Content warnings: extreme nothingness ahead, but that's it. No swear words, no violence, no sex. [**chorus from afar: 'NO SEX????????'**]
Music: none.
Author's note: This is the first in our series of 'Fairy Tales I could never tell my brother'.
I figured the first thing I'd write as an 'adult' should be something fluffy, something funny, something like this.
Disclaimer: Oops, silly me, did I say they were mine? I didn't? Good, then I didn't lie. ;-) Throttle, Modo, Vinnie, Stoker, carbine, Harley and Rimfire belong to the creators of BMFM, whoever they are. All the SL characters belong to Decembergirl. But everyone else is mine. I made no money off this and I don't think I ever will. Bummer. ;-)


Sleeping Cutie-Butts

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a king.

This king had a beautiful wife, whom he loved very much. One day, the queen got pregnant. She had the cutest little baby-boy and they called him 'Throttle'.
The king and queen were so happy with their son they gave a big party, with lots of hot-dogs and rootbeer. They invited all their friends, the nobels and of course the three friendly witches of the country: Modo, Vincent and Charlene.
Each of them gave the little prince their blessing. "May you grow up to be wise, caring and a good king of your country," Modo said. He was the oldest of the three witches. "May you grow up to be one bad mammajamma," Vincent said. He was the youngest of the three witches.

But suddenly, before Charlene could give her blessing, the feast was rudely interrupted. The door flew open and there stood Karbunkle, the Evil Witch, who had not been invited to the feast because they feared he'd kill the spirit, not to mention quite a few of the guests.
"Well, my king," he said, his voice cold and dripping with ice, "Since I have not been invited to the feast, I thought I'd just crash the party. But how rude of me, I haven't given the young prince my blessing yet."
Before anyone could stop him, he grabbed baby Throttle out of his crib and spoke: "When you reach the age of 22, you will smell a piece of cheese and die."
After that, he threw the baby back in his crib and flew out again.

The king turned to Charlene and said: "Mylady, you have not yet given your blessing. Please, I beg you, undo this horrible curse."
"I am afraid that is beyond my limitations. But I will soften the curse. When Prince Throttle will smell the cheese, he will not die, but fall asleep and sleep until he is kissed by one of royal blood. And the whole court will sleep with him."
But the king could not settle for this. He ordered that all cheese should be banned from the kingdom forever, so his son could never smell one.

Twenty-one years later, Throttle had grown into a man, and what a man. Handsome, strong, a natural leader, good to his people and the baddest mammajamma in the land. On the day of his 22nd birthday, he was wandering around the castle, staying away from everyone who was preparing for his birthday party.
Suddenly, he found himself in a tower of the castle he had never been in before. He opened a door and saw very fat man, sitting behind a desk. In front of him lay a small piece of something yellow-ish.

"Come in, my boy, please, do come in. Have a seat, and try some of this cheese."
"Cheese?" the young prince said, slowly entering the room and sitting down in front of the desk.
"Yes, cheese, my young friend. Here, just smell that lovely aroma." With that, the fat man pushed the cheese under the prince's nose. Throttle took one careful sniff and almost passed out. Forgetting everything he ever learned about 'good manners', he fled from the tower, back to his own room. There, he laid down on the bed.

He suddenly felt very sleepy and closed his eyes. All around the castle, other people were getting sleepy, and soon everyone was deep asleep. Everyone except for the three witches. They stayed in the castly, hanging around, trying to find a cure for the curse, occasionally [very occasionally] dusting a little.

They stayed this way for a long time, and in that time a high, broad wall of thorns had grown between the castle and the world. No-one dared pass the wall of thorns and soon the castle and its inhabitants were forgotten by the world.

But not by all. Some old women still remembered the handsome young prince and the curse, and told stories about it. These stories usually involved them as the prince's love, but the rest was usually quite accurate.

One day, a young prince called Stoker heard an old woman tell this story. Stoker was the youngest son of a large family, and had never cared much for his royal blood. He liked riding and hunting far better then the lazy life his father and brothers lived, and did not like the way they treated the common people.
As a result of his frequent arguments with his father, the latter had thrown him out, telling him he was no longer a son of his. "You're no prince anymore, Mr Morality. Go join those dogs you like so much," were his exact words. Actually, there were some dirty words in between, but we won't mention those. This is a fairy tale.

As soon as he heared about the sleeping prince behind the wall of thorns, Stoker decided to try his luck. 'If I don't succeed, at least I will have died honorably, he thought, 'But I know I can make it past the thorns, and my father may have disinherited me, I still have royal blood. So I could very well succeed. And if I do, I don't think the prince will mind giving me my own piece of land to rule.'

So he went out to the wall of thorns, chopped it into koolsla and entered the castle. "Hello?" he shouted, "Anyone here?"
Suddenly, three figures appeared before him. "We are the good witches. Who are you?"
"My name is Stoker. I came to awake the prince."
"Are you of royal blood?" Charlene asked.
"You don't look like it," Vincent added. Indeed, Stoker never looked like a prince as it was, because of his green and brown hunter's clothing. But now that his clothes were thorn apart by the wall, he looked even less like a prince. Hunky, yes, sexy, absolutely, but royal? Not quite.

Stoker pulled back his shoulders and looked Vincent straight in the eyes. "I am Stoker. My father is a king, I am of royal blood. Besides," he added with a look at Vincent, who wore thorn pants and no shirt [as even witches' clothes fall apart after some 100 year and neither of them was very good at sewing], "You look more like a punk then like a witch yourself."
"Touché, Vincent," Modo said. "I believe him. Let's bring him to the prince."
Charlene nodded and the three of them led Stoker to Throttles room.

In his room, the young prince was fast asleep. Of course, wat else would he be? He'd been like that for hundreds of years.
Anyway, he looked adorable. So when Stoker bent over to kiss him, his inteded peck on the forehead became a full kiss on the mouth. Throttle opened his eyes and saw Stoker.

You all know the rest of the story, right? The rest of the court awakened and the birthday party became a wedding party. The good witches blew away the Evil Witch, with some help from Throttle and Stoker, thanks to some magical tinkering, Stoker and Throttle even had some little baby-biker-boys and –girls, the witches hung around the castle until people got fed up with them never using doors but walking through walls and they went off into the sunset, leaving the royal couple to raise their children.
And they lived happily ever after.


"Very funny, babe."

"Don't call me babe. And Stoker was the one who called you Sleeping Beauty."


"Hey, how was I supposed to know she'd get visions of stuff like this?"