#who's afraid of The Big Bad Wolf?

[serennes-art]

come shadow, come follow me!

[fablexdreams]

'Who's Afraid Of Little Old Me?' Is so Bigby Wolf coded and nobody can convince me otherwise lmfao.

[autumncottageattic]

Who's afraid of the Big Bad Wolf? Big Bad Wolf, Big Bad Wolf Who's afraid of the Big Bad Wolf? Fa la la la la😅

It Happened One Night 1934

[quill-pen]

Damn, these give me vibes for a future Scrooge storyline.

If you don't want spoilers, don't keep reading.

I make no guarantees any of this will make it into the fic; I'm just following the flow of the vibes these give me.

Warnings: Preggers Bess! I know, I've said in the past she wasn't able to get pregananant--SURPRISE!!! Don't believe everything doctors tell you, mate! Especially Victorian ones! Threats of violence involving death, angst, CONTEXT? YOU DON'T NEED NO STINKIN' CONTEXT FOR THIS!!!

Note: This is June-July of 1851. Ebenezer's and Bess' first living child (they've had two very early and thus unknown miscarriages in the past) is born in late August of '51; a son--Cordell Jacob. Bess is 30, to be 31 in November. Ebenezer is 58.

Theme:

Fear the Big Bad Wolf

Bess' fingers curled into Ebenezer's shirt as she gazed up at him, eyes wide, anxious. She was relieved to see him--to be held in his arms after so long--but she couldn't help but worry about the ever-present danger that had brought them here. "You weren't followed?" she breathed. "They didn't suspect you?"

Ebenezer shook his head as he hugged her tight, trying to pour all of the love and affection that had been denied from them these long and torturous weeks apart into the embrace. "No," he answered softly, holding her gaze. He smoothed his hand up and down her back, trying to soothe her shivers and shakes away.

"You're sure?"

"As sure as I'm holding you in my arms right now. They knew nothing of the letters, Bess."

"And they didn't recognize you when you left? You weren't followed?"

Her husband smirked and just dared to take a hand off her and lift it up to smooth over his now cleanly-shaven jawline where his signature 'chops had once been; he then up to brush his palm over his hair, cut short again and dyed dark, almost black brunette. He looked remarkably like Harry, especially as he wore his nephew's clothes (which he filled out rather nicely); from a distance, you would never have been able to tell them apart. "With this make-over?" he chuckled wryly. He brought his arm back around her. "I'd be impressed."

Bess shook her head, not persuaded. "But what if they did?" she just dared to squeak. "What if they made you? Followed you? What if they know where we are? What if they come back? What if-" she was stopped by gentle fingers being pressed to her quivering lips.

"Shhh," Ebenezer quieted her. "Shh, Moonflower, hush now. Don't speak like that." He caressed his hand over her coal-black waves and stroked her cheekbone with this thumb and he gazed seriously into her midnight-blue eyes. "We're not going to think like that," he told her firmly but gently. "All right?"

Bess shook her head, drawing her lips into a thin line. "I can't help it," she whispered. "I can't help it, Wolf!" She plunged her face into his chest as tears began to creep down her cheeks. "I'm so afraid, Ebenezer!" she cried. "I'm so afraid what they'll do if they find us--if they catch me again!" She clutched her man tighter as the memory of her captors chilled her to the bone. "Th-They said they'd cut the baby out, Ebenezer," she squeaked fearfully.

Ebenezer Scrooge had never felt his blood run colder, not even when he saw his own grave and been pulled into it. Going rigid, the Englishman brought his hands up to hold his wife's head and slowly pulled her face from his chest. He stared down in disbelief at her tear-filled eyes and wet cheeks. "What did they say?" he rasped, swallowing hard. There was a dangerous edge in his voice as a short-fused case of dynamite was lit inside him.

Bess tried to gulp down the lump in her throat. "Th-They... told A-Ab-bigail and m-me-e..." she croaked, voice breaking and quaking with barely restrained terror, "... th-they'd c-c-cut... ou-our b-bab-bies o-out... if-f you a-and Ol-liver... d-didn't get them th-the m-money." A painful, desperate sob escaped the woman as the tears began to fall down her cheeks faster. "Th-They held a kn-knife to my b-belly, Wolf!" she wailed. "They'll... they'll kill me... and o-our child if they fi-find us! Th-They'll kill... a-all of us, Ebenezer! The Cordells too!"

"No!" Ebenezer barked, shaking his head viciously. His slate-blue eyes blazed with the enraged, ferociously determined fire that had exploded out of the dynamite in his chest and surged throughout his soul. "No. It won't happen. Don't even consider it for a second, Bess--it won't happen." He brought a hand down and pressed it firmly against her round, swollen belly. "The baby is safe," he murmured solemnly. He brought his hand back up to hold her face again. "You're safe. I'm here and I have you. I won't let anybody hurt you, Bess--you or our child. I promise you." The man tilted his wife's head closer and pressed gentle, lingering kisses to her brow.

Bess closed her eyes and leaned into her husband, trying to will herself to let his words comfort her. They did a bit. But only just a bit. She couldn't easily forget the threats made against her and her unborn child; she couldn't easily forget the evil glint in the men's eyes, or how their lips had curled over their teeth into sadistic grins, or how hard their hands had been and how roughly they'd treated her as they'd ushered her from room to room to wagon. And she would never, not as long as she drew breath, forget the biting prick of that blade against the swell of her stomach, only inches away from the incredibly precious miracle growing inside her, threatening to snuff out its light with cold, hard, bitter steel.

"But what if they do?" she trembled.

Ebenezer pulled back again, tilting her head back to meet the woman's frightened gaze once more. His lips pulled back over his teeth in a savage snarl. "If those bastards of cocksuckers want to get to you, they'll have to go through me," the man growled, his voice rumbling deep and formidable in his chest. "No one is touching my She-Wolf or my pup." Ebenezer wrapped Bess tightly up in his arms again and squeezed her close, never intending to let her go again. "Not while this Wolf draws breath."

Taglist: @rom-e-o @themostanonymousscribbler @the-house-of-auditore-frye @oldmanlusting @christmasgaybusinessmen @purgratoriat @beascrooge @witchypandamonium @crimson-phantom-designs

[cozyaliensuperstar7]

#Repost @joolstv_

——

Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf? 🐺

(Part 2)

Full video on YouTube ‼️

[hollyshotties]

[tangledbea]

Group Halloween icons!

[somebodytolove31]

Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?

[fluorescentbrains]

see one half of the conversation is the gender issues but the other half is me being annoyed that people don’t know anything about animals. you can also get your shit rocked by a deer or a turkey btw in case you think i don’t have a healthy level of caution towards wild animals. it’s deer > turkey > fox > bear > wolf > strange man > moose > mountain lion for me. obviously this is very northeastern US centric. i did run into a lone coyote once when i was in california and it spooked me a little but it left me alone

[the-faultofdaedalus]

shadowheart is a werewolf you CANT change my mind

[ethicaltreatmentofcowplants]

Oh my watcher, why is he all the way over there?!? 😱

[folkhoax]

why is nobody talking about how "who's afraid of little old me?" might strongly be a reference to "who's afraid of virginia woolf?" by edward albee? a play about a couple in trouble? she's giving us poetry with TTPD, she's going deep with human existance and relationships. i firmly believe she's reinventing her lyric self this time.

[beautyarchive]

Little Red Riding Hood is not afraid of the big bad wolf. Far from it.

[weepingfoxfury]

'Who's that I see walkin' in these woods? Why, it's little red riding hood' sings Sam the Sham and The Pharaohs ... the man on the radio talks to his Friday chef guest about lamb chop recipes ... the traffic lady tells everyone about the latest collisions and gridlock, then muses with the man on the radio that even though there's no letter 'v' in the Irish language you can use the word 'van' ... Mr Morrison will be pleased.

Two days in the shiny metropolis, two more books ... the shelves are grumbling once more. 'The Picador Book of 40 - 40 writers inspired by a number' and 'The Reader on the 6.27' by Jean-Paul Didierlaurent.

I still have my childhood books. They're spread far and wide between all the other literary delights that jostle for attention. Tales of Little Red Riding Hood and Hansel and Gretel. My mother would read such things to me before leaving me to sleep.

Not that I slept. Not straight away. Me and my imagination couldn't just leave the characters mid sentence. Couldn't just let them dangle with nothing to do. Story would merge with story, characters would join forces, the 'bad guys' would either be vanquished collectively or fight alongside the 'good guys' against a newly thought up threat. Their world opened up beneath my duvet, my cosy torch lit tent. Until ........ the fast racing fairytale train that held my thoughts would come to a resounding halt as my mother's voice would call from the doorway telling me to 'turn the torch off' and 'go to sleep!'

Even in the dark all those wonderful characters would still be calling. Echoes in the woods, witches circling, wolves helping to carry baskets. Never enough breadcrumbs, never enough time, never able to keep my eyelids from closing in the end.

The man on the radio puts on the next track ... 'Stars in your eyes, little one ... Where do you go to dream ... To a place we all know ... the land of make believe' ...

[locitapurplepink]

Angry & Red on "Who's afraid of the Big, Bad Wolf ?"

[somebodytolove31]

Not a normal dog