#whoa bessie

[builder051]

Pale ale

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A little Whoa Bessie Halloween featuring college Bucky and Steve.

Warnings for college drinking and foul language

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“I’m so glad these don’t have doorbells.” Bucky hip-checks the door to his dorm. He turns the lock with one hand and balances a 6-pack of beer on the palm of the other.

“You’re gonna drop those.” Steve crashes on James’s bed.

“No, I’m not.”

James turns around and grins. He hefts the weight of the package behind the opposite arm as if showing off a trick with a basketball. The flimsy cardboard wrapper doesn’t hold up to the weight of the tilting cans, and all six come tumbling down.

“Oh, shit.” James lunges for the can that lands on the foot of the bed while the rest crash to the floor. One particularly unlucky beer hits the corner of one of the bed risers, and foam gushes onto the carpet. “Fuck.”

Steve scuttles to pick it up, practically crashing heads with James in his rush.

“You’re gonna get in trouble if it smells like alcohol in here.” Steve’s eyes go wide with sincerity. “You have to stay on the good side or they won’t let me come in here anymore.”

“Relax.”

James tosses the rest of the cans onto his comforter. They roll toward Steve, who now sits criss-cross with his face in his hands. James throws his towel over the spill and steps on it. Then climbs onto the bed beside Steve.

“You know you worry too much.” It’s a statement. James is caught between indulging Steve’s anxiety and assuaging it.

“Yeah, well.” Steve looks up and visibly gulps. “We’re kinda close to the line. Like, a lot.”

“I’d be surprised if a single RA is patrolling for curfew.” James rolls his eyes. “I mean, if they man their posts at all. It’s always honor system on party nights.”

“I guess so.” Steve tries a smile, but it comes off as a grimace. “Upper class-men party it up more?”

“Eh, most people get out of their systems their first year. Seniors…” James shrugs. “I don’t know. They probably go to real parties off campus, since they’re old folks with IDs and all.”

Steve tilts his head. “Who goes to the frat parties, then?”

“Aw, probably some dumb kids…”James keeps his face carefully stoic and grabs the nearest beer. It spits in his face when he pops the tab.

“You’re talking in circles.” Steve narrows his eyes at James. “Unless you’re implying the Greek system is swindling the freshmen.”

“They’ve got to replace themselves somehow.” James holds the beer under Steve’s chin. “Here, drink up.”

“Watch yourself. I thought you were better than that.”

“Oh, I’m terrible.” James takes a beer for himself. He clinks it sideways against the one in Steve’s hand. “Somebody’s got to teach you right.”

“You’re only one year older.” Steve puffs himself up.

“And you’ve never pulled an all-nighter. Come on. Drink up.” James leans into Steve’s shoulder. “I’ve got to raise you right. It’s my job.”

“I guess…” Steve takes a swallow of his beer. The cap is more fizz than substance, and he coughs instead of swallowing. “Oh god.” Foam runs from Steve’s nose. He pulls his hand into his sleeve and uses the cuff to wipe his face.

“Remember to breathe,” James reminds him, trying not to laugh. “Breathe while you drink. Just not at the same time.” He knocks Steve between the shoulder blades with what’s probably too much gusto.

“That makes no sense.” Steve sputters again and pulls a face. “This is… kind of disgusting.”

“Meh.” James takes a long draught. “Yeah, it ain’t great.” He swills a bit in his mouth as he tries to sum up the flavor. “It’s… almost a pilsner. Just a little watery. But, heck, it’s from WalMart.” He points toward the cardboard packaging on the floor. “I should’ve told you to have low expectations.”

“How much do I have to have in order to get drunk?” Steve looks at James like he’s out of his mind.

“I don’t know.” James nurses his own beer for a moment. “Three? Maybe two?”

Steve blinks at James as if he’s out of his mind.

“What?” Then James realizes he’s calculated incorrectly, neglecting to account for their difference in size and stature. “Maybe just the one,” James backtracks. “Just drink what you have.”

Steve lifts his can back to his lips and cringes. “I don’t get it. People seriously go wild for this stuff?”

James laughs. “Drink it for the feeling, not the taste. A lot of options are tastier. I think they make pumpkin spice beer nowadays.”

“You could’ve got us some of that.”

“That’s sure some thank you.” James goes to cuff him in the side of the head, but instead he winds up smoothing the flyaways behind Steve’s ear. “I had to do a lot of work to get this stuff. It’s not like there’s much choice when I’m slipping a twenty to a guy with a pick-up truck.”

“I guess.” Steve sighs, then tips his head back and begins to guzzle.

James can hear the carbonation liquid popping as it runs down Steve’s throat. “Careful there. Remember what I said about breathing?”

Steve surfaces, gasping. He holds his can with the tips of his trembling fingers. “How much—?” Steve starts. “How much do you have to have to make you throw up?”

“It varies, I guess,” James says. “Usually after you’re drunk and everything.”

“Oh.” Steve bites his lip. “I don’t think I want to get drunk…”

“You don’t have to.” James tries to cool the back of Steve’s neck with his open palm. “Just, uh, try not to get it on the carpet.”

“Sure…” Steve slurs heavily.

“You said I’d be in trouble if it smells like beer in here.” James looks squarely at the wall and continues, “I think I’ll be in more trouble if it smells like, well, you know.”

He can’t last a second. Neither of them can. James busts out laughing at the same moment Steve lurches for the trash bin. James gets off the bed to sit at his side.

As James moves, two of the loose beer cans fall back onto the carpet. He turns his gaze from Steve to glare at them over his shoulder. These ones have the good grace not to explode.

#sickfic #fanfic #fanfiction #halloween #whoa bessie #college drinking #steve roger #bucky barnes #captain america #pre serum steve #winter soldier #marvel #mcu #emeto

[quill-pen]

Like George

Finally got this done! Now can focus on other things that need to be done. Thanks again to @rom-e-o for the inspiration.

I way overwrote on this. I need help.

Pairings: Assorted

Rating: Rated T--minors welcome

Warnings: Feelings of all kinds and sorts, the Asshat is here--he's disgusting and terrifying, depression, lack of self-confidence and self-esteem issues, sappiness and tooth-decaying sweetness at the end, some innuendo

Summary: A comparison of the significant men in Bess' life to the first man who ever held her heart, as well as her life around them all.

Theme: Assorted

Rural Ohio--Cincinnati 10 miles--August 1829;

"Figured I'd find you here."

Bess Sullivan looked down from her spot in her favorite tree to see her stepfather standing below her. The tall, bearded, curly brown-haired man smiled warmly up at her, his hands perched on his hips. Sniffling, the nine-year-old wiped her arm across her sodden cheeks and under her drippy nose. Her midnight-blue eyes still swam with tears. "H-Hi, George," she stammered, trying to steady her voice.

George's smile fell, concern flooding into his soft brown eyes. "Hey, I don't like that shaky voice--you sound like you've been cryin'," he remarked gently. The carpenter stepped closer to the trunk and craned his neck to try and get a better look at the girl. "What's wrong, Mudpuppy?" he asked, voice so full of softness and warmth.

His tone and the usage of her pet name set the child to sobbing all over again. Plunging her face into her skirt, Bess pulled her knees closer to her chest and wailed. She cried so loud and hard that she began hyperventilating.

That alarmed the man. "Whoa! Hey! Not good!" Without hesitation, the man grabbed a large knot in the tree's trunk, placed his foot on another, and began to haul himself up the tree. In seconds he was pulling himself up to sit on the branch that jutted out directly in front of his step-daughter. Throwing a leg over to straddle the limb, he scooted as close as he could to the girl and reached out for her. "Bess. Bessie, Sweetheart, look at me." He placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed them to get her attention. "Look at me, Little Darlin'." When the girl dared to peek up at him, he smiled encouragingly and nodded. "That's right, Mudpuppy." He cupped her cheek with a large, warm, weathered hand, stroking her tears away. "Look at me. And breathe--in-" he breathed deeply with her, "- and out." He exhaled with her. "In. Out. Slow, big breaths. That's my girl." George reached into his pocket, pulled out his handkerchief, and brought it to Bess' face. He gently began to dry her off.

It was a few minutes before Bess had regained control of herself. Her puffy eyes were still watery, her lashes wet and heavy, her cheeks were hot with tear stains, and her nose hadn't stopped running yet, but she wasn't sobbing anymore, and she was mostly dried off. For the moment anyway.

"There now," George crooned. He shifted around on the branch to get more comfortable as he settled in for a conversation. "That's better, yeah? Think you can talk now? 'Cuz I'd like to know why you're up here cryin' like the sky's gonna come fallin' down."

The thing was, that was exactly how Bess was feeling at the moment: The sky was going to fall down--or at least her sky was. Hanging her head, the nine-year-old started to study the calico pattern of her skirt. "Did you talk to Mama?" she muttered hoarsely.

"Yep. That's why I came lookin' for ya. She said you two had an argument and you went runnin' off."

"Did she tell you exactly why I ran off?"

"Not in so many words." George's voice became very soft as he went on: "She said she told you about the baby."

Bess said nothing, just peeked up from beneath her brows at her stepfather.

The man looked genuinely sorry. "I wish she'd waited," he stated quietly, shaking his head. "I told her I wanted to be there when we told you, Mudpuppy." He smiled sympathetically at her. "To make it easier."

Bess sniffed and turned her gaze down again. "Yeah, well, she didn't," she grumbled. "That's Mama for you." Hugging her thighs, Bess drew her legs close again.

Silence fell over the tree. Wild birds' songs filled the emptiness.

"I know..." George broke the silence after a long while,"... it's gonna be a change, Bess--goin' from bein' an only child to bein' a big sister-"

"Does this mean you won't love me anymore?"

The question hit George like a battering ram, knocking all words and ability to speak right out of his head. He couldn't help but stare at the girl, who in turn stared almost desperately up at him as she waited for an answer. Finally George found his voice. "What?" he croaked in disbelief. "I... Bess, why would you ask that?"

Tears were welling in the girl's eyes, threatening to spill over again. "Mama said..." she quivered, "... th-that... now that you're having your own kids... y-you might not spend... s-so much time w-with me. Sh-She says... you might j-just want... yo-your own kid a-and n-not me." A tear trickled past Bess' lashes, and then another, glistening like diamonds as they descended down her freckled cheeks. "A-Are... are you not gonna be my daddy anymore, George?"

"What? No!" George was incredulous, his heart breaking at the little girl's tears and palpable fear. Instinctively, the big man sat up and grabbed up the child, pulling her into his strong arms as he scooted in to take Bess' seat in the junction of the tree. He held his stepdaughter tight to his barrel of a chest, curling around her to envelop her with a physical representation of his love. "Of course, I'm gonna be your daddy, Bess," he murmured, cradling the back of her head in his large palm as she buried her face in his chest. "I'm always gonna be your daddy--nothin's ever gonna change that, not even a baby. Not even a hundred babies."

"Not even your own baby?" Bess squeaked, her voice muffled against his shirt. She hugged her stepfather with all her nine-year-old might, never wanting to let him go and never wanting him to let her go. She felt so protected in his arms--so safe; like no one and nothing would ever be able to touch her while she was being held by George. She didn't want that to go away, ever.

"You are my baby, Bessie."

"I'm not your blood though."

"Don't matter--you're as much my baby as any child your mama and I have together, and I'll always love you just as much." George kissed her forehead, nuzzling into her hair after. "You're my little Mudpuppy," he murmured. "I picked you when I picked your mama--fell in love with you as much as I fell in love with her. I adopted you, gave you my name: You're mine, Bess. Blood or not, you're my little girl and I couldn't be happier or prouder of that. You're my Mudpuppy, and I will always love you."

Bess' chin trembled, the man's words hugging her aching heart just as warmly and tightly as his arms hugged the rest of her. But her mother's words still haunted her. "B-But Mama said-"

"Shh, I know what your mama said," George stopped her, stroking her back soothingly. "She and I are gonna have a long talk about what she said when we get home. I want you to forget about what she said, Bess--all of it. Don't pay it any mind; your mama's wrong. I love her with all my heart, but your mama is wrong, Mudpuppy; and she never shoulda said somethin' like that to you."

Bess sniffled and let go of her stepfather, gently pushing away from him enough to meet his eyes. She loved his eyes--always had. Always so warm and gentle, even now in her heartache and fear, those deep brown irises made her feel so calm, so loved, so wanted. She felt like she was something special, in George's eyes; like she mattered. And when George looked at her like he was now, with nothing but softness, love, and compassion in his gaze, she felt like the very center of the world. It warmed her to the very core of her soul.

"So you're still gonna love me?" she whispered, drying her eyes on her sleeve again. "Even with you and Mama having a baby?"

Chuckling with a gentle smile, George cupped the girl's face in his palm again. "Yes, Mudpuppy," he cooed. "I'm still gonna love ya. Always and forever."

"And you're still gonna be my daddy?"

"Yep."

"And you're still gonna have time for me?"

"Yep. Maybe not quite as much as I do now 'cause the baby's gonna need me to be their daddy too, ya know, but I'll always make time for you, Bess."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Cross your heart?"

George did just that as he held his right hand to God. "And hope to die."

At that, a small hint of a smile finally quivered its way onto Bess' lips. She wrapped her arms around the man's neck again and cuddled close; a relieved sigh left her as her stepfather wrapped his arms tight around her again and she closed her eyes, listening to the beat of his heart in her ear. It was steady, strong, unwavering, and full of love. Love never withheld from her, no matter how sick or tired or hurt or angry he was, not even when she was in trouble; love that she never had to work to earn but was freely given without strings attached. Pure love. Pure love for her--that made her feel warm and cozy from head to toe.

"Hey," George quietly murmured after a moment, "remember what I told you, Mudpuppy? When I adopted you?"

Not opening her eyes, Bess nodded against his chest. "Uh-huh. You told me with you I'd always be safe, I'd always be wanted, and I'd always be loved."

"Yep. And I want you to remember that always, okay? No matter what happens or what anyone--even your mama--says, so long as I'm alive, I will always protect you and keep you safe; I will always want you as my little girl; and I will always love you with my whole heart. Ya hear me?"

"I hear you."

"And if you ever feel like you don't feel that way, or maybe I'm not givin' you enough, you tell me, okay?

"Okay, George."

"Never settle for anythin' less, Elizabeth. I don't ever want you to settle for less than you deserve, with anyone or anythin', includin' me."

"I won't, George. I love you."

"I love you too, my sweet girl."

»»————-　♡　————-««

Cincinnati, Ohio--May 1840;

"Where would you like to go?" The question sounded more like it was being asked out of polite obligation as opposed to a genuine interest in what she wanted.

Bess looked up at Oliver Sprague as they walked side-by-side down the bustling Cincinnati street. They'd been going steady for two years, and the young man still wouldn't hold her hand or offer her his arm in public. Bess was rather low maintenance when it came to romance and relationships (much too low maintenance in some of her loved one's eyes), but even she couldn't help but feel a little put out as they walked by other couples, all of whom were hand-in-hand or arm-in-arm at the very least. Briefly, at the start of their walk, the young woman had considered just snatching up his hand on her own and holding it until he pulled away. She could have easily done it; his hand had hung unguarded at his side, so close to hers. Oliver was decent and would have indulged her if she had, she was sure. But almost as if he had felt her eyeing his hand and read her thoughts, her beau had pulled his hand up to his chest to scratch it before casually slipping it into his pocket, all the while keeping his elbow tucked into his side. So much for that idea.

Bess' mouth twitched and twisted in quiet annoyance as she counted yet another obviously happy couple pass by. They were so close as they were arm-in-arm, they could have been conjoined at the side. Bess quietly huffed, once again letting her gaze fall to her own young man's arm. She knew Oliver was reserved with his emotions--she'd always known that since they were children--everyone who knew him did--and, truly, she didn't need public displays of affection (though they would undoubtedly be nice); but it was their anniversary. Could he not, just for one night, maybe, possibly be sweet enough in public with her to offer her his arm? She knew he was capable--he hugged and kissed his mother and granny in public, for crying out loud! They were sweethearts--he'd chosen her: Was she still not special enough?

Stop griping! that caustic voice at the back of her mind that sounded too much like her mother chastised her. You're lucky a boy like him even looks your way without being disgusted, with your history. You're incredibly lucky to have him. Take what you can get and soldier on!

And so, Bess, once again, pushed her disappointments and misgivings deep down inside her. But as she did so, she felt a smaller, more quiet, and gentle voice in her heart, one that sounded like George: Never settle for less than you deserve. However, as always whenever Bess thought to consider that advice, her mother's voice came back to remind her that she was damaged goods; and this third-rate, tepid romance (could you call it "romance" when the first kiss didn't even bring a single small butterfly to your stomach?) was what damaged goods deserved.

"Oh, I don't know," Bess finally answered his question. She fiddled her lonely hands together in her skirt, wondering if maybe she could trick herself into thinking Oliver really was holding her hand. His hands weren't that much bigger than hers, honestly. "I wish you'd told me we were going out tonight sooner. I could have made reservations somewhere." She tried not to sound annoyed or passive-aggressive, even though she was. Just a bit. Oliver wasn't one for celebrations, so she hadn't even considered booking something somewhere; she'd simply expected to spend this anniversary as they had their first; Oliver coming over for a quiet supper and then attempting to play dominoes only to give up halfway through as Oliver started preaching about the new strides being made in the field of photographing and how he was sure there was a way that, not just objects, but colors could somehow be captured in photographs. (Colored photographs--that was a thought to make one laugh.) So, needless to say, when she'd received the letter from Oliver in the noon post stating that they were going out for the evening, Bess had been surprised. And admittedly pleased. Until she'd learned when Oliver had shown up at her door that, no, he hadn't made plans to go anywhere, they were just going out. Talk about all dressed up with no place to go.

Oliver shrugged, completely unconcerned. "I didn't think about going out until this morning when Albert asked me what we were doing tonight." The red-headed boy chuckled. "You know, he had to remind me that this was our anniversary. Can you believe that?"

"That you forgot or that he remembered?" Bess grumbled under her breath, eyes trained on the cobbles at her feet. "Because I can certainly believe both." Honestly, at this point, Albert was more of an attentive beau to her than Oliver was, what with remembering all the important dates. Bess was sure Albert had bought her birthday gifts the past two years, too. And Christmas gifts. And picked her Valentine's cards. He'd probably written them, too--the handwriting hadn't looked exactly like Oliver's, neither had the words sounded like him. Honestly, Bess should have been out with Albert right now, and perhaps she would have been had it not been for the fact that she was not his... type of person. Shame, as he was heartbreakingly handsome.

An idea came to Bess. "Why don't we take a hansom cab to the park and go for a walk?" she suggested, looking hopefully bright up at her beau. "There won't be many people there, so it'll be quiet. Not to mention--dare I say--romantic." She bit her bottom lip and wiggled her brows playfully at Oliver, nudging him with her shoulder.

Oliver did not look at her, but instead seemed to be mulling the idea over. Much more carefully than he should have needed to. "Hmm, yeah, I don't know, Specks," he said uncertainly. "I'm kinda hungry--there's nowhere to eat near there."

"Oh, well, we can stop in a pub and eat first then, yeah? Then we can go to the park and walk it off after. What'd'ya say?"

Again, the boy took much longer to think about it than he should have. She wasn't asking him to take her to New York City, for God's sake! Bess held her tongue: She didn't want to argue with him tonight--not on their anniversary.

"Eh... yeah, that sounds fine, I guess," Oliver agreed after long deliberation. Then he perked up as he looked at her for the first time since they'd left her apartment. "Mack's?"

Bess couldn't help how her face scrunched up at the suggestion. "Oh, no, please, Ollie--we go there all the time. Can we try something different? Please? I'll pay if you like." She didn't need to pay; she knew Oliver had money and he wasn't short on it either--his job as a daguerreotypist paid well. But she also knew she needed to sweeten the deal to get him to even consider breaking habit.

It didn't work. "Aw, come on, Specks, you love Mack's and you know it. Besides, it's only fitting, right? We had our first date there." He wasn't completely wrong, though Bess did not love Mack's, she was just used to it; and his bringing up something as sentimental as their first date on their anniversary was actually surprisingly touching. And not at all like him to think of on his own. "Did Albert tell you to mention that?" she couldn't help but ask, giving the boy a deadpan look.

Not picking up on her unamusement, Oliver simply nodded with a slight grin. "Isn't he great? Best roommate ever."

Bess rolled her midnight-blue eyes. "Yep, he certainly is," she muttered. Then she sighed. "Fine. Mack's is fine. Let's just go. I'm feeling hungry too." Not that there was much of anything edible that came out of the pub's kitchen; Bess just had no energy to try harder to change Oliver's mind.

So they arrived at Mack's and took their usual table in the back corner. Oliver greeted the usual pub-goers, Bess tried her best to ignore the usual skeevy heels that eyed her and not let them make her skin crawl. The usual barmaid, Abigail McLintock, a girl Bess' age that they'd both gone to school with, came over to take their orders and, as usual, she flirted with Oliver. As usual, Oliver flirted back and ordered his regular meal. The tradition broke slightly as Oliver ordered for Bess rather than letting her order for herself, but the variation stopped there as he ordered her regular meal as well (shepherd's pie--it was the only appetizing thing in this place).

Abigail took their orders to the kitchen and again, as usual, Bess told her young man off for flirting with Abigail. Like always, Oliver brushed it off with the assurance that it didn't mean anything, that she was just a friend, and he only did it to ensure that they got the best service. Again, Bess didn't quite believe him, but she let it go. She always let it go. Why did she do that? Oliver was her beau and, while she'd never claim to be passionately in love with him, it did twinge whenever he flirted with and looked at other girls. Particularly Abigail, who had always been one of the worst bullies to Bess in school. Bess didn't usually have a problem voicing her opinions and feelings, except when it came to things like this; then she clammed up like... well, a clam. But why? Why did she do that? It wasn't like she would be being demanding or controlling; she wouldn't be insisting he couldn't interact with other women besides her. She would just be telling him she didn't like it when he flirted with other women and asking him not to do it out of respect for their relationship and her. But she couldn't bring herself to do that--why?!

Again, Bess heard the warring voices of George and her mother in her mind and heart.

It was while they sipped their drinks and waited for their food that, again, the routine changed. Bess was staring at the fly in her beer, wondering if it had just dived in there or if it had been there under the head the whole time, when Oliver cleared his throat. "Bess?" he asked.

The girl looked up to see him looking at her in a... different way. He didn't really appear nervous, but he certainly didn't seem as calm and relaxed as he usually was. It was almost like he was... uncomfortable Like he wasn't sure he should do something. Or like he wasn't sure he wanted to do something. "Yes?" Bess prompted him when he didn't continue.

"I've--um... I've got something for you."

Bess raised an eyebrow, not quite sure what to make of that. She was still bemused by his expression. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Uh..." He dug into first one pant pocket, then the other before pulling his hand out. He stretched his arm across the table to her side and opened up his fist. Something fell to the tabletop with a metallic sound. "Here."

Bess looked from Oliver's face down to whatever he'd rather unceremoniously dropped on the table. She did a double-take, her eyes widening. "Oliver, is that a-"

"Ring? Yeah."

Bess picked the ring up. It looked like it had come from Atlantis, with the shoulders and the setting having been crafted to look like seashells. Small red garnets were set as the side stones and two larger, tear-drop, purplish-red garnets had been used as the center stones and positioned point to point so they made an eight. It looked older, so it wasn't polished up to look shiny and flashy, but it did look opulent, and it was big--big enough to draw attention--and it most definitely wasn't in Bess' taste. Oliver should have known that: Her fondness for simplicity and understatedness was one of the things he liked about her. (So he claimed.)

The longer she studied the ring, the more Bess tried to decipher why it was so familiar looking. When it hit her, her stomach plummeted. Oh, God, please no! "O-Ollie..." she gulped, feeling all the blood drain from her face, "... is... is this...?"

"Gran's engagement ring? Yeah." He said it so simply; as if he'd dropped his grandmother's laundry on the table and not a family heirloom that had been passed down through the generations from woman to woman.

Bess felt like she could be sick for a completely different reason than the fly in her beer. Her hands began shaking. Slowly, respectfully, she set the ring back down and pulled her hands in her lap, folding them together tightly to try and stop the tremors. She continued to stare at the ring, unable to look up and meet Oliver's gaze. The girl cleared her throat. "Why... are you giving me your grandmother's ring, Oliver?" she asked, somehow managing to keep her voice even.

"I think you know why."

"Probably. But I want you to say it anyway."

"Okay, fair enough. I think we should get married."

That finally caused Bess to look up at the boy again. He just sat there, looking at her, not completely emotionlessly as he still looked a little uncomfortable and uncertain about this, but he certainly didn't look nervous. Nor did he look at all happy. He didn't look like anything one might expect a young man asking his sweetheart of two years to marry him might look like. And Bess was certain she didn't feel anything like what a girl in that situation would be expected to feel like either.

"Why?" The word fell from her mouth like a lead ball. It almost surprised her, as she knew that wasn't typically something a person being proposed to said. Was this a proposal? Yes, it had to be; there was a ring, Oliver had said they should get married--what the hell else could it have possibly been? Yes, for all intents and purposes, this was a proposal. So why did it feel more like an... obligation?

Apparently, the question had taken Oliver by surprise too, as he started to fumble around for something to say. "Uh... well... we've been going together for two years, right?" he reasoned. "Don't people just normally get married after they've been doing that?"

Bess felt a pain stab through her chest. "Um... y-yeah, I suppose."

"And, besides, you know Ma really likes you."

"Your mother has called me a "lobsterback brat" for as long as I can remember, Oliver Howard," Bess countered flatly. "And that's the nicest thing she's ever called me."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Aw, come on, Bess. You know she says everything out of affection."

"Oh? I was supposed to take "trollop" as a loving pet name?"

"Come on--I told her off for that."

"Yes. And I'm grateful to you for that, truly. But it doesn't change the fact that your mother is going to throw an absolute fit and scream about how I'll marry you over her cold, dead body and that I'm not good enough for you."

"Since when have you cared what people say about you?" No declarations that he didn't care what his mother might say. No reassurances that, whatever his mother or anyone said, she was good enough. No promises to defend and support her against whatever wrath might be directed her way as a result of their union. Merely a somewhat accusatory question that made her feel guilty for what she'd said.

"We're not just talking about just any people here, Ollie, we're talking about my future mother-in-law."

Oliver's mouth curled into that little, sly smirk that drove her up the wall in the worst possible way at that. "'Future mother-in-law', huh?" he repeated.

Bess knew what he was implying and frowned. "Don't take that as an answer--I haven't decided anything yet."

The boy shrugged nonchalantly. "What's there to decide, Specks? We've been steady for two years. We spend the weekends with your family or my family. We have supper at each other's places and go out for breakfast together. You make and pack my lunches for me. We're practically married already: We just need the legal stuff."

"Please don't be so flippant about this, Oliver: We're talking about marriage--you know how serious this is for me."

"Yeah, yeah, I know: Don't wanna end up like your mother."

"Don't say it like that--it's important to me, Oliver! Mama's first marriage practically ruined her until she met George, and it permanently soured her on me, even now that she's happy. I refuse to end up like her and I won't risk the chance that I do."

Oliver gave her an unconcerned look. "It's not like you have to worry about being a bad ma though, right?"

Bess felt like a prize purse-winning boxer had just socked her square in the gut. Her blood boiled; her eyes stung with the threat of tears. Did Oliver ever think about things before he said them? Did he ever consider the tone in which he said them, how cold and heartless he could sound? Did the thought that maybe this was something he should steer clear of ever cross his mind? "Wow," she croaked, trying her hardest to keep her temper under control. "Thanks for that. It's such a comfort to be reminded of the fact that I can't have children."

"Oh, don't be like that," Oliver grumbled, sounding the slightest bit annoyed. "You know I didn't mean anything nasty by it."

"Then do me the favor, Oliver, and just never mention it at all, yeah?"

Oliver held his hands up in surrender. "Whoa, yeah. Okay. Fine. Won't mention it at all."

Abigail was returning with their food at this point. She set their respective dishes down and the couple lapsed into silence for a long while as they ate, not so much as looking in the other's direction. There was an undeniable tension in the air over their table: You could have cut it with Mack's blunted knives.

Bess was about halfway through her shepherd's pie when her beau spoke again.

"So, what'd'ya think, Specks?"

Bess finally looked up to see Oliver looking at her again, still not appearing to be what one would consider happy over the situation. He did look more resigned, however; as if he'd finally managed to put to rest whatever doubts had made him initially uneasy.

With a shrug, as he noisily chewed on a fatty bit of his over-cooked pot roast, Oliver asked: "Ya wanna be Mrs. Oliver Sprague?"

Mrs. Oliver Sprague. A shiver ran through the young woman at the very thought, but not in a good way. And it made her feel horrible because it should have been in a good way. She should have been giddy, nauseous with butterflies, perhaps shedding tears of joy because the man she loved wanted to be with her forever. Instead, she felt dread and just plain sick. And for no good reason: Oliver was a decent fellow in both temperament and looks and had a job many people would have killed for if they realized how well it paid. And, above all else, he treated her like a person instead of some diseased vermin unfit to be around. Not the most romantic and passionate testimony one could make of their sweetheart, perhaps; but romance and passion weren't in the cards for her.

Again, Bess could hear the voice telling her she was lucky to have what she did--that she would be a fool to let it go: Your past, your looks, your attitude--you'll have a hard enough time finding any decent man to put up with your harsh edges, let alone a perfect one. Take it or leave it.

Again, Oliver was certainly decent. Mostly. He certainly never raised a hand or even his voice to her, and he never threatened her or tried to manipulate her into a compromising situation: She felt safe with him. Like George. Sort of--it wasn't quite the same kind of warm, fuzzy, homey feeling that came along with George's security; nor did it have the sense that he would do anything to protect her. Still, overall, she did feel safe and protected with Oliver, and that was important to her.

There are other important things to consider too, Mudpuppy, she felt George's voice in her heart again.

"Why do you want to marry me?" Bess asked by way of answer. She was almost afraid to hear his reasonings--her insides were already bracing for the blunt impact--but she had to hear them anyway.

Oliver looked at her as though she'd spoken French. His jaw ceased its grinding on the leathery beef in his mouth as he stared at her, completely taken off-guard. "What?" he mumbled around meat, potatoes, cabbage, onions, and carrots.

"Why do you want to marry me, Oliver?" she repeated calmly.

For a long moment, her young man was quiet as he tried to process that question and figure out how to answer it. Finally, he answered uncertainly: "Well... we've been going together for two years-"

Bess cut him off in some annoyance: "Yes, we've been steady for two years, and the family weekends, and I make supper, and we go to breakfast, and your lunches--I know--we've established all that. I want to know your feelings, Oliver. And I know how uncomfortable a topic that is for you, and I'm sorry, but I have to know before I decide anything: Why do you feel you want to marry me?" She repeated the question again, slowly, emphatically, looking her beau right in the eye as she said it.

Again, Oliver was clearly struggling with something to say. "Um... I... like you."

Bess felt her heart twist. "Like" not "love"; but Oliver was bad at communicating things like this, she reminded herself. "You like me. What does that mean, exactly?"

Oliver cleared his throat and scratched the back of his head and neck awkwardly. "Uh... w-well... I... I like when you cook and bake for me; everything you make tastes real good--even better than Ma's. And... I like that you can stitch up my clothes to make 'em look practically new. And I like how you don't hassle me like other girls to take you out on big, fancy dates all the time or demand I buy you expensive stuff."

The girl felt her insides completely drop into the abyss to leave her a cold, empty shell. None of those things had been about her as a person. They hadn't even been about her physical attributes, which was somehow both refreshing and vexing at the same time. And while it was nice to be appreciated for and complimented on one's skills, that wasn't exactly what one wanted for an answer as to why their sweetheart wanted to marry them. And it certainly didn't make one feel very loved. Valued, perhaps, but not loved.

Oliver sighed heavily, looking like that little confession had taken everything out of him. "Look, Bess," he said quietly, smiling a bit at her in a way that Bess couldn't help but feel a bit patronized, "I just... I think you'd make a good wife, and I know you've always wanted to be married, and we know each other and get on real well as a couple, I think, and I want to get married to a good wife. So... doesn't it just... makes sense that we tie the knot? Isn't it logical?"

"Logical": he was using logic to justify their being married. Of course, logic and sense had to play into something like this a bit; one didn't go around getting married willy-nilly--that would be idiotic. But to have that be the only thing considered felt wrong. And depressing. Bess felt like a spare princess being betrothed and married off to some foreign dignitary for the sake of political power and nothing more.

"Ollie," she began, leaning forward to look as closely into her beau's gray eyes as she could, "do you really want this?" She swallowed hard, thinking about how Oliver had started this conversation looking uncertain like he hadn't been exactly sure that he wanted to do this. Surely he had to have some misgivings about this idea. "Do you... do you really want me?" She thought about all the women Oliver had flirted with in the past while he had never flirted with her. Not once--before courting or during. Yes, he walked out with her, he called her his 'sweetheart', he hugged her on occasion, kissed her sometimes--all things he didn't do with other women. But he didn't ever play with her, or try to make her blush and laugh like he did with other women he called "friends". He didn't wink, didn't try to cop a feel (not that she wanted that... exactly), didn't try to tickle her--he did nothing with her that he did with his female "friends" and she was courting him. He didn't even call her by the same cute, endearing nicknames he did them: She was either 'Bess' or 'Specks', and 'Specks' had originally started out as something to make her cry when they were small children. Even as the one girl he'd asked to go steady with, the one girl to be chosen out of all the girls he could have picked, Bess had never felt wanted by him. Not as a friend. Not as a potential wife. Certainly not as a lover.

She should have taken George's advice back then; to ask Oliver why he was interested in courting her before jumping into the relationship. But she'd been eighteen and lonely, and Oliver was one of only a handful of people who weren't disgusted by her. The fact that he would look her in the eyes when he talked to her, was enough to make Bess swoon then. That initial feeling of what she thought was being in love had quickly faded as she'd realized just how generally uninterested in her he seemed--not to mention the serial flirting. But she stayed with him. Because she felt stupid for not taking George's advice and didn't want to disappoint him with the revelation that she had been wrong when she'd assured him she wasn't; and because she was terrified to be alone and not have a life. She was terrified of everything her mother told her about herself, and that it was all true. So if Oliver would take her in any capacity, she would accept it and count herself lucky. At least, that's what she'd told herself in the past. She didn't feel that way now that it was happening. Spending the rest of her life with someone that didn't seem to love or want her beyond the domestic services she could provide him sounded almost as bad as being a spinster.

Almost.

"I just... think it makes sense," Oliver replied to her question. She knew it was the closest thing to an answer she would ever get. "Isn't that good enough?"

Bess felt her stomach lurch and twist into a giant knot. No. It wasn't good enough. But it would have to be. Oliver was right about one thing; she wanted to be married--had dreamed of it ever since her mother and stepfather had married. Oliver was the only person who would ever be willing to give that to her, despite that he didn't seem to really love her, despite that he didn't seem to really want her. He was her one chance. And she was safe with him. Like George. She just wasn't loved or wanted by him, like George.

But safe--safe was good enough, she thought. Safe was all she would get, anyway.

With a sigh, Bess let her gaze fall to the ring again and tried not to show her distaste for it as she picked it back up. She slipped it on her left ring finger. Internally, the girl cringed; it looked so out of place on her hand--clashed so horribly with her sensibilities and who she was. But it was her engagement ring now; she would have to get used to it. "Okay, then," she sighed heavily. She looked up at Oliver and tried her best to smile at him, despite how sick she felt. "You got yourself a fiancée, Mr. Sprague." She'd never tasted anything so vile--it made her want to vomit on the grimy tavern floor. And that made her feel even more terrible because Oliver really didn't deserve that. He wasn't bad, he just wasn't The One. But he would be the only one she got. In return for that, she would make him a good wife.

Oliver smiled back at her, but the gesture didn't reach his eyes. "All right then," he said simply. He turned back to mutilating his pot roast.

Bess turned back to her own food, though she was no longer hungry. Picking through the remains of her meal, the girl stared at her new accessory, trying to will herself to like it; will herself to be happy; will herself to love Oliver. After her first initial, naive infatuation with her beau, Bess had held out for the hope that, maybe, she would eventually grow to love Oliver, just as her mother had done with George some time in their own courtship. The problem was, Oliver was nothing like her stepfather, and Bess was even farther away from loving him now than she had been then. Still, love or not, happiness or not, he was her one ticket to any sort of life worth having: Her mother was right--another one wouldn't come along anytime soon. Or ever.

No, Oliver Sprague wasn't like George. But he and the security he offered would be the best option Bess would ever get.

»»————-　♡　————-««

London, England--June 1845

Bess had never been so disgusted in all her life, and she'd had plenty of things in her life to be disgusted about. She didn't know how she was going to be able to eat her dinner, when it finally came, with him sitting right there next to her and his pompous, arrogant voice resounding loudly in her ears to the point she had a migraine. At least he wasn't directly in her line of sight, she supposed; but it was a bad trade because, sitting where he was, the man was well within reach to easily reach out and touch her. Which he did. A lot. Bess hadn't wanted to cut off somebody's hands so badly since she was fifteen.

Lawrence Bryant, on the surface, was everything a woman could possibly want: sinfully handsome, lively, devilishly charming, rich, and from a very powerful family. He was very good at making the most out of these qualities and making them appear deeper than they actually were. But Bess didn't believe him--not for a second. She had a sort of sixth sense about these kinds of things, an intuitive gut reaction; and hers had screamed that Bryant was bad news since the moment she'd met him a year ago.

She could still recall it vividly; how he'd eyed her, undressing her with his eyes the moment she'd walked into her uncle's library; how he'd snatched up her hand without invitation and gripped it so tightly, as though he'd never let go; how he lazily kissed her knuckles--she could still feel the moisture of his inner lips on her skin if she thought about it long enough, and it made her shudder and want to dunk herself in boiling water. She felt the same way now, as Bryant reached over again to brush her arm with the backs of his fingers. The woman was thankful for her long gloves that offered a barrier between their skin, but even then she shuddered and cringed away at his touch, unable to help herself.

She scolded herself: Stop it! She had to behave tonight--couldn't do anything to upset Bryant. If she did, she knew he'd report to her uncle how she displeased him, and then who knew what her uncle would do in response? If it was just herself she had to worry for, Bess wouldn't have cared and bitten Bryant's hands off the moment they moved to touch her. But she wasn't what she had to worry about--her siblings were. If she made her uncle angry, there was every possible chance he could use the stipulations set in her mother's will to break the terms of it early and take custody of her brothers and sisters while throwing her out on the street. However much she hated Bryant and felt disgusted and uncomfortable with him, Bess couldn't risk custody of her siblings. She couldn't allow them to grow up under her uncle's roof, where they would surely be treated with cruelty. Aunt Effie had already stated once that she would send her sisters abroad to boarding school: Bess couldn't allow that to happen to George's children!

Bess took a deep breath and let it go slowly through her nose. She could do this. She was a big girl--she could handle some discomfort and disgust for a few hours. Just focus on all the different ways you could torture Uncle Gerald and Aunt Effie, she thought to herself. That oughta keep you occupied. Might even be pretty cathartic. Unprompted her gaze shifted to the clock on the wall. They'd been sitting here for forty-five minutes--where was the food? The sooner the food came, the sooner she would be free!

"Looking to see how much time you have left to bask in my presence, Beautiful?" Bryant's voice brought the woman out of her thoughts.

Slightly shaking herself back into the moment, Bess looked from the clock back to her suitor. He was gazing much too intently at her with those deep blue eyes of his, as if he were trying to will her affections for him into being. His lips were curved and parted in a grin that was much too white and perfect. She supposed that smile was meant to set her insides aflutter with butterflies; instead it filled her guts with rancid, dead fish. Could the man be any more repulsive? Don't tempt fate, Elizabeth.

Trying her best to smile in an amicable way, Bess replied: "Something like that."

"Aaaawwww!" a sappy, syrupy, nasally voice grated like nails on a chalkboard in Bess' ears. Lady Penelope Anne Michaels and her fiance Mr. Rupert Anderson III, heir to the Earl of Overton were seated at the table across from them: A double date. Bess had been set up on a double date with a man whom she didn't like (putting it lightly) and a couple she didn't know (she'd heard the names and seen the faces at balls the past seasons, but that was as far as her acquaintance with the pair went).

Lady Penelope was looking between Bess and Bryant with an expression that reminded the Yank of her baby sister on Christmas morning. Grinning and biting her bottom lip to the point Bess worried she may have bitten through it, Penelope clapped her gloved hands and squealed girlishly. "Only your second outing together and you're already watching the time, trying to will it to not slip away from you. Ooh, that's positively adorable! Isn't that adorable, Rupey?" She turned to her fiance for his input.

"Rupey" was looking much the same as Penelope, only less wholesomely smitten and more knowingly sly. "Yes, Penny," he agreed. "Very adorable." He winked at Bryant and nodded toward Bess. "You're a lucky tyke, Larry: Don't let this one slip away from you. She's a keeper."

Bryant grinned widely at his friend, raising his glass of champagne in a toast to himself. He looked incredibly pleased with himself. "I have no intentions of letting such a thing happen, I assure you, Rupert. I am well aware I'm a lucky tyke in Bess!" he laughed in agreement He turned to Bess and winked brazenly at her. Beneath the table his hand found her knee and gave it a presumptuous squeeze that caused Bess to stiffen. "Maybe we'll find out just how lucky tonight, eh, Darling?" He threw back his head and raucous laughter, Rupert joining him.

Penny pressed a petite hand to her lips and tittered with amusement. "Oh, Larry, you naughty boy!" she affectionately teased the man. "You'll bring scandal down on your own head if you're not careful!" She continued to laugh with the men.

Bess didn't know she could feel even more sick, but she did at the utterance of those words. The rolling in her stomach was unbearable. She had to step away from this and breathe or else she was sure to vomit all over everyone and everything and then she really would be in trouble with her family. Doing her best to force her nausea down, Bess stood. She managed a small, tight smile at her companions as she told them: "If you'll excuse me--I must run to the powder room for a moment." She pivoted away and took off in a hasty walk before they were able to respond.

The woman hardly had time to get in front of the toilet before her stomach heaved and emptied itself. A vile, bitter concoction of bile, champagne, and bits of partially digested lunch spewed into the toilet bowl with a sickening, cascading splash. The second heave brought Bess collapsing to her knees, bracing her arms against the round porcelain edges of the bowl. She sucked in a desperate breath before heaving again. Goddamn it! Saliva flooded Bess' mouth in a desperate attempt to cleanse it of the nastiness, drool dripping down her lips and chin, ruining her once immaculate lipstick. She would have to reapply before going back to the table, or else Bryant would be upset. He had a horrid lipstick fetish, apparently.

After upchucking a few more times, Bess' stomach finally decided that it was empty enough and stilled. She gasped and coughed, trying to pull air back into her aching lungs. Propping her forehead in her hands, she tried to relax and pull herself together again. Tears burned her eyes. "I can't do this," she whispered. She wasn't sure who she was whispering to. Herself? The toilet? God? "I can't do this! I can't--I can't--I can't! I hate him! God, forgive me, but I hate him! I can't keep seeing him: I know I can't marry him! But that's what Uncle Gerald and Effie want, and if I don't do what they want..." she broke off into a choked sob, unable to stop it. Bess clasped her trembling hands together and buried her face in her arms, tears trickling from the corners of her eyes. "Jesus, help me, what do I do? What do I do?!"

Ebenezer's face came to her mind's eye and the most agonizing of pangs wracked her body, heart, and soul. Bess wanted him. In every possible way, she wanted him, but right now, at this moment, she would have settled for just having him here beside her for moral support. She would have given anything to be surrounded by his long, strong arms and curl up into the protective warmth of his broad chest; drown in his deep, smokey, chocolatey smooth voice as he murmured sweet, gentle comforts into her ear. She needed his presence; she needed his advice; she needed his security; she just needed him! But Ebenezer was not here and, unless summoned by some miracle, wouldn't be here. She was on her own.

Sighing heavily, shakily, Bess pulled herself together and sat back from the toilet. She pulled her hankie from her bosom and wiped herself off before rising to her feet and flushing away her sick. Turning to the sink, she looked herself over in the mirror and finished drying off before turning on the water, removing her gloves, and cupping her hands under the stream. She pressed her face into the little pool in an attempt to cool her heated skin and soothe the slight headache starting to throb in her temples. The coolness of the water made her relax a bit. After a moment or two, Bess straightened up and looked at her reflection again. She didn't look quite as red; the cool water had soothed the tearstains. All she need do was straighten her dress, touch up her makeup, and reapply the lipstick and she would be good to go. She grabbed up her handbag that she'd dropped on the floor.

When Bess left the powder room, she ran smack dab into Penny. "Oh! Lady Penelope, pardon me!"

"Oh, it's quite all right," Penny assured her with a smile that was meant to be friendly but grated on Bess' nerves. It just seemed so fake. "No harm done. And please, call me 'Penny'. Any friend of dear Larry's has a right to do so."

Bess fought the urge to roll her eyes. Ah, yes--"dear Larry". Honestly, Penny talked about the sleaze like he was a saint! "Oh, well, all right then--if that's what you'd like. Penny."

Penny beamed. "Excellent! I merely came to find you and tell you our meals have arrived."

"Ah, I see. Well, thank you. I was just coming back."

Penny was looking at her closely, making Bess feel uneasy. What could she possibly be studying so hard on her face? "You've redone your makeup," she stated after a moment.

Bess didn't know what to say. "Uh...."

Penny's smile became knowing, almost conniving. "Bess, did you rush to the powder room in order to be sick?"

Again, Bess wasn't sure how to respond. "Um... well... n-not very-"

Penny squealed like a schoolgirl again, clapping her hands beneath her chin. "I knew it! I just knew it! I did the very same thing when I first started seeing Rupert! I was so charmed by him and so in love that I felt so rumbly and rolly with it all I couldn't help but be sick! And now here you are in your blossoming romance with Larry and experiencing the same thing! Oh, how magical!"

Yeah, Bess thought sarcastically. Magical. She offered the woman a small, awkward smile and replied: "Um... something like that."

"Ooh, and you're too shy to discuss it! Adorable! Simply adorable! Ah! I know the two of you have only been out twice, but trust me, my dear, I have an intuition about these sort of things--and I most definitely hear wedding bells!" Penny sang the last part of the statement, wiggling her brows at Bess.

Bess' stomach lurched a bit again. Penny was probably right, unfortunately, and not because Bess was in love with Bryant and wanted to marry him. She likely wouldn't have any choice.

The two women made their way back to the table together. Penny exchanged a little kiss with Rupert as she retook her seat beside him, staying as close to him as possible the entire time. Contrarily, Bess did her best to stay as far away from Bryant as possible, walking the long way around the table to get to her chair and slipping into it from the far side. Her gaze never met his and she stared at the seafood dish steaming on her plate. Drawing her lips into a thin line, Bess tried to will the remainder of her nausea away. She had to eat at least some of it or else Bryant would deduce something was amiss with her; he'd seen her appetite before and knew how healthy it was. "My Lady, you eat like all my horses combined!" he'd told her once. He'd said it as though it were a compliment.

No sooner had Bess sat down than Bryant was reaching for her again. She froze in order to keep herself from shifting away. She bit the inside of her cheeks to keep from snapping. Good God, could he just not for two minutes?!

"I missed you," Bryant purred. It was probably supposed to sound loving, perhaps seductive: to Bess it sounded like the ravenous snarl of a lion. As always, Bryant gave her the sense he would eat her alive if given half a shot, and not in a good way. That feeling only grew as Bryant reached down to grab her hand and squeeze it tight as if he never meant to let go again.

Bess knew she should have reciprocated the squeeze, but she just couldn't bring herself to. She was using all her willpower to not throw up again. "I was only gone but a minute," she responded quietly, still not looking at the man.

"Ten minutes and twenty-six seconds," Bryant stated. There was a slight edge in his voice that time.

Bess felt like she was hit by a runaway carriage; she swore her heart jolted to a stop. Panic slammed into her stomach like a cannonball. Her head snapped towards the blond, mustached man as she finally looked at him, her utter shock forcing her to. "Yo-You... you timed me?" she gasped in disbelief. A nervous smile pulled at her mouth.

Bryant smiled at her, but there was nothing good in it: no warmth, no softness, no kindness. He tried to fake it, but Bess could tell. Her gut could tell. All Bryant's smile had to offer was desire, possessiveness, and danger--the kind that would end with her six feet under. Bess had never wanted to run so fast and far in her whole life. Again she longed for Ebenezer to be here to protect her and make her feel safe.

"Of course I timed you, stupid woman," her date chuckled. "Just as you were watching the clock to see how long we have together, I watched the clock to see when you would return to me." Bryant lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. "I love you."

There were a million things to scream on the tip of Bess' tongue. First was to tell him off for insulting her. Did the idiot really think calling a woman "stupid" even if he said it in what was meant to be an affectionate tone (which he failed at) was a surefire way into a woman's heart? He was the stupid one, and that was putting it lightly! The second was that it was not normal to time the absence of someone down to the second they returned. That was insanely disturbing and borderline psychotic behavior, and would not endear him to any sensible woman either. And the third Bess actually voiced: "You don't love me." She tried to say it as calmly and evenly as possible as if she were trying to reason with him instead of rebuffing him.

Bryant chuckled, leaning closer, pulling her closer at the same time. Bess' free fist instinctively clenched. "Of course I love you," the man insisted. If he thought that tone in his voice was seductive, he was dead wrong; Bess had never heard something sound so chilling and sinister. "I think about you all the time. I yearn for you all the time. Sometimes I feel as though I can't breathe without you." He trailed spidery fingers up the woman's arm and shoulder and brought them to brush her graceful jawline.

Bess couldn't help but pull away that time. "Mr. Bryant," she said, trying to sound polite but firm, mimicking how she'd heard other girls gently scold gentleman callers that weren't as repulsive as her current one was, "what you are describing is an infatuation-" actually it was more like "obsession", but Bryant was not the person to tell that to, "-not a love. Besides, we hardly know each other--there is no possible way you could honestly profess to love me."

"We know each other quite well, I believe," Bryant countered. He took hold of Bess' chin, holding it so tightly between his fingers that it pinched. Bess wanted to pull away, but the cold, flinty gleam in the man's gaze made her stay. "I saw you quite regularly throughout the season last year and this year. We've danced at every ball, sat beside each other at dinners, spent time together last summer at your Aunt's house party in Somerset: I'd say we've spent more time together than most couples."

"You've certainly spent more time together than we have, that's for sure," Rupert remarked as he devoured his beef wellington with a fervor that didn't quite reflect a gentleman.

"How much of that were we alone though?" Bess challenged Bryant, ignoring Rupert. "How much do we really know about each other? I mean, what did we really talk about during those times, Mr. Bryant? The weather? We certainly never discussed anything personal. The truth of the matter is, Mr. Bryant, we hardly know each other beyond name."

"I don't need to know anything other than your name and how beautiful you are," Bryant insisted, starting to sound a tad bit testy.

Bess felt an alarm bell go off in her head. She was pushing him too far--she had to calm this down, sweeten it up and smooth it. For a frantic moment, she thought, mind racing for ideas. "Mr. Bryant," she started slowly, "I once thought about love the same way you did; that only one or two things really mattered and everything else would fall into place. I came to find out the hard way that that isn't the case at all. Being in love isn't just about someone's looks or how they make you feel a certain way. Those things certainly factor into different degrees, of course, but they're not everything." She managed a small smile at the man, hoping it looked sweet and friendly and maybe even a tad sympathetic. "All I want is for you to be careful about this, Mr. Bryant," she fibbed. She really couldn't care less if he got hurt or not. "Take it from me--a broken heart is a terrible wound to suffer, especially if you find out it was already empty to begin with." She found the will to squeeze his fingers as if in reassurance. "We really should get to know each other better before we make such claims... Larry." Lord, calling him by his casual moniker made her want to be sick on the table all over again. Nothing had ever tasted so bad!

Bryant had been quiet the entire time, listening to Bess' words intently, his eyes narrowed, not in suspicion, but consideration. A couple times he'd even looked a bit surprised as she'd made insinuations about her past, something he had never inquired about even in all the time they'd apparently spent together. When Bess smiled, he'd smiled too, the sharpness leaving his eyes. When she'd squeezed his hand, he'd almost seemed to beam; a nasty, sickly-looking beam that only served to disclose his malignance further. And when Bess said his name, the woman was sure all the work she'd just attempted to do, had been undone, and the man was right back to being certain of his love for her; but she supposed she was never going to sway him from that thought. Perhaps she'd at least staunched the flow.

"Oh, I know my heart would never be broken when it comes to you, My Lady," Bryant crooned, pulling her hand back to his lips. "Because I know you would love me as purely and truly as I love you. In fact, I'm sure you feel the same way right now, but are only denying it because of the sorrow you experienced in your past." He smirked in some annoyance. "I'll admit that I find this a tad vexing, as I am not and could never be anything like the man who hurt you, and struggle to understand how you can't possibly see that after all our time in each other's company. However, I know women are of much more delicate sensibilities in matters of the heart-"

"Here, here!" Penny chimed in.

"-and I don't wish to appear insensitive to your womanly plight. As such, however hard it will be for me, I am more than willing to give you time to accept your feelings for me."

It took everything within Bess not to roll her eyes and clonk the dunderhead on the noggin. "Mr. Bryant," she said, shaking her head, "I can't promise you that I'll ever-" she was cut off as a cold, spidery finger was pressed to her lips. The woman froze, her heart leaping into her throat while her stomach plunged in the other direction. Wide-eyed, she stared at Bryant. He was so close to her--much too close! All of Bess' instincts screamed at her to strike out at the man and knock his block off, but she didn't. Hard as it was, she held back. For her siblings, she had to. Still, just in case, Bess tightened her already clenched fist.

"Hush," Bryant purred (Bess supposed that's what it was meant to be). He trailed his fingertip over her lips, smearing her lipstick onto the pad of it. "I will hear no such negative talk, my love," the man stated softly but adamantly. "Not when it comes to the concept of our love." He trailed his hand down beneath Bess's chin and cupped her jaw. "We are meant to be together, my love--you know it, I know it-" he gestured to the other couple, "-they know it." Bryant chuckled and leaned in even closer, his dark, desirous eyes gazing deep into hers. Bess had never felt so stricken with fear. "In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if everyone in this damn room knows we are meant to be together."

"Oh, there's no way they can't possibly know, Larry Darling!" Penny chimed in. She was watching the pair intently again, her hands clutching at her chest like her heart was about to implode. "To witness the two of you together is to witness true love personified! Oh! It's like seeing Romeo and Juliet together!"

Um... they died, is what Bess wanted to say, but she kept her mouth shut, which was fairly easy to do, as her terror had dried her mouth entirely and glued her tongue to the roof of it. She didn't even think she'd be capable of squeaking.

Bryant must have taken her silence to mean she was so flustered and awash with sensations of love and desire that she couldn't speak. Finally he pulled his hand away from Bess' jaw and began to sit back in his chair. He looked at his lipstick stained finger and brought it to his mouth, kissing it, tracing it over his lips and smearing the paint onto them. The dark red color made him look even more ominous, as if he'd just recently killed and devoured raw flesh and had stained his lips with the blood of his victim.

Bess could only stare at the display in mesmerized horror. All of her instincts screamed at her to flee, but she was quite incapable of moving now, either to run or look away. She had never felt less safe. Even here in the middle of a busy restaurant among all these people, the Yank felt as though she was mere seconds away from Bryant slitting her throat and gutting her like a deer. Not even in the Connellys' household as a vulnerable teenager had she felt such danger.

Bryant wanted her. More than anything. And he was set on possessing her no matter what he had to do. His delusional thinking that what he felt was love and that she felt the same for him was what made it all the more threatening because it meant only one thing: He would stop at nothing to have her.

Bess felt she'd been dropped buck-naked in the middle of the Arctic Circle. All those times she'd silently wished and prayed to be wanted by someone again, this wasn't what she'd had in mind at all! This was nothing like George or what he'd talked about! Nothing like what she wanted! No sense of security, no loving warmth, only want, desire, lust--hotter and more obliterating than the furnace Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego had been thrown into. And Bess suspected she wouldn't be saved from it as they had.

Finished coloring his lips, Bryant reached out again for her hand. He brought it to his lips once more and pressed a firm kiss to it, leaving behind a faded but undeniable lip print on the periwinkle blue silk. "I said I would wait for you to realize and accept your feelings in your own time, Bess," Bryant murmured, meeting her gaze as he caressed the lipstick stain on her knuckles. "But I yearn for you far too fervently to pass up this chance." With only that cryptic warning, the man yanked the American in by the hand , and pressed his mouth flush to hers.

Bess swore her soul fled her body. Simultaneously she felt her lips being branded with both hot and cold irons, marking her as this horrid man's. Everything faded away and she was left alone with Bryant in a vast, dark, perilous sea of existential dread. Something told her Bryant would never let her slip from his grasp now. Only the grave would be able to truly separate them, and it would likely be hers.

Very vaguely through the blackness and fear, Bess could hear both Penny and Rupert fawning and making comments at them, but she could not comprehend the words. Her mind was much too focused on Bryant: How his lips were just as possessive as the rest of him; how his cologne was even stronger this close and made her feel even sicker; how his mustache prickled uncomfortably beneath her nose; how he felt unpleasantly cold, even as his lips seared hers. The touch of a tongue against her top lip was what finally caused adrenaline to burst through the Yankee's system and force herself out of the kiss. (Not an easy thing to do, as Bryant had reached around to hold the back of her head at some point.) "Mr. Bryant, please!" she hissed, unable to keep the anger or the tremor out of her voice. She felt a mess: Her face burned with rage and humiliation, but her whole body trembled with fear now that they'd pulled apart.

Everyone else at the table merely chuckled.

"Oh, Darling, you look positively scandalized!" Penny tittered.

"Come on, Yank, don't be so prudish," Rupert said dismissively, successfully cementing himself on the list of individuals Bess wanted to box the ears of.

Bryant sneaked in and pecked another quick kiss on the corner of Bess' mouth, making her startle. "Don't worry, my dear," the man chuckled, slipping an arm around her shoulders. "Public displays of affection will be limited, I promise." He leaned into the woman, hissing in her ear, "Once I have you in my house, I do not intend on ever letting you out again."

The tone was meant to be seductive, Bess was sure, but there also seemed to be a sinister threat in it that she wasn't just imagining. She looked out of the corner of her eye at her suitor, studying him carefully. Perhaps it was just the odd, peripheral angle at which she viewed him, but the American could have sworn his face distorted, and for a moment he appeared with some horrible, demonic visage. When she turned her head to look at him fully, he looked as he normally had, which honestly wasn't that much better in Bess' opinion.

With a chuckle, Bryant winked at her and pulled away to turn back to his meal.

Bess sat and watched him for a long moment, a hurricane of emotions whirling through her. Her lips and cheek still burned where Bryant's lips had touched her; her heart raced her boiling blood through her veins; the rotting, dead fish in her gut had transformed into a nest of angry hornets that were determined to tear her apart from the inside out. Bryant's statement rang in her ears, tattooing itself into her memory. She thought of what she'd heard of Bryant's past; all the women associated with him that had ended up hospitalized, institutionalized, a few even dead; the wife that had apparently just vanished; his own mother who he openly admitted had abandoned him and never spoke with him. Bryant joked bad things trailed him wherever he went; Bess was growing surer the longer she knew him that he was the bad thing. And in her gut filled with raging hornets, the woman knew if she married Bryant--if she ended up in his house--she would either be killed or chained up and locked away forever.

Bess' gaze fell away from Bryant and down her hand, locking and holding on the lipstick stain he'd left behind. All at once she felt dirty--tainted--as if she'd been branded by the devil himself. She was a marked woman: Desired, yearned for, wanted with a passion that would burn the globe to a crisp if it wasn't fulfilled. But not loved, whatever Bryant believed or claimed. And certainly not safe.

Lawrence Bryant was nothing like George. He wasn't even a decent man.

»»————-　♡　————-««

St. James' Square, London--House of the Dowager Countess of Calloway--November 23, 1850

Bess could hardly breathe she was laughing so hard. She'd always known Tom to be witty and clever, but she never could have guessed him to be an actual comedian. But here he was, standing in Granny Felicity's parlor before the assorted rabble that was their social circle, proving himself to be just that as he gave her a good and right-proper roasting for her birthday. Bess had mentioned to Addie months ago how she would like to be roasted, and evidently, her cousin had passed the word on to her hubby as well. A most welcome and appreciated surprise! And apparently, she wasn't the only one who thought so, as everyone in the room was laughing just as hard as she was. Except Granny of course. She never smiled or laughed; at least not with her mouth--those piercing blue eyes of hers were sparkling brighter than stars though.

"Now, when I first heard that our lovely Bess was engaged to our dear Mr. Scrooge, my first thought was: 'How would that even work?'" the swarthy man was saying, as he stood before the roaring fireplace and casually sipped at his champagne, the smile never dropping from his face as he gazed at his audience. "I mean, none of us, not even the happy couple, can deny the age difference, yeah? Thirty and... how old-"

"Old enough still to take you over my knee and learn you some manners if you finish that question," Ebenezer snarled good-naturedly.

"Now, easy does it, Mr. Scrooge," Tom snapped back with a devilish grin. "Save the spanking for the missus!"

An uproar of laughter and shrieks peeled out of the partygoers at that, even Granny FeFe letting loose a delightfully scandalized cry. It was only fueled further by the bright red faces of the couple being fired at.

Bess giggled madly as she hid her strawberry blush in Ebenezer's collar. The long arm draped loosely about her waist tightened in the most loving way as the man leaned his cheek against her hair, burring a warm chuckle into her ear. Bess shivered delightfully and cuddled closer to her hubby, reveling in his comforting warmth despite how stuffy the parlor was with the fire and all the bodies present. Ebenezer didn't seem to mind either as he pulled her even deeper into his lap. Bess' heart fluttered.

"Well, anyway," Tom went on with a chuckle, "as I said, I was more than a little perplexed with their union: the age difference, the culture difference." A wicked gleam came into Tom's eyes yet again. "But then I realized she's so young and he's so old, their bedtimes would be the same anyway, so."

Another round of laughter filled the parlor.

"That was utter rubbish," Ebenezer remarked quietly so only Bess could hear above the laughter.

"You're still laughing," Bess countered, grinning up at her love's smirking face.

The man's blush deepened as he smiled softly at her. He pressed a gentle smooch to her hairline and trailed butterfly kisses down her brow to the bridge of her nose before nuzzling her. Bess tittered happily.

"Hey, hey, hey--easy now!" Tom's scolding voice brought the couple out of their reverie and drew their attention to him. He scowled playfully at them. "Simmer it down, you lovebirds! Need I remind you there are youngsters here? And Harry?"

More laughter.

"It's my party, Thomas Aaron, and I'll kiss who I damn well please!" Bess shot back, drawing even more laughter from those around her.

Tom lifted his hands to try and quiet everyone down. "Okay, okay," he chuckled. "But no, all jokes aside, I think we can all agree what an honor it is to be here tonight to pay tribute-" Tom held out a hand toward Bess, "-to this lovely woman right here."

A round of "here, here's" went around the room and Bess felt her blush utterly burn in touched embarrassment.

"Lady Bess--Cousin-" Tom's eyes briefly fell on Addie, who sat closest to him, her hands and arms cradling her growing belly, her eyes and wedding ring shining like stars, "-I think I can speak for everyone when I say that we are all so very blessed to have you in our lives." The man moved towards his pregnant wife and took up her left hand, kissing her ring. "I know, at least for myself, that you have changed life for the better." He and Addie shared a brief, soft moment of gazing devotedly into each other's eyes before Tom turned back to Bess, though he remained grasping Addie's hand. "Bess, you are clever, kind, beautiful, and so full of love, you make this gloomy old city a better place just by living in it. You are truly a treasure. And for a Yankee... eh--you're not bad." Again everyone laughed, and then Tom raised his half-gone glass of champagne. "A toast!" he called out. "To our dearest Mrs. Lady Bess Scrooge. The happiest of birthdays to you! May you continue to grace the London streets and the lap of our dear Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge for many years to come."

From his spot in the corner, Harry suddenly sang out: "For she's a jolly good fellow!" Soon everyone had joined in the song, a dozen or so mixed voices echoing throughout the parlor with fervor.

Bess hid her face in her hands and buried it into her husband's chest for good measure, feeling warm in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room or the handful of glasses of her favorite wine flowing through her veins. She felt so appreciated--so cherished. Six, five, even four years ago, the Yank never would have guessed she would be so awash in affection, or so deeply ensconced in her own little network of society that she would never have to worry about being alone ever again. The lonely, friendless little girl of her past would have burst into wailing tears of happiness to hear such news: Bess was a bit older and more mature now, so she didn't wail, but she did quietly sob into Ebenezer's waistcoat. The man rubbed her back and kissed her crown in comfort.

"-And so say all of us!" the group finished with a shout, practically vibrating the room with their volume. Whoops resounded, what remained of drinks was finished off, and everyone rejoiced as one.

"Tommy," Granny spoke up as soon as they'd all quieted down some, "as hostess of this little soiree, I believe it's my turn to have the floor."

Tom bowed low with a grin. "But of course, My Lady. The floor is all yours." He stepped aside and took his space next to Addie, his lips immediately connecting with her temple and one of his hands coming to rest upon and gently caress her belly. Addie beamed at him, totally and completely in love.

Standing straight and tall and stately as ever, Granna Felicity slowly made her way to Tom's previous spot in front of the fireplace. Her elegant, silver-headed cane tapped out a steady, strong rhythm on the floor. Coming to a stop in the center of the hearth, the old woman turned towards the group, shoulders straight and square, head held high and proud. The woman was an absolute pillar of their little community. Piercing blue eyes found and fell upon Bess, who had pulled her face from Ebenezer's chest, but still remained resting upon his shoulder. Granny's eyes warmed, and her thin, wrinkled lips softened ever so slightly, but did not curl. The closest thing to a smile that would ever grace her face.

"Bess," Granny began, her thin, wavering voice strong and commanding absolute attention, "my darling great-granddaughter, lost to me but then found, I cannot tell you how it overjoys me that I am here today, able to bless you with this celebration of your thirtieth-year of life that you so greatly deserve. And I hope to endow you with more as time carries off." At that, Granny sighed deeply, and she suddenly looked very tired as she leaned more heavily on her cane. "But, let us be honest--I am old--no spring chicken by far." She drew herself straight again. "In light of that, I believe it would only be fair that I open the dancing tonight with your fine young man."

Bess couldn't help throwing back her head in a laugh. "Granny!" she exclaimed. "It's my birthday!" She tightened her arms around Ebenezer and cuddled even deeper into his lap.

Granny looked completely unfazed. "I know, my dear, but you are likely to have many, many more birthdays, whereas I am likely to keel over any moment now and am limited on the amount of time at which I might be swept around the dancefloor by a strapping young gentleman."

"You know, she has a point," Ebenezer remarked with a smirk, his slate-blue eyes sparkling with delight.

Bess turned on him and fixed the man with a good-natured glare. "You just like being called "young man"," she accused.

Ebenezer didn't even try to deny it and simply shrugged. "Regardless."

"And, need I remind you, Elizabeth," Granny continued, "that if it weren't for me, you and that wonderful young shaver you're so tightly wrapped up with currently may never have come into being at all." A playful yet slightly haughty shadow settled over the woman withered and wise visage. "All that is to say, I am due for my just desserts--wouldn't you agree?

Snorting, Bess rolled her eyes. "Fine," she sighed melodramatically, "but I get him directly and immediately after you're done." A serious look fell over the American's face as another thought crossed her mind, and she held up a firm finger toward her great-grandmother. "And absolutely no groping. Or pinching. I mean that now, Granny."

Granny's eyes twinkled deviously. "But, my darling girl, you know as well as I, that's where all the fun is!"

The small orchestra Granny FeFe had hired was no half-baked group. Despite their small size, they played as well as, if not better than, the Philharmonic Society. They filled the front hall with a beautiful and speedy waltz which Ebenezer and Granny danced to splendidly. The steely-haired man gracefully swept the old woman around the wood floor, always controlled and collected in his movements despite how free he made the dance look. Granny's eyes sparkled though her mouth remained set in stone as ever. She, herself, moved with such grace and fluidity that she could have been floating along with Ebenezer. The music seemed to revitalize the octogenarian, shaving decades off her as she flitted about; if it weren't for her stark white hair, one could have sworn she was a far younger woman.

Waltzing around in Tom's arms (Addie had most graciously surrendered her husband for the moment), Bess grinned from ear to ear and guffawed as the man made a comment about her grandmother (or their grandmother technically) sweeping off with her husband if she weren't careful. Bess cheekily remarked that, with as much fun as he appeared to be having, it was more likely they would have to keep an eye on Ebenezer sweeping Granny off. They both laughed at that.

Hearing a startled yelp, Bess' head snapped in the direction of the pair in question. "Granny!" she barked over the music. "I said no pinching!" She tried to school her gaze into a firm glare, but it was difficult to do, especially when she caught the goofy grin on her hubby's blushing face. The black-haired beauty snorted and shook her head. He'd never admit it or let it cause him to stray, but Ebenezer did rather enjoy being felt up and admired for a younger man, and Granny FeFe was always more than happy to oblige him.

Bess couldn't help but keep her eyes on Ebenezer throughout the rest of the waltz. She didn't regret allowing her great-grandmother a treat (it only seemed fair after the woman had put together this wonderful party for her), but she was longing to return to her love's arms so that they might sweep off together too. Even surrounded by all this love and warmth from her friends--which of course she was exceptionally grateful for--Bess wanted to be surrounded by Ebenezer's love most. It had taken her so long to find him--a man that was compassionate, kind, humble, intelligent, loyal, handsome, and charming and possessed a passion that matched her own; and she wanted to be completely enveloped in him as often as possible.

Finally, the waltz ended and everyone on the floor parted and bowed/curtsied to their partners. Bess walked arm-in-arm with Tom back to Addie. "Here's your hubby back!" she chirped to her cousin. "Thanks ever so much for lending him to me. He's a spectacular dancer!"

"Best there is in London!" Tom piped up, puffing out his chest as he hooked his thumbs in his lapels.

Addie giggled. "Don't I know it," she remarked. She reached her hands out to her man, and he instantly took them in his and knelt before her, gazing up into her round, glowing face. Addie giggled again, blushing all the way up her ears, her gaze locked on Tom's.

Bess smiled, her heart filled with joy. First, she and Ebenezer had tied the knot (although not under the most romantic circumstances); then Addie and Tom; now Ernie and Ella were only a few months away from their wedding; Jules and Martha were likely to be engaged any day; Josie, Belinda, and Kathy all had wonderful, steady beaus; Ida was making good headway with Harold (he'd actually come with her tonight though he wasn't dancing--that seemed to be just too far out of his comfort zone); and, to top it all off, the next generation was well underway, with Harry and Hela on their fourth child and Addie and Tom their first. Bess had a feeling her duties as a midwife would be even more taxing in the coming years, but she couldn't wait to watch and help their extended family grow. Again she thought of her lonely childhood and how happy her child-self would be to know that she grew up to be surrounded by love of all kinds.

Then she thought of George. She could almost hear his deep, warm, gentle voice in her head: You made it, Mudpuppy. And you done good. I knew you'd get there. Tears pricked at her eyes, and Bess reached up to wipe them, sniffling ever so slightly.

A deep, velvet voice called her: "Bess?"

Bess turned to see Ebenezer coming her way, a concerned look on his face as he watched her dry her eyes. She smiled reassuringly at him, though her lips did quiver, and stepped toward him. "I'm all right," she said with a little dismissive wave of her hand. "Just... thinking is all."

"Ah," her husband replied, the worry fading from his face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief, raising it to her face to gently dab at her eyes, careful not to smudge her makeup. "A dangerous pastime."

Bess rolled her eyes and giggled. "I know." She brought her left hand up to gently hold his right wrist as the Englishman blotted away her tears, leaning into his touch. Ebenezer's free hand sought hers, twining their fingers together and squeezing soothingly. Bess squeezed back, gazing up into her lover's face, her eyes brimming full with adoration as she admired him for the millionth time in their six years together (two of friendship--four of marriage). She felt a soft warmth bloom on her cheeks: She didn't believe she'd ever get over this remarkable, handsome man and how he was all hers.

"May I ask what you were thinking of?" Ebenezer murmured quietly. He sopped up a tear at the corner of his wife's left eye before bowing down to gently kiss her there, trailing more kisses along her cheekbone until he came nose to nose with her. The man gazed into her eyes, love, admiration, and desire shining out from his soft, slate-blue depths. Just as they always did.

Bess felt her heart clench almost painfully with love for the gentleman, bringing a fresh wave of tears to her eyes. She was very emotional this evening. "Just... the future. And the past," she answered vaguely. "And about George--what he would say if he were here."

Ebenezer hummed in consideration. Letting go of Bess' hand, he folded his handkerchief again and replaced it, gazing around the hall at all of the people here specifically to celebrate his wonderful wife: The Cratchits and their oldest children, the Huffmans (including Mr. Huffman Sr.), the Chars, the future Mr. and Mrs. Shaw, the Jenkinses, the Dowager of course, Ida and Harold, Bess' siblings of course. So many people here, just for her. Well aware of her past and how melancholy it had been (much like his own), Ebenezer knew what this party and all these people being here meant to Bess.

Still gazing around the hall, the reformed miser reached out and pulled his wife into his arms, pulling her close to his chest, Bess wrapping her own arms around his waist. He brought his gaze to hers again, smiling warmly at her. "I never knew George, of course," he stated, "but I like to think I've heard you speak enough of him that I could know him." Ebenezer touched his forehead to Bess' and gently smushed their noses together, making her giggle: His heart soared for it. "I know he'd be proud of you," he quietly cooed. "He'd be proud and happy and tickled every shade of pink for you and the life you've built for yourself." The man pecked a feather-light kiss on his love's painted lips before burying his face in the hair cascading over her shoulder and hugging her tight to him. "I know I am," he whispered meaningfully into her neck. He pressed his lips to the burn scar partially hidden by the new choker he'd gifted her, making Bess tremble ever so slightly.

That quiet declaration touched Bess deep in her soul: She felt more tears sting her eyes as the smile on her lips pulled wider in reaction. Clutching at her man's back, she pressed her face into his chest, trying to be as close to his heart as possible. His beautiful heart; so full of love for her. A heart that had not only proven its love for her but wanted her and beat with a fierce desire to protect her unto the ends of the earth. Like George. Just like her beloved George's heart, was her beloved Ebenezer's heart. Bess wanted nothing more than to kiss and cherish it into eternity.

"I've failed in telling you thus far, because I haven't been able to find the right words to say," Ebenezer murmured, stroking a hand up to cradle the back of her neck, his lips hidden in her hair right beside her ear, "but I am so very, very proud of you, my darling Bess. I still can't quite put it into words, I'm so proud of you."

Bess knew she was about to cry, his words filling and soothing a void deep within her that had been there ever since George's untimely passing. She hugged her husband tighter, never wanting to let go or him to let go. A quiet sob shuddered its way from her lungs. "Ebenezer...."

"You've grown so much, Bess," Ebenezer continued softly, reciprocating her constrictor-like grip. "You arrived in London hardly more than a girl; alone, lost, nearly penniless, thrust into parenthood and a society and culture you scarcely knew how to navigate. Look at you now! A grown woman who's successfully raised two children into adulthood and two more into fine youths; an accomplished and much sought-after midwife; a darling of London society-"

Bess snorted. "I wouldn't quite say that."

"-surrounded on her birthday by all the people who know and love her. You've come into your own, Sweetness--become the woman I always knew you could be. My chest is so tight and swollen with pride in you, I feel it will burst into pieces."

Bess nuzzled lovingly into his pectorals. The cheeky part of her wanted to make a quip about how she hoped not because she rather liked his chest in one piece, but the lump in her throat wouldn't allow the words through. She was so happy--so very happy! Never growing up would Bess have believed it possible for anyone--much less herself--could be as happy as she was in that moment: She felt she could explode off and fly all the way to Heaven's golden gates with the force of the blast. What had she ever done to deserve such fortune? What had she ever done to deserve this man holding her?

"You forgot one very important thing," the woman rasped. She pulled back just enough to gaze up at her tall love and meet his eyes with her tear-filled ones. "I'm a wife. A wife to an amazing, wonderful, magnificent man who loves me so much and treats me so well. And who helped to make everything else you've already mentioned possible."

Ebenezer smiled humbly, his cheeks pinking up a bit. He shook his head. "Bess-"

"No, Ebenezer, I mean it," Bess insisted, giving him a severe look. "It's true. I... I never could have done everything I have without you by my side. None of this would have happened if you weren't in my life." She reached up and grabbed his face, holding it in her hands and pulling him down closer to her to gaze even deeper into his eyes. "You helped me. You saved me--more than once. You've always had confidence in me even when I've had none in myself and given me the strength to carry on even in the darkest of moments. You've done so much for me that I can never repay."

"You are my wife," Ebenezer replied. He lifted a hand to wipe away some tears that had breached her barrier. "I love you. And before that, I was your friend and still loved you. You needn't ever repay me, Sweetness; all services were given freely from my heart." He smiled gently. "After all, it's not as if you haven't done the same for me in turn."

Bess' lips quivered into a smile. "You're my husband," she flipped it back around. "I love you. My life... it wouldn't be a life without you." She tilted his face further down to kiss his brow.

Her husband chuckled softly, leaning into her touch. "Nor would mine be without you," he murmured. Slipping a finger beneath her chin, the Englishman kissed his American love sweetly and slowly, his lips slotting expertly in with hers.

Bess utterly melted, her insides turning to quivering mush. Wrapping her arms around his bowed neck, she went up on tiptoe to deepen the contact. She squeaked against his mouth when Ebenezer suddenly clutched her about the waist and thighs and swept her up off the floor. Lovely, gorgeous, strong, tall man! Tickled by internal butterflies, a muffled giggle left her. The kiss was already making her giddy, and the sensation of nothing under her feet made it almost feel like she was floating. Her heart certainly was. The elation of it all caused both of the woman's feet to pop; knees together beneath her skirts, toes primly pointed skyward.

The band was finishing with a song and starting in on another. The couple parted for breath.

"Would you care to dance, Mrs. Scrooge?" Ebenezer lowly rumbled against the Yank's lips. His half-lidded gaze held hers.

Bess smiled a bit dazedly and nuzzled his nose. "I would be delighted, Mr. Scrooge." She loosened her grip around the man's neck and slowly, gracefully descended to the floor again.

Ebenezer took a slight step to the side, folded an arm behind his back, and debonairly offered her his left hand. Bess bit back a giggle and reached out with her right to take it. Holding hands they made their way to the middle of the floor, avoiding the other dancers. Turning again to each other, they bowed and curtsied respectfully before Ebenezer held out his hand again, smoothly pulling Bess into his arms when she took it. He pulled her quite a bit closer than was traditional, her front coming flush with his. His right hand fell much, much lower on her back than was proper. Bess gasped, a blush instantly heating her cheeks, and raised a speculative eyebrow at the man. "I say, Mr. Scrooge!" she hissed with a smirk.

Her lover merely snickered, raising a devilish eyebrow of his own, a spark of desire flashing through his slate-blue eyes that made the woman in his hold shiver with excitement. "Consider this a prelude for tonight, Mrs. Scrooge," he growled huskily as he leaned down towards her ear. "You'll have one more present to unwrap and play with before it's all said and done."

Bess' blush grew hotter, her smirk turning saucy. "However I wish?" she inquired coquettishly. Her hold on him tightened, her hand squeezing his, her nails lightly digging into the back of his shoulder.

"However you wish," came the rumbled answer. As if to provide further reassurance, Ebenezer's hand only trailed up slightly higher on Bess' backside, but only for the sake of comfort.

A wave of anticipatory pleasure rolled through the woman, settling low in her pelvis and tickling with delight. Her heart skipped a beat. Oh, what a lucky girl she was!

Hands lovingly clasped, their free hands positioned properly on backs and shoulders, Ebenezer and Bess finally swept into the next waltz with everyone else, the gentleman's long legs carrying them rapidly around the circle. They held each other's gazes the entire time, following the path simply by instinct. That never would have happened six years ago, when Ebenezer was first helping Bess learn to waltz. Which, perhaps not so coincidentally, had taken place in this exact hall.

Bess smiled at the memory. Even back then, when they'd hardly been more than acquaintances yet, Ebenezer had helped her--had been willing to help her. Even though she'd been a perfect stranger from a foreign land who'd been an absolute and sometimes offensive idiot about everything English, he'd been nothing but compassionate and shown nothing but kindness and graciousness to her all while expecting nothing in return. She hadn't thought of it then (there'd been so much else to consider) but as she thought of it now, it reminded her of George and the first time they'd met: Her a little buck-naked urchin, caked in the mud of a puddle she'd run away from home to find, and he a gentle-hearted giant of a man who hadn't batted an eye at her antics and had wrapped her up in his own shirt and taken her back home. The parallels didn't end there, as both Ebenezer and George had kept coming back, offering support and protection free of any charge. Then, eventually, both had also stayed for love and want of her.

Bess pulled her gaze away from Ebenezer's and rested her head against his shoulder, slipping her hand on his shoulder around the back of his neck to embrace him. Closing her eyes, she simply let her husband--the man she loved and trust more than any other person in this world--steer and carry her wherever he wished. It didn't matter where it was, she would go with him; wherever he went, she would follow.

"Sweetness?" Ebenezer murmured, slowing their dancing just a bit. He watched her with some concern.

"Thank you," Bess sighed with contentment. She looked up at him again, her head never leaving his shoulder, and offered a small smile. "Thank you so much."

Her husband smiled warmly. "For what, may I ask?"

Bess felt the prick of tears again at the corner of her eyes; she blinked them back. "For being everything I've ever wanted in a man," she answered softly. She squeezed his hand. "For making me feel safe, wanted, and loved. For being..." she trailed off to take a shaky breath as one more tear dripped from her lashes, "... for being even better than George."

Ebenezer's eyes softened, and Bess could swear she saw a sheen of tears in them too. Bowing his head, the tall man lovingly kissed her brow before resting his cheek against her head. His arm around her waist tightened, as did his grip on her hand. "If that's true, you're happiness is thanks enough, my darling," he assured her. "And it would be my greatest honor to continue these things if you'll allow me."

Bess could only nod her head and squeak "Yes," as the lump was back in her throat. Her lips quivered into a tight smile as she tried to control herself. She had cried so much already tonight, she didn't want to cry anymore. Squeezing her eyes shut, the American buried her face back into her man's chest, breathing in his comforting scent. Not only would George be proud of her--he would also be happy; for she'd finally done it. She'd finally found a man that measured up to him--out-measured him actually. Ebenezer was everything George had been and more, and he was hers. All hers. She still wasn't sure she deserved him, but that was neither here nor there--she had him. And she was not letting him go.

And he was not letting her go. Not ever. Just like George.

Taglist: @rom-e-o @oldmanlusting @the-house-of-auditore-frye @crimson-phantom-designs @ofvampiirisms @purgratoriat

#Youtube #scrooge 2022 #netflix scrooge #scrooge a christmas carol #scrooge #ebenezer scrooge #scrooge x oc #ebenezer x bess #ebeness #scrooge romance #fluffy scrooge #married scrooge #past relationships #FEELS #ALL THE FEELS #father figures #strong male role models #scrooge ocs #george sullivan #lawrence bryant #the asshat #ex boyfriend #bess has not had a great past #but she will have the brightest future!

[dragonbinx]

With Love From

Part of my New Year’s series from last winter.  Posted on Ao3 here.

Series: Dawson’s Creek

Ship: Joey/Pacey

Characters: Pacey Witter, Joey Potter

A phone ringing woke Pacey from a near catatonic sleep. It took him one ring to wake up, two more to realize it was his cell phone, and it was midway through its fifth and final ring when he picked it up. “H’lo?”

“Hey, Pacey.”

He sat up, not completely awake, but certainly more aware than he had been. He hadn’t heard her voice in months. “Hey, Jo.”

“Doug gave me your new number.”

“He did?”

“Well, Jack did. I guess they’ve been hanging out?”

“Ah. Yes, they have. So is this an early Christmas present for me?”

“Might be more of a present for me.”

“Is that so? Well, that’s flattering."

“I just mean, I won’t be able to see you. Not any of you. I can’t make it home for Christmas. The dorms are open through the holiday, and the plane ride is expensive, my French isn’t good enough to wait tables and I just couldn’t make it happen.”

“I heard. I still see Bessie around, y’know.”

“Right. Of course.” There was a moment of silence on the line. “I’m sorry, Pace.”

“For what?”

“For ditching you with a letter and going radio silent until I needed someone to talk to. You deserve better than that.”

“Doesn’t seem that different from me taking off on a boat before graduation. Trust me, I know what it’s like to need to cut ties sometimes.”

“How did you do it?”

He shifted the phone, frowning in the dark of his room. “Leave? The same way you did, just on a boat instead of a plane.”

“No, I mean …” she trailed off.

“Jo?”

“I haven’t made any friends here. I’m getting better at French, but I still can’t have a conversation without having to ask people to repeat themselves over and over, and I’m the only one, because I’m the only one who came to Paris on a whim instead of it being planned, or because my parents are rich, and what was I thinking? I’ve never been impulsive, and this is what I started with.”

“Whoa, hold on, you’ve absolutely been impulsive before. Or do you not remember how our relationship started?”

“That was different,” she said, exasperated but somehow soft at the same time.

“Why, because it worked out? Because if you remember, you didn’t like the boat so much the first couple weeks when we couldn’t find you new clothes and you couldn’t fall asleep in the hammock and you fell off the side on the third day.”

“And you laughed at me.”

“After I got you out of the water, and to be fair, it was very funny.”

“I miss you.”

He smiled to himself, happier than he probably should be at such a simple confession. “Good thing you have my phone number, then.”

“Good thing.”

“Oh, and Potter? Maybe figure out the time differences for next time.”

There was another pause and he practically hear her doing the math in her head. Then a small, disbelieving, guilty, “Damn it.”

*

“I’m doing Easter.”

Joey’s voice was slurred with sleep. “Pacey? Whassit?”

Pacey paced around the small room of his studio apartment, too agitated to feel guilty. “I’m sorry, I know it’s late there, but Joey, they gave me the Easter menu at my restaurant. The place is booked, and it’s the one holiday the head chef takes off, and the sous chef just called in with a family emergency, and somehow they decided to give it to me.”

“That’s amazing!”

“No, it’s not, because I am Pacey Witter, screw up. I might be able to do the basics now, but if I get handed something big like this, I’m gonna mess it up. You know, you’ve seen me do it.”

“Well, that’s just stupid.”

He took a sharp breath in. “Excuse me?”

“Look, I’m tired, so I’m giving you the tough love speech. You have proven time and time again that you are talented and capable and the only thing getting in the way of your inevitable success is you. I’m sorry your family was awful, I really am, and if you want to talk about it at length at a reasonable hour, I am more than willing to do so. But you are Pacey Witter, the guy with friends who love and respect you and clearly bosses who think you can do this, so forget what your dad thought you were capable of when you were fifteen. I know what you’re capable of now, and you’ve got this. And if you need to be reminded, and Jack or Jen or Grams or Doug or even Bessie, aren’t available to say the same, because you know they will, you can call me. At a normal time. Goodnight.”

The dial tone sounded in his ear, leaving him gaping and speechless. Leave it to Joey to give him the most supportive speech in more irritated tone of voice that he’d ever heard.

*

“I hate Halloween.”

Pacey nodded to himself as he hung up a motion activated ghost in Doug’s yard. It went well with the inflatable Frankenstein and giant skeleton. “I know.”

“It’s stupid. What does everyone want a holiday just to scare people for anyway?”

“Absolutely ridiculous.”

“Right?”

“Not the holiday, you.”

“Har-har.”

“What’s going on? I know you’ve never been into Halloween or anything, but this seems excessive.”

“It isn’t a big holiday in Paris. And I told that to my coworkers, and now they want to take me out to some haunted house thing for my big return to American Halloween. And maybe … I’m a little freaked out.” Her voice was small and a little embarrassed, and Pacey felt so fond he could barely stand it.

“Of course you are. You are my favorite skittish kitten, Potter.”

“I think I’m old enough to just be a scaredy cat now, Witter.”

“Never. It lacks flair.”

She groaned. “This is exactly the comfort from a dear friend that I was hoping for.”

“You want something comforting? Then just look in the mirror. You are the most intimidating person I know. I’ve seen you ruin people’s days with a single withering stare. You recently came back from an international adventure, living somewhere you didn’t know the language, and Jack told me about the French creep you kneed in the balls.”

“He deserved it.”

“I have no doubt,” Pacey chuckled, sticking devil horns on Doug’s mailbox. “Jo, anything that is in that house should be scared of you, not the other way around.”

“That does actually help. Thanks, Pace.”

“You’re very welcome.” He sighed wistfully. “Think now that you’re back in the State I’ll get to see that gorgeous face of yours again?”

“I hope so. I need to make sure you didn’t grow back that mustache when I was gone.”

“It’s a handlebar now.”

“Of course it is.”

“Uh, I gotta go.” He put the cell phone down and held his hands up in a pacifying gesture as Doug, who had just pulled up to the house, got out of his car with a mixture of shock, horror, and growing fury on his face. “Now, let me explain …”

*

“Do you know what today is?”

Rain thrummed against the window as Pacey lay on his couch, trying to think past the fog his brain was constantly in these days. “Um … Tuesday?”

“Not what I … wait, no, it’s Wednesday.”

“Is it?” He stifled a yawn. “Sorry, opening the restaurant is even more time consuming than everyone warned me it would be. What’s up?”

There was quiet on the other end of the line, and some sense of foreboding tingled the back of his neck. “What’s today?”

“My mom’s been dead for ten years.”

“Oh, Jo …”

“Bessie doesn’t want to talk about it, and … I haven’t spoken to Dawson since I left for Paris.” Her breath shuddered in his ear, and more than ever, he wished they were in the same place. How was he supposed to have this conversation and not be holding her? “You’re the only one I could think of who knew her, and I just needed … I don’t know.”

“She used to play checkers with me.”

He heard Joey sniffle, but she sounded better when she asked, “She did?”

“Yeah. Doug was just starting as a cop and Gretchen was getting popular in school and they wouldn’t play with me anymore. Dawson thought that checkers were below him or something, and we played one time and you got mad when you lost and flipped the board.”

She laughed wetly. “I think I remember that. Sorry.”

“So your mom would play with me. I mean, I wasn’t at your house much, so we only played a handful of times before I decided I was too old for it. But it was nice of her. I never forgot.”

“Checkers, huh?”

“Is that judgement of my choice of childhood game I’m hearing?”

“No, no, of course not.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s perfect,” she told him, sincere in a way that made him feel warm.  He was relieved that he could still help her when she needed him most.

“Maybe we can play next time you’re in town. Y’know, if you can promise you won’t flip the board again when you lose.”

“You wish, Witter.”

*

“JOEY POTTER!”

“You don’t have to yell, Pace, I can hear you.”

“SORRY - sorry, Joey Potter.”

“I take it Doug’s Fourth of July barbecue went well.”

“Didja know?”

“About him and Jack? Yeah, Jack told me. Asked me how he should tell you.”

“Y’told ‘em to be making out when I got there?”

“No, I’m pretty sure that was an accident.”

“My friends hafta stop kissing my siblings.”

“I’ll make a note.”

“Well, you can’t. Only have sisters besides Doug n’ Doug’s gay, he told me. Unless y’like my sisters, I guess.”

“Uh-huh. Did this really require getting drunk?”

“Yup. Doug’s pants were off.”

“… oh.”

“I’ll be happy for them tomorrow.”

“That’s fair. Promise me you’ll drink some water.”

“Okay. I miss seeing your face, Joey Potter.”

“I miss you too, Pace. You have no idea.”

“Aw, tha’s nice. I’m gonna throw up now.”

*

The beginning of the end of 2008 was at hand. Five minutes until the best, worst, and most surreal year of his life was over. Jen and Grams were gone, he was a character on a teen drama and basically a third parent to a two-year-old, and Joey Potter was curled up on his couch next to him.

“A whole holiday season spent together instead of on the phone. I don’t know if I’ll get used to it.”

“I could go into the other room and call you if you’re feeling nostalgic.” Joey snuggled further into his chest, so he was pretty sure it wasn’t a real offer.

“No, no. I’ll learn to deal with it somehow.”

“I mean, in a couple minutes, we get to kiss at midnight, that’s pretty nice. And then after that, we can play checkers.”

“You want to start your year with a loss?”

He could only see her hair from this angle, but he could feel her scowl. “Oh, it’s on, Witter.”

“If you say so, dear.” He kissed the top of her head and pulled her as close as he could. He hadn’t been kidding; part of him did miss those phone calls. But this was so much better. This was how he wanted to spend all of his holidays for the rest of his life.

#Dawson's Creek #Joey x Pacey #Pacey x Joey #True Love #Pacey Witter #Joey Potter #he bought her a wall #dragonbinx fics

[mermaidsirennikita]

Editing a sex scene in my WIP and I could (and will) cut like 2K just by deleting the amount of times I compare the hero to a starving/slavering/horny animal

Like I always say that one of my favorite romance microtropes is when the hero treats the heroine like a distressed farm animal and goes "WHOOOOOAAAA BESSIE" but in my WIP he is, in fact, the Bessie she is whoa-ing

#romance novel writing #it's def some weird the maiden and the unicorn 'only i can touch his horn (penis)' thing i absorbed as an art history major #otherwise this sex scene slaps i'm happy with it

[orochimarufacts]

As part of my ongoing punishment for my sordid history of war crimes Konoha has forced me and my family/employees to wear cow costumes and pose for photos as blackmail material should I act up again. Now all my probation officers moo at me and call me mommy milkers and when I rightfully hiss at them they say whoa bessie. Thinking of joining peta

[olivish]

Alex: Mom I'm so glad you're back. But I have some terrible news. Melanie: I know, I heard about the aquarium. Alex: Worse than that. Melanie: And I know, Wilford has taken over the train. Alex: Actually, it's even worse. Melanie: What could be worse? Alex: Ben is with Josie now. Melanie: Oh. Actually, that's fine. Alex: Fine? But I thought... Melanie: Allie, honey, Ben is the sexual equivalent of a fast food restaurant. Hot, convenient, good for when you're on long trips with limited options. Audrey: Listen to your mother, Alex, she knows what she's talking about. Ben is nothing compared to a man like Wilford. Melanie: Who is the sexual equivalent of mad cow disease. Audrey: HOW DARE YOU. Melanie: Whoa there, Bessie.

#snowpiercer #random acts of dialogue #Post-resurrection Melanie is UNPLUGGED

[detectivejigsawpines]

Grav-phibia

On their way back to Wartwood, the Plantars find a horrifyingly familiar face. ...Or is it?

(This is my first time writing Amphibia characters; I apologize profusely for any grave errors in characterization.)

It had been a few days since the Plantars left Newtopia, and even though she already was starting to miss Marcy, Anne couldn’t find herself regretting her decision to stay with her “adoptive frog family.”  Not after everything the four of them had been through together.

This particular evening they had just reached a wooded area, and were slowly driving the f-wagon down the path, looking for a good place to stop that would suit Hop-Pop’s tastes (i.e. wherever seemed like the least likely spot for them to be suddenly attacked by a heron or tree monster or any of the other numerous horrors that plagued this freakin’ world).  The entire family was sitting up on the roof (except Sprig, who was riding Bessie), and enjoying watching the stars come out-when Anne saw something off in the trees about ten feet in, like a brief flash of bright green light.

“Hey, did you guys see that?”

Sprig whipped his head around.  “What?  Saw what?!”

“There was a light off in the trees-like a bright green one!”  Anne was leaning forward off the edge of the f-wagon, peering intently through the trees in an attempt to find where it had been.  She wasn’t exactly sure why she was so interested, since let’s be honest, random lights weren’t even close to the weirdest thing she’d seen since she came here, but...something about it, maybe the type of flash or something, reminded her of-

“Anne, random lights aren’t even close to the strangest things you’ve seen here,” Hop-Pop said, somewhat peevishly.  “Sit your rump down, we gotta keep moving-WHAT THE-!”

This time the light was a lot bigger, and lasted a lot longer, shooting straight up into the sky like a beacon, before vanishing again.

For a moment they just sat there, transfixed.  Then Anne and Sprig said in near-unison, “I’m gonna go check that out!” and leaped onto the trail.

“Wait!  Bring me too!” Polly demanded, stretching out her tiny arms (flippers?); in one smooth motion Anne scooped her up, and tucked her under her arm before charging off.

“Dang it, kids!” Hop-Pop cried once he recovered from his shock, “Get back here, ain’t ya learned by now that whenever ya go off investigating something new it always-means...trouble…”

They had already disappeared into the trees.

Hop-Pop groaned, and hopped down, carrying the reins over to Bessie and holding them up; the giant snail made a trilling noise, and then took them into her mouth.

“Make sure nobody steals the f-wagon or tries to eat you, girl,” he ordered, before hurrying off after his grandchildren.

“I’m gettin’ too old for this.”

***---***

“What do you think it is?!” Sprig asked excitedly.  “Maybe it’s frogs from another planet!  Oh, or maybe another factory like that one in the Ruins of Despair, and we’ll have to avoid the shiny blue circles again!”

“Or-” Anne interjected- “it could be someone traveling between traveling like me!  That light looked a lot like the one I saw when I opened the music box back in my world!”  Her stomach fluttered with excitement; other people who had managed to teleport or whatever?!  That could be, like, a whole new step to getting her and her friends home!

“Whoa, that’s way cooler than my ideas!”

“Yeah it is!” Polly cheered.

“Hey, what’s that noise?”

The three of them stopped short and listened.

Something was crashing through the trees up ahead of them-something big -and it was making loud, grumbly noises that as it came closer Anne recognized were words.  And something about that voice was very frighteningly familiar...

“Stupid-I told ya not to touch that thing till ya knew what it did-Sixer, if you can’t get this fixed when I find ya I’m gonna kick your-AUGH!”

An old man had stepped into view-an old, gray-haired man wearing a long brown coat and with a red woolly beanie perched on top of his head.  Even so, Anne recognized him as soon as she got a good look at his face.

“AAAAUUUUGGGHHHH!!!!  THE CURATOR!!  A HUMAN VERSION OF THE CURATOR!!  KILL HIM BEFORE HE TURNS US INTO GOLD STATUES!!!!”

***---***---***

Stan Pines had no idea what was going on.

One minute he’d been in search of his knucklehead brother who had not only started messing with a device that turned out to be another portal thing (it’d almost be funny what bad luck he had with those things if it didn’t involve so many traumatic memories for both of them), so now they were stuck in wherever the heck this was, and if that wasn’t bad enough the dingus had gone flying off, and Ford had chased off after it, so now Stan had to go find him and make sure he wasn’t having a panic attack or something so they could think about what to do next-then the next minute he’d run into a group of kids (or at least kid-sized creatures), and the big bush-haired one had immediately started screaming and trying to hit him with a tennis racket (where had that even come from?).

“Hey!  Ow, what the heck!”  Stan fended off the insane girl with one arm, staggering back.  “Knock it off-ow, I haven’t even been here long enough ta deserve something like this!”

“Leave Anne alone!” a voice from his other side demanded, and the small pink creature stuck out his tongue at him.  Literally-it came lunging out to slap him in the chest, nearly knocking him over.  Quickly Stan did the only thing he could think of, which was to grab the tongue and pull hard, which yanked the creature forward into his arms.

“SPRIG!!  PUT HIM DOWN, YOU MONSTER!!!!”  The girl then produced a sword-a sword?!

I mean, he respected the right for children to carry weapons and all, but not when they were tryna use them on him!

Yeah, this is probably my cue ta drop the pink squirt and run like a coward.

Before he could do that, however, a wonderfully familiar voice called from behind his attackers, “Drop your weapons!  Now!”

Stan breathed a small sigh of relief as the crazy people turned away from him-and immediately screamed again at the sight of Ford, who was standing there with multiverse gun in hand and looking like he meant business.

“AUGH!  THERE’S ANOTHER ONE!!!!”

***---***

“KIDS!”

Yet another tiny screaming creature came rushing through the trees towards them-this one was orange, Stan noticed, and dressed a little like his grandpa Pines had, from what he remembered.  Aside from that, he looked kinda like a really big frog-come to think of it, so did two of the creatures that had been attacking Stan, except one was pink and the other was purple.

As soon as the orange frog saw them he gasped, and balled up his tiny fists.

“Monsters!  Horrible wrinkly monsters, the likes of which this world has never seen before!”

“Hey!”

“They’re humans, Hop-Pop,” the girl said in an annoyed tone-before immediately returning to yelling.  “AND THEY’RE HUMAN VERSIONS OF THE CURATOR!!!!”

“OH MY FROG!”  Hop-Pop (what the heck kinda name was that?) came charging straight at Ford-which Stan could’ve told him was a big mistake, had he cared to listen.  He sidestepped the attack easily, and in a swift movement knocked the frog onto his back and planted a boot on his chest.  Then he fired a shot into the air and bellowed, “EVERYONE CALM DOWN, NOW!!!!”

Amazingly, it did the trick; the yelling and attacking stopped, and the group stared at him with wide eyes.  Stan finally remembered that he was kind of holding the weird pink frog, and let him slip through his fingers back to the ground.

Ford took a deep breath, and said, “Now, one of you please explain why you’re attacking my brother.”

***---***---***

“Cuz he’s the Curator!” Anne said indignantly, pointing to him.  “He’s gonna try to turn us into gold statues and put us in his museum for-”

“What?!  How-listen, kid, I don’t need ta kill people ta create exhibits, that’s what cheap taxidermy’s for!  And how do you even know about-”

“Stanley,” the other Curator interrupted, looking unusually starry-eyed for the situation, “I think they must have confused you with this dimension’s version of you.”

“Wait, what?” said the Curator, Anne and Hop-Pop at pretty much the same time.

The other Curator sighed and rubbed his eyes-there was something off about his hands, Anne noticed.  Like they were bigger than the average-wait, he had an extra finger?!  Weird and cool!  “Oh dear...how do we explain this.  Look, this might be somewhat difficult to believe, but we are not monsters.  We’re travelers from a different dimension who need to retrieve the device we used to get here so we can go home again.”

“Um, that might not be as hard for us to believe as you might think, dude,” Anne piped up.

The other Cur-the other old dude gave her a confused look, blinked, and then clarity rose in his eyes as he took in her appearance.

“Oh.  Oh my.”

***---***---***

“...so we just need to go back home and get the music box, and as soon as Marcy gets here we can charge up the stones and use it to go home!”

“Remarkable.”  Ford rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  “I heard of such devices in the multiverse, but was never able to acquire one for myself.”

They had made their way to the family’s wagon (or f-wagon, as they had insisted on calling it), and created a campfire next to it, since unfortunately the two old men were too big to fit inside; they sat down around it and traded their respective tales.

Not everything, obviously, but enough to get it through everyone’s heads that they didn’t need to fight.

“It’s a shame I won’t have a chance to study it for myself, but we have this.”  Ford held up the dingus; Stan breathed a small sigh of relief at seeing that he’d caught it before it could get too far away.  “If my calculations are correct, it should start functioning again when the moon reaches its peak, and I don’t know how many opportunities it will give us to travel between dimensions so we need to take this one.”

“...And it’ll just take you right back to where you were when it starts working again?” the girl-Anne-asked.  Despite himself, Stan felt his heart twinge a little at the open longing in her tone, and he asked without thinking about it, “...You wanna come back with us?  Pretty sure we’re from the same dimension, and we were pretty close to California when this thing brought us here.”  She’d said she was from California, right?

Anne hesitated, clearly tempted-but shook her head.  “Thanks, but no.  I can’t just leave Marcy or-or Sasha here.”  Something about her expression told Stan that she and her other friend were having...issues.  “I can wait for the music box.”

He shrugged, and pulled a bag of toffee peanuts from his pocket.  “Suit yourself.”

Seconds later the polliwog had hopped onto his knee and was staring at the bag with wide eyes.  “What’s that ?!” she asked, sniffing.  “It smells...sugary.”

“...Eh, probably nuthin’ that’d interest you.  Just candy from another dimension.”  He hid a smirk at how big her pupils got, and the little ribbon of drool that dripped from her mouth, before she demanded, “Lemme try some, old man!”

Stan cackled, and popped a few pieces into her mouth.  The resultant grin reminded him of Mabel, causing a small fond ache in his chest.

Of course, then her brother wanted to have some too, so soon enough he had a child on either side of him happily trying to pick bits of toffee out of their teeth.  Their grandpa was more wary, but he took a piece when it was offered to him.

As they were eating, Anne went into the f-wagon, and came back a few minutes later with a folded paper.

”…Can you at least deliver this to my parents?  It’s just a short note letting them know I’m okay, and I’m on my way home.”  She scribbled an address on the back.

Ford took the paper and gave her a small smile, putting it in his coat.  “Of course we can.”

Anne’s eyes glistened briefly, but she managed to smile.  “Thanks.”

***---***

Since they were going to be stuck until the moon was high anyway, the Plantars offered to give the Pineses dinner, and well, they’d learned never to turn down a free meal, so they agreed.

“Sadly, I can’t feed you fellas one of my family’s home recipes,” Hop-Pop said as he rummaged in the f-wagon, “but these mushroom bars are nice and nourishing.”

“Trust me, you’re getting off lucky,” Anne stage-whispered to them.  “I’ve tried HP’s cooking, and it is-”

“-is perfectly good for people who have the proper respect for tradition,” Hop-Pop interrupted.  He sounded more annoyed than flat-out angry, like it was an argument they’d had many times before, and would continue to have many times in the future.  “I’m sure you two understand, bein’ of a more...mature age like I am.”

Stan shrugged as he took a mushroom bar.  “Eh, I dunno.  Just cuz something’s traditional doesn’t always mean it’s good.”

He might as well have said that he thought eating babies was perfectly normal, decent behavior, if Hop-Pop’s horrified, outraged gasp was anything to go by.  Seconds later the old frog’s face flushed with red, and he pointed a trembling finger practically in Stan’s face.

“You’re a disgrace to your age group!!!!”

Behind him, Anne rolled her eyes.

“Yeesh, and he calls me dramatic.”

***---***---***

Despite their blasphemous views on tradition, the Pineses seemed like decent enough folk.

The floofy-haired one had hundreds of questions about their world and culture, writing all the answers down in a big red journal; his enthusiasm and curiosity reminded Hop-Pop an awful lot of that Marcy girl.  The non-Curator was less curious, but he was good with the kids at least, and kept making them laugh and shamelessly feeding them more of that chewy peanut candy.

During dinner the Pineses told stories about some of their adventures-apparently they were some kind of seafaring travelers who went around looking for weirdness, and on one of their trips they’d stumbled on an island with a cave full of treasures, and amongst them was the doohickey that had brought them here.

It didn’t sound quite as dangerous as the Calamity Box, and he couldn’t remember seeing anything about it in his books...but Hop-Pop still hoped they’d keep it away from him and his kids.

Speak of the devil, the floofy-haired one asked at last, “So where is the music box now?”

“Hop-Pop’s got some contacts back in Wartwood who he said’d take care of it while we were gone.”  Anne munched her mushroom bar.  “And they’re keeping it safe, right, HP?”

Even though he’d been somewhat prepared for the question, Hop-Pop still felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.  “Yeah, of course they are, Anne!  I told ya, they’ll keep it safe, and tell me everything they know about it when I get it back from them.”

Thankfully he managed to put the lie together without any real effort on his part, and she accepted it readily enough.  He gave a small sigh of relief, and quickly changed the subject.

Had he been paying better attention, he might have noticed the non-Curator’s eyes narrow a tiny bit.

***---***

Eventually the moon started to rise, and the floofy-haired Mr. Pines produced the device out of his pocket again.

“It should be almost ready!” he exclaimed in delight, adjusting his glasses.  “I think I just need to get it into direct moonlight, so it can absorb enough to send us back!”  He leaped to his feet-sweet Frog, Hop-Pop still wasn’t used to how tall humans were; these two were even bigger than Anne, for pity’s sake-and began looking for a decent spot.  “Stanley, I think we need to go this way!”

“Okay, okay, keep your shirt on.”  The non-Curator Mr. Pines looked down at Hop-Pop.  “Y’know, those mushroom bars ain’t half bad.  Any chance we can get a couple for the road?”

“Stanley,” floofy Mr. Pines said in exasperation, “we have plenty of food back on the boat!  And we’ve imposed on these good-um, frogs for long enough!”

“No, no, that’s all right, we got a few extra I think we can spare.”  Hop-Pop walked over to the f-wagon and hopped inside.  He grabbed a couple of bars, turned around-and nearly had a heart attack when he found non-Curator Mr. Pines half-crouching in the doorway.

Oh Frog, was he gonna turn out to be a threat after all?!  Were he and his brother going to turn into vicious frog-eating monsters who ripped out your liver and-?!

“Word of advice, shortstack,” non-Curator Mr. Pines said.  “Whatever lie you’re tellin’ the kids about that music box, it’s not a good idea.”

Hop-Pop’s thoughts screeched to a halt.  After a moment he stammered, “I-I’m not-”

“Save it.”  Non-Curator Mr. Pines took the bars from his suddenly-nerveless fingers and began stuffing them into his coat pockets.  “Take it from someone who knows, if they find out from someone besides you, or if they find out in a really bad way, it’s gonna come back ta bite you like ya wouldn’t believe.  I’m not one ta say that honesty is the best policy, cuz in my experience it’s not, but keepin’ secrets like that from your family...it’ll go a lot better for ya in the long run if ya just tell ‘em the truth.”

He gave Hop-Pop a wide grin, and a smack on the arm that was probably supposed to be friendly but almost knocked him over.

“See ya around.  Or-probably not, actually.  You know what I mean.”

Then he climbed out of the f-wagon, and Hop-Pop could hear him saying goodbye to the kids, before he and his brother headed off into the woods.  A few minutes later, there was another flash of green light that presumably meant they’d gotten their device to work.

***---***

Hop-Pop felt an uncomfortable blend of discomfort, guilt, and shame in his stomach-but he tried to cover it up with indignation.

What did that Pines fella know about keeping secrets to protect your family?!  He just didn’t understand what was at stake here-how desperately Hop-Pop needed to make sure nothing happened to his grandchildren, including Anne!  It might not always feel like the best choice, but that was his job as head of the family: making choices for the good of the family, whether they felt good or not!

With all the self-righteous stubborn denial at his disposal, Hop-Pop went out to tell the kids that they’d had enough excitement for one day and it was time for bed.

****************************************

Clearly, Ford Pines is not the only self-righteous denier of reality in existence.

#amphibia #gravity falls #stan pines #ford pines #anne boonchuy #sprig plantar #hopidiah plantar #polly plantar #crossover fic #humorous misunderstanding #parallels between Stan and Hop-Pop #seriously Hop-Pop #Stan knows what he's talking about

[amoebasisters]

Whoa, slow down there, Bessie!

#fungus #science #microbe #scicomm #sciart #biology #amoebasisters #sciencecomic #sciencecartoon

[builder051]

Hi! I’m sorry to hear you haven’t been feeling well. I did have a prompt if you’re up for it - would you be interested in writing something for Whoa Bessie where Bucky has a bad experience at the doctor and starts flashing back to the traumatic experiences of being in the hospital after losing his arm? Maybe Steve has to figure out what’s going on and help him?

Hope you continue to feel better!

I apologize for the length and delay of this; it completely ran away from me. I don't know if I tagged appropriately, but expect the usual with just a touch more graphic content than usual (Bucky's memories of war/event/injury...)

____________________

James has a bad feeling as soon as they enter the hospital.  It’s the same old VA, just a medical office instead of a therapy room. 

But’s cloudy outside.  Forecast says it’ll be raining within the hour.  James doesn’t like it.

“Hey.”  Steve nudges James’s knee, and James closes the weather app on his phone.  “It’s ok.  It’ll be ok.”

James nods once.  He tries shrugging to loosen up his shoulders, but everything stays tight and locked.

The MA calls James’s name. 

They do most of the talkdown in the hallway, pause briefly for the scale, though James knows his weight down to the tenth of a kilogram, and file into an exam room.

The not-rightness creeps as a shiver starting somewhere around James’s lumbar spine and trails upward into his back, his neck, under his hair.  The crown of James’s head seems like a good stopping spot, but the feeling doesn’t release.

The MA smiles, but she looks tired.  Maybe she has kids.  Maybe she’s getting shift differential after already working an overnight, bothering patients for their blood pressure at two in the morning.

The exam table is reclined, and, covered in its crisp white sanitary layer, looks more like a bed than a place to sit.  It’s narrow, though.  High.  More like a gurney.  The cot with rails and wheels that ferries people in and out of surgery.

Steve must feel his tension, because it’s his light touch that guides James into one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs opposite the exam table.

“Oh,” James murmurs.  “Yeah.”  He sits, then tries taking a deep, steadying breath.  “What’s this again?” he whispers at Steve.

“Neuro.”  Steve sits beside him. 

James knows he’s flashing his discomfort like a beacon, but he’ll take his chances and hold it together, for the MA at least.

Her hair’s in a bun, perfectly aligned at the back of her head.  If she’s working a double shift, she must have extra strength hairspray.  Maybe the MA has a military background.  But, eh, she looks too young to be in and out of service and gone through community college in that amount of time.  An honorable discharge, perhaps?  Or maybe she takes ballet class at the community center for personal time away from her yet-imaginary family and work schedule.

She’s not even looking in James’s direction, but her presence is threatening.  He tries estimating her height, slouched as she is in front of the rolling computer cart.  In a fistfight, he’d win in an instant, even though sometimes his reaction speed is delayed.  He’s not as strong as he used to be.  But the last time he socked Steve in the middle of a night terror, it had left a bruise.

“Mr. Barnes?”  Now the MA is looking in his direction. 

James is completely lost.  “Mm?”

“She’s asking about your symptoms,” Steve says.

“Um.”  James takes the redirection, but it’s not enough to completely un-lose his thoughts.  Change paths.  Make words.

James examines the linoleum floor as he struggles to string together a meaningful vocalization.  Every time he gets a sentence to the tip of his tongue, he pulls back.  He’s wrong.  He’s in pain.  He isn’t understanding, and nobody is explaining in the first place.

The bottom corner of the exam table has a wheel.  More akin to a swivel chair than, say, an actual hospital bed, but… that doesn’t make it ok.

James stands up.  His knee pops, and phantom pain blisters from his stump arm.  Some morbid, bloodsucking jellyfish is suctioned to his body, tentacles stinging around his back and up his chest.  He cries out in pain, and Steve is up and supporting him in no time at all.

“Buck?” Steve asks.  “Tell me.  It’s ok.”

James looks at his stump arm, expecting bandages stained with blood, if not a surgical knife or twelve cutting into already-desiccated flesh that looks more like raw hamburger than human.

There’s nothing.  Just a shirt sleeve.  When did he start wearing shirts?  Where are the telltale snaps of the hospital gown?

“It hurts,” James manages to say.  “I-I-I cant.  This-this.”  He moves his eyes to the window quickly enough to white out his peripheral vision.  Everything is blurry.  No, it’s raining.  Fuck.

“Can we not?” James grunts toward Steve’s ear.

“It’s just a talking appointment.  Just Neurology,” Steve tries to explain, but James shakes his head until he feels like he might vomit.  Anesthesia does that.  He half expects someone to come rushing in with a syringe of Zofran dissolved in water, hurrying to inject it into the med port on his NG tube.

He doesn’t have an NG.  James’s throat hurts from pain and terrible feelings he usually shoves away, but they’re now forcing themselves out in sickly panic. 

There’s no beeping pump on a pole, tied to him with yards and yards of tubing.  Nutrition.  Oxygen.  IV hydration through the PICC line that added a substantial scar to his good arm.

The other arm was bad?  Is that why they took it away?  He may have been in and out of consciousness during the event, the rescue.  James remains grateful to the PJ who drugged to the nines as soon as they closed the helicopter door.  But he knows.  He smelled his own flesh burning over the overwhelming fumes of smoke and gasoline.  He’s pretty sure he saw the inside of somebody else’s brain, and James hopes to god and the army that the casualty has been appropriately bagged, transported, and buried.  Somewhere peaceful now.  Like heaven.  Arlington, probably.

“I need to go.”  He can’t be in here.  Not anymore.  Not with the simple nervous system poster on the wall, practically a drawing of  what’s-his-name post-explosion.  He was in James’s unit.  He ought to at least know his name.  More than a few buddies sent him cards and letters while he was inpatient.  James can’t find even one with the feeling of a personal connection.  Strangers.  Like meeting friends, yet in reverse.  

“Can we--?”  There’s more spit around James’s lower teeth than seems otherwise appropriate.  He shakes his head again.  “Go?”

“Is it a bad one?” Steve seems to finally have caught on.  He increases the pressure of his hand on James’s back, so now it’s grounding as well as stabilizing. 

“Mm.”

“I can get you a drink of water,” the MA offers.  “Or if you want to go back to the waiting room…”

“We have to go.”  It comes out abruptly, spoken through James’s teeth as he tries not to acknowledge the taste of things long-since-digested.  It’s already risen past his chest.  He can feel the tang at the back of his throat.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Steve tries to clarify.  “Or reschedule.”

James grips Steve’s arm.  “I’m—probably—“ He feels breathless.  Almost weightless.  “Might throw up.”

“Ok.”  Steve has them out of the exam room before James has time to blink. 

The MA shouts and points them toward the accessible bathroom.  The first door to the left.  Wasn’t that a game show?  Hospital television.  Always on HGTV or Game Show Network so it’s appropriate or all ages, creeds, and levels of inattention. 

“Call to reschedule?” The MA asks.  “Or do you want an appointment this afternoon.  We have a cancellation spot.”

It’s a game show.  It’s a game.  Get to the place as fast as you can to do the thing, take care of the problem. Move the tank on the offensive.  Point an AK-37 at a couple Hijabis in the street market.  Run the course in basic, not letting the tires catch the toes of his barely broken in boots.  It keeps going back.  Football in high school.  Fucking PE class in grade school.  He didn’t know Steve then, but James would’ve still picked him for his team.

“We’ll call,” Steve says, confirming what’s probably obvious.  James is fried.  A bundle of sizzling nerve endings encased in a lumbering body.  Like he’s been electrocuted.  But electroshock therapy is generally frowned upon.  They didn’t leave him literally frying on South Asian sand just to cook him in the hospital all over again.

The MA nods and waves them on.  Steve opens the restroom door and pushes James toward the toilet, where he’s more than happy to kneel and, well, not pray.

Steve stands between the toilet and sink, prepared to help, but yet to take action.  “Ok to touch?” he asks.

“N-no,” James murmurs into the toilet bowl.  He’s in so much pain he’s almost numb, at least at the scarred tissue of his stump arm and the opposite occipital lobe.  He should probably do something with his hair.  Steve usually does that.  But not when the back of his head is exploding—no.  No.  Not with an IED.  Not with a neurologist.

“Tell me when you’re ready?”

James focuses on Steve’s voice.  Melodic.  Deepened, over the years.  Aging well, and pleasant, like slow cello music, or a bottle of whiskey.  And not the kind from the gas station.

They’ve been doing this shit since they were stupid teenagers.  Scramming before the clerk noticed the bottle shoved into the waist of Steve’s pants.  Always on the brink of trouble, though back then there was nothing to be afraid of.  Who cares if you’re caught by the dorm monitor?  Forgetting to return a borrowed textbook.  Smoking a little weed.  Maybe more than a little.

The amount needed for personal use, not intent to sell.  Just to loosen up.  To feel good.  To get over the awkward of sex.  To learn what it means to be in love.  To be less afraid of the future.

It is the future.  James has a hard time seeing it all in the same lifeline.  There’s too much.  It’s too broken up. 

But there are constants.  And things James knows he can’t change.  The weather.  The rain.  Steve.

James lets his chest heave as his body pulls in the air it needs.  His heart hammers, working to circulate his blood.  Oxygenate it.  He knows how to do this.

James tries to spit delicately, but then breaks form and accidentally wipes his mouth on his stump shoulder.  He stops.  Rides out a wave of fresh pain. 

The best thing about Steve is that James doesn’t have to hide from him.  Or in front of him.  One of James’s eyes starts to stream, but he knows Steve is there, listening, as he shakily puts shirttail to eyeball.

“Mm-hm,” James hums.  There’s a beat’s pause as he finds his next words.  “I’ll tell you.”

#fanfic #fanfiction #marvel #mcu #sickfic #hurt/comfort #emeto #emetophilia #graphic content #graphic injuries #Illness and injury #angst #Captain America #Steve Rogers #Whoa Bessie #bucky barnes #winter solider #tw blood #war #hospitals

[heart-stomper]

The Plantars Discover Sitcoms

It wasn’t going to be easy, especially after everything that happened back in Amphibia, but being back home finally gave Anne some room to breathe. Ease back into what she once thought of as “normal”. And while she totally plans on going for another round of hugs with her parents, right now she has another very important thing she’d like to do:

Show off as much human stuff as she can to the Plantars.

First order of business, channel surfing. It’s a totally relaxing activity where the biggest downside is that it’s basically impossible to pick something to watch. The perfect way to have a chill afternoon, and that’s just what they could use. Nothing could go wrong. Anne gathers up the Plantars and ushers them into the living room, holding out a hand as if she’s showing off a long lost artifact.

“Alright guys, here it is. The main attraction: the television. Or y’know, a TV, for short.” as Anne says this, the Plantars give lil “ooo”s and “aaa”s as if they really are being guided through some sort of museum.

Sprig bounces closer, his eyes lighting up half from excitement but mostly from getting waaay to close to the screen. “Whoa, it’s even bigger than I thought.” his words were hushed in awe.

“Impressive. You can really see all those lil details ya couldn’t with that phone of yours.” Hop Pop quipped as he reached Sprig’s side, also getting way too close to the TV.

“It really is like a giant phone! ... Can I touch it?” Polly asked, half begging. The girl was clearly ready to pounce from the spot on the coffee table she was currently at. There’s no way Anne was gonna tell her no.

“Sure dude, go ahead.”

“YES!” with that approval, Polly sprints off the coffee table and face plants right into the TV, flying between the boys. Anne lets out a low oof along side Polly’s, but once Polly triumphantly gets back up with a semi-evil sounding laugh, Anne refocuses herself to find the remote.

Cue canned laughter. 

“Oh hey, I know that laugh track. It’s from that sitcom my parents would sometimes leave on when we’d prep dinner together.”

“What’sa sitcom?”

“Well Hop Pop, I’m pretty sure it’s short for ‘situational comedy’. They’re usually about wacky stuff happening in a mostly mundane setting, like an office.”

“That sounds... kinda boring.” Polly commented with a tinge of confusion, clearly wondering why someone would want to watch something like that.

“Trust me, when you have someone to make fun of it with, even the worst jokes are funny.”

“She makes a good point. Let’s watch it!” Sprig said from... the couch? Man, that boy is quick. Anne does a spin when she reaches the couch so she can face the TV and flop down next to Sprig, and they’re shortly joined by the others. It looks like the main characters just arrived at some fancy restaurant. A server with a bowtie approaches the table, cloche serving dish in hand.

“And now for one of our finest delicacies,” the server removes the cloche, steam billowing out and concealing whatever may lie underneath, only parting when they introduce the dish, “frog legs.”

Anne and the Plantars let out a gasp. Sprig puts a hand to his mouth, wide-eyed in horror as the people on the TV gnash and tear off flesh from those poor froggy legs. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” 

“I KNEW IT!” Polly hops in front of Anne, pointing at her so hard her arm shakes a little, “You do eat frogs!”

“What?! Ew, no no no no no! Gross! I mean, some people eat them, but I didn’t grow up with that, so it’s always seriously grossed me out! Look, I’ll just grab the remote and-” Anne grabs at the empty space next to her, realization setting in, “oh frog, I never found the remote!” Anne quickly removes Polly from her lap and starts digging.

“I thought you said this was a comedy Anne, not a horror show!” Hop Pop covers Sprig’s eyes. The sitcom’s laugh track plays again as one of the protagonists acts shocked and calls the frog legs ‘delicious’. “Are those people laughin’ at the mutilation of my brethren?!” 

Anne stops shifting her hands in between the cushions and resorts to lifting them off the couch in desperation. “’Scuse me.” She slides Hop Pop and Sprig onto the ground, “Sorry Hop Pop kinda busy.” 

The protagonists finish, or at least toss out, the remaining frog legs. Hop Pop makes a comment complaining that you should at least finish eating something you’ve killed, which catches Anne’s attention. “Finally,” Anne glances back at the TV, and for once is happy to see an empty plate, “glad that’s over.” Hop Pop removes his hands from Sprig’s eyes. Anne closes her own and relaxes a bit. Then, the server returns to the sitcom protagonists’ table. 

“We have one last meal for the evening,” the server places a new serving dish and removes the cloche once more, “escargot.”

“Escar-what now?” Hop Pop asked.

“Oh, that’s French for...” Anne’s eyes widen in knowing horror, “...snail.” She seriously needed to find that remote.

Hop Pop gives Anne a suspicious look. “And how come you knew what they meant?” Hop Pop rapidly gets more livid, “Really Anne, ya eat snails too?! And here I thought Bessie meant somethin’ ta ya!”

“What!?” Anne gasps, scandalized, “How could you Hop Pop?! You know I love Bessie like my own family!” Hop Pop softened hearing that, snapping out of his fear induced paranoia.

“Sorry Anne, you’re right. This sitcom thingy is really gettin’ in my head.” 

“Apology accepted. Wait, how’s Sprig holding-” Anne’s voice peaks as she sees Sprig’s huddled body rocking back and forth, staring at the massacre taking place on screen, “-UP?! SPRIG!” She rushes over to him. “Oh no. Don’t look! Just hold on buddy.” 

“But... I can’t look away. I want to, but I can’t!” This time the sitcom protagonists are totally disgusted with the food, a huge departure from the pleasant surprise they had with the frog legs. However, because the server has such an expectant look on their face, the protagonists keeps forcing down those snails.

“Wow, those people are acting like they got served Hop Pop’s cooking.”

“Polly!!” Anne and Hop Pop reprimand simultaneously.

“What? It’s true!” Polly is given The Look. “Fine fine, I know. ‘Think those thoughts, don’t say ‘em’.” Hop Pop looks proud for a moment, but then notices something on the screen and doubles back in horror.

“I can’t look, that one looks just like Micro-Angelo!” 

“Oh c’mon Hop Pop, they can’t look that similar.” Anne takes her eyes off the Plantars and looks back to the screen. Her eyes lock-on to the fork slowly delivering that innocent baby snail towards that horrifying monster’s mouth. She can practically hear the ‘meep’ of her sweet baby boy.

As if possessed, Anne keeps her body totally straight and speed walks up to the TV. She leans over, and feels for something on the side of it. Presses a button. And the screen goes black. 

She totally forgot you could turn it off that way.

“Yeah! Woo-hoo!!” The Plantars cheer and use their combined strength to lift up Anne, their savior, in glorious victory. Anne proudly lifts her arms up and cries tears of sweet relief.

Once the short celebration ends, and Anne is returned to the floor, she hugs the Plantars. “I’m so sorry you guys, I had no idea it was gonna be like that! I’ll make sure to be more careful next time.” 

“Aw, it wasn’t THAT bad.” Polly said, waving an arm to emphasize it really wasn’t that big a deal, “It was actually kind of fun seeing those two freak out so much.” 

“Yeah, pretty dark, but that’s nature for ya.” Hop Pop added to the reassurance train.

“Pretty sure that one’s gonna traumatize me for life, but I forgive you.” Anne still felt a bit guilty, but hearing Sprig’s words, along with the rest of the Plantars’, made her feel a lot better. “But please never show me anything like that ever again.”

“You got it buddy.” Anne brought Sprig back into a hug, and gave his head a little pat. While she didn’t have to witness most of it, Anne didn’t wanna see anything like that ever again either. So it should be an easy promise to keep.

“Hey Anne?”

“Yes Polly?”

“...Thanks for holding back and not eating us.”

Utterly frustrated, Anne’s voice once again reached a frankly impressive peak, “I NEVER WANTED TO EAT YOU GUYS!”

#guess I'm actually gonna try and write my ideas into short stories now oops- #I kept getting deja vu writing this so if this was basically already the plot of an episode oh no #amphibia #anne boonchuy #the plantars #sprig plantar #hop pop plantar #polly plantar #true colors spoilers #jdtao stories

[catherine-parr-1512]

SixVengers - The Beginning (Fic 1) Chapter 6

@kenneth.mark.82 Mark Keeneth

Who would have thought that London might be destroyed tomorrow lol

13 replies 20 retweets 2031 likes

@spider_woman_fan_club Spider-Woman Fan Club

England is about to get destroyed and all I can think of is Spider-Woman flying today through London, looking good as always :/

303 replies 1025 retweets 70K likes

@superheronewsuk Super Hero News UK Official

BREAKING NEWS:

The City of London and surrounding areas are evacuated due to the upcoming Alien invasion that will hit London. The Prime Minister will release an official statement at 7 p.m. about the situation but unofficial sources claim that British heroes were asked to defend London.

20K replies 32K retweets 801K likes

Katherine closed Twitter and looked outside the window. She was in a car with Agent Blount and Anna on their way towards Parr Tower. It was decided after the meeting, and once everyone had cooled down, that the best thing for the team was to stay the night together and the best place for it would be Parr Industries Headquarters in central London. This meant that if by some chance, the attacks started earlier, the group of heroes would be able to get there faster than if they were travelling from their homes, most of them being on the edges of the city.

To pass time through travelling through central London, she was on her phone like any normal teenager would be and she was surprised that people didn't freak out that much. Kat knew that, that would change when the attack would take place.

After travelling for 30 minutes through busy streets of London, the cars containing the heroes and three agents *kidnappers* thought Katherine, finally arrived at Parr Tower, where they would spend the night getting to know the other members of the team and getting ready to fight Henry.

The three of them left the car and met up with Parr, Boleyn and Lee who arrived just a minute before. The group were joined by Aragon, Seymour and Salinas after a short while, the trio arriving last. The nine women made their way inside the tower and Katherine was impressed, to say the least. Whoever designed the building had taste. It was modern and white with blue accents. Very tasteful and minimalistic.

Kat could see many people walking around, minding their own or company businesses, nobody paying attention to the large group of women that had just entered. One of the security guards approached Parr and whispered something to which she nodded and led them towards a large elevator on the left side of the entrance, bypassing the security. It was fortunately large enough to fit all of them comfortably. The door closed but nobody clicked any buttons.

“BRIAN? Please take us to floor 80.” Said Catherine and everyone looked around, not seeing who this Brian was. However, all of them jumped when she got a reply.

“Of course Miss Parr, right away. I will also put the light on and adjust the temperature.” Said the robotic voice from inside the elevator and quickly started moving upwards.

“I presume it was some sort of computer?” Asked Anne awkwardly, not knowing what to say about the whole situation. “But that’s just my observation.”

“Actually, it’s an AI, fully functional and capable of thinking for himself,” Parr said with a small, proud smile. “I named him after my uncle who took care of my brother and I after our parents died.”

“That’s sentimental.” Smiled Seymour and the whole elevator went back to a (somehow) comfortable silence until the elevator stopped with a ping.

The door opened to show a large living room. It had a see-through wall on the opposite side of the elevator. Along that wall was a row of white, comfortable-looking couches and chairs. The walls were painted a light sky blue and grey, giving the whole room a calming look.

“Whoa, this looks nice, Parr. What a nice room to greet your guests. It’s very… you.” Joked Anne, jumping on the nearest couch, and putting her legs on the coffee table.

“I think it’s just parrfect.” Said Seymour and everyone looked towards her weirdly. “Sorry, I was trying to make a pun.” She chuckled to herself.

“I heard that you were a comedian but I don’t understand how anyone would laugh at that.” Replied Anne, earning a chuckle from both Katherine and Anna. However she also received a stern look from 3 Agents in the room - Salinas, Aragon and Lee - and a sad puppy look from Seymour. Parr and Blount just shook their heads.

“If most of you stopped behaving like children, I would like to point out that it’s my living room that most of my guests never see so be grateful,” Catherine said before anyone could say anything else. “This is one of my 3 personal floors so please don’t wreck it too much. I still want to spend time in my living room without it being destroyed… again.”

“What do you mean again? Did a group of women with some sort of abilities destroy it before?” Asked Bessie, sitting down on a nearby couch next to Anna and Katherine.

“Nope. It was BRIAN and me. Well, I mean he was in one of the suits and I was in another. We had a mock fight in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep which definitely wasn’t my greatest idea. We ripped a huge hole in the ceiling.”

“Now I want to see you do it again if I’m being honest.” Said Anne.

“I’ll bring popcorn for the entertainment.” Added Anna and the two of them high fived each other in the air from a distance.

“I think we should pick someone to be your leader for the mission. While Director Meutas will be controlling the whole operation from the TOWER along with many agents, there will have to be one of you making sure that everything out there on the field is going okay. It will be just the six of you. Military and a few agents will help you but they will mostly have to make sure that any civilians in the city will be safe.” Stated Salinas as an unofficial leader of Agents (other than Aragon)

The heroes looked between each other, silently debating the choice.

“Well, I am underage so I’m out” Said Katherine with a smug smile.

“I have anger issues that count me out as a reliable leader.” Added Anne, smirking slightly.

“Don’t look at me, I can barely look after myself to make sure that I don’t accidentally die. No positions of power for me, hey!” Laughed Anna, getting comfortable on her couch.

The remaining three women looked around, each looking at the other two women in silence.

“I think each one of us would be a good leader…” Said Jane, looking at Aragon and Parr, meeting their eyes. “However, as the oldest person here, I think I have the most experience in this type of job. Let us also not forget that I was and still am a Captain in British Army.”

“Sorry? You were frozen in ice for 70 years. I think that means you still are as young as you were back then, Seymour. I, on the other hand, am an agent in a secret government agency who knows how London works and I know this city.” Countered Aragon jumping towards Seymour, looking straight into her eyes.

“Really? Everything you do is being told to you. I led men into a battle and we won. You don’t have that experience, Aragon.”

“Unless you haven’t noticed, I’m not sure if being in the freezer for so long damaged your vision, but we are not men. We are women and we need someone who can lead us. You are not that so just step down and let me do it.”

“I don’t think so. I am not letting you do it. I won’t let some random woman lead this team and possibly cause us to lose.”

“YOU LITTLE-” Started Aragon, grabbing Seymour by her suit before they suddenly found themselves on opposite sides of the room, thrown against the walls.

The room was silent as they looked at what happened only to see Parr standing where they were before, wearing her Iron Woman gauntlets in each hand, with a hard look on her face.

“Both of you behave worse than 5-year-olds, we are supposed to be bonding and yet you squabble over something we don’t even need! I thought you would be better but if that’s how it will be, personally I think it’s better if we all decide on the field what we are doing, no leaders. I think we are all mature enough to make sure that it won’t be a problem.”

“Or maybe you want to become a leader?” Asked Jane, stepping towards Parr, the tension getting heavier in the room.

“Yeah. It seems like you want to be the one to lead us.” Added Aragon, tilting her head at the other woman. “Look at me, I am Catherine Parr and I say what is the best for everyone!” She added in a high pitched voice, trying to imitate Parr.

“I have to agree with you on that one, Spy, but don’t think that it makes us friends,” Seymour grumbled and moved closer towards the centre of the room.

The other agents didn’t know what to do with the newfound tension but fortunately, the other 3 heroes knew that they had to do something before 3 women killed each other.

“I REALLY THINK COFFEE WOULD BE NICE RIGHT ABOUT NOW!” Mused Anne, very loudly, making it seem like she was talking to herself. Parr, Aragon and Seymour stopped looking at each other, Boleyn now being the centre of their attention.

“Uhm, yeah… Right… I have a kitchen right there. I’ll make everyone coffee or tea.” Catherine said and quickly disappeared from the room towards where she said the kitchen was and the tension in the living room quickly disappeared.

Seymour and Aragon sat on the couches as far as possible from each other and the room was silent now, the only noise heard was breathing and some fans working.

“I think I will go help Parr with all of those cups. I also have this difficult coffee order. I don’t drink it any other way.” Anna quickly fled the room, leaving Anne and Katherine looking as if she was an evil witch who had killed their dog and laughed about it at the end of a song. The others didn’t seem to pay her any attention.

“Hello,” She said as she entered the kitchen, seeing Parr standing with 9 cups and 2 pots, probably with either coffee or tea inside them. “Wanted to see if you needed any help, Cathy Parr.”

“Cathy? Really?” Asked the other woman with a small smile on her face.

“Well, I decided everyone needs a nickname. When I say Katherine or Catherine it sounds the same. Or Catherine and Katherine. And then we have Catalina. Honestly, how many women can have similar names? This is like 33% of this group!”

“Don’t forget Anna and Anne. Those two are very similar.”

“I know, right? Stupid green imposter, I’m the superior Anne/Anna.”

“Fortunately for everyone we only have one Jane, Elizabeth, Maria or Margaret. I think that Lee is called Margaret but don’t take my word on that.” Joked Cathy, snorting lightly.

“I am also not sure about that one. I just call her “Mean Agent” in my head. Honestly, all the time I look at her, it looks as if she was getting ready for some kind of war. I mean, I know that we might be having a battle for humanity tomorrow but honestly, smile a little. Jeez, is that a lot to ask?” The woman dressed in red acted dramatically, clenching her hand across her chest as if she was being hurt.

“Do you have any other nicknames? For the others?” Asked Parr, filling one of the pots with hot water and turning her head to look at the other woman.

“I mean, yes. So we have Catalina as Lina. I think that’s actually a word for rope in Polish and to be honest, I would not be surprised if she had a rope hidden somewhere in that uniform of hers. Anne is Anne or Shrek.” At that, Catherine burst out laughing. “HEY! Don’t laugh. Just imagine her saying ‘What are you doing in my swamp?!’” Said Anna in a deep voice, trying to imitate Shrek. "And you will understand where I am getting this from. Jane is Cap or just Jane. Might buy her a cap after all of this is done. Then we will have Cap on Cap. If we buy two and she stands on one of them, we will have a cap sandwich. Little Howard is Kat because she reminds me of a cat but we put K at the start. And by we, I mean me and maybe you in the future. You, Catherine Parr, are of course Cathy. Lee we already talked about, Blount is Bessie and Salinas is Marrrrrrrrria. Remember, the more you roll the r's, the better the effect.”

Catherine Parr chuckled at the last comment, thinking what Salinas would think about it.

“You’ve known us for a few hours and you already came up with those? It’s pretty impressive.”

“It is not impressive. I was just bored.” Replied Anna, smirking. “So what are we having here?” She pointed at the pots, now filled to the brim with hot liquids.

“One of them has coffee, normal black. The other has tea, Earl Grey. I have milk in the mini-fridge in the living room so anyone can add it if needed by themselves.”

“Can I have hot chocolate? I am not a huge fan of coffee.”

“Yeah sure, I’ll make it for you right now. You know, like the good host I am haha.”

"Thanks." The two stood in silence, waiting for the drink to be made in a fancy machine Cathy had. Anna, however, was bored and wanted to start a conversation again. "You know, I am not sure what happened there in the living room. With Seymour and Aragon."

Cathy sighed "I don't know either. I get it that we should have someone to lead us on the field but… but I haven't thought that those two would make an issue out of it. They were just so…. Different, I guess, from what we saw in T.O.W.E.R. HQ."

"Maybe they are hormonal? Or need some sleep? Or coffee?"

"If they need coffee, we better head there quickly before I will have to use my repulsors on them again." Cathy pointed towards her two gauntlets that were now in the form of bracelets around her wrists.

"That's what they’re called? Cool." With that, the two women grabbed everything, Cathy with the two pots of tea and coffee while Anna used her powers to take all the empty cups and her hot chocolate.

"Your powers. They are rather impressive. I never saw anything like that."

"Not you nor C.O.U.R.T.. When I got them, a few years ago, nobody knew what I could do but with time I learned. They come pretty handy when I only have 2 hands and 10 things to hold." Said Anna using her powers to juggle the cups, earning a soft smile from Cathy.

The two women entered the living room again to be met with an uncomfortable silence. All of the women were sitting on their phones but it seemed like Anne and Kat were playing something together and didn’t really notice their two teammates entering.

“Hello! We have drinks.” Announced Anna, making everyone turn their heads towards her.

The two women put everything on the coffee table next to them and everyone made their way towards, eager to drink something warm while Cathy brought milk and sugar for anyone needing them. However, a problem arose when Katherine poured herself coffee.

“You will not be drinking that, young lady.” Said Jane, taking the cup from the teenager's hands. Kat just looks at her with a betrayed look. “You are a kid, you cannot drink that. Drink tea instead. It will be healthier for you.”

“I don’t like tea.” Kat stubbornly replied, not liking what the other woman was doing but knowing better than to fight with a super-soldier.

“She can have my hot chocolate if she wants. I’ll get coffee.” Cut in Anna, before Jane could say anything and wanting to stop any new conflict from happening… again.

“I’m okay with hot chocolate. Thanks.” Mumbled the teenager, sitting on a couch with her new drink, Anna sitting on the opposite end with a nice cup of steaming coffee.

When Jane turned around, pleased with herself, Anna used her powers to swap two cups and winking at Kat, making the young woman smile at her new friend. When they turned around, they could see Anne, Cathy and Bessie covering their smiling faces with their selected mugs as they drank their chosen beverages..

“Um, Miss Parr?” Asked Kat after their quick tea/coffee/hot chocolate break. “Do you have any sewing supplies here? Preferably a needle and some red and blue thread?”

“Why are you asking? Do you need it for something?”

The girl sighed and reached towards her backpack. From there she removed something. It was her Spider-Woman costume.

“It was destroyed in a few places today while I was patrolling. I was meaning to do something about it when I got home but I’m here instead.” The teenager said with a small chuckle and turned to look at Parr.

Cathy looked as if she was hit by a bus.

“This… is your suit?” She asked, pointing towards the fabric.

“Yeah. Made it myself. Bought all the fabric, sewn it together and all that.”

“...”

“Is Parr okay?” Asked Anne when she saw that Cathy.exe stopped working. Anna just shrugged and waited for the situation to continue.

“Am I OKAY?! OF COURSE, I AM NOT! I DON’T CARE WHAT ALL OF YOU THINK BUT I AM NOT LETTING A TEENAGER GO OUT THERE TOMORROW IN A SUIT MADE OF COTTON!” Screamed Cathy.

“It’s actually polyester” Replied Katherine but stopped when Parr looked at her with murder in her eyes.

“Is polyester that good? Wouldn’t she sweat a lot in it?” Whispered Anna to Anne and the other woman just nodded, questioning the life choices of the youngest member of the team.

“Howard, you are going with me now and I do not care what you think about it.” Ordered Catherine, dragging the younger woman with her.

“Please don’t kill me! I’m too young and pretty to die!”

“You won’t be dying kid, we are going to be making you a suit. And be we, I mean you give me a design and what you need, I choose the materials and other stuff while BRIAN will make it happen. Okay?” Asked Cathy as the two of them left the room, leaving the others to themselves. A minute later Cathy came back. “Oh, and if any of you want to rest, straight ahead there are guest rooms. Just pick one. If you need me, ask BRIAN and he will lead you to me.” She said and disappeared again, not staying to hear what the other women had to say.

Anna and Anne laughed at that, Bessie shook her head, Lee and Salinas started talking quietly with each other whilst Aragon quietly sipped her tea. Only Jane looked towards the corridor where Cathy had just left, her blue and grey eyes flashing yellow for a moment before she blinked and the unusual colour disappeared.

#six the musical #catherine of aragon #anne boleyn #jane seymour #anna of cleves #katherine howard #catherine parr #six the musical fanfiction

[totally-real-bts-quotes]

jungkook as a cowboy

jungkook: you've yeed your last haw.

jungkook: yee in the streets, haw in the sheets.

jungkook: you gotta yee the haw before the haw yees you.

jin: please stop.

-

jungkook: i'm wearing my cowboy clothes, i guess i'm... ranch dressing.

-

jungkook: [throws lasso] whoa there Bessie!

yoongi: [caught in the lasso] what the actual fuck

#let 👏🏻 him 👏🏻 live 👏🏻 his 👏🏻 cowboy 👏🏻 dream 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻 #professional bangtan #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook #bts jk #jk #kookie #kook #justin seagull #bts #bangtan #bangtan sonyeondan #bts meme #kpop #kpop memes #incorrect bts quotes #incorrect quotes #incorrect kpop quotes #fake bts quotes #fake kpop quotes #fake quotes

[ao3feed-komahina]

by toomanysongstosing

It was just a peck, a chaste press of lips on lips, and Komaeda’s were dry and slightly chapped but still, something twisted and grew hot in Hinata’s gut. He liked that feeling.

   They separated the tiniest bit, noses still touching, breathing the same air. It was nice; it was romantic and domestic, and immediately Hinata’s brain conjured up images of years of them waking up together like this and walks on the beach and Komaeda sweaty and panting underneath him and- whoa. Calm down, Bessie. Jeez.

 ——— The morning after their first kiss on the beach, Hinata and Komaeda wake up in the same bed and have to deal with the situation. Spicy!

Words: 1844, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 3 of Under Blue Skies

Fandoms: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Hinata Hajime, Komaeda Nagito

Relationships: Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito

Additional Tags: Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito-centric, Dry Humping, Self-Hatred, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Aged-Up Character(s), Headaches & Migraines, Komaeda Nagito Is Not Obsessed With Hope, Komaeda Nagito Is Not Ill, Komaeda Nagito Being Komaeda Nagito, Tired Hinata Hajime, Hinata Hajime and Kamukura Izuru Are Merged, Enthusiastic Consent, Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Developing Relationship, Tsundere Hinata Hajime

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #hinakoma #komahina #sdr2

[lemonlushff-iy]

When they got to their spot, he hopped off Bessie before helping her down. It was a good thing too, because her foot got caught in the stirrup, making her fall clumsily forward into his arms. “Whoa there...you ok Kagome?” “Yeah,” she mumbled, a blush prettily staining her cheeks a bright red. He cupped her cheek, encouraging her to look into his eyes so he could decide if she was telling a small white lie...and he was captivated by those beautiful blue eyes of hers. He could get lost staring into them. Spend hours just looking at them. His thumb absently started to rub her cheek, and her eyes fluttered closed as she leaned into his touch. The moonlight spilled over her features in just the right way. Highlighting her cheekbone and the side of her face...She was even more beautiful than usual, and he found himself leaning closer to her before his mind could catch up to what his brain was telling his body to do.

Inuyasha and Kagome, One Last Ride, Lemonlush

#inuyasha fanfiction #inuyasha fanfic #inuyashafanfic #inuyasha #inukag #DAMNIT CARRA #Ode to Carra #Clearwillow #rancher #cattle rancher #western #romance #angst #one last ride #lemonlushff

[hardcoreprocess]

[KO-FI REWARD] BATCH 1 // SLOT 1: Dave accidentally hops back in time and meets Mizz Mom Lalonde. Maybe he’s convinced to hang around despite the flub?

"Whoops."

Understatement doesn't even begin to cover it. This goes far beyond a mere oops, and the gleaming lab equipment at every corner of his vision plays witness to his verbal blunder... along with the gaping maw of a Bengal tiger. Probably? Dave is, admittedly, a little hazy on the subfuckeries of big orange cats with stripes. Especially when the only thing keeping his head and shoulders friendly is hooking her fingers into a wide magenta collar, barely measuring half his height.

Alright, that's an exaggeration. She's only a head shorter, hair fluffed out around her soft jaw and clad in the snuggest labcoat known to man, leveling Dave with a grim expression like he's done something wrong. Which is just unfair. It's not like he knows where this lab actually is—

Fine. He's intruding. In an attempt to pacify this respectable homeowner, Dave flashes his raised palms in a "whoa there, Bessie" motion. Gritting into a strained smile, he does everything possible to seem like a lost teenager. She doesn't buy it.

Fuck.

Running through every possible conflict avoidance tactic hits him with a wall of nothing. Older women are, decidedly, not his specialty. But— before he can say anything to fuck this situation up further —she jabs an accusing finger into Dave's chest. "You shouldn't be here," the blonde lady says, already continuing— before he can process an answer —with, "It'll fuss up the timeline."

Dave flatlines there, just trying to mash the pieces together. How does she know him? Where does he know her? Something about the woman is familiar, like vanilla extract and really good soup broths, like the smell of Rose's house when he popped over and agreed to grab something from the past...

When he fails to respond quickly, she offers a wry smile with her comment, "Probably tired outta your mind." Pitying. Gentle. Somehow, he's already bundled up by the hospitable softness of her voice, barely noticing the way her hand comes loose on the shiny— bedazzled? —collar. Also known as the one tether keeping the tiger from rending his fucking flesh from bone. Dave tenses for a bite that never comes, watching the gigantic animal wander away at her order of: "Go on, Mags."

—She pulls him into a hug.

Warm. So warm. Sunlight and rich hot chocolate and his fingers instinctively curling against her lovehandles. Her lips, realized way too late, are pressed to his throat. Black lipstick smears there, the residue lingering, as this impossibly soft lady murmurs something. Fuck, he might actually be tired, because he can't parse what the hell her sweet twang breaks down to.

"What?" he offers, pedestrian and vaguely panicked. Her chest is pressing snug to his body, breath hot on his throat. Familiar, but not, and he never does well with— Lips on his throat, curving into a smile, right over the stutter of his pulse. Fingers tuck under the hem of his God Tier shirt, brushing sensitive skin.

Arching forward, breath short, lips parted. "It's alright, baby." And maybe it is, because she's pulling him even closer. One hand's migrated up the curve of Dave's back, nails scraping each ridge of his spine on the way up. "You can fetch whatever Rosie sent you back for in a bit. Just have a little sit down."

And he can't deny that it sounds nice. Temptation lurks, smelling mildly like everything a mom should be. Cradled like he's precious, like his hands have never known a thing about danger, like he's— shuddering out a sigh. The exhaustion catches up. Maybe it's fine, actually, to slowly collapse against her while lips pepper over his throat.

He'll— go back later.

#homesmut #beta mom x dave #hcp dave strider #hcp beta mom lalonde #sburb mechanics #domestiphilia #partialism #weight partialism #chest partialism #submission #naphephilia #blacklist #writing process #batch process

[incorrect-k-pop]

byeongkwan, throwing a lasso: whoa there bessie!

sehyoon, caught in the lasso: what the actual fuck

#byeongkwan #sehyoon #a.c.e #kim byeongkwan #kim sehyoon #wow #incorrect a.c.e #incorrect a.c.e quotes #incorrect kpop #incorrect kpop quotes