The maiden is older than you, yet you outsmart her in so many ways, you might not be quite the little bird he thought you were.

“Do you truly believe it, my lady, that Stannis will reach the capital?”

“Has the world ever known a Baratheon who failed to succeed in their quest? He will reach the city, Nira, for that rest assured. What happens after that, remains to be seen.”

She moves to face you, resting on her knees to grab your hands with a familiarity that surprises Sandor.

His lady wife is good at making friends.

“Even so, the King’s army will hold. The Lannister troops are already flooding the city, Lord Tywin made sure of it. No harm will come to you, my lady.”

Your own hand raises to her face, a gentle cradle of her cheek – a mother’s touch, the kind he’s long forgotten.

“I have no fear of Stannis. My greatest enemies surround me every day.”

“And yet, it seems that your lord husband’s presence has discouraged them.”

“All lions quiet before attacking their prey.”

The door slams then, the force of wind meets the force of man. Nira rushes to check, always mindful of her lady’s safety, but there’s no one there.

Still, the following days pass in relative silence, mindful of curious ears that creep behind closed doors. Nira has seen enough to know the crown has eyes and ears in every corner. Instead, there’s quiet singing when handling your hair and hushed whispers about childhood stories. Everything blurs with your drinking, honey mead, and berries melting on your tongue.

Sandor Clegane is nowadays quite literally, your shadow.

For a man who’s meant to guard the King, he seems to prefer keeping an eye on you. In the gardens, buried amongst roses and greenery, you can sense his presence. In the quarters you’re supposed to share, no one dares enter but Nira and yet, every now and then, you can hear heavy steps in the hallway.

He never addresses you and you feign ignorance in fear of him stopping.

Nira’s words keep coming back to you; he’s your best chance at safety in this city.

  ◇─◇──◇───◇────◇────◇───◇──◇─◇  

Footsteps follow on your trail, the same sound of armor clinking with every step, albeit more graceful, less weighty. You’re awfully used to your loyal guard stomping around court, he makes no effort to conceal his presence.

A smile tugs at your lips, you’re starting to understand Sandor Clegane.

“You can always talk to me, you know.”

A hand appears from nowhere and tightens on your wrist, white-knuckled, strong. You turn to fight it but find your feet dragging along the marble as you lose your balance. He pins you to the wall so effortlessly.

“I’m well aware, Lady Stark.”

His breath stinks and he makes a point of shoving his face as close to yours as possible, all in a way that makes your legs go weak and your stomach churn. No fear, you remind yourself. He’s no big predator, he’s but a snake, lucky enough to find a mouse on the ground. Others would crush him.

“Ser Meryn, I would ask that you remove your hands.”

Gloved fingers grasp your chin, bound to leave bruises.

“I must admit, my Lady, that for a woman broken in by the Hound himself, you seem entirely too merry. Tell me, how is your dog treating you?”

Your body recoils, almost melting to the wall in an effort to avoid the proximity.

“I would also ask that you refer to my husband by his title.”

He laughs, such a disgusting sound.

“You’re in no position to ask for things, little lady.”

“And if you don’t let her go, you’ll be in no position to walk when I’m done with you. Your head will be hanging in the throne room if I have it my way.”

Your gaze turns to Sandor, familiar heavy footsteps approaching the scene. His sword is drawn, his eyes are murderous and for the first time, you realize the day might not end with your blood on the floor.

Trant laughs again and it’s a death wish.

“Now, now, Hound, it’s always good to share.”

“I don’t share, especially not with cunts like you. What’s wrong, Trant? I thought you liked them younger.”

His nose moves to graze against your skin, so close to your lips, tears gather in your eyes.

A friend of Robb’s had stolen your first kiss, pinned you against a stack of hey and touched places you would never have allowed him to. Your brothers beat him to the ground the next day.

Sandor Clegane won’t avenge your honor. He’ll chop off anyone’s hands the moment they touch you.

“I like them broken first and foremost. I’m sure you’ve taken care of that.”

White knuckles from clenching his fist too hard, and gritted teeth from the effort to keep his composure, Sandor’s large form exudes a burning animosity. His face is red with suppressed rage, and when Trant’s fingers make their way towards your chest, everything snaps inside him.

His sword never meets the hideous flesh of your attacker, but his fist does. A blow to the jaw, powerful enough to make the cracking sound echo in the hallway. Then Sandor’s hands are pressing his face into the wall, a great force overpowered by one greater. It gives you the chance to escape.

Your attacker seems light-headed, gripping his shattered nose where blood runs plenty. There’s stillness on both sides. If hatred was visible, the air would be all shades of red, scarlet and ruby, like the stains on Sandor’s glove. Then suddenly movement, so much force in every hit.

Sandor rains blows onto the man as if he means to smash him into the very earth and there’s barely any resistance. He doesn’t want him dead, he wants him smashed, obliterated, nothing left to bury.

The bloodied rat on the ground manages a hit on Sandor’s face and it only works to enrage him further.

You’ve seen him fight before in the tournament, moves sudden but precise when in duel, you’ve heard stories of men who’ve faced his sword, but this is different. It’s raw violence and force, uncharacteristic rage fueling him.

And then he stops.

He looks at you, always with his good side.

“Go back to yer room.”

You don’t move an inch. You know what this means, you know he’s not stopping and suddenly you’re but a youngling again, running around the training ground with Robb and Jon on your heels. Your father calls for them, forbids you from following.

At night you learn about the man whose head your father took before their eyes, a sight he sheltered you from.

You won’t let Sandor do the same.

Trant’s blood will be in your hands, whether you witness it or not. And so will your lord husband’s when word gets out that he pummeled a fellow Kingsguard member to death. You won’t allow it.

“I said, go back to yer room and lock the door. Don’t let anyone in until I tell ye.”

“I will if you come with me.”

The man scoffs, blood dripping from his fingers.

“Don’t question me, girl. I’ve got to finish some business.”

“If you stay, we both know it will be the end of you, one way or another. The things that Joffrey will do-“

“I’m not the one who needs protecting.”

“You will be if you don’t walk away. Just walk away, Sandor.”

It’s the first time he’s heard his name in a while, first time ever from your lips. Of course, he notices.

“I walk away now, he’ll do it again. I stay here and finish what I started, there’s one less cunt in this fuckin’ city.”

“And is that worth your head?”

He stares at you, so openly, his eyes still screaming murder, yet you refuse to relent.

All it takes a swing of his sword, a single move to push it in Trant’s heart while he’s gasping for air.

He turns to him, spitting on that mess of a face he’s created, branding his work, and then walks right past you, grabbing your arm right where the other man had. It hurts but you don’t dare tell him.

You let him drag you all the way to your chambers, smaller feet catching up with his strides.

 ◇─◇──◇───◇────◇────◇───◇──◇─◇ 

 ◇─◇──◇───◇────◇────◇───◇──◇─◇  

He latches the door and sheds his gloves, then as many pieces of his armor as he can. He looks like he’s struggling to breathe and you worry. His face is flushed, angry scars growing paler every moment.

He reaches for the pitcher of mead on your table, a mistake. It’s awfully sweet, disgustingly so, and he spits it out the moment it meets his tongue, knocking the whole thing over in an effort to push it away.

“That’s not fucking wine.”

You move across the room, his hunched form still in the corner of your eye. His face is buried in his hands and he rubs desperately, most likely because the rush of blood in his head feels impossibly warm. That’s when you notice his bare knuckles, cut and bruised and bloodied all over.

You reach for the bottle of wine under the table, one he put there himself, and place it across him where you sit.

“You’re hurt.”

“Just shut up for a while, alright?”

You do as he asks, but your hands still reach for his. Of course, he pulls away.

“Are you fucking deaf?”

You smile, “I’m not talking.”

Sandor’s lips quirk at that. He watches you wipe away the blood, as gently as if tending to a child.

“It’s nothing.”

You only hum in response, following his previous order. The rug is wet and cold against the skin, relieving pain he has not felt yet. For once he doesn’t fight it.

“You should have let me kill ‘im.”

“I told you, the King would have your head.”

He snorts and it’s a sound you’re getting used to, “What it’s to you?”

“I have no wish for blood to be spilled in my name. Especially not yours.”

“You think of it so nobly, little bird. The blood is only in the hands of those who spill it. Guilt will get you killed, sooner or later.”

“So I’m not to hold myself accountable if you’re accused of attacking a fellow member of Kingsguard?”

The quirk falls from his lips.

“I’m not fucking Kingsguard.”

“You guard the King, do you not?”

You make him laugh and a sense of pride fills you. You gather it’s not something many can do.

Silence washes over you as you tend to his cuts, taking the bottle from his hands to pour wine on them plentiful.

“What the fuck are ye doing?

“I’ll get you more wine, but first I need to dress these.”

“They’re fine as they are.”

The look on your face gives away that you’re not backing down. Damn northern stubbornness.

You wrap his knuckles gently, a torn piece of fabric drenched in wine to prevent infections, the way your father taught you. You suppose it stings but Sandor makes no move to suggest so. When it’s done, you consider it, making sure there’s still blood flow. Your lips fall gently on the makeshift bandage in an almost kiss.

He pulls away like it burns.

“I want to thank you.”

“There’s no need, stupid girl.”

“Must you always interrupt me, my lord?”

“’m not your lord.”

“You’re my lord husband and I must address you some way. If not by title, then by name, but if you please, let me finish.”

He grows quiet.

“I want to thank you, Sandor, for everything, but I beg you, don’t fight for me. With what you did to Ser Meryn, all that Joffrey could do to you… I’m good as dead without you.”

There it is, your cards all on the table.

“I won’t turn into some cunt-proper lord just so your noble heart won’t be plagued with guilt, girl.”

“I never asked you to, I only ask that you don’t endanger yourself, certainly not for me.”

The man grunts and turns his gaze from you, which you take as a sign of agreement.

The table shakes when he moves to stand.

You grab his hand again, this time holding it in place.

“One more thing.”

“Spit it out.”

“I would be forever grateful if you could move back in. It’s my understanding that you’ve established a stay elsewhere, perhaps somewhere far more convenient…” He wants to laugh, the rat-filled room where he stays coming to mind, “…but I would feel much safer if you stayed here from now on.”

You can’t help but observe him, the deepest in thought you’ve ever seen him - good hand rubbing his beard.

“I can arrange for a second bed, or I can take the floor, it’s no issue. I only ask that you don’t leave.”

“Is fear worth your reputation, little bird? People will talk.”

“We are wed before the gods, let them talk. There are few things left for them to say about me anyway.”

At morning Nira arrives to find her lady awake, drinking at sunlight. A snoring lord continues his sleep undisturbed, boots half perched on the table while he rests, long and wide, on the uncomfortable armchair.

The stench of wine and sweat mixes with rosewater.

Her lady smiles.

“We are going to need another mattress.”

 ◇─◇──◇───◇────◇────◇───◇──◇─◇   

Tags: @love-and-marij @blackwires @captainbuckyboobear@shxrrybomb @well-aint-that-strange @sunflowersandstringlights @bckybrnesrp @thatcutewerewolf @fallatyourfeet @immortalmurphy @iicelland @dorned @modblink @awolfhasnoname @maxinikins @raindancemaggi3 @rainyforrest @evelynfreakinaddams @cleganegirl @wildmaelstrom @ciccithedreamer @simplybrandielaine @captainmarvelfuckedmeup @the-anchored-sailor-girl @tessimagines @valhalla-ally @cha0tic-neutral @slytherh0e @sister-beehive @doitliketennant @anita-e-taylor @emithefangirl @fandomsfanman @iceinhermind @67impalagirl13 @imalittlebean @podthesquiz @scarstrashywritings @missespiruette @homesoutofhuman @simplybrandielaine @ixybirdflower @0midnightheart @jordancollier133  @footballiskillingme @podthesquiz @queendemonfangirl @my-bitch-loki @moviemaniac888 @mythical-clegane @sugasheart @thehoundsraven @imaginecrushes @all-cool-usernames-taken @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @paradoxical--intentions @pokengirl2 @always-hid @lavieenrosetta @treblebeth @just-dreaming-for-now @lokimysunandstars

Once again, I’m sorry for the names Tumblr wouldn’t let me tag.

Let me know if you want in or out the taglist!

#sandor clegane x reader #sandor clegane #sandor clegane series #sandor clegane imagine #sandor clegane reader insert #series #new series #vows #vows series #the hound x reader #the hound series #the hound imagine #the hound reader insert #game of thrones #game of thrones series #game of thrones x reader #multi-chapter

[quickeningheart]

Twenty-Four

   "You guys got back awfully late last night," came Charley's idle comment at breakfast the next morning. "Where'd you go?"

   Alley paused, fork in mouth, as three pairs of curious eyes turned her way. Behind her, she could almost feel Stoker's smirk. She affected her best casual air. "No place special," she mumbled around her fried eggs. "Just took a drive around the city and then walked a bit."

   "Crashed a wedding," Stoker added, making her choke on the eggs.

   "We did not!" She glared over her shoulder. "They didn't know we were there, remember?"

   His eyes crinkled as he grinned. "You're a pretty good dancer. You only stepped on my toes twice," he teased.

   Cheeks growing hot, she turned her back on him. "'Cause your big feet kept getting in the way," she grumbled, shoveling more eggs into her mouth.

   "Hmmm…" Charley waggled her eyebrows. "You do know what they say about men and big feet, right?"

   The mice exchanged confused glances. "Nope," Stoker admitted. "What do they say?"

   Alley slapped down her fork. "For heaven's sake, Charley, don't encourage him!"

   Her cousin laughed, and Alley decided she'd had enough breakfast. "I'm done," she muttered, getting up to take her plate to the sink. She turned to leave the room, only to be brought up short by a tug on her ankle. She glanced down to find the tip of a metal tail had snaked around it, holding her in place. Her glare snapped up to clash with Stoker's impish gaze and she pursed her lips with displeasure, raising an eyebrow.

   "Sorry, honey. It's got a mind of its own sometimes," he said, the very picture of innocence.

   "Yeah. And I'll bet it's attached to your dick," she snapped, yanking her leg free.

   Vinnie guffawed and Charley nearly spit out her coffee. Modo raised his single eye heavenward with a sigh, shaking his head. Throttle raised an eyebrow and peered at her over his specs, amused.

   Stoker just grinned and gave her a wink. "Cheeky brat."

   "Horny goat," she shot back, turning to stomp off to her room, their laughter following her.

     ~*~*~*~*~

   Alley tried to tell herself that Throttle wasn't really avoiding her; it was just coincidence that every time she tried to get him alone, he was nowhere to be found. She'd been trying for most of the week to corner him and talk, to no avail. As determined as she was to hash things out and get it all sorted, he seemed equally determined to ignore her altogether.

   Her frustration was reaching its boiling point, and on Friday morning, after spending nearly an hour searching for him—Really, how does a six-and-a-half-foot mouse just up and disappear?—she decided that enough was enough.

   She stomped down to the garage, where Modo and Vinnie were tinkering around in the engine of a beat-up minivan. Charley had decided to take Alley up on her suggestion of having the boys help out more around the garage, and had dragged in an old clunker of a van for them to work on. "If you fellas can get this thing up and running and not manage to blow up my garage in the process," she'd challenged, "then I'll know you're ready and able to take on the real work."

   Throttle was, of course, nowhere to be found. But his bike was parked right next to the other two in its usual spot, so he had to be around there somewhere. Right? Her eyes narrowed. "Anyone seen Throttle lately?" she asked with as much sweetness as she could muster.

   The two mice exchanged glances. "He was around a little while ago," Modo said.

   "Yeah, 'til Charley came in, sayin' you were lookin' for 'im. He muttered somethin' about somethin' an' took off like his tail was on fire," Vinnie added with a shrug. "Ain't seen 'im since."

   "I knew it!" Alley stamped her foot and muttered a string of words that made both of them raise their eyebrows in astonishment. "He's been treating me like a walking disease all week! I wanna know what bug crawled up his ass, and I wanna know now." She pinned them with a glare. "I don't suppose either of you could shed a light on the subject?"

   The bros exchanged uneasy glances. "You should be askin' Throttle," Vinnie mumbled, focusing his attention back on the engine. "I dunno nothin'."

   "Gladly! Any ideas on how to glue his feet to the floor? Seems like the only way I can get him to stand still long enough to talk! Is he pissed off at me about something?"

   "Nah, he ain't pissed," Modo denied. "I think he's feelin' guilty."

   "Because of … what happened the other night? Because of Carbine?" Her cheeks turned pink. "We didn't get that carried away," she complained. "It's not like we slept together or anything."

   "I ain't hearin' this!" Vinnie screwed up his face and stuck his fingers in his ears.

   Modo huffed. "It ain't 'cause of Carbine why he's feelin' guilty." He paused to consider. "Well, okay, maybe it is. A bit. But I think it's more 'cause of … well, that." He gestured vaguely at her, and she glanced down at herself, confused.

   "Sorry, I'm not following."

   "Those, ya know … the bruises all over ya," he mumbled.

   Alley couldn't be sure, but she suspected he was blushing. Vinnie definitely was; his ears had turned dull pink through the fur to prove it. Unfortunately, so was she, if the heat in her face was any indication. She sputtered, "What, haven't you guys ever seen hickeys before? The way he was—" She cut herself off, shaking her head. "It's normal! And most of 'em are faded already! 'Sides, I'm sure he's left plenty of 'em all over Carbine in the past!"

   "I ain't hearin' this!" Vinnie scowled at her.

   She scowled back. "Then little boys ought to leave the room until the grownups finish talking," she snapped, earning a laugh from Modo.

   "Look, I dunno what Throttle an' Carbine get up to when they're together, but considerin' she's covered in fur, whatever it is ain't so … so…"

   "So glaringly obvious," Vinnie finished with a snort.

   Alley felt like she'd been punched. "So, you're saying he's … what? Disgusted every time he looks at me now? Guess he should've thought of that when he was practically ravishing me by the lake!"

   Vinnie abruptly threw down the wrench he was holding and muttered something about root beer before stomping out of the garage. They watched him go for a second, before Alley shook her head. "He's gonna have to get used to it if he's gonna insist on dating my cousin," she said dryly. "I'm sure he'll be leaving his fair share of bruises on her in the future." She grimaced. "Actually, I kind've agree with him. Stuff I don't wanna know."

   Modo chuckled. "Those two'll be fine. As for you an' Throttle, it ain't that he's disgusted. Like I said, he's feelin' guilty. He ain't got experience with humans, ya know. Ya'll are so delicate compared to us. He probably thinks he hurt you. An' where we come from, any male hurts a female is the lowest sorta scum."

   Alley sighed and shook her head. "That dumbass," she muttered. "Why do I always manage to fall for the boneheads? My taste in men sucks."

   He raised an eyebrow at that, a corner of his mouth pulling up. "Guess you two really do gotta have a chat," he commented idly. "Ya look up on the roof yet? We don't go up there much in summer. Too hot. But with the weather coolin' down an' all, makes for a pretty good thinkin' spot."

   In point of fact, the roof was the one place Alley hadn't even considered checking, given it was flat, dirty, and held nothing of interest. And yes, much too hot during the day, especially for those rare folk who happened to wear fur coats all year round.

   "Thanks. I'll take a look," she mumbled distractedly as she turned on her heel to head up to the apartment, hardly hearing the amused "Good luck!" that followed her.

     ~*~*~*~*~

   Throttle was indeed on the roof. He sat cross-legged on top of the small metal utility shed that housed the building's breaker switches and several maintenance supplies. His back was toward her and, given that he hadn't even turned his head when hers appeared over the top of the fire escape, he must have been deep in thought.

   Or maybe he'd just fallen asleep; she couldn't really tell from that angle.

   Alley sucked on her teeth, pondering the best way to get his attention as she crept quietly over the ledge onto the roof. Shoving him off the shed felt like a good idea, but after a moment's thought, she settled for a more subtle approach.

   She shuffled at the gravel with one foot, searching until she found a suitable stone, slightly rounded from wear and not too large. Would have made an excellent skipping stone at the lake, she mused as she hefted it in her hand a few times, testing its weight. Ah, well. It was adequate for her purpose now. She drew back her arm, took careful aim, and lobbed it across empty space toward her target. She had just enough time to think she'd have gotten at least five skips out of that one, before the pebble inevitably reached its goal and bounced smartly off the back of Throttle's head.

   He yelped in shock and, to her delight, she had the added bonus of watching him fall off the utility shed anyway, landing on the opposite side. Score!

   He popped up in an instant, glaring around the rooftop, shades knocked askew. Surprise flickered when his eyes landed on her before the glower returned full-force. "What did ya do that for?" he snapped, rubbing his abused skull.

   "There," she sniffed, crossing her arms. "I just put a bruise on your thick head. We're even. Now will you kindly stop acting like such a jackass?"

   He gaped at her for a second. "H-huh?"

   She pursed her lips, eyes narrowing. "We need to talk."

   His expression shuttered and he turned his back to her again. "Ain't got nothin' to say," he mumbled. Then he yelped when a second pebble bounced off his skull. "Ow!" He glared over his shoulder. "Stop that!"

   "It's funny. All these weeks I thought you were a giant talking mouse, not a giant talking chicken dressed like one," she taunted.

   He glowered. "You lookin' for a fight?"

   "Sure!" She held up both fists. "If that's what it takes to get you to open your big mouth and talk to me, bring it! I can take ya!"

   He gaped at her … and then promptly dissolved into laughter, bending over and clutching his stomach in his mirth.

   She pouted. "Now who's lookin' for a fight?" she grumbled, dropping her hands to her sides. When he continued to chortle, she huffed. "Fine. Keep laughing. When I break your arm you won't think it's so funny." Of course that threat only served to make him laugh harder, leaning against the shed for support. Despite herself, her own lips started twitching in response. He looked so cute when he was caught in the throes of uncontrollable hilarity.

   His chortles finally died, and he leaned back to catch his breath, wiping his eyes under his specs.

   "Better?" she asked with saccharine sarcasm.

   He glanced at her, a snort escaping as his mouth started twitching all over again. At her glare, he managed to pull himself together, jerking his chin at the shed before hopping up to its roof again.

   Taking it as an invitation, Alley climbed the rusty ladder screwed into the wall, seating herself beside him on the roof with her legs dangling over the edge. "So," she began amicably, "why are you avoiding me? Is it because of the other night? I'm sorry. Maybe I should've stopped it sooner, but I was kinda … caught up in the moment." She blushed and glanced away. "I'd go back in time and fix it, but that's not really an option. So can't you just forgive me and move on?"

   "Th-that ain't why—I'm not mad at you," he sputtered, gaping at her.

   "Then why have you been skulking around acting like I've got some contagious plague all week? The only time I ever see you is when everyone is together. It's like you're afraid to be alone with me."

   He pushed up his specs to rub at his eyes in a tired gesture. "I already said I don't blame you for any of this. I'm the one who lost my cool," he muttered. "I got too carried away. I … hurt you." He looked down at his hands folded in his lap, shamefaced. "All those marks … I didn't know I'd been so rough with you."

   Alley sighed deeply, reached up … and calmly brought her fist to the back of his head.

   "Ow!" he yelped in shock. "Why do you keep hitting me?"

   "Because you seem to be permanently stuck in stupid mode," she said dryly. "I figured whacking the reset button a few times might knock you out of it, but it doesn't seem to be working."

   His jaw dropped, eyes wide behind his specs as he sputtered for a comeback.

   "Throttle, if you'd been hurting me, do you honestly believe I'd have let it continue?" she snapped. "Sure, you're bigger and heavier than me, but one well-placed knee to the groin would've put an end to it real fast. I doubt even big, tough Martian mice are immune to that sort of pain."

   He flinched, shifting away ever-so-slightly, and she chuckled. "But … I bit you," he reminded her, embarrassed.

   She considered. "Yeah. You did. That kinda stung. Don't do it again," she told him sternly. When he proceeded to look even more miserable, she rolled her eyes and gave him a playful shove. "I'm teasing, you idiot. Stop looking like I just kicked your puppy."

   He frowned and turned to stare out across the city. She gave his arm a shake to draw his attention back to her. "Look, the important thing here is that when I told you to, you stopped. There aren't a whole lotta guys I can say that about," she continued. "Most of the dates I've had, those guys wouldn't back off so easily. They could have definitely used a lesson or two from you on how to respect a girl's wishes."

   He shrugged, looking away again. "Their mamas didn't raise 'em right, that's all," he mumbled.

   "Their mamas didn't raise 'em at all. I suspect most of 'em probably crawled out of a sewer, given their manners," she joked, trying to get him to smile. It didn't work. She sighed and idly kicked her feet against the metal wall.

   "Why date 'em then?" he asked after a moment.

   She blushed faintly, shrugging one shoulder and looking away. "They asked. And they were all cute, so why not? I've always liked a pretty face. I'm kinda shallow that way," she mumbled, embarrassed to admit it to him.

   He considered for a moment before sliding her a sidelong glance. "This mean you think I'm cute?" he teased.

   She blinked at him, surprised, before a smirk touched her lips. "First off, what we had wasn't a date," she sniffed. "But … sure. You're not hard on the eyes." She gave an offhand shrug. "Once you get past all the fur."

   "Gee, thanks," he deadpanned.

   She smiled. "I wouldn't have made out with you if I didn't like you, Throttle."

   He glanced away, shifting uneasily. "What about Stoker?"

   Her smile disappeared. "What about Stoker?"

   "You two've been awful chummy lately, takin' all those late-night rides and all," he mumbled.

   Her frown deepened. "Well, yeah. It's part of the plan. Remember? That plan where I go into Limburger's tower, risking life and limb to hand over a set of papers that'll hopefully bring the next big bang to his planet?"

   "That ain't what I meant."

   She shook her head, confused. "This setup depends on Limburger believing that I weaseled the info away from Stoker, and to do that, he needs to see us together. As often as possible. So us going into the city and acting all … lovey and stuff is kinda necessary. But it's just a ruse. It doesn't mean jack. Besides, we haven't done more than hold hands. Well, he's walked with an arm around my shoulders once or twice. And there was the dancing that first night. But that's it! He knows not to push the boundaries."

   "Maybe not. But that doesn't mean he doesn't have his sights on you."

   Alley cocked her head. "Are you jealous?" she asked, a slow grin spreading across her lips.

   "What? No!" he yelped, eyes wide. "I just don't wanna go steppin' on anyone's toes, is all! Bros before babes. It's the Freedom Fighters' Code!"

   "How unbelievably sexist of you," she sniffed. "I suppose the 'babes' don't get any say in the matter?"

   "No, that ain't—"

   "What are you so worked up about, anyway? You have a girlfriend." Alley turned in her seat, crossing her legs under her to face him fully, expression serious. "Let me make it clear. In case you didn't already figure it out, I really like you, Throttle. Like, way more than any of those other guys I dated. There's this saying, you gotta kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince. Well…" She blushed and glanced away, shifting. "You're my prince," she mumbled shyly. Upon seeing his astonished expression, she hastened to add, "But I don't have any intention of getting between you and Carbine! And I don't have any desire to be some stand-in for her until you can see her again. You are unavailable and I respect that."

   He tried to talk, but she held up a hand.

   "As for Stoker, he flirts a lot but … flirting is just flirting. And I can't really take him seriously when he acts that way. I don't dislike him, though. I respect him, and I certainly don't intend to play on his supposed feelings just because the guy I want doesn't want me back. That's a shitty thing to do to anyone."

   Throttle looked like he wanted to protest, but the rumble of an approaching truck caught her attention, drawing her eyes to the road. A large, bulky van was lumbering down the street, bouncing over the pitted ruts, swerving to avoid the worst of them. It started to slow as it reached the garage. "Oh. Charley's supplies delivery must be in. Guess I'd better go help her check them in," she said, getting to her feet. She suddenly wanted this conversation to be over, embarrassed that she had said so much. Had she really just told Throttle he was her prince? Like some sappy little teenage fangirl? She supposed she could be grateful that he hadn't laughed her clean off the roof. Ugh.

   She stretched the kinks out of her back, dusting stray rust flakes off her jean shorts. "Anyway," she said, turning to face him and forcing a smile to her face, "how about we both do ourselves a favor and just pretend this entire thing never happened, okay? Just put it out of our heads. We're friends, that's it. I don't make any weird advances, and you don't tiptoe around acting like I'm gonna jump your bones next time I see you. Deal?" She held out her hand.

   He gazed at it as he got slowly to his feet, his own hand extending. His fingers slid and meshed with hers, palms pressed together. Her heart skipped a few beats at the contact. "Maybe that ain't why I was avoidin' you," he murmured, his serious gaze meeting hers over the top of his specs. "Maybe I was just tryin' to avoid temptation." He stepped closer, eyes lidding. "Knowin' how you feel … it's makin' things mighty difficult," he added, his husky voice deepening to a low, sensual purr. "Maybe it's your bones you should be worryin' about."

   She sucked in a breath as his free hand slid into her hair. His thumb stroked lightly along her jaw and she unconsciously leaned into his touch. "Th-that's not fair," she protested around a shaky sigh. "H-how are we supposed to stay friends when you keep saying such unfriendly things?"

   She felt his heat as he stepped even closer, breath stirring her hair. "Maybe we ain't," he replied, before his mouth came to rest against her parted lips.

   He kissed softly, slow and gentle, and although she wanted to protest, she was helpless to act as he draped her arms around his shoulders, then slid his about her waist, pulling her close. His tongue dipped in, tasting carefully, and she was lost in his scent and taste and touch, just as incredible as she remembered. His tail snaked around her leg, and she decided that she was perfectly content to stand there and let him thoroughly seduce her on the hot, dirty tin roof.

   Unfortunately, the loud, highly-obnoxious clearing of a throat quickly put an end to that idea.

   They broke apart with startled gasps, panting for breath, staring at each other with wide eyes before turning reluctant gazes toward the fire escape.

   Alley was both gratified and annoyed to find Charley standing on the ladder, chin propped on the crossed arms resting on the ledge as she watched the show with raised eyebrows. "Sorry to disrupt, kids, but Stoker just brought home a very nice surprise. Thought you'd both like to know." Without another word, she clambered down the ladder.

   They glanced at each other, before Throttle hopped off the shed, reached up to lift her down, letting her slide along his body until her feet touched ground. She forced her shaky legs to move as she followed him along the rooftop to the fire escape, clambering down to her bedroom window and climbing in. He was already at the apartment stairs, and she hastened to keep up as he took them easily.

   There were people in the garage, she realized. Several of them. And she didn't know them. And every single one of them had fur and tails. She stopped dead in her tracks, nearly running into Throttle's back; he had also stopped to gape, looking as flabbergasted as she felt. "Who are they?" she whispered.

   One mouse in particular seemed to have caught his attention, his eyes locked on a small female with pale gray fur and long black hair. She turned to him, a smile brightening her scarred face at the sight of him. "Hey there, stranger," she called softly, and Alley felt an immediate sinking in the pit of her stomach. She knew who this was.

   "C-Carbine." The name slipped from Throttle's mouth on an astonished breath, and all the strength seemed to flood from his legs as he abruptly dropped to the floor.

#bmfm fanfiction #BMFM #Biker Mice from Mars #make up your mind Throttle! #unexpected company #whoo boy now what?

[writeyourownlifestory]

Of Mice and Men {Mouse x Reader}

Summary: You meet a handsome guy in a bar and find that being the girlfriend of someone on a special forces team is a lot more complicated than expected. 

Warnings: Sexual activity. Domestic fluff. Ominous ending.

Word Count: 10,051

A/N: Wrote this just to say I did. I saw a lot of love was being given to Gardner, and Pat and thought you know who could use some attention? Adorable special forces baby boy Mouse.

I hope you enjoy all of this. I put my whole heart and soul into it even though Reader isn’t my forte. Fair warning, if you haven’t seen G.I Joe: Retaliation (spoiler warning), things don’t end well for the Screaming Eagles, so be warned, a bit of heartbreak in this one.

Read the following: AO3, Wattpad, or under the cut.

You met at a bar, which in itself is pretty surprising because bars aren't your scene. Maybe you drink, maybe you don't. It all depends on the moment and your emotions. You're there to meet up with some friends or maybe coworkers. You don't remember. Everything before him is a bit of a blur, to be completely honest.

He was with some buddies of his, standing off in the corner playing some game. They were rowdy and loud, which was to be expected. The bar isn't the type of place where you'd sit down quietly and discuss things. You go to laugh, and drink and have a good time. Sometimes the place would have some guy in the corner with a guitar, singing along to old songs, though tonight they stuck with the jukebox and radio.

You were waiting for your drink, leaning against the bar as you listened to some old country song. It was the type of song that everybody knew even if you didn't actively listen to it. You weren't singing along because you didn't sing in public, but you hummed to the chorus when your drink finally came.

You thanked the bartender, wrapping your hand around your glass though just as you turned to go back to your table, it was knocked out of your hand by a passing bar-goer. He stumbled into you, staggering back at the glass crashed to the ground. Liquor, ice, and glass scattered all along the floor.

There was a moment of silence that was filled with shock and annoyances you looked up to face the man who slammed into your arm. He looked just as surprised as you were, with a tad bit of remorse added to it.

"Christ. I am so sorry." He muttered, going back and forth between looking between you and the mess on the floor.

"It's all right," You say, even though it wasn't.

"I wasn't looking where I was going." He mentions even though it was obvious. "I'll get you a new one."

You shake your head because you don't want to be a bother, but the guy is already heading to the bar. He slaps his hand onto it repeatedly to get the attention of the bartender and then looks back at you. You rattle off your drink of choice, choosing to just let the guy buy you another one.

You watch as a worker cleans up your mess and apologize to them even if it wasn't your fault. You don't like to cause trouble for anybody, though they wave you off like it's no big deal. And it wasn't. No use in crying over spilled alcohol, right?

You turn your head back to watch the bartender make your drink, checking to make sure nothing was slipped inside of it. The dark world we live in, but what can you do?

The guy smiles triumphantly as he holds up your drink, giving a dramatic display as he offers it to you. "My lady,"

"You're sweet," You speak, taking the glass up from his large hands, bringing it to your lips for a slow sip. It's sweet and bitter all at the same time.

You stand there, teetering between the bar and the tables until the shout of your name gathers your attention. You look back, suddenly remembering who you were with. You thank him once more, turning on your heel so you could return to your table.

You sit down and try to enjoy the night, chattering with your small group of people who arrived for the small hangout. Now and then you catch the guy glancing your way. You can contently say he doesn't spend the night staring at you as he is busy with his group of friends, but your eyes lock a time or two.

You didn't think anything of it, especially as the bar began to fill up and the sound of the music playing over the radio and the endless conversation is too just for you. You excuse yourself to use the restroom, shuffling through the crowd. There were other bars in your area, but you guessed this one had the most atmosphere. Or maybe it was close and people were lazy. Who knew.

There was a small line building and you step onto it without a second through. You're looking at your phone, trying to keep busy when a voice catches your attention.

"We meet again," The guy in front of you mentions.

For a moment you thought it was a joke. Meeting the guy from before on the line for the bathroom of all things. It seemed a little too cliche, but you try not to overthink it.

"There's only one bathroom. And I've been there for about . . . eight minutes." He confessed, shifting his hand as he took his guesstimate. "I think some guy is getting lucky in there."

"Seriously?" You mutter, raising your brows in surprise.

You understood the kink of having sex in a public place. You could never imagine doing it yourself, but who were you to judge those brave enough to take the chance.

You both stand there, not sure what to do. Sure, he had the option of heading to the alleyway and pissing by the dumpster, but you weren't lucky enough to be able to aim. So you remain online, hoping that the bastard inside the room was enjoying himself.

"Having fun?" The mystery man asked, shifting to lean back against the wall, his arms crossing over his chest.

You shrug. You're not having a bad time, even if this isn't your scene. You can be social or you could be unsocial. You could bounce off the walls or sit quietly in your room. All depends on the situation. Tonight, you're enjoying yourself though of course there were other things you'd love to do. Other things you could be doing if you weren't in this cramped bar, waiting online to pee.

"Are you?" You asked, trying to get a good look at him.

The bar was dim though his hazel eyes shined well enough. He's cute enough, you think. Boyish smile with dimples. The regular looking guy with a nice build and strong arms.

He bobs his head, proceeding to explain that he was meeting up with a couple of guys from work. He mentions that he hasn't seen them in a while, as they were all stationed in other places. You wondered what he meant, but didn't question it. You just stand there and listen, shifting your feet as you silently thanked yourself for choosing comfortable shoes.

When the door to the bathroom opens, you watch as a guy and girl slip out of the room together. They were blissfully happy and there is a simmering in your stomach when you catch a glance of their linked hands and wrinkled clothing.

Rather than stepping inside, the guy holds the door open, gesturing for you to go in. You shake your head, reminding him that he waited a lot longer than you had, but he refuses. "I'm special forces. I can hold it, trust me."

You take the hint and shuffle inside, trying to best to be quick so the poor guy doesn't have to suffer any longer. You think about what he said, about special forces and being stationed and realize he's military based. You don't know what to do with this information and carry on with what you were doing.

You exit a moment later, shaking your hands because you hate those stupid air dryers. They never work right anyhow.

The guy is nowhere to be seen and you wonder if he decided to piss out in the alleyway after all. You look around curiously, though it's too crowded to see anyone. You shuffle back to your table and remain for another hour, laughing and commenting about whatever subject comes up.

You get a Lyft home because you've been drinking and you don't think about the special forces guy until you're settling in for the night. It's a silly cliche to meet a cute guy at the bar but then again, cliches exist for a reason. You don't allow yourself to wonder if you'd ever see him again, because you have very little intentions of going back to the bar any time soon.

Except you do go back, against your better judgment. It's busy again and you and your associates arrive later than usual. There is no table to sit at, so you're standing in the corner. Someone bought you a drink, which is nice because you don't have much cash on you, but it tastes strong and you don't have the stomach for strong alcohol.

The music isn't that good and you last about an hour before finally making an excuse to leave. You ramble off some bullshit that you don't will be taken seriously because honestly, what does it matter if you stay or go. You can be a good company but you surely won't be pissed on this night. You head out the front, standing off to the side as you go to order another ride home.

"Heading out already?" You hear over your shoulder and you turn to see the special forces guy. You didn't expect to see him, even if you did take a casual look around when you first entered.

A few other men make their way into the bar and you guess that is his selected crew. You rattle off the same excuse as you had to your friends/coworkers/whoever they are at this point, though he doesn't buy it the way they did.

"Shame. Was hoping I could buy you another drink." He admitted, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"I already had one." You confess, thinking about to the bitter-tasting bottle that you held for the entirety of your stay.

"I could buy you something else." He offers slightly, gesturing to the pizza place across the street.

It was small and dingy, but the place pizza places always are. Places that have to promote themselves as a family-friendly restaurant isn't going to give you good tasting pizza. Maybe delicious garlic knots or pesto ravioli, but if you wanted good pizza, you have to go to a place smaller than a New York City apartment.

You ate earlier, but who could say no to free food, so you follow him across the way, discussing different toppings and such. You aren't a picky eater, not really. Sometimes you prefer one thing over another, but in the end, you're just happy for the food. You order your pie, which is scattered with all different things and sit down at a small table you both have to squeeze into.

You're sucking on the straw of your fountain drink when the pizza is placed beside you and you both dig in. He is halfway through his slice when he speaks up, swallowing down hard when a certain realization hits him.

"I don't know your name."

You speak it softly, taking a bite of your slice after the name leaves your lips.

"Morris." He admits. "Friends call me Mouse."

You cock your head, trying to understand why. He isn't exactly small, so it wouldn't be a proper comparison nor is he large enough to make the nickname ironic. You just bob your head, deciding that Morris is good enough for you.

You make idle chit-chat and learn more about each other. You tell him what you do for a living and he talks about his military life. The pizzeria lightening is better than the bar, allowing you to get a good look at him now. He's cute. Boyish and handsome. You snort as he takes a large bite, nearly taking the entire slice, crust included into his mouth. You both laugh it off as he chews, luckily not choking on his little antic.

You wonder if any of the others will leave the bar and come here, seeing you. Would they question you, see if you ditched them for a guy? Would they be right?

No one else comes in after that, so it's just the two of you lost in your little world. You finish your pizza and drinks but remain sitting and talking until the place is closing up and you get kicked out.

"Can I give you a ride home?" He asked, holding his keys out.

You thought about saying no and thanking him for the pizza, but the idea of talking to him for a little while longer was too tempting. You follow him to his truck, hoping in easily enough. You give him the address but he doesn't put it into a GSP or anything.

"Are you from around here?" You ask casually, wondering if you've lived in the same area and never knew about it.

"I'm from all over." He tells you as you head out onto the road. He takes it slow, keeping the conversation up as you go. You don't live far, but you don't mind the gentle motion.

When he finally pulls up to your place, you both pause. You thank him for the company and the food and he does the same. You see a small flush across his cheeks and he's looking between the steering wheel and yourself until he finally breaks.

"Can I call you sometime? The text you?"

You don't give your number out often, mostly because nobody asks for it. You also don't date that much because of reasons X/Y/Z. Still, you give him the number anyway, passing him your phone so he could put his number in.

When you get it back, you thank him again for the night, hopping out of the truck and heading into your place. Your phone buzzes as you walk through the door and you see a message from "M" with a mouse emoji. The message is simple enough, asking if you were free tomorrow.

Another message comes in, asking if it's too soon to ask. You chuckle softly, thinking about what you had planned for the following day. You worked but were lucky enough to get out at a decent time.

You offer it up to him and Morris jumps, swearing to pick you up an hour after you get out so you both had time to get ready. There are butterflies in your stomach for the rest of the night and even during the day. You don't text him first because you don't want to come off as too eager.

You knew it was silly. That it was all stereotypical bullshit. If you were excited you were allowed to be. No one should make you feel bad for wanting to see someone or do something. Morris does text you however, checking in to see how you're doing and asking if there was anything specific you wanted to do.

You didn't know if it was a date or a hangout but so long as you weren't taken back to that bar, you didn't care. He promised to plan the whole thing and you trusted his judgment, putting your phone away so you could get some work done.

When you get home, get ready. You shower, letting your hair dry as you pick out your outfit. You try to keep it casual, but you want to look cute. You put something together, deciding to be a bit outrageous and choose heels this time. You apply your makeup and sit at the kitchen table, waiting patiently for him to arrive.

The butterflies in your stomach remain as the familiar truck pulls up and just as you go to open the door, he hops out, a small bouquet in hand and smiling bashfully. "I was just about to knock." He admits shyly.

"Bit old fashioned, don't you think?"

You had never gone on a date before where the guy arrived on your doorstep to knock and greet you. This wasn't the fifties nor a small town. Usually, it was a text saying they had arrived or more than usual, you'd agree to meet at a chosen location.

"Well, I can be pretty old fashioned sometimes." He confessed, holding the flowers out for you to take.

The bouquet is small but lovely. You've never been given flowers by a guy before. Family sure, but not a date. You're beginning to realize that this is, in fact, date and the butterflies just get worse, but you more solid few it, following him off to his truck.

He's rattling on about his plans for you both and you can see that he is a bit nervous too. It helps you realize, though you have to laugh silently. Why would he be nervous? You were nice to look at and good company, but nothing to get nervous about. He was sweet and nice, something very hard to find, so it was normal for you to get a bit nervous.

You go for dinner at a place in town that isn't a chain restaurant or fast food place. He pulls in your chair and asks you about work the moment you're sitting down, showing off how attentive and caring he could be. It throws you for a loop, but you don't question it. Instead, you choose to enjoy it, asking him the same questions as you get to know one another better.

He has been in the military nearly his whole life. He was a specialist and while he didn't want to go into detail, he made it very clear that he was very good at his job.

"Have you ever killed someone?" You ask boldly, halfway through your meal.

He is silent for a moment, outweighing his options. "Only the bad guys."

"How do you know who is good and who is bad?" You question, leaning in close. "I mean, technically, from their side, you're bad and they're good. Who is right and who is wrong?"

You didn't know what reaction you'd get. He could be angry for you questioning his line of work or call you stupid for calling someone against the military anything other than the villain. Instead, he laughed it off, leaning back in his seat with a laugh. "Very philosophical of you."

You're both silents for a moment and while there is a gentleness to his face and voice the things he is saying are very serious. "I guess I just want the world to be a better place to live. And maybe the things I do care a little unethical but I have to believe I'm succeeding in one way or another."

"Like a modern-day superhero." You say and it makes his smile widen just slightly.

"Maybe." He whispered, turning his attention back onto his meal.

You spent the rest of your dinner eating and chatting about this or that, little things that you wouldn't discuss with a stranger because you know they wouldn't care. But Morris isn't a stranger at this point. When the bill comes he pays before you can even grab it.

"You can get it next time." He promises, placing the money down and standing from his chair.

The possibility of another date is already hanging in the air and it leaves you in awe as you follow him out of the place. The weather is nice so you walk for a bit, finding that talking to him was oh so very easy.

You decide to grab some ice cream and you make a very big deal over the fact that you're paying for it. He just laughs it off and gets his double scoop, following you around the town as the warm air whirls around you both.

You continue to walk and talk before going into his truck and driving around for a bit. The conversation never dulls though you know it has to come to an end as the hours continue to tick on. He pulls up in front of your place and you're both smiling brightly.

He walks you to your door, like the gentleman he is and you thank him for a lovely time, finding that you can't remember such a great night with any other former suitor. He says the same, squeezing your hand gently. You stand there for a moment and think that he will kiss you but instead he lets you go and makes his way back to his truck.

You go into your home, finding that he has already texted you, leaving you with a promise that the next date will be even better. You go to bed wondering when the hell you entered a hallmark movie.

Or maybe a lifetime movie as hallmark is always a bit too fluffy and sweet while lifetime offers a bit of drama, which is exactly what comes your way. You go on your second date, which is even better than your first.

You argue over who pays since you paid for the ice cream and Morris fights that that didn't count as the second date. You try to do what he did and persuade him to hang on until the next date when he could go back to flashing his cash but the persistence doesn't work. He becomes quite suddenly and you wonder if you had done something wrong.

"Are you okay?" You asked after stepping out of the restaurant.

Morris looks whiplashed, lost in thought that you had ripped him from. His bright smile is back and he plays it off like it was nothing.

"Come on, pretty girl. Let's go skip some stones." Taking your hand, Morris leads you down to the water. He picks up some rocks and begins tossing them and you watch as they skip across the surface.

He shows you how it's done and when it's your turn the rock sinks almost automatically. He tries to show you again and you have to admit the second time is a tad bit better but it's still a pathetic attempt.

You try a few more times, stopping only when you hear him say your name.

"I'm heading out tomorrow," he admits to you quietly. "When I come back, will you go out with me again?"

You paused, not realizing that had ever been an option. Normally people went on one date and then another and then another. You had teased him about your next date but his response threw you for a loop and for a small moment you wondered if he didn't want another. Now he was giving you puppy dog eyes like you were bound to say no.

"When are you coming back?"

He shrugged, stepping closer. "Hard to tell. But will you?" He smiled then, full of boyish charm. "Gotta give me something to come back to."

You rolled your eyes and turned, tossing the rock as it sunk into the water. "Someone has to teach me this shit," you told him, smiling on your own as laughter erupted from him.

It was a week later when you heard back from Morris. You didn't worry about it because this was his job and you knew he was far across the sea, saving the day and everything in between.

You had just showered and was sitting in your bed, being lazy and comfortable when your phone began to ring. You looked it over, seeing it was Morris calling you and you slid your finger across the screen to answer it.

"Evening beautiful,"

"You made it out alive," You mused, laying back in your bed, your towel wrapped head nestled against the pillows.

"Always do. I didn't disturb you did I?"

You look over at the clock, checking the time. "It's barely nine."

"Not too late for a date then is it?"

You do a double-take, surprised by his question. "What are we gonna do at nine pm on a weeknight?"

"Are you doubting me, Y/N?" He laughs but softens suddenly. "We can wait until tomorrow. Or any other day of the week. I just got back and wanted to see you."

He sounded so sweet, so sincere. You had been away from one another for a week with no contact at all. She guessed he couldn't bring his phone on missions of whatever they called them, but he was back now and he wanted to see you.

So you agree. You dress and attempt to apply on makeup but he's over before you finish, knocking on the door. You hang out at your place, on your couch. He brought over food and you just eat together, talking and catching up.

"I don't know what you can tell me," you mutter, wanting to hear whatever he can say.

"Nothing special. Saved the day and all. Job well done for now."

"When do you have to leave again?"

Morris shrugs, toying with his food. "All depends. My team is useful so we get called on a lot. It can be a pain in the ass but no reason to complain about being too good at something."

"So you just...wait for the call?"

Morris leaned his head back against the couch, offering a frown. "It's not ideal. But I get paid to live nicely enough. I get to take out a pretty girl whenever she lets me."

"You say that like I'm not a cheap date."

"No lady is cheap and that's fine by me. You deserve to be pampered; even if it's just taken out at nine-thirty at night."

You laugh because even if it's cheesy, it's still one of the sweetest things you've ever heard. You carry on eating, moving to throw it all in the garbage once you're both finished. Morris follows you, staying close and watching as you work around your kitchen.

"You know. There's another reason I'm glad I came back." He mentions, taking the trash bag from you so you can refill the bin with another one.

"And what's that?"

"Well, you know what they say about the third date,"

You look over your shoulder then, raising a pointed brow at him. "Do I?" You asked. "Refresh my memory."

"The third date is when you get the first kiss. The first date is too soon and the second date is when you're testing the waters. But on the third date?" Morris shook his head, taking away as he stepped closer to you. "That's when you know it's for real. That you like this person and want more."

You find yourself speechless. Such an old fashioned theory that in reality should be laughable and yet you aren't chuckling, you aren't smiling. Morris was a grown man expressing how much he wanted to see you, how much he wanted to kiss you. Grown men didn't do things like that.

Or maybe they do and you've just never dated a grown man before. Just silly boys who wanted their dicks touched and someone pretty in their bed.

Morris moves in closer, making his way into your personal space and backing you up against the kitchen counter. He's close enough that his breath is on your face. It's warm and welcoming.

"Do you want more with me?" He asked quietly, those hazel eyes shimmering under the lights of your kitchen.

You've wanted a lot of things in your life. Things you've been lucky enough to have and things that seemed more like a dream, completely unreachable. Morris didn't seem like one of those things. He was here in front of you, offering you the world and all you had to do was take it.

And so you did.

You stepped forward, deciding to meet him halfway for the kids he had been waiting for. You kissed him slowly, just testing the waters out though it was obvious Morris had other plans.

He swoops you up, wrapping those strong arms around your frame as he deepens the kiss. It's more intense suddenly and you finally begin to realize just how much he wanted this. How much he wanted you. You found yourself lost in thoughts of him thinking of you while he was on his mission, one that was dangerous and lengthy.

You wondered if Morris spent his time thinking about you the way you had thought about him. If he truly did want more than just physical contact and he spent those nights in wherever he happened to be dreaming about seeing you again.

You've never thought so highly of yourself before. You never thought of yourself as someone worth thinking about. You're a good person but never could you imagine someone kissing you, wanting to see you the moment they got back home. The idea alone seemed so far out of reach but here he was. This amazing man who was holding you so close to him, sucking on your bottom lip as if you keep your lips attached for as long as possible until finally releasing you.

"Yeah." He whispers finally, the feeling of his warm breath tickles your cheeks. "Definitely worth the wait."

And just like that, with very little effort, you're completely smitten.

You get used to having a guy around. To having a boyfriend. It's nice at first, having someone to talk to aside from coworkers and friends. It's nice having someone to laugh with and kiss. It's also very nice to have someone always around, specifically someone who happens to be very useful and also very nice to look at especially when in uniform. You had never thought to see a guy in camo or more so, military dresses, would you attractive but Morris opened a lot of doors for you. Both literal and figuratively.

None of it is easy. How could it be? Regular relationships are hard but being involved with someone in special forces just flat out sucks. His schedule is wonky and sometimes he is gone for long periods. He isn't a doctor who is always on call and has to be pulled away in the middle of the night but he does get short notice sometimes.

The worst had been one night while you were at his place. You had gone on a mini-golf date and retired back to his apartment after destroying his ass. Morris is amusingly competitive and was playfully bitter over losing to you but was more than happy to have you make up for it with some adult-friendly fun.

You had yet to sleep with each other through this particular night seemed to be just right. He put some movie on while you sat in the couch and you both watched t for about three minutes before the arm that laid across your shoulder began moving downwards. You went from sitting beside him to straddling his lap with his hands on your hips holding you in place.

Foreplay wasn't your forte but it didn't take a genius to turn a guy on. Some heavy petting and tongue action seemed to be just the trick and as you found his hand slowly creeping up under your shirt, his door was suddenly open.

He moved swiftly, flipping you into the couch to block you from the intruder. You were scared out of your wits because of the sudden realization that someone very well could want him dead took over and for a few seconds, you just kept your eyes closed and clung to him, fearing the worst.

Morris realizes suddenly though he doesn't move automatically. "How the fuck did you my get in here?"

"You think we can't pick a few locks? We're well trained, Mouse." A man responds.

"This is illegal," Morris argues.

A second voice comes over this time a woman's. "You weren't answering your phone."

"Well, I'm sort of busy at the moment."

Suddenly the man comes into view and smiles. "Mouse has a little friend over." He acknowledging. "Hello, friend."

You open your mouth, possibly to say hello though nothing comes out. Morris shifts then, moving off you and going to stand in front of the man to block his view. "What is it you need so badly."

"Duke needs the information you gathered the other day." The woman explained from across the door.

"And this really couldn't wait?"

"What do you think?"

Morris clenches his jaw, turning his head to look back to you. With a heavy sigh, he leaves the room and retreats off to another part of the apartment. You sit up slightly, looking between the two. You don't know if they look like special forces because really, what does special forces look like outside of their uniform? If Morris hadn't told you that he was military then you wouldn't have ever guessed.

Nobody says anything to you. The woman is checking her phone while the guy is just smiling bashfully. When Morris returns he hands something to the man. "That's it. Tell Duke that he can come himself next time if it's so important."

"Tell him yourself," the man replied, frowning as the woman walked in and scooped up the file of information.

"We head out tomorrow at oh-eight-hundred." The woman responded, already heading out of the place.

Morris let out an audible groan. "Of course we do."

"She's cute, Mouse. Do you call her kitty?" The man questioned, chuckling to himself as he left.

Morris sighed again, going to relock the door after the departure of the others. He apologies to you, explaining who they are and whatnot but you brush it off. He doesn't have to explain anything to you. His job is big and important and most important very private. Whatever information they needed was very dire so who are you to fuss about it.

You stand to leave, searching the door for your shoes when Morris takes your hand. "Stay," he requests gently. You remind him that he has to leave tomorrow at six. Probably even before that, but he doesn't budge. "I'll leave you the key. You can come and go as you please until I come back."

The passion from before is gone so you know there won't be any sex tonight but it doesn't bother you much. You agree to stay because he wants you to and you follow him to his room for the night. Like his apartment his bedroom is pretty bland, not filled with much. You had mentioned it prior that he should take his place feel more like a home by adding a few things though Morris admitted he didn't see the point.

Before you, he had lived so sparingly. He went from mission to mission, more or less living for his job and nothing more. He had gotten quite cryptic one night and admitted that the lack of belongings made it easier for those who had to carry on for him after he passes. It was a cold slap in the face that his career of choice could very well end rather badly.

Not wanting to think about that now you dressed down for the night, thanking Morris when he passed you one of his shirts to sleep in. You couldn't remember the last time you shared a bed with someone or if you ever did. Without a word, Morris pulled you into his arms. He didn't come off as someone who enjoyed snuggling or spooning but he was full of surprises you had quickly found.

You slept peacefully in his arms, feeling utterly and completely safe in the warmth that was just him. When you woke you were alone in his bed, the pathetic chill of Morris' absence sent a shiver down your spine and you stayed in his bed for as long as possible before finally leaving.

You don't go back to his apartment right away. It feels strange without him there but a sudden idea sparks you to return. You bring a few things, some from your own home while others were purchased at stores in town. Little things to make his place feel more personal. Paintings and signs from his favorite sports team. A poster from a movie he had raves about that you framed and placed in the middle of the movie.

You didn't take many pictures together though the ones that you gave, yo upturn out and out in picture frames. It's so domestic you could cry and when Morris finally returns, he almost does the same. Gone were his blank walls and slightly bleak outlook.

It was almost a week when you saw him again, once again late into the night. Very late. The clock showed a single digit for the time and when you woke at the sound of the frantic knocking on the door you realized it was closer to sunrise than sunset.

Morris was at the door, standing in the rain looking like a drowned rat. Or maybe drowned a mouse.,you didn't understand why he was there. He could have waited until the morning or even the afternoon. Who knows where he had been or if he had even gotten any sleep.

You opened your mouth to speak, to question him and get him out of the rain but he cut you off swiftly.

"Did you put all that stuff in my place?"

You paused, unsure of how to respond. The answer was obvious. You brought the pictures and posters and knick-knacks. You wanted to take his place seem more comfortable and thought it would be a nice gesture. You never imagined he would be upset about it.

"The frames and everything else."

"Yes." You replied, forcing the words out from behind your teeth.

You opened your mouth to speak again, to apologize and promise that you would get rid of everything before he knew it but you never got to say a word. Morris was on your in seconds, kissing you deeply and holding you close despite his sopping wet clothing.

You fell into the kiss easily because how could you not? You missed him and he missed you, and even though it was ridiculously late you weren't going to push him away any time soon. He took the silent memo to continue and decided that enough was enough and lifted you into his arms.

Sometimes you forgot just how strong he was. Sometimes he would wear clothes that would make him look so average, so normal and then you'd get a reminder just like now that shows just how much effort he puts into his body for health and fitness.

He walked you to your room and plopped you down onto the bed. You watched with bright eyes as he peeled away from his wet clothing. You've seen him shirtless before, only for a few moments, but now was so much different. Now you were up close and personal with this beautiful creature and all you wanted to do was reach out and touch.

Morris let you because he wanted it too. It was very clear that you both wanted this, right here, right now. It wasn't ideal and it wasn't planned out, but neither of you could care. He used those deft fingers that pulled triggers on guns and missiles to open you up, his sticky-sweet voice whispering in your ear.

He said all the most wonderful things, bringing you closer to the edge. You had never gotten off on someone else's fingers before. Your own perhaps, late into the night when you were lonely and hungry for affection and a personal touch. You would lay back in your bed and watch a movie or listen to music or watch porn or maybe even listen to porn. Whatever the moment called for. Maybe you thought of someone specific or maybe you called out your name. Whatever did the job.

Now the only name you were crying out was his. Morris. Mouse. Morris L. Sanderson.

Such an interesting name. A lovely name. One that you wanted to hear and say again and again and again.

He muffles your whimpers with his mouth, lingering just long enough to remove the rest of his clothing. You expect him to dive right on in, using your juices as lubrication, but he never does. Instead, he wraps his hand around his cock, tugging and pulling on it as he swore and grunted, finishing off moments later.

You were both left panting, sticky and covered in a mixture of your seed. Morris moved to lay beside you, kissing you with a strange amount of passion for someone who just ejaculated all over your sheets.

You eventually remove those sheets and your sweat covered clothes. You snuggle up together on your bare mattress, those strong arms wrapped around you ever so tightly.

He thanks you for adding the things to his apartment, for trying to make it more comfortable.

"I wanted it to feel more like home." You confess, nuzzling against his chest.

You knew it was cheesy and disgustingly romantic, but you wanted to make him happy. To make his apartment somewhere he comfortable and wanted to return to after being away for who knows how long.

Morris breathes in your scent, his cheek resting against the top of your head. "It does. Well, almost."

You tilt your head, your own eyes locking on those shining hazel marbles. "Almost?" You mimic, wondering what it was you could have forgotten to add. Perhaps a few plants that he could water or maybe toss in a pet. Some fish or a golden retriever. "What's missing?"

Morris doesn't answer with words, because he doesn't have to. He tilts his head down and kisses you. Slow, with meaning, making it quite obvious that the thing that was missing from his apparent home is this. You and him, laying like this. In a bed after the bliss.

You knew it was cliche and silly. Something you normally would have chuckled just thinking of. But sometimes home isn't an apartment with photographs or house plants. Sometimes its a person. Sometimes it's you.

Things weren't rainbows and unicorns after that. Relationships went up and down and while sometimes it felt like the honeymoon stage would never, ever end while other times you felt like you had the whole universe against you.

You moved in together a few months after being together, which in theory was maybe a bit too quickly, but there was always that underlining fear that there may be no tomorrow. That though Morris promised to come back time and time again, there was always a possibility that he just wouldn't. You knew that was possible for any person.

Whether they be special forces or work at a 9-5 office job. You never know when it's your time, so why to bother waiting around for things to happen when you can just make them happen.

You made his formally lonely and blank apartment into a home. A place that you filled with plants that you watered and walls with even more pictures than before. You had discussed getting a pet, perhaps dog or cat or something crazy all together. One night you had talked about having children though Morris didn't comment much.

The world was full of possibilities, but your boyfriend didn't think to think of the future, because he didn't know what it would hold. The first time you had sex came later than expected, all after his strange confession that possibly leaving you with a child was a legitimate fear of his own. It seemed those in his line of work were not permitted to have families or relationships.

It wasn't against the rules, but the reality of leaving someone behind. And while that wasn't ideal, some people didn't care. Whether it be due to their reasons or wanting to carry on a legacy. Morris didn't like the idea of leaving a family behind. Or having a family outside of his team, to begin with.

But that was all before you. Now, things were complicated.

Morris came and went, following the orders of his higher-ups. The Screaming Eagles, as his sub-team had been named, were professionals and just as he had mentioned before, you can't complain about being too good at something.

At first, you don't let it bother you. He's always careful, always back within a few days. It's when he starts going more often and staying away far longer that you begin to get irked. You know you shouldn't. After all, if he didn't save the world, then who would?

It got scary a handful of times as while he did come back to you, sometimes he would be a bit more damaged than before. A scar here. Bullet mark there. One time he was in the hospital for over a week, having just barely dodged getting blown up.

It was terrifying, getting the phone call from someone you didn't know telling you that your boyfriend was laid up, just partial conscious with bruises and bandages. When you went to see him, he tried to crack a joke, tried to get you to smile, but you couldn't. You were happy he was alive, but that didn't change the turning in your stomach.

He was home for a while after that, healing up, but you knew it wouldn't be for long. His team needed him. Perhaps even more than you needed him. Teammates would show up out of the blue to check on him and while getting to know other Screaming Eagle members was exciting and brought a sense of normality to it, you couldn't help but be bitter.

You moved in together a few months after being together, which in theory was maybe a bit too quickly, but there was always that underlining fear that there may be no tomorrow. That though Morris promised to come back time and time again, there was always a possibility that he just wouldn't. You knew that was possible for any person.

Whether they be special forces or work at a 9-5 office job. You never know when it's your time, so why bother waiting around for things to happen when you can just make them happen.

You made his formally lonely and blank apartment into a home. A place that you filled with plants that you watered and walls with even more pictures than before. You had discussed getting a pet, perhaps dog or cat or something crazy all together. One night you had talked about having children though Morris didn't comment much.

The world was full of possibilities, but your boyfriend didn't think to think of the future, because he didn't know what it would hold.

It had been the largest fight you both ever had. You don't truly remember what even set it off, but before you knew it, you were screaming and fighting, arguing over things you wanted and didn't want.

How utterly unfair it was that he could come and go for days or even weeks and all you could do was wait for him come back.

"I always come back!" He shouted, his voice rising as the anger bubbled inside of him.

"For now." She shot back. "You came back after nearly being blown to pieces. And here you are, still healing, still carrying those physical and mental scars and you're already planning to go back."

"I have to go back. This is what I do. This is what I have always done."

"And I get that!" You insist. You aren't trying to get him to stop. You'd never do that to him. You knew Morris loved his work, you knew that this was what he was meant to do, but he had to understand. He needed to comprehend how unhappy you were in this situation.

"Then what?!"

"I'm scared!" You confess loudly. "I'm scared of not knowing where you are or what you're doing. I'm scared of you never coming back. And I know it's immature and I know I this is what you do, but I just..."

You threw your hands up, unsure of what else to say. What could you say? Your feelings were obvious. You were scared and sad, and unhappy. You wanted this man all the time and you couldn't have that. It was unfair and you were ashamed to feel this way, but you just couldn't help it.

"I'm not going to apologize, Y/N," Morris confessed, stepping closer to you. "We could break up and maybe we should, but I won't be the one to do it. I can't. Call me a selfish bastard, but I want you. I want things I never thought I would want. Never thought I could want."

Breaking up would have been easier. You could have scrapped it all as a wonderful memory and went back to your old apartment or find a different one. You could find another person who had a regular job and didn't disappear for days on end. Who wouldn't get blown up during a massive fight and didn't have a ridiculous codename?

"Say the word and I'll leave." He promised, reaching up with those strong hands to cradle your face.

The same hands that would pull the trigger and end the lives of the enemy were holding you so carefully like you were the fucking world.

"Just say it and it will all be over." He whispered, those hazel eyes bright and wide as he waited for you to make the choice.

All you would have had to do was say the word. He could have walked away and it would all be over.

But you didn't want to do that. You hated how much your heart was hurting, but you knew that the pain of being apart wouldn't be any less painful than the pain of being together even if you were separated time and time again.

So rather than saying the words and ending everything, you brought your lips to his, kissing him soundly. You caught him off guard, which was never easy to do as his senses were always spot on, but tonight you found yourself finally able to stop the special force's specialist.

He caught on quickly, of course, moving his hands from your face and down to your waist, lifting you into his arms. He didn't bother bringing you to your bedroom and instead dropped you right onto the couch where he ravished you ever so properly.

Sex had always been enjoyable but was it completely different from Morris. He was so attentive to you and your needs, wanting to get you off before he did. You had never been with someone who cared about you as much as he did. Who loved you as much as he did.

And you never loved anybody the way you loved him. Your Morris L. Sanderson. Your Mouse.

You enjoyed your final days together for as long as they could last. You went into the city and date multiple date nights. You spent days in bed, rolling around in the sheets and tucked away from the rest of the world. You went back to the bar where you first met and pulled Morris into the bathroom where you fucked his brains out, finally experience the thrill of having sex in a public place.

It was wild and spontaneous, something you'd only want to do with this one person.

You try not to think about when he'd have to go. He would return to his team and carry on saving the world. That day doesn't come quickly, but it does come eventually and you don't let it bother you. You can't because what is the point of crying? Of fighting? He'll come back. He always does after all.

So you kiss him goodbye and promise to see him again.

Morris leaves and you're left alone again, carrying on with life like always. You went to work and bought food for the house and watered your plants. You looked into getting a pet so your home wasn't so lonely when you were alone.

When Morris returned, it was the same as always. He kissed you wildly, spending a good while making love to you late into the night. Morris was a passionate person, but at no other time was the most full of need and desire than on the days when he would return.

Normally he wouldn't speak of what had gone down while he was away, but on some evenings would be more talkative and this night in particular. He mentioned that they were getting closer to finishing whatever was started and that a new plan was being made. You didn't understand what he was getting into and fell asleep listening to his voice.

When morning came, you cleaned around the room, finding no sign of a condom. You found Morris in the kitchen, eating cereal on the couch. He was rambling on about how lovely you looked, hair messy from sleep as you stood in nothing more than his tee-shirt and your panties.

"We forgot the condom." You mention to him, pausing to wait for him to get upset.

You knew there were other options for protection and whether or not you were on the pill was up in the air currently. Morris looked up from his cereal, swallowing his final bite. "I know." He admitted quietly. "Realized when we finished."

"You're oddly calm about this." You mention, thinking back to the long conversations you used to have with him about pregnancy and having a child. Neither of you was ready then but time went on and things changed.

You didn't know how you felt about the subject, mostly because you haven't thought about it for a while.

"Doesn't matter." Morris shrugs. "If it happens, it happens. No reason to worry."

"No reason to worry?" You repeat, raising a brow to him.

Morris bobbed his head, turning his attention back onto his cereal. "No reason to worry." He replied, his eyes focusing on the television before him.

There was no reason to worry. No pregnancy came and you began to wonder if Morris was disappointed because of it. Sometimes you could watch him watching you as if he was waiting for a chance to come that never would.

You use condoms when you have sex, though not every single time. Only when he knows he is going to leave, but never when he returns. It's an unspoken agreement of you two. Whatever happens, happens. You wouldn't push for it, but you wouldn't wholeheartedly try to prevent it either.

You both grow comfortable in the life you've created with one another until one day Morris throws a wrench in your plan. A wonderful wrench in the shape of a house. Not an apartment or a loft or a sublet. A house. An actual fucking house with a yard and a garden and multiple bedrooms.

You lose your mind in not so many words, unable to fathom that this is something you have. You're a homeowner. Your boyfriend bought you a house to stay in. A house that you could make your own. You don't believe him, insisting that all of this was just far too out of reach for either of you.

Morris is just standing there, smiling with his gorgeous smile. "You can make any place a home, but I thought . . . why not make it a bit more permanent?"

"This is . . . Morris!" You're flabbergasted, unable to fully process all of this.

So you jump his bones, laughing and smiling, kissing him with every ounce of happiness that you could muster. He carries you into the house that isn't exactly furnished but that doesn't matter. You make love on the floor, riding him into oblivion and crying out his name without worries of neighbors hearing through the walls.

You spend the weekend moving in, finding yourself thankful that Morris had a lot of friends who were strong enough to carry all your boxes for you. They stayed to celebrate afterward. Duke, and Roadblock, Clutch, and Lady Jaye. Everyone whose names you were just finding out.

You sat in your back yard, all of you drinking beer at you sat around a handmade fire pit as they talk stories about their past missions. You were seated on Morris' lap, with his arms around your waist as he held you tightly.

You laughed at the tales they told about your wonderful boyfriend, all of which were silly and wild and brave. When the night came to an end, Morris put out the fire and you were in the kitchen cleaning up. Duke and Jaye approached you, thanking you for the good night and wishing you a happy home warming.

"It's nice you know. Seeing him happy." Duke mentioned. Duke wasn't the type to say a lot, but when he spoke, you knew it meant something. "Keep it up," With a pat on your shoulder, the two left the house, leaving you and Morris alone in your home.

You were able to enjoy it for a few more days before the man was called away again. It was strange, being alone in this wonderful house. It was more open than the apartment and it would certainly be a lot to get used to, but you'd make it work.

Morris would come and go, come and go. You lived your life as well as you could. You were happy and sad, you missed him terribly but were always glad to see him come back.

You were laying in bed one night, one before he was supposed to leave. This trip was the biggest yet. Duke had come over a few nights before going over the planning and while you were in and out of the house, off to spend some time with friends, you caught a bit of the conversation. If they succeeded in this, then retirement was possible.

Retirement never even seemed like something attainable for Morris. He was too young. Too good at his job. But maybe, just maybe, it was something he'd want and could have.

You had made love slowly, letting only the light from the moon peek in through your window. You chose not to get dressed, allowing only the blanket to cover your naked bodies as you stayed wrapped up in one another afterward. No condom had been used this time around and Morris continued to kiss your cheeks and lips as you laid together.

"I have something for you," He admitted softly.

"Oh? And what is that?"

"It's in the nightstand." He said, tightening his arms around you. "But you can't have it yet."

"What?" You laugh.

"You can open it when I come back."

"Why bother telling me then?"

Morris just chuckles and kisses you. It was his personality. He was witty and charming and one hundred percent a wiseass. He would spoil you endlessly, but make you wait for it just to make a point across even if you didn't know what the point was.

When morning came, Morris was gone, leaving behind a note and a little stuffed mouse for good measure. It was plush and precious and you took hold of it, keeping it close to your heart. You roll over, going back to sleep so you could dream of this wonderful man. You dream of opening up your gift and picturing the life you'll have together.

A life full of happiness and joy. With pets and kids and everything in between.

A day passes and then another. Nothing you're not used to. On a particularly nice night, you go out to the water and begin skipping stones or well, attempt to. On the final try, you finally get it.

The small stone bounced across the water surface, disappearing off into the distance. You jump triumphantly, searching around to see if anyone was around to witness your achievement. You were alone, but it didn't bother you much.

It would be something for you to tell Mouse when he came home.

And he always came home.

Just like he promised he would.

#G.I Joe Retaliation #Retaliation #Morris Mouse Sanderson #Mouse x Reader #Joe Mazzello X Reader #Joe Mazzello #X reader #reader fanfiction #fanfic #writing #military #military x reader #joseph mazzello x reader #Joseph mazzello #military boyfriend #he is like an angsty #gardner langway

[the-redhead-who-writes]

The Nutcracker Prince and the Devil Mouse

A re-telling of the classic ballet has Mika Anderson receiving a set of exquisite soldiers and a handcrafted Nutcracker for Christmas from her Grandfather Drosselmeyer. But with her joy comes uncertainty when an unexpected announcement from her Father and the sudden appearance of a frightful villain threatens to shatter everything she knows. Amidst the darkness, Mika will find love and an inner strength she'd never before known. Along with the magic of Christmas and the help of her friends, both old and new, will it be enough to save the holidays and her future? 

Happy Holidays dorks! This story has been in the works for nearly a year now when I woke up in a cold sweat one night in the middle of last January and thought: "What if Harold Anderson was more like Uncle Drosselmeyer from the Nutcracker?"

So, I present to you a fanfiction to spread a little festive cheer to both veteran and new Seduce Me fans alike. The plan is to have the whole story up before February, but you know me and my time management skills; I promise to do my best though!

This fanfic is also specially dedicated to my best friend and beta @the-sassy-sister​. Thank you for being with me through thick and thin!

And now, without further ado, please enjoy my take on a holiday classic!

Links: AO3

Mika imagined that most girls her age would be excited about their family’s annual Christmas party. Her Mother certainly was; she’d been running around for days arranging the necessary preparations: polishing the silverware, scrubbing the floors. Ensuring everything would be just perfect.

Mika struggled to see the point.

Not that she considered herself a Scrooge by any means. She really did love the holidays and everything that came with them: the house smelling of delicious food being prepared; the beautiful decorations that glittered over every inch of the house; and, of course, the time spent with friends and loved ones.

But when the ‘friends and loved ones’ were powerful execs and stuffy, influential board members, it was hard to feel merry.

The party was dragging by at a snail’s pace, and Mika’s cheeks ached from the smile she’d kept plastered on her face for the last three hours. She supposed she should be used to it by now; her father held the same lavish affair every year. And every year, she was expected to stand around, look pretty and repeat the usual lines.

Thank you for coming. We’re so glad to have you here. Why yes, I am doing well in my studies. Please, try the fruitcake.

She sighed, rolling her neck to ease the tense muscles in her shoulders. Her position as a greeter at the front door had long since finished, as the party was well underway and all of the A-list guests had arrived. But Mika wasn’t waiting on any of them.

Anticipation had her fingers drumming on the staircase railing, keeping in time with the ticking antique grandfather clock in the adjacent living room. Slipping away during speeches would probably earn her a lecture from her Father at the end of the night, but right now, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“Any sign of him?”

Mika turned her head from the door to see Naomi exiting the kitchen, holding a glass of punch. Suzu followed after her, grinning toothily behind her plate of precariously stacked baked goods.

Mika smiled wearily, accepting the drink from Naomi. “No, not yet. He should be here soon, though.”

The soft-spoken girl nodded, while Suzu snorted, moving to sit next to Mika on the bottom step. “Your Granddad sure does like to make an entrance.”

Mika followed suit, sitting down with a chuckle.

Harold Anderson, the eccentric toymaker and famed CEO of Anderson Toys.

He’d amassed quite the legacy over the years; travelling to every corner of the globe and creating the most exquisite toys the world had ever seen. His products were a household name around birthdays and Christmas, and he was regarded as one of the highest-ranking businessmen in North America.

Multi-national corporation aside, he was also known for his kind heart and regular charity donations; he had more than a handful of schools and playgrounds named after him. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that thousands of lives had been changed thanks to his generosity.

But to Mika, he was simply Grandfather Drosselmeyer.

She couldn’t recall where the moniker had come from, most likely stemming from his many travels - travels which he would spin for her in hundreds of elaborate stories. As a child, she’d sit and listen to him for hours as he described the magic behind his latest adventure while he tinkered on one of his brilliant contraptions. And when she discovered her love of ballet, he’d bought Mika her first pair of dancing slippers and never missed a concert.

Nowadays, she was just grateful to hear from him.

Her Father wasn’t shy about his distaste for the unconventional methods in which the patriarch of Anderson Toys ran his company, along with his “childish” views on business. So as the years went by, Mika saw less and less of her Grandfather. He still held the reins on the company, of course, but chose to handle most of his work abroad to appease his son. That left Mika relying on word of mouth or social media to keep track of him.

The exceptions were the holidays, where he would arrive with exquisite gifts and handmade toys for his employees. How she treasured those moments: they made her Father’s parties bearable.

“Whaddya think he’ll have this time?” Suzu asked, words muffled by the cookie she’d stuffed in her mouth.

Mika shrugged, gaze back on the door as she took a sip of her punch. “Who knows? He’s been really quiet this year. Last I heard he was visiting Moscow.”

Naomi excitedly clapped her hands together, cooing. “Ooh, maybe he’ll bring you a set of cute little Russian nesting dolls!”

Suzu rolled her eyes. “Those things are creepy as hell, Naomi. What about one of the model airplanes he said he was working on-?” She paused, taking a massive bite of a brownie. “Nah tha wud be cul.”

Naomi made a sound of disgust as Suzu smirked, teeth smeared with chocolate, and Mika grinned behind her glass.

“Mika!”

The sharp, cold voice had the young woman in question nearly choking on her drink. She lurched to her feet, turning around to see her Father straightening his already pristine tie as he approached from down the hall.

“Yes, Father?” she quickly replied, placing her cup down on the step and folding her hands timidly.

“You’re needed in the dining room,” the man said curtly, eyeing her friends. Naomi twisted a piece of her hair, looking at the floor; Suzu hastily swallowed her mouthful of brownie.

Mika blanched. “R-right now?” she stammered, “But, I-I’m waiting for-”

“Yes, I’m well aware of what you’re doing,” he sneered, casting a dismissive glance at the door. “But as usual, my Father is late. And this is vitally important. My speech is about to begin.”

Her Father glared down at her, arms folded tightly across his chest. His lips were pulled into a thin, impatient frown, and Mika swallowed, squeezing her hands.

“I understand Father, but could I have just another few minutes? It would be impolite to leave Grandfather Dross-“ Mika backpedalled, watching her Father’s eyes narrow at the nickname. “...To leave Grandfather to let himself in.”

A scoff. “My Father can’t be bothered with etiquette, so why should we pay him the same kindness?”

Hearing the word 'kindness' out of her Father’s mouth was as foreign as “I love you.” Mika’s lips almost twitched.

Almost.

“Now, hurry up. Our guests are waiting.”

His tone left no room for argument, and with the very real threat of an open shouting match in front of her friends hanging in the air, Mika faltered.

Resigned, she nodded complacently. “Yes, Father. Of course,” Mika murmured.

She then turned to Naomi and Suzu, who were watching her with small, sympathetic smiles.

“Let me know when he arrives?”she asked.

Suzu grinned, shooting her a thumbs-up. “You got it, Chika.”

It was at that moment the front doors blew open, sending a gust of winter air spilling into the foyer. The snow that carried in sparkled as it swirled around them, glittering under the chandelier light.

Mika winced against the bite of the cold, shielding her eyes as her hair whipped her face.

“When who arrives, sweetie?”

Mika’s heart lurched at the familiar, jolly voice, and she hurried to blink the spots from her vision as the heavy doors thudded closed.

His cheeks and nose were bitten red with the cold, but warmth shone in the forest green eyes that were a shade darker than her own; their only resemblance.

He reached up to tip his top hat politely. “I’m sorry, my dear. Did I keep you waiting?”

Standing under the light of the winter moon, he beamed at Mika from under the brim with such love that her eyes pricked with tears.

Her Grandfather Drosselmeyer.

Mika’s face split into the first genuine smile of the night. Forgetting all proprieties, she ran to embrace him, burying her face in the heavy, woollen material of his worn travelling cloak.

His arms came up to return the hug, squeezing her tightly and resting his chin on the top of her head.

“Even taller this year, I see,” the old man chuckled, and Mika grinned.

“You’re just shrinking,” she shot back playfully, looking up to see her Grandfather’s eye - the one not concealed under his eyepatch - crinkle with mirth at her usual retort.

He’d never told her what had happened.

Years ago, Harold Anderson returned home from one of his long trips with the right side of his face bandaged painfully tight. He’d soothed Mika’s frantic tears, taking her small form up onto his knee with a mischievous smile.

“Mice,” he’d whispered. “Such tricky little devils.”

With his sharp wit and seemingly boundless energy, her Grandfather Drosselmeyer had the disposition of a man half his age. His laugh lines were what gave him away, etching his face with the echoes of every joke he’d ever told.

Combined with his neatly styled silver hair - which he sported as a proud badge of his years - Harold Anderson gave off the impression of a kindly, dignified artisan rather than a shrewd business mogul.

Unlike her Father, whose glare burned into Mika’s back with unabashed contempt.

Mr. Anderson pointedly cleared his throat, and Mika winced. Her Grandfather didn’t seem the slightest bit perturbed, though. He turned them both to face his son with a broad smile.

“Merry Christmas, my boy! It’s so good to see you.”

The greeting he got in return was clipped.

“Father. Clearly, you believe attending these parties aren’t worth your precious time. Why even bother showing up?”

“Oh, come now, son, you know how I hate small talk. Why drag myself through such stuffy formalities when I can simply arrive at the climax?” Grandfather Drosselmeyer exclaimed cheerfully, unphased by the sour look on his son’s face.

Mika giggled, but the laughter died in her throat at her Father’s glower.

Mr. Anderson hummed, unimpressed. “Honestly, with all the money being thrown away on these ‘research expeditions’, you’re lucky I can keep the company afloat.”

“Ah, is that an invitation to join back in on day-to-day affairs? You know how I’ve missed our little chats. The burnt coffee in the boardroom was just a bonus, after all.”

Her Grandfather’s easygoing attitude only seemed to irritate her Father further.

“You are a figurehead, and nothing more,” he snapped. “Anderson Toys is finally moving towards becoming one of the top grossing corporations on the continent, and if footing the bill for your ridiculous trips keeps you out of the way, then so be it.”

Fury and indignation for her Grandfather boiled like acid in Mika’s stomach, and her hug tightened defensively around him.

Her Grandfather, as she had expected, didn’t rise to the taunt. He simply patted her hand soothingly and continued to smile.

“Even the figurehead still gets to attend his own company’s party, yes?” he inquired politely, and her Father sneered.

“You’d still ask despite turning up late? Clearly your nerve hasn’t softened with age like your mind. Well, seeing as how I was just in the middle of addressing my guests, you can wait here until I’ve-“

“Oh, is that Harold?”

“Harold, you sly dog! We thought you’d never show!”

The voices that floated in expressed surprise and delight as Harold’s arrival reached the dining room. Slowly, guests carried into the lobby, eager to greet their beloved CEO with a flurry of questions.

Drosselmeyer met with each of them, shaking hands left and right jovially before inviting the group to follow him to the main parlour.

“Oh, you don’t mind, do you, David?” Harold chimed, seemingly unaware of the way in which he was stepping on his son’s proverbial toes.

Mika knew better. A twinge of satisfaction curled her lips as her Father’s spotlight was stolen away, leaving the corner of his eye twitching.

“...We’ll get back to the speech’s afterwards,” Mr. Anderson ground out as delicately as possible.

Harold clapped his hands together. “Wonderful! Now, shall we?”

-❄-

Soon, the parlour was packed, and a roaring fire crackled merrily in the brick fireplace. With the room full of laughter, warmth, and happily chattering people, Mika felt like Christmas had finally arrived in the cold estate.

And in the middle of it all was her Grandfather Drosselmeyer.

Sat in a large armchair by the fireplace, he beamed like a modern-day Saint Nick. The overstuffed velvet sack he’d conjured from seemingly thin air sat open on the floor, and with every dip into its endless depths, a new and wonderful creation appeared.

Button-eyed teddy bears with hand-stitched smiles; rollerblades whose wheels gleamed with fresh polish; pop guns that fired corks with a bang.

Even the company’s oldest employees were transported back to their earliest Christmas mornings, eyes sparkling with childlike wonder at the beautiful toys her Grandfather produced.

As the last of the gifts were handed out, Mika and her friends sat around the front of Grandfather Drosselmeyer’s chair.

“You’ve really topped yourself this year, Mr. D!” Suzu exclaimed, fiddling with a stray paddle ball while she lay sprawled across the carpet.

Naomi coughed daintily into her fist, sitting cross-legged. “She means ‘thank you,’ Mr. Anderson.”

Her Grandfather laughed heartily. “You’re most welcome, girls. And I’ve told you to call me Drosselmeyer, Naomi. ‘Mr. Anderson-’,” he said, donning an exaggeratedly droll tone and puffing out his chest, “-is my son.”

Mika giggled, smoothing the glossy curls on the china doll in her lap.

Her Father was busy skulking around the outskirts of the party, so she could allow herself to relax for the time being. It was hard not to when she was with her Grandfather; his presence was like being enveloped in a ray of warm sunshine.

“I’m glad to see you ladies are having fun,” Grandfather continued, “But we aren’t through just yet! There’s still the grand finale!”

Grandfather Drosselmeyer gestured for the three girls to come closer on the carpet, and so they did, crowding nearer as he once again delved into his bag.

“For Suzu,” he began with a twinkle in his eye, “the latest in my line of model airplanes.”

He revealed a beautifully painted metal bi-plane with gold stripes up the wings and matching propellers on the nose and fins. The landing gear even had miniature rubber tires.

Suzu was starry-eyed. “No way! It’s so cool!”

Grandfather Drosselmeyer chuckled, handing it to the eager girl. “I thought you’d like the fastest prototype we had available. I trust you’ll give our engineers a run for their money.”

“Hell yeah! Thanks, Mr. D!” Suzu whooped, jumping to her feet and dipping the plane through the air, watching the propeller blades spin.

Naomi's lips pinched, clearly torn between reprimanding Suzu for her language and letting her enjoy herself.

Her struggle was immediately forgotten, however, when Drosselmeyer announced her gift.

“For Naomi, a hand-painted matryoshka doll that’s travelled with me all the way from Belarus.”

Naomi squealed, the excited noise a stark contrast to her usually reserved nature.

“It’s beautiful, Mr. A- Um, Drosselmeyer!” she corrected quickly, gratefully accepting the wooden figurine.

It was of a woman with ruby lips in a green-patterned apron, her eyes closed demurely. The paint glistened in the firelight, and Naomi traced along the intricate carvings before twisting the top half gently. It popped open with ease to reveal a smaller figurine, this one in a blue dress.

She gave the old man a quick hug before beginning the task of opening each compartmented doll.

Mika smiled at the twin expressions of joy on her friends’ faces.

How her Grandfather always knew just the right gifts to bring was beyond her, but it wasn’t surprising. He’d always had a knack for reading people, and she’d seen him do and create so many extraordinary things.

Mika doubted she’d ever stop being amazed by her Grandfather Drosselmeyer.

A small, fearful part of her heart prayed that she wouldn’t.

Her sudden anxiety calmed when a knuckle curled beneath her chin, tilting her face upwards to meet loving eyes.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” Grandfather Drosselmeyer asked softly, and Mika’s throat tightened with a swell of emotion.

It was Christmas, and she was with the people she adored; it was everything Mika could possibly want. To spend such a special night worrying would be a waste.

“Nothing Grandfather. Everything is perfect,” she reassured, shaking off her momentary nerves with a watery smile.

Her Grandfather’s eyes shimmered with a depth far beyond his years as he studied her face carefully.

Mika’s heart turned over in her chest. At that moment, it felt as if he could see right through her practiced facade, knowing every one of the hopes and fears she had long grown accustomed to keeping hidden away.

But then, his smile brightened.

“Well if that’s the case, I don’t suppose you’ll be needing your gift then, hmm?”

Mika’s relieved giggle was dwarfed by her Grandfather’s hearty laughter as he pulled back to once again reach into his bag.

“I must confess that I actually have three presents for you this year, my dear. Is that alright?”

Mika bit her lip and attempted to school her features into a mask of nonchalance.

“Well, if you’ve already brought them, then I guess it's fine.”

Suzu snorted, tucking her plane under her arm and plopping back down next Mika.

Grandfather Drosselmeyer chuckled, waiting for Naomi to close up the last of her dolls so she could watch too.

“Now, for my beloved Granddaughter,” he announced, “this first gift is best suited for someone with your open-mindedness.”

Curious, the girls leaned closer. Grandfather paused for a moment before showing a stuffed animal.

Or at least, what resembled a stuffed animal.

It was white, with a long bushy tail and small feet. It sat on its hind legs, its stubby paws folded in front of it.

But in one of its paws, it had… a knife?!

Combined with its eerie red eyes and a jagged smile, Mika was shocked this design had ever cleared management.

“I know, he’s a little off-putting at first,” Grandfather admitted. “He was meant to be a cooking squirrel, complete with a chef hat. But somewhere along the way, he got a little…”

“Creepy?” Suzu offered, and Grandfather Drosselmeyer shrugged helplessly.

“...Yes, I suppose that’s fitting. He’s the only one of his kind, you see, and rather than have him destroyed, I thought Mika might be able to find his potential.”

Mika listened to this, all the while observing the unusual looking toy.

Yes, it had a few quirks, but there was undoubtedly a charm to him that Mika couldn’t quite put her finger on. So, she happily took the squirrel from her Grandfather, setting aside the doll from earlier to place it in her lap.

“I think I’ll call him… Simon. Simon Tabby.”

Her Grandfather nodded his approval while Naomi and Suzu gawked at her like she’d grown a second head.

“What?” Mika smirked at her friends, holding Simon up and wiggling his paws. “You’re not really scared of such a cute little guy, are you?”

Suzu scoffed, though Naomi looked noticeably paler.

“The next is something to read in bed during a stormy night,” Grandfather Drosselmeyer continued.

He dug around the bag again and Mika held back a gasp when a beautifully decorated leather book was revealed.

It was about the size and thickness of a phone book, with gold and bronze metal detailings along the spine and cover corners.

“Grandfather, it’s lovely!” Mika breathed.

“Ah, but I think you’ll like what’s inside even more,” he said with an arched brow.

Opening the book gently, Mika watched as he flipped through the parchment pages to reveal dozens of hand-painted illustrations and cursive script.

“A collection of as many tall tales and legends as I could find throughout my travels. I know how much you love a good story; when you were little, you wouldn’t settle down until I’d read you every book I had on my shelves.”

Mika wrinkled her nose playfully. “Every book? Knowing your library, I never would’ve slept.”

Grandfather groaned dramatically, head sagging to his chest. “Oh, you didn’t. Just thinking about those long nights chasing you up and down the hallways is enough to make me feel my age tenfold.”

Mika’s giggles were bubbly as she leaned forward to take the book, being mindful of Simon Tabby in her lap.

It was shockingly light for its size, only a third of the weight Mika had been expecting. Opening to the index, she read dozens of titles, some she recognized and others she didn’t.

Just picturing the hours of work that must’ve been needed to create it had a tingling warmth fill her chest.

Closing the tome gently, she offered it to Naomi, who began skimming the chapters curiously. Suzu scooted over to sneak a peek.

“And last, but certainly not least…” Grandfather Drosselmeyer trailed off quietly, reaching in with both hands and a small wistful smile.

Slowly, he pulled out a wooden box with a dark spiral pattern burned into the lid.

“A set of loyal protectors.”

He opened the case, hinges creaking, and this time, Mika’s breath did rush out in a soft gasp.

Four tin soldiers laid in the box’s velvet lining, adorned in matching military uniforms. Each one had a different colour lapel and hat brim. They were incredibly well made, with distinguishing features such as hair and eye colour.

And in the centre of the Soldiers was the most handsome Nutcracker Mika had ever seen.

Brilliant emerald eyes seemed to shine from behind the brim of his hat and brown bangs. A sword was tucked carefully into his left holster.

Mika didn’t even realize she was crying until her vision blurred, hot tears fluttering on her bottom lashes.

“You like them?” Grandfather asked tenderly, and in response, Mika held out her hands.

“Can I hold them, please?” she whispered with a choked voice.

Grandfather smiled. “Of course you can, dear. They’re yours.”

Mika received the chest with the utmost care, gingerly running her fingers over the five figurines.

“Did you make them, Grandfather Drosselmeyer?” Mika murmured, still enraptured with her gift.

Grandfather shook his head. “I can’t say that I did, though they’ve been through a great deal with me over the years. Now, I give them to you: to protect my most precious Granddaughter.”

Mika was in two minds. She so desperately wanted to throw her arms around her Grandfather and give him the tightest hug she could. But instead, she found herself strangely fixated with the soldiers that lay before her.

They radiated with life, just shy of breathing. It felt as if she took her eyes off them for even a second, they’d simply stand up and run off with a will of their own.

Drosselmeyer broke her trance by reaching down and carefully removing the Nutcracker, reassuring his suddenly panicked Granddaughter with an amused smile.

“Don’t worry, sweetie, I just want to make sure he’s still working properly after our long journey.”

Mika released the breath she’d inadvertently been holding, rightfully embarrassed at her covetousness. As her cheeks bloomed red, Grandfather Drosselmeyer waved off her stammered apology as he reached into his coat pocket.

“It warms this old man’s heart to see just how much you still enjoy his tricks, my dear. And speaking of tricks…”

He revealed a single walnut. Placing it inside the Nutcracker’s mouth, it only took a quick pull on the lever in his back to crush the nut into pieces.

“Whoa!” Suzu exclaimed, leaning up on her knees as Drosselmeyer brushed away a bit of stray dust from his pant leg. “That’s awesome!”

“Yes, he’s certainly a handy fellow, isn’t he? But at my age, soups and a nice soft muffin are more fitting. So I hope you’ll find some use for him, Mika.”

Mika rolled her eyes at her Grandfather’s joke but quickly focused her attention back on the Nutcracker. “I promise I’ll take the best care of him, Grandfather. You have my word.”

Grandfather Drosselmeyer’s eyes glimmered with intrigue as he raised a brow. “And there is power in our words, hmm?”

Suzu and Naomi might’ve thought the sudden gravity behind her next sentence was out of place. But to Mika, having her Grandfather’s trust meant more to her than anything.

When you grow up around people who view lying as natural as breathing, you either learn the importance of fidelity and honesty, or you become them.

And Gods did that terrify her.

“Every single one,” Mika swore earnestly and was rewarded with a proud smile from Grandfather Drosselmeyer. He handed back the Nutcracker, and Mika held him carefully under one arm as she stood to meet her Grandfather’s hug.

“Thank you, Grandfather Drosselmeyer,” Mika whispered fervently.

“You’re most welcome, sweetie,” her Grandfather whispered back.

If he noticed how desperately she clung to him, he didn’t mention it. He simply returned the embrace for as long as Mika needed it, only moving back when she loosened her grip slightly a few moments later.

She looked up to see the adoration shining in his eyes, and Mika’s heart felt lighter than it had in weeks.

Finally, after every silent meal, cold glance and forced smile, finally... the house was her home again.

-❄-

There you have it, the first chapter! I really hope it was as fun to read as it was to write and plan out.

The story will follow the classic ballet along with a few twist and turns of my own design, and since I'm still polishing a few bits and pieces for the later chapters, any and all feedback is much appreciated!

Oh, and by the way, I won't be revealing which boy Mika ends up with until a little later into the story. Feel free to take your guesses as to who the lucky fella will be!

#my writing #seduce me otome #seduce me the otome #seducemeotome #fanfiction #the nutcracker #christmas #fluff #mika anderson #visual novel #suzu #naomi #enjoy this first chapter!