#fellas i am THIS CLOSE to leaving again

[queenxxxsupreme]

At the End of the World

(Cooper Howard x Reader)

A/N: I know absolutely squat about the Fallout universe but I like to think I’ve done my research good enough. This is my first kick at trying a Cooper Howard x reader so I am getting a feel for his character, please be kind :) Enjoy!

Word Count: 4.6k

Warning: nothing outside of canon, little fluffy here and there

Summary: You run into a certain ghoul and the vault dweller he’s taken as hostage.

Side Note: I called the inhaler thing that Cooper uses to keep from going feral a breather cause that sounded better than inhaler in my head??

Lucy squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her temple into the wall. She licked her lips in an effort to ease the pain she felt. Her lips were so dry they had cracked again and again.

“Better get some shut eye, Vaultie.”

She opened her eyes and looked across the room to the man holding her hostage. Calling him a man was a stretch. He hadn’t been a man for quite some time. Ghoulification had taken over his features long ago, gnarling his skin and turning him into something between man and monster.

Lucy said nothing to him and put her head back against the wall. Part of her wished she had never left the vault. How could people live on the surface? There were no rules, no regulations, not even morals. It was no way to live. She leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes. She knew she needed to sleep, but she wasn’t sure how much she’d be able to get.

Lucy wasn’t able to concentrate on sleep for very long. After what seemed like just seconds, the Ghoul moved. He straightened his hat and pulled a pistol from the holster on his hip. His eyes remained on the window between himself and Lucy.

“What—?”

”Quiet.” He cut Lucy off.

The vault dweller closed her mouth and tried to listen to whatever the Ghoul heard.

“This has to be where they holed up for the night.” A hushed voice spoke.

”You sure it was a vault dweller, Dart?”

”Positive. You know how much we could get for one of those if we find the right buyer?”

The Ghoul stood to his feet. The wall they were behind was the only bit of building left from what had once been a house. There wasn’t even a roof or another wall, just the piece that Lucy and the Ghoul were hiding behind.

“Looky here, fellas.” A voice came from behind the Ghoul. The sound of a hammer clicking on a pistol made him roll his eyes. “Turn around slow, buddy.”

”You fellas are askin’ for trouble.” The Ghoul warned.

“Drop the gun. Don’t want to hurt you, just want the vaultie.”

The Ghoul let his pistol fall to the dirt floor as he turned to face the unwelcomed guests. The guests consisted of three men and a woman.

“Say, you think we could get anything for a ghoul too?” The woman whispered to the man closest to her.

“It’s far too late in the night for y’all to cause a ruckus.” The Ghoul spoke. “Why don’t you turn around and go back the way you came before one of yous gets hurt?”

One of the men chuckled and shook his head.

“Ain’t no way we’re leaving without her.” He gestured to Lucy with the end of his sawed off shotgun.

Without any warning, a gun was fired once, twice, then three times. The Ghoul watched as all three raiders fell to the ground, blood pouring out of head wounds. His eyes flickered around, seeking out where the shots had come from. He couldn’t see a damn thing in the pitch black night.

Then there was a whistle. It was low and steady, lasting a couple seconds before a second whistle followed.

Lucy’s eyes were wide with panic as she strained to see where the noise came from. She searched the darkness, eyes flighting back and forth. The Ghoul didn’t seem nearly as panicked. In fact, he almost looked confused.

The wind shifted and blew a breeze directly towards him, carrying a familiar scent with it.

“What-What is that?” Lucy croaked. Her throat was so dry that her voice was raspy.

The Ghoul picked up his gun that he had dropped earlier on the ground. He brushed the dirt from it as a grin appeared on his lips.

“Oh that? That ain’t nothin’ but a little ol’ mouse.”

”Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” A soft and sweet voice came from the darkness.

Lucy watched as you moved into her line of sight. You appeared to be human, dressed in black cargo style pants tucked into worn dark brown boots. You wore a dark gray sweatshirt that was tattered around the hem and a brown jacket overtop of the sweatshirt. A dark green scarf wrapped loosely around your neck.

“Haven’t seen you for a while.” The Ghoul spoke, his eyes focused on you.

”Could say the same for you.” Your gaze found Lucy. She offered you a quick and friendly smile, but the sight of your left eye caught the poor girl off guard. It was glowing in the darkness, letting off an electric blue light. “Making new friends, Coop?”

”Ah, you know me. Always looking for a new friend.” The Ghoul’s tone was friendly and light. Lucy had never heard him sound anything close to nice.

You smiled just a little, shaking your head gently as you took a few more steps towards the two.

“Miss? Uh, m-miss?” Lucy tried to move towards you but the sound of the Ghoul pulling the hammer on his pistol back stopped her.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you, Vaultie. Sit your ass back down.” He gave a stiff nod to the ground where she had been sitting moments ago.

You kept your eyes on Lucy as she returned to her seat. Her eyes found yours again and you had to look away in order to avoid feeling bad for her. The Ghoul sat down and you took the spot right next to him, shrugging your backpack off of your shoulders and placing it between your legs.

“What happened with Dom Pedro?”

”Ain’t important.” He muttered with a shake of his head. You unzipped your backpack and pulled out a canteen.

“What’s your name, girl?”

”Lu-Lucy. My name is— My name is Lucy.” She stammered, pausing to lick her dry lips. “What’s your name?”

You leaned forward to pass her the canteen. She needed it far more than you did.

“Thank you. Oh, thank you so much!” Lucy hastily opened the canteen and began to drink from it rather hastily.

“Friends call me Icy.” You answered her question. “Seems to be what I go by anymore.”

A raspy cough from the Ghoul made you snap your head in his direction. He tried to stifle the cough but it was no use. You had already heard.

“Where’s your breather?”

”Don’t got— Don’t got any vials.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Aint’ no use to me.”

”Where are all your vials at?” You knew him too well. There was no way he’d let himself run out. You pulled your backpack closer to you and began to dig around inside hastily.

”Lost them in a tussle with the Vaultie.”

For a brief second, your eyes flickered up to Lucy. You decided then and there that if Cooper turned, you’d kill her yourself.

“You know, I could kick your ass for being so careless, old man.”

”Suppose you could.” He chuckled but it was cut short by another dry cough. “Wouldn’t- Wouldn’t do you any good, but it sure as hell would make for a good time.”

”Well given your current state, sweetheart, I think the odds would be in my favor.” You pulled out the sachet with vials and handed them to the ghoul. He took it from you, your fingers brushing momentarily but just enough to have your heart beating a little quicker.

“Thank ya, doll.” He murmured quietly. You offered him a smile, watching as he put the vial in his breather and took a hit.

“You two are…. Are you close?” Lucy asked. You turned your attention to her, tilting your head to the side just a bit. She tried to smile, to show that she was trying to be friendly.

“Lucy, was it?”

”Yes.” She nodded her head.

“Those kind of questions, Lucy, get you a bullet in your gut out here.”

The smile fell from her broken lips and her brows drew together in confusion.

“I-I wasn’t– I didn’t mean it– It was more just an observation.”

You turned your head to Cooper. He tucked the breather into his jacket and then his eyes found you.

“Heard you came into some trouble a few months back.”

“Just got into it with a group of raiders back outside of Targon.” You leaned back against the metal junk he was leaning against. “Just the same old bullshit. Wanted my eye.”

He stayed quiet. He wished he had found you sooner.

“You need to get some sleep.” You leaned over to push your shoulder against his.

Cooper tilted his head down, the brim of his hat covering his eyes.

“Ain’t sleepin’ tonight, doll.”

“When was the last time you slept? You look exhausted.” You reached over to put your hand on his. “You need to sleep, Cooper.”

He held your gaze for a few heartbeats, losing himself in your eyes. He had been worried about you since he crawled out of the grave Dom Pedro had kept him in. He was worried he’d never be able to find you, that perhaps you would be dead when he did get to you.

The ghoul pulled himself out of his own thoughts and rolled his eyes.

“Whatever you say, boss. Don’t let the Vaultie get too friendly.”

You smiled a little.

“Now you know that isn’t me, darling. I don’t let anyone get too friendly.”

“You let me get a little too friendly, if I remember correctly.”

“Shut your mouth, old man.” You smiled up at him. His grin you adored so much was covered up by the brim of his hat as he pulled it down.

You turned your attention to the girl that sat across from you.

“How long have you been upside?”

“Um, I-I don’t know for sure. A few weeks, I think.” She took another sip of water and then scooted a little closer to you so that she could hand the canteen back to you.

“Keep it.” You shook your head.

“Thank you.” She murmured quietly as she settled back into her spot. “Where, um, are you from?”

“Everywhere and nowhere all at once.” You let out a soft breath. “When you live for as long as I have, you don’t keep track of that sort of thing.”

“How…. How long have you been alive?”

“Long enough to know you don’t belong up here, Lucy.”

She held your gaze, almost too afraid to look away.

“I-I have to find my dad. He got taken by-by these raiders. They took him and I have to find him.”

You nodded gently. Lucy looked to the Ghoul, trying to figure out if he was asleep yet. After a couple moments of silence between you and Lucy, she could hear what sounded like gentle snoring.

“Icy, I need to find my dad. Please, you have to let me go.” She whispered.

“Quiet down, girl.” You stood to your feet, adjusting the holster that hung around your hips. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

“Where are you going?”

“Keep watch.”

***

Hours later, the blistering sun was just beginning its task of boiling the earth as it came up from the horizon.

You had been lost in thought, eyes gazing ahead at the sunrise. Your left eye, the cybernetic eye, kept track of the time, the rate the sun was rising, the temperature, and how fast the wind was going.

“Mornin’, pretty girl.”

You looked over your shoulder to see Cooper walking towards you.

“You slept good.” You commented, taking a sip of water. He had snored last night louder than you ever heard before.

“Easy to do when you’re around.” Cooper came to stand beside you, one hand finding the small of your back. “You know, I was– uh– I was worried bout you.”

“Same could be said for me to you.” Your eyes flickered across the baron land before you. There was nothing to see for miles and miles except dirt and remnants of destroyed buildings casting long shadows in the early morning light. “I’d heard whispers thrown around about what Dom Pedro was doing to you. When I get my hands on him–,”

“I don’t want you gettin’ anywhere near him, Icy Mae.”

You clenched your teeth together. Fiery anger swirled in your gut. Cooper’s hand on your back moved just slightly, rubbing your back in an effort to comfort you.

“No need in grinding those little teeth, doll.”

“I’ve spent three years trying to find you.”

“I know.”

“I want to kill him for what he’s done to you.”

Cooper let out a sigh.

“Lemme see those pretty eyes, doll.”

You turned your head away from him even more. You didn’t want him to see the tears that festered in your right eye.

“Look at me, Icy.”

You took in a breath through your nose before begrudgingly turning to face the ghoul. His fingertips found your jaw, tracing the soft skin beneath his calloused fingertips. Blue eyes followed his fingertips as he brushed away the stray tear that slipped down your cheek.

“I was afraid you’d be gone by the time I got to you. So many people I talked to said that you had died.”

“You know ain’t nothin’ gonna keep me from you, doll. Not even death.” He was trying to use his voice to make you feel better. Sometimes you felt that all he had to do was say your name in that raspy drawl of his and everything would be cured.

“Stop trying to charm me, old man.”

“Oh, I ain’t tryin’ to do anything, darling.”

You turned your head away from him, trying to focus on anything else. But he took your chin in his hand, gently turning your head back to him. you had no choice but to look up into his eyes.

“Missed you, woman.” He spoke in a hushed whisper. You couldn’t stay angry with him looking at you. It was rare to see those stern eyes so bright. A smile snuck its way onto your lips. You turned your head to kiss the palm of his hand.

“Distracting me, old man, won’t make me change my mind.”

“He ain’t worth your trouble, doll.” His hand left your face and even though it was hot outside, you found yourself missing the warmth of his touch. He placed his hand on your side, drawing your body a little closer to his.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw something move. You turned your head, disappointed to see Lucy moving towards you and Cooper.

The ghoul sighed as he removed his hand from your side and adjusted his hat, pulling it down just enough so the brim covered his eyes. You turned to face the vault dweller.

“Good morning, Lucy.”

”Good morning.” She smiled lightly. She looked from you to Cooper, unsure of which of you to look at.

“We should leave.” Your words weren’t really meant for her, but instead for the large figure that stood so close behind you.

“Yeah, yeah.” Cooper grumbled. ”Let’s get this show on the road.”

***

A couple hours later, you all walked in a poor excuse of a line. Lucy led the way with you followed just shortly behind her and the Ghoul behind you.

You looked over your shoulder. Cooper kept his right hand on the handle of the gun holster on his hip. He gave you a light nod of his head, to which you smiled.

Lucy slowed down just a little to be able to walk alongside you.

“I just—,”

”Keep moving, Vaultie.” Cooper spoke up from behind you.

“Give her a second, darling.” You looked over your shoulder to flash him a toothy smile.

“Thank you.”

You looked at Lucy out of the corner of your right eye.

“For what?”

”For being so nice to me. Giving me water and-and talking to me.”

You said nothing to her.

”Can I ask you a question?”

”Depends on the question.”

”Is Icy your real name? The name you were born with?”

You almost laughed at her.

“Hardly. Icy is just a nickname I got through the years. Comes from my eye.” You tapped your left temple. You cybernetic eye was a bright blue almost icy color.

“What’s your real name?”

”Why does it matter what my real name is?” You glanced over to her.

”It-It doesn’t. I was just curious.”

”Curiosity will get you killed up here, girly. People don’t think it’s too kind and friendly to be asking all sorts of questions.”

“I-I’m– Okay.” Lucy pressed her lips into a tight line. It was so hard just to make conversation with people from the surface.

You slowed down just a bit so that Lucy would keep walking ahead of you.

“Told you not to be friendly with her.” Cooper bumped your shoulder with his. You rolled your eyes.

“I’m not being friendly. Just trying to make conversation ‘cause I know you aren’t gonna be. What are you doing with her anyways?”

“Originally, I was gonna sell her for more vials. But now that you’re here, plans have changed a bit.” Cooper paused. “She’s a MacLean.”

You turned your head to Cooper, brows furrowing together. Without meaning to, you stopped walking.

“A what?”

“You heard me.”

“How?”

“She’s the daughter of Hank MacLean.”

Your fingers curled into fists by your sides. The very mention of Hank MacLean made your blood boil. The mention of anyone from Vault-Tec was enough to get you angry and ready to start fighting.

“What are we going to do with her?” You found yourself glaring at Lucy as she continued to walk, unaware that the both of you had stopped.

Cooper glanced over to you, adjusting the shotgun he held over his shoulder.

“Use her to get to her daddy.”

“They’ve ruined so many lives, Cooper. Vault-Tec has.”

“Oh, I know, darling.” He started walking again.

The anger in your stomach started to form into something else, into grief. There she was, Hank MacLean’s daughter, walking just ahead of you. Vault-Tec had ended so many lives, broken up so many families. Why did he get to have a family? Why did he get to see his daughter grow up?

Cooper stopped when he noticed you weren’t following him. He glanced back at you, taking note of your left hand that gripped the gun on your hip.

“Come on, Icy Mae.” He called for you. “Ain’t no use gettin’ worked up.”

Lucy stopped upon hearing the Ghoul say your name. She turned back to look at you. Your eyes met hers and you saw her furrow her brows together in confusion. Why did you look so upset, so angry?

“Don’t tell me how to be, Cooper.”

“I ain’t tellin’ you how to be, woman. Just telling you gettin’ mad ain’t gonna do nobody any good.”

“Is something wrong?” Lucy asked.

Your eyes left the girl to find Cooper.

“It isn’t fair, Coop.” You whispered, but he heard you just fine. He said nothing as he held your gaze. “Just isn’t fair.” You took your hand off of the gun and started walking again.

***

The day seemed to drag on for an eternity. No one had spoken very much. Everyone was tired and doing their best to make their energy last.

As the sun went away, camp was made on the outskirts of what used to be a town. The three of you took refuge inside of what appeared to be some kind of overturned bus. A battery powered lamp was on and sat in the middle of the bus, providing the otherwise pitch black night with a tiny source of light.

Lucy sat down against the roof of the bus, moving her hands around in an attempt to get comfortable with the rope around her wrist. You moved towards her, pulling a knife from its holster on your lower back.

”What are you doin’, woman?”

”Yeah, what are you doing?” Lucy shifted in her spot, eyes sticking to the knife you held. She tried to move away, pushing herself backwards. “Hey! Hey—!”

”Quiet down.” You muttered, kneeling down to cut away the rope.

“Oh.” Lucy watched the rope fall away then she rubbed her wrists. “Th-Thank you.”

“Icy, what the hell?”

”May as well let her get comfortable for the night.” You tucked the knife back into the sheath on your back. ”And she can’t go no where. We’re surrounded by nothing. She‘ll die from the elements before she gets far.”

Cooper sighed, putting his hands on his hips. You shrugged off your backpack and placed it down next to his bag. You sat down, adjusting your backpack before leaning against it.

“I’m gonna go have a look around.” He told you. “See if we’re alone out here.”

”Be careful.”

The ghoul gave you a nod, then turned towards Lucy.

“You try anything funny, Vaultie, and I won’t hesitate to skin you alive.”

“I-I won’t. I promise.”

You watched as Cooper slipped out of the overturned bus and disappeared into the night.

Once he was completely gone, you leaned forward to start taking off some of your layers. With the sun down, you didn’t have to worry about its harsh rays.

Lucy watched as you took off the jacket and placed it aside, then pulled the sweatshirt off of your head and added it to the jacket. You were left in a thin tank top that appeared to be a dark shade of brown. The gloves you wore came up to your elbows. You tugged each one off, setting them aside. With all the layers off, Lucy could now see the scars that covered your arms. They were darker than the rest of your skin and seemed to go in a gnarled and twisted pattern from the backs of your hands up to your shoulders.

You looked up, feeling eyes on you. The girl was watching you, her gaze curious but horrified all at once.

“I-I’m sorry.” She stuttered out. “What, um, what happened to you?”

”Got caught in a fire a few years back.” You rubbed your left arm, then started to rub the right one.

”Is that what happened to your eye?”

You stopped moving, her question catching you off guard.

You reached behind you into one of the side pockets and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Then you settled back against the backpack, bringing your eyes up to meet hers.

Your cybernetic eye read her vitals and told you that she was nervous. A slightly elevated heart rate and increased breathing.

”No.” You put the cigarette between your lips then pulled a lighter from a pocket on your pants. “My eye was taken from me at the start of the war.”

”Oh.” She was quiet for a few heartbeats, looking away from you. “Do you mind me asking what happened?”

”Vault-Tec.”

Your answer seemed to surprise her. She drew her eyebrows together.

”Vault-Tec?”

“It’s a long story, girly.” Your face lit up a little as you lit the cigarette.

”Well…. We’ve got time.”

”That we do.” You sunk down a little more to get comfortable.

Lucy could tell you didn’t really want to talk about your eye or Vault-Tec or your scars anymore. She looked down at her hands, rubbing her wrists just a little more before she let out a soft breath.

“How do you know him? That guy?”

”Known him for a while.” You turned your attention to the black sky. ”Ran into each other ages ago. We’d go our separate ways no and again but somehow…. Somehow we always run into each other.”

If the man in question hadn’t been so mean and callous, perhaps Lucy would have smiled.

“But how can you…. How can you be with someone like that? Someone who-who is okay with so much murder and so much cruelty?”

You stayed silent for a few minutes, debating on what to say next. Lucy thought perhaps you were ignoring her, but then you slowly sat up. You crossed your legs and leaned forward with your elbows on your knees.

“I used to have a daughter.” Your voice was hushed, eyes cast down to the flashlight providing a little bit of light. You took a deep inhale of the cigarette. In the same moment that you breathed out a cloud of smoke, you continued to talk. “Used to have a husband too. He was a good man. He’d move heaven and earth for me and my girl.”

You paused to see if Lucy would say anything. When she remained silent, you carried on.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Miss MacLean. You’ve only ever known comfort your whole life. You don’t know what people have had to endure up here…. what good people have had to do…. in order to survive.”

Lucy looked away, unable to hold your gaze any longer.

“There are no rules up here, no guidelines, no sense of ethics. If you want to survive, you have to do things you wouldn’t normally do. Good men do bad things to make sure they survive.”

Lucy directed her eyes downward. You flicked the cigarette ashes down onto the ground beside you.

“I’m-I’m sorry about your family.”

Your gaze was drawn to the girl once more.

“About everything you’ve been through.”

A whistle made both of you turn your heads. Lucy almost started to panic, but you shook your head gently.

”It’s just Cooper.” You took another puff from the cigarette. A few moments of silence passed before the Ghoul was making his way back into the overturned bus. “Find anything?” You sat up and offered him the cigarette.

“Nah, there’s nothin’ here but us and dirt.” He sat down next to you, settling with sitting up while you stayed hunkered down with your head on the backpack.

Lucy moved around a bit to get herself comfortable, choosing to lay on her side with her arm under her head as she faced the light.

”It’s your turn to get some sleep, woman.”

You turned your head to look up at Cooper.

“Don’t know if I’m gonna be able to sleep much, darling.” You took the cigarette back from him and puffed on it a little bit.

“You should try.”

You hummed but said nothing more.

After a few minutes, Lucy fell asleep, giving you and the ghoul next to you the smallest bits of privacy.

Neither of you said anything for a long time. You passed the cigarette back and forth until it was finished up by Cooper.

You scooted closer to him, trying to get as deep into his side as you could. He lifted his arm until you were comfortable, then he put his arm down around you, his hand resting on your shoulder.

”I haven’t been able to stop thinking about killing her all day, Cooper.” You murmured.

“Oh, yeah?”

”I want to take her head to her father.”

He looked down at you, unsure if what he had heard was what you said.

”He shouldn’t get to have a family. No one at Vault-Tec should.”

”You’re gonna get yourself all worked up, doll. Best not go down that rabbit hole tonight.”

You took a deep breath, reaching your hand up to hold on to his fingers.

”I don’t want to feel that way, Coop. I don’t want to hurt her.”

”Hush now.” Cooper leaned down to kiss your head. “Get some sleep, Icy Mae.”

[peachesfather]

Can you mizu with a healer fem reader thats in lonfon and very jealous of taigen?? I want it very fluffy but also smutty if ur ok with it :) please and thank uu

thanks for this request !!

Doing way too much

mizu x black fem! reader blue eye samurai

warning:+18, smut, fluffy, fingering, bad grammar, suggestive language, and jealous mizu is a way to put it.

I was the best healer in my store in London, i get a lots of praise from how good i am at healing people's wounds, the pay was very good for me and my mother who were very poor.

I swept the floor with a broom while listening to some jams on the radio, i signed and humed to the music, i heard the door open and paid it no mind at all i just continued to clean. i was abrupt by someone in front of me with their eyes being blue as the ocean but had a no emotion face along with someone else with them but he staring at my potions.

"what do you need?" i looked at his tall figure and waited for a response but no reply so i put my hand on their shoulder to tell them to reply for their request.

He snatched my hand from their shoulder and squezzed it very hard, i hissed and told them to stop.

"I just need to be heal thats fucking it, and also need resources for my travel" she let go of me and i basically rolled my eyes at her behavior. "You couldve just said that and not squeezed my fingers." i said while still being angry at this customer. (bby got issues wrong bitch tho)

"okay, sit in this chair please sir" he gave the other man who came along with him a sword and came my way to sit down in the chair. The guy who was holding the sword was looking me up and down while bitting his lips. i ignored him and shown eye contact towards the blue eyed man in front of me.

"Where does it hurt?" He pointed to where their gut is so meaning to where the injury is there. I closed my eyes to see if the energy of the wound could be healed, water has appeared on the gut to clean throughout and he hiss in the healing process, i patch him up. "you're finally done, that would be $50" he put the money in my hand and stared at me for few seconds and then snatched the sword from the other guy, "i be outside Taigen, grabbed the other resources for our travel" she put her glasses back on her face and left my store, the other grabbed the stuff he was told to buy.

"is that all?' he just stared at my face and told him again "IS THAT ALL SIR YOU STARING UP THE STORM" his eyes widned and laughed at my outburst. “You’re so cute what’s your name?” He said while staring behind the counter at my ass.

“Okay, I give you my name, it’s y/n.” I blushed and facepalm at how cringe of how I falling for this bullshit, I noticed a couple glances from the window outside the store, it was the guy who I healed he looked angry and pissed must be because of this fella right here, I think he’s talking himself or flirting idk what bro is still here for.

“The cost is $100, do you have it?” He paused and stopped talking about whatever mess he was going on about, he smiled and started to look in his pockets for his money or changes.

Me, being the nicest person that I’m going to be and letting this nigga off with his resources to getting out of my store, I told him he doesn’t need to pay for it under one condition is telling him and his friend to come over to my place for a meal.

He quickly agreed and said “yes, now we can get to know each other in a better way” he rubbing his fingers together while licking his lips I was disgusted but happy at the same time because he was leaving my store, I gave the guy outside a wink. He scoffed and looked away instantly. (I need her so badly don’t play to get pookie)

When the clock hits 5 pm, I was already done cooking curry chicken and rice for my guests, I clean the table and put the table cloth on to be proper.

I heard a knock on my door I was guessing it was them, taigen was smiling like he had done a whole crime while being very sketchy, he was nicely dressed with his hair down. However, for the mysterious man he was still in his old clothes doesn’t make him unattractive but he could’ve done something to spark his appearance. His eyes on the other has drew more attention.

He catches my glances and looked away in annoyance. I signed and ask his name because i wanted to get know him better. He looked me in the eye and said “my name is Mizu”

That’s a cute name awee” I said that brought me and him in awkward silence until taigen grabbed my chin to rizz me up or whatever saying “ma, you look good tonight in them jeans and showing your figure very nicely.

I kinda blushed at him complimenting my body, his way of words were blinding from getting to know mizu. Taigen gave mizu no emotion face that became a snickering expression towards him to letting know that he trying to get to have me. Mizu smirked and smiled at him for being too foolish.

We was eating the curry chicken and rice at the table, taigen was tearing my food up and said It is good and wanted seconds. I gotten up just to give him more.

Mizu was looking me up and down from knee from how my jeans looked on me, she squeezed her thighs and looked at taigen who was staring back at her already.

“Aye, stop looking at her she is going to be mine, bitches like her cannot resist me.” Taigen said while crossing his hands by giggling at how easy you are. However, Mizu was disgusted of how he talking about you , even though she barely knows anything about me to care.

I came back to table so happy about someone being grateful about my cooking. Taigen grabbed the plate from me and said thank you. Mizu was staring into my soul, I was confused but I sat down and looked at taigen finishing his second plate of curry chicken.

“Y/n, yo if I was your man bro I wouldn’t never disrespect how bad of cook you is” he said while staring at mizu then laughed at how fucked mizu looked.

“You wanna be my man? Well, you must want to take good care of me” I said while lovey dovey staring at him

“I take care of that ass of yours real good” he said while chewing. Mizu started to shake the table and ask to go where to bathroom. I told him that it is upstairs I got up and walked himself to the bathroom.

She stops mid way, it made me confused until she grabbed me and push closed the door in the bathroom.

“What the heck mizu” I was pushed against the wall and was held by my hands from mizu who showing no emotion to the situation of having me like this.

“You want to stay quiet or what, I know you want me all this time you fucking brat” she stare at my face who was resisting her touch.

“I need you so badly please..” you said while bringing your hands to her hands to guide her to you hips, she grabbed a chunk of your ass and lean in to kiss your lips that had lipstick onto them.

“You don’t know how much I have done to get to fuck you like this” she said holding onto me while locking eyes with me I stare back with her with a nervously smile.

She slip her hand in my jeans while standing up with spreading me out with her fingers, I grasp and moans “. fuckkk..mm mizu your fingers” I was literally dripping mess under her. Me and her touched heads while she fingered me at a quick pace while she laughing at me.

I screamed in my hand while she thrust her fingers in out of me out one last time. I wrap my hands around her neck to give her lips a peck, she snickered and kiss me back. We sat in comfortable silence till leaving the bathroom together.

Okay, this was very bad you guys can diss this onee !!

[bengiyo]

Knock Knock Boys Ep 4 Stray Thoughts

Last week, the boys all went to the onsen to try to bond with Jumper, to mixed results. Almond also remains perhaps more focused on Latte than Jumper because he’s so nervous, and is determined to figure out if Latte has a birthmark on his dick. Thanwa and Peak have been vibing pretty hard, and I’m into it. Thanwa has asked Peak to help him with his job applications, and Peak wants to learn how to better enjoy food. Almond also followed Latte and Lukpeach to the sex toy store and completely misunderstood what was going on. I’m currently suspicious about Thanwa’s financial situation.

As a note, @babyangelsky warned us about extreme toilet humor between 41:30 and 42:33.

I am really enjoying these cold opens to the potential end of the episode. It’s compelling every time.

I feel like we have been in this BL house before. The porch looks familiar.

Latte remains a tease and I love it.

Wouldn’t be a proper foodie if there wasn’t a special story attached to his favorite dish.

Now why did he feed that man like that?

I went to a school with corporal punishment. I’m always surprised when I see it in Thai colleges.

I really don’t want to be disappointed in Jumper lately. I am having fun with the way it feels like he’s flirting with Peak.

Fellas, is it gay to stare into each other’s eyes and search each other’s souls while holding a computer mouse together?

Thanwa’s friend looks like a Pokémon trainer.

Oh, I don’t like this guy promising compensation as he leaves a bill to Thanwa.

I’ve not vibed with a lot of BL choices this year, but I’m glad we’re getting more sexual health PSAs in the shows lately.

I think it’s very good to give Almond condoms. I get the sense he’d be nervous about getting his own.

Almond, why are you so pressed about Lukpeach if you ain’t tryina smash.

Did Seng teach Nokia how to smile like a dork?

Yes, bring Lukpeach to the party. She needs to know that this is not just two college boys on a romance track. There’s a whole house of boys.

Small things that this show earns is Thanwa being the primary cook of the household. He doesn’t come off as bossy when he’s asking Almond to go get stuff from the kitchen while he works on other food prep. It feels natural.

Oh ho! We’ve reached the cold open around the middle.

Now, Latte, don’t get jealous of a moment you helped create.

How old are we? 7 minutes in heaven?? At least they played that well right out the gate.

A game about going into closets together to see what might happen. These jokes write themselves.

Oh no. I am close to the trigger warning. This is about to be the worst scatological humor I’ve been subjected to by Thai BL. I can feel it.

NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! THIS IS SO GROSS!!!!

Girls….I am disgusted… Trust the warning. Props to Pak, Nokia, and Jaonine for playing that all the way through, but I don’t need to see that ever again.

What the hell is going on in that closet though??

I just know it’s hot as hell in this closet.

I appreciate this show giving me some kisses after that vomit scene. It’s what I deserve.

Okay, I really like this apology and reestablishment of consensual boundaries. Excellent kiss the homies content.

Welcome back, Jane. I hope you give us some answers next week.

This show is really assured, and I’m having a great time with it. I really love when a show has two couples and has them on similarly-paced advancement tracks. It offers up a lot of fun comparison. It’s clear at this point that Almond and Latte like being around each other, and Latte is becoming jealous of Almond’s interest in Jumper. It also works that Thanwa was the one to have kissed Peak already and has been waiting for him to sort it out. That was a really excellent episode. Having Jumper be such a sloppy mess on top of Almond like that is a good way to kill much of the enthusiasm he might have there, opening a lane for Latte. Good shit, Knock Knock Boys.

[blissxjj]

The Brothers save MC from her fear

SFW

Featuring: Lucifer/Mammon/Satan/Beel/Belphie

Warning:

Swear words.

Lucifer

When you came running to his study like a killer was chasing you he was so alarmed that he stood guard from his desk when you hid behind him and said shaking

"T-there i-is a m-m-mouse in my r-room please..."

You didn't need to say more he just sprung into action and left his study mumbling something

You slammed his study door shut and he was surprised

Are you really that scared of mice they won't hurt you you are bigger and stronger than any mouse yet they make you shake in you shoes

He captured the little fella and let him out away

When he tried to enter his study room you slammed the door again

"Don't you dare come in here with it in your hand" you warned him

"It's outside MC i don't have it on me" he said

You crack the door to look at his hand and he signed when you opened it

"Seriously you are so extra" He said

You just rolled your eyes and left his study like nothing happened.

Mammon

It was mammon's cooking duty but being the good girlfriend that you are you went to help him with it

He was doing most of the work while you just handed him ingredients and tools

"Mammooooooooon!" Your scream was so loud Mammon dropped everything and came to your rescue

When he saw a little insects on the floor

Mammon picked it up laughing his head off at your scared figure shaking in the corner of the kitchen

"Mammon you stupid idiot throw it out" when you said that Mammon had a good idea in his mind slowly he walked towards you with the insect in hand

"What did you say?" He said teasingly

"I didn't say anything just throw it out" you said now realizing your mistakes

"Come to think about it you didn't tell me how much you love me today" Mammon pinned you to the corner with his empty hand

You were shaking at this point

"I l-love you so much Mammon" you said

"And~" he said getting the insect closer to your face

"And you will always be my first and favorite demon"

"Wrong answer"

"And you are so great and funny and smart and strong and handsome please get it off meeeee!" Your tears threatening to fall

Mammon just threw it out the window and chuckled

"That's not funny do it again and you will be single!" You said

"Oh really?"

"This is not a threat this is a promise try me m*****f*****".

Satan

"AHHHHH!" you screamed running out your room and straight to Satan's

He was ready to yell at you for the noise, the door slam and interrupting his reading but he stopped when he saw your eyes all red and glossy

"S-satan why did the power went off like that?" You sniffled and he sighed

"Darling there is a storm outside it looks like we will be like this for a while" he said

All you can see is his shining demonic green eyes and you knew he could see in the dark and you couldn't so you just stuck beside him like a leech

"Satan baby can i stay here with you?" You asked

"No i am busy and you need to go as soon as the power comes back on" he said going back to reading his book

"I can't i am afraid of the dark and what if the power goes back off so please let me stay i won't speak i will just hold your hand and sleep" you said hoping he would change his mind but he didn't

"Fine i will go ask Lucifer then" you got up to leave when you felt him grab your arm and pulled you back down

"You really know how to get on my nerves human" he said

"You will let me stay?" You said

"Just stay quiet please" he kissed your forehead and went back to his book

Few minutes and you said

"Can you read me bed time stories?" You asked and he opened his mouth to reply but you closed it back up with a kiss and once you pulled away you added

"Pretty please my love" you said

Satan just stared for few seconds then said

"Pick a book"

"YAY! You are the best i would like you to read 'Flower with thorns' for me" you said snuggling close to his chest knowing that you will be asleep before the first chapter ends

Beelzebub

You were working out with Beel...well he was working out you just worked as extra weight for him to carry

When he was done he picked you up bridal style and was rocking you playfully back and forth when he saw the look of horror on your face looking up the wall a giant spider was crawling on it

"B-beel" you said but before you say anything Beel put you down and killed the spider with his hands

When he came back to pick you up you backed away from him which made him confused but soon realized that he will have to wash his hands before touching you again so he went and took a shower as a whole and you did the same

Cuddling on his bed when you said

"Beel thank you for killing that spider earlieri don't know what i would've done without you" you said rubbing your hand on his chest

He blushed and swallowed his snack before saying

"I am glad to help MC i won't let anything hurt you" he said squeezing your hand

You give him a kiss before both of you drift off to sleep

Belphie

"Belphie STOP!" You ran to your room and closed the door holding it shut for dear life because Belphie was holding an insect in his hand trying to put it on you

He overpowered you and came in you screamed and ran around the room till he cornered you

You started to cry but unlike Mammon he is not that easy to convince

"What do you want" you said hiding your head in his cow pillow that was on the ground

He took a moment to appreciate the cute sight of you curled up on the ground and said

"How about a deal? I kill the insect and you give me your desert for a week" he said

"How about you stop being spoiled and protect me instead of scaring me" your words hit him right and he put the insect away and killed it he grabbed your hand to pull you up for a hug but you didn't want that

"Let me go i am mad at you" you said crawling away from him when he pounced on you and pinned you down to the ground and said

"Aw please MC forgive me i was just joking" he begged

"If you think i will let you off the hook that easily you are dead wrong Belphegor" you said

Yep he f up and he knew so when you called him his actual full name.

Masterlist

[heretodestroyou]

jamie tartt x rojas!reader where she’s dani’s twin or younger sister and is scared about tell him she’s dating jamie but ofc he’s just over the moon about it 🥹🥹🫶

felicidades!

pairing; jamie tartt x rojas!fem!reader (romantic), dani rojas x sister!reader (platonic/familial)

w/c; 1.08k

fandom; ted lasso (apple tv)

trigger/content warnings; my half-baked spanish, a little swearing, jamie being a clueless himbo, dani being a ray of sunshine,

stella speaks! this prompt is so adorable, i hope i’ve done it justice!! set somewhere after 2x03

Jamie feels bad.

He knows how close you are with your brother. He knows how much you hate keeping secrets from him. But he’s also grateful.

He’s only been back at Richmond for a couple months, and many of the boys are still wary around him. He doesn’t blame them, but they’re all so fiercely protective of you that his biggest worry what’ll happen to him, to your relationship when the cat is let out of the bag.

Your biggest worry is how Dani will take it. Dani isn’t the stereotypical ‘i’ll-kill-anyone-who-looks-at-her’ big brother, but he does take shielding you from the press very seriously. And dating Jamie Tartt? That’ll put you right in the spotlight.

The both of you are reaching the end of your rope, and it’s getting harder and harder to hide it.

So Jamie does the only thing he can think of. He talks to Ted.

He takes his time changing after training, carefully packing everything in his bag, a flimsy but effective way to stay after everyone has gone. He also keeps an eye on Roy, whom he’s paranoid knows Jamie is hiding something.

But the older player simply strolls past him, ignoring him as usual, and after Jamie strains his ears to make sure he’s gone, he bolts into Ted and Coach Beard’s office.

Ted looks up from his computer with a start, Beard’s attention suddenly also on Jamie. He feels the heat rise in his cheeks, but Ted simply smiles. “What can I do for you today, Jamie?”

Jamie takes a breath, and right before he speaks, he spots Nathan coming back in the locker room. He closes the door gently, turning back to the two men.

“I’m gonna be totally honest, I’ve been dating Y/n for two months now,” he starts, and Ted leans forward.

“But the thing is, nobody else except for Keeley knows. She really wants to tell Dani, and she’s not telling him because I asked her not to, but I can tell she really wants to, but what if the team beats me up? Like what if Dani is still mad at me for being such a twat and he gets the whole team to beat me up? Roy especially, he would like totally punch me in the balls and then Dani would make me break up with Y/n, but I don’t want to break up with her, but I also don’t want to get beat up, y’know?” Jamie rushes, his words tripping over each other.

Ted takes it in, leaning back in his chair and nodding. After a few moments of silence, he turns to Coach Beard.

“Coach?” He asks.

“Yeah, Coach?” Beard answers, eyes not leaving the chess game on his phone.

“Do me a favor, Coach.” Ted asks, starting to smile.

“Anything, Coach.”

Ted’s grin widens. “Call the Diamond Dogs together please Coach.”

Beard gives a nod. “You got it Coach.”

Jamie looks between them, not a clue as to what’s happening, when Nathan glides into the room, seating himself on the shelf next to Jamie. Jamie looks at Ted in confusion, but Ted just keeps smiling.

A minute later, Higgins also enters the room and gives Jamie a nod. Simultaneously, the four men start barking, and Jamie’s ready to leave when Ted speaks again.

“Fellas, turns out Beard was right. Jamie is dating mini-Rojas,” Ted says, and for the second time in five minutes, Jamie’s face heats up.

“Problem is,” Ted continues, “he’s not sure how well that’ll go over with the team, and frankly, neither am I. Ideas?”

Jamie raises his hand, and Ted points at him. “Yes, Mr. Tartt?”

“First off, the fuck is happening. Second, the fuck is happening?” Jamie asks, tucking his hands under his shirt.

Higgins grins. “We are the Diamond Dogs, and we are here to help! With your dilemma. Your Rojas Hassle, of you will.”

Jamie shook his head. “Whatever. Do I tell him or not?”

Nathan raises his hand. “Well, what I see the worst-case scenario being is the team ices you out for maybe another couple months. Do you think Y/n will side with you during that?”

Jamie twists his fingers under his shirt. “I mean, I hope so. I would be sad if she didn’t y’know cause— well she…” he trails off, his head filled with his favorite memories of the two of you.

“She inspires me to be a better person, and I think even if we had to break up cause Dani said so, I would still want to be better for her and then if I am better maybe Dani and the team’ll see that and they’ll let us date again?” Jamie looks up, glancing around the room.

Ted slaps his hand on the table. “Well lookee there, I think you’ve solved your own problem! And with limited help from us! I declare the Diamond Digs meeting over!”

Jamie begins to smile, a bit of the weight on his shoulders lifted. His smile faded when every other person in the room begins to bark, and with an eye roll, he leaves.

When he gets out, the cool breeze biting at his face, he sees you, waiting by your car. You’re chatting with your brother, who’s telling some sort of training story. His hands are flailing everywhere, and you’re giggling.

He takes a deep breath, then walks over. When he reaches you, he snakes an arm around your waist. You look up at him, the question in your eyes.

When he nods, that inquiry on your face is replaced with his favorite look: that shine of joy in your eyes, and you turn back to your brother.

Jamie takes a breath to explain, but before he can, Dani hugs him. “¡Felicidades! ¡Bienvenido a la familia, cuñado!”

Jamie looks to you for the translation, and smiles slightly when he notices your face buried in your hands. “Something you want to tell me, love?” He asks.

“He called you his brother-in-law,” you say, your voice heavy with embarrassment and muffled by your hands. Jamie’s grin widens.

“Should we plan the wedding then?” He asks. You groan loudly. Dani suddenly turns serious, and Jamie gulps. Has he overstepped?

“Por favor, do not make me wear those horrible dress shoes,” he says, his hands clasped together in front of him.

This causes you to laugh, and Jamie’a grin reappears.

The reaction Dani had was certainly not the reaction he forsaw, but it was definitely better than the one he expected.

[generouskittentidalwave]

LMK FANDOM I AM GRABBING YOU BY THE THROAT AGAIN ONCE MORE BECAUSE APPARENTLY YOU GUYS CAN'T LEARN YOUR LESSON AFTER THE FIRST GO AROUND.

LISTEN CLOSE AS NOW I NEED TO GET THIS 0UT THERE AS WELL

TRIPITAKA WAS *NOT* AN ABUSER FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE

I CAN'T BELIEVE I ACTUALLY HAVE TO *SIT* HERE AND TYPE OUT A POST FOR THIS

Look, listen up for those of you who like to skip your way into assumption station to hop on the fill your angsty desires train, let me be the railway closing sign for you for a moment here.

TRIPITAKA CARED FOR WUKONG JUST AS MUCH AS WUKONG CARED FOR HIM.

Oh my god, shocker! I know!/s

Tripitaka, this cool yet cowardly and sensitive fella was the one tasked with putting the circlet on Wukong because he had no power to STOP him, like at all. That circlet was the only thing Tripitaka had that, and I can't believe I have to even say this, DID NOT CONTROL WUKONG, but was able to keep him from harming others. The circlet, when the tightening spell was said, would enclose around his head causing him great head pain. This was used for when he did something bad or if he needed to be stopped from killing someone because he was a wild monkey with no understanding of human morals yet that did not know any better that was given SO MUCH POWER to the point that the circlet was the ONLY thing able to keep him reigned in if he went wild, especially sense the monk was powerless to stop him himself. AND HERE'S THE REAL KICKER, THE MONK EVEN TRIED TO TAKE IT OFF DURING THEIR JOURNEY AND COULDN'T, NO MATTER HOW HARD HE TRIED.

Did the monk sometimes make a mistake or two with the circlet on occasion? Yes. Did he sometimes make a mistake in general? Yes. Did he do that intentionally? NO. It's called being human, it's called not being perfect, but that didn't make him any less of a good guy. AND WUKONG CARED FOR HIM WITH EVERY FIBER OF HIS BEING NOT BECAUSE THE "CIRCLET WAS MAKING HIM" BUT BECAUSE TRIPITAKA WAS HIS FIRST REAL FRIEND THAT GENUINELY CARED ABOUT HIM TO HELP HIM ON A GOOD PATH. WUKONG WAS GIVEN MANY CHANCES TO LEAVE AND NOT COME BACK DURING THE JOURNEY, BUT HE CAME BACK ANYWAY FOR THE SOLE PURPOSE OF HELPING HIS FRIENDS. FOR HELPING THE MONK. EACH AND EVERY TIME.

TRIPITAKA FOUND WUKONG, BAJIE, WUJING, THREE CREATURES WHO HE GAVE A CHANCE TO BECOME BETTER AND THEY ALL LOVED HIM ALL THE MORE FOR IT. Tripitaka gave them a chance to be the good people that they could be. He helped bring them all together. Together, he made them all a family. Wukong sees them all as his family. They are his family.

Neither Wukong or Tripitaka were perfect, they made mistakes, the two had their arguments here and there, but none of that was ever able to shake their relationship. Never. With every argument that seperated them, Wukong always came back and the two apologized. Wukong always chose to stay by Tripitaka's side. He chose to be, dare I say it, Tripitaka's BEST friend.

He was not his slave, he was not treated as an attack dog. Macaque said it himself, Wukong and the others were on a path of self destruction, himself and the brotherhood included, and it was Tripitaka who helped Wukong, Bajie, and Wujing onto a good path. It was Tripitaka that brought them together and showed them what it truly means to have not just friends, but a family.

Before this Wukong had Azure who basically pushed his own thoughts on the celestial rule onto Wukong which kept fuelling him up for something that he shouldn't have been, Peng, Yellow Tusk, and DBK did the same thing, up until they left Wukong after the war was lost and he got imprisoned. Macaque followed Wukong and supported him in something that he shouldn't have despite expressing his concerns towards it before again, just like the others, abandoning him once the battle was lost and Wukong got imprisoned. Wukong was surrounded with people in his life who were not very good people. But Tripitaka was NOT like them. He didn't fuel Wukong with his own desires, he didn't follow him only to leave when the tide's turned. He taught him about morals, helped teach him the many things he knew that helped Wukong become a better person rather than purposely straying him from it. He gave him care, appreciation, genuine kindness, and true friendship. And the other three in the group showed him true friendship as well.

Tripitaka was Wukong's truest oldest friend, his teacher, and his master. They were inseparable and always will be, even if he can't be with Wukong in person anymore. Wukong cares for Tripitaka deeply and Tripitaka cares deeply for Wukong, and no amount of the fandom being the fandom is EVER going to change that.

[missezramay]

ted lasso, post-finale thoughts.

I went into the finale thinking yeah, if the writing serves, I can accept any outcome even if it's not exactly what I want. Instead, I was hit with a plethora of mixed emotions I didn't expect to have. Confusion, anger, hurt, annoyance, small bursts of joy in between, and just deep sadness. Almost 20 hours later and I'm still incredibly dissatisfied and processing. For the most part, finales should provide a feeling of celebration and relief. I... don't feel any of that.

I'm just really trying to pinpoint why I'm so sad.

Of course everything inevitably has to come to an end. Of course Ted was always going to reunite with his kid. Of course it's not about winning or losing. Of course Tedbecca can remain platonic if that was always the plan. Of course that's the way life goes, but...

For a show (and this season particularly) that constantly encouraged us to 'believe' and 'hope' in the idea that 'everything will work out', all those 75 minutes did was take me on an unsettling, emotional journey for no concrete reason other than to mess with the audience (the opening scene was just adding salt in the Tedbecca wound I've had since S2). Because everything in a macro sense, "worked out". But the WAY it "worked out" does not sit well with me?? And it's supposed to? For a lot of people (on Reddit/Facebook, lol), it was enough?? Richmond not technically winning and Ted leaving like that without so much as a tear? What am I missing??

When I tell you I'm trying to embrace the good parts, I'm really trying. Yes to KBPR & the women's team, Yes to Colin kissing his fella, Yes to Rebecca & Mae & the guys owning the club, Yes to Roy becoming Manager.

So... why am I still so upset? Hmm, let's see.

The boys' musical number? The cutest. Ted didn't think so.

Nate's apology? Heartbreaking. Ted didn't bat an eyelash.

Rebecca begging twice for Ted to stay? Ted, absolute silence.

Beard staying/getting married in London to his toxic gf? Comic relief, haha, fine. Except Ted wasn't there as Best Man.

Don't even get me started on the huge disservice to the Roy/Keeley/Jamie triangle.

Now listen, I get that he misses Henry & Henry misses his dad. I'm not that cold. A father/son's love is important. It was always the catalyst for this show; for him to work on himself so he can be a better father unlike the one he grew up with. That's fine.

But on this particular week. His last week with his Richmond family. There was NO sense of him being sad to leave them. He can be sad about missing Henry but he can ALSO be sad about leaving. No, he just completely checked out. He let everyone pour out their hearts (Hannah's getting her third Emmy, mark my words) to him, and he just stone-faced the entire time.

THIS DOES NOT MAKE ANY SENSE TO ME.

The argument is that he was internally processing, he was overwhelmed, he was trying to distance himself so it would hurt less. Fair points, okay. But this is a television show, moreover, A FINALE. TV characters, while relatable, are heightened versions of ourselves, there so we can better process our emotions and learn to handle things better in our real lives. Ted deserved MORE dialogue and displaying MORE emotion than whatever this was.

We're never going to see him again. We're over here crying along with Rebecca, Nate & Beard, but he didn't sob once. Even though he spent three years building a family with them. I even thought, hey at least he left his legacy with Trent's book but newsflash, he wanted his name taken off that too! Complete erasure.

I just feel so robbed of better moments. Like there were nice moments here and there. But they could've been BETTER. Honestly, Nate & Rebecca's breakdowns were close to perfection, so much love there. But the lack of dialogue and Ted not reciprocating? Broke ME.

I just cannot. understand. this. choice.

Massive sigh. I'm just truly baffled by the way everything wrapped up and not getting the satisfied feeling that one half of the viewership got. Maybe I'm in the minority, but that means something. It carries weight. Also, for a "three-season arc" that was planned well in advance, why all the rewrites and parallels and fakeouts... it's just cruel. But as the theme says (and maybe this was a warning all along), yeah, I guess this might well be it.

This show has given us so much and the last season flailed for the most part. I don't want to disrespect the show by being negative and cynical (looks like I failed!!) or cast blame on anyone in particular. The cast/crew are amazing people and I'll be grateful for being a part of the journey but I'm just so sad and this feeling sucks and I will never get over it.

Going to miss them. x

[delopsia]

Dancing Beneath The Moon | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 10,000  Cross Posted on AO3 Brief Summary: How is it that your heart only longs for the ghost of a cowboy? And why do you get the feeling that his heart utters the same for you? Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, Ghost!Rhett AU (with a twist! I won't tell you what kind but it's a twist!), friends to lovers, Trevor does not take rejection very well (please be advised that he does yell at the reader and scare them), unprotected sex, mentions of violence, and Rhett's 'murder.' Please refer to the user manual and wash your cowboy before sex.  

"I-I'm sorry, I need to leave."

"Trevor, wait!" Your feet patter across the floor, struggling to keep up as he lets himself out the door, "I can explain."

Only on the front porch does he stop, ostrich-skin boots clicking against the old wood with every step, "You don't need to," holding up one hand, as if to ward you off, "I just...forgot my Dad asked me to interview our new ranch hand today."

Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again, gaping like a damn goldfish.

"I'll call you later," and that's all Trevor leaves you with, skittering off the porch and clambering up into that lifted F-150, with its perfect, custom black paint that glimmers a deep blue as he tears down your driveway.

Ugh.

"Rhett!" Your voice echoes throughout the house, punctuated by the slamming of the door behind you. So loud, and yet you can still hear the vicious banging of your beloved cast iron skillet banging on your kitchen tile. A shrill clatter of noise that has you fighting the urge to cover your ears as you storm into the kitchen.

And there he is. The translucent motherfucker, sitting cross-legged beneath your table, peeking out from beneath it. "What?" A big, shit-eating grin lacing his barely there features, so innocent and childlike that you almost don't believe he was the cause of this mayhem.

Almost.

The skillet in his hand provides a pretty damning counterargument.

"I'd kill you if you weren't already dead," fuming, yanking that dented skillet out of his hand; Rhett's grip is strong, but not enough to stop you from taking your cookware back.

"I was playin' with that," he huffs, a cold wind that tickles your ankles.

The skillet lands in the sink with a clatter. "And I was trying to have a date," you hiss, throwing your hands up, "but I'm unfortunate enough to share a house with a ghost who doesn't have any fucking manners!"

"I have manners!" Rhett's up in the air now, a buzzing collection of mist that floats up to the ceiling, no longer human, "I just ain't got 'em for big shots that wanna play cowboy for a day!"

"He is a cowboy," he's not. You know he's not. But god, you are not giving Rhett fucking Abbott the satisfaction of you agreeing with him. "You wouldn't know, being ancient and all that."

The temperature drops. Mist scattering. You can't tell where he is anymore. "I would know 'cause I am a fuckin' cowboy!" His disembodied, roaring voice comes from all directions. "No good-minded cowboy wears a goddamn rolex on a work day, 'cause they know that shits fixin' t'get scuffed!"

"Cowboy or not, you're going to have to get over it," as you reach for the tap, you think you can feel his presence behind you. Some invisible thing that sends your skin prickling, even with the knowledge of how harmless he truly is. "Trevor's coming back, and if you keep scaring him off, I'm phoning a priest."

"Fine!" Booming behind you.

"Fine!"

He's gone for the rest of the night.

The pizza guy scares the hell out of you when he knocks on the door. Not because you had forgotten about your order but because you were waiting on the curtains to peel themselves open. Expecting to hear a deep, half-hearted grumble about how "your date is here" as the fella clambers out of his beat-up sedan.

But it never comes.

Rhett doesn't even bug you about giving him a slice that he knows he can't eat, but you catch yourself putting a plate out for him. You wonder if he's in the room to see you rushing to put it back in the cupboard. Maybe he's out in the field because the television doesn't miraculously change to the Animal Channel like it usually does. You don't catch a glimpse of him lingering in the mirror whilst you brush your teeth.

You're glad.

You didn't want to see his ugly mug anyway.

Strange how such a big presence can vanish so easily, without a trace or hint of where he went, leaving this big farmhouse feeling like a husk of what it usually does. The temperature drops a degree or two when he's around, but without him, it feels like you've set up camp in the Arctic. How can a dead man bring so much life to a place?

But the covers are tucked around you in the morning.

You can't see him, but when you step into the kitchen, sleepy-eyed and yawning, you can feel him wisping around you. That invisible presence seeking for anything to get back on your good side.

The toast lifts itself onto a plate before it can be burnt by that old, barely functioning toaster of yours. On the table, the weekly grocery ad flips open to a discount on new toasters, a lazily written note scrawled beneath it. 'They even have the color you were wanting! :)'

He pulls the chair out for you to sit, and when you defiantly head out onto the porch to eat, he pulls the patio chair out for you too. You hate giving him the satisfaction of helping, but it's hard to avoid him when he's free to roam this entire property.

But the one thing you've forgotten is just how hot Wabang can get, even this early in the morning. Birds tiredly chirp from their nests, unwilling to take flight beneath the sweltering sun; the old wind chime is silent, not even the slightest breeze appearing to help it sing its tune. You've been outside for a mere five minutes, and yet sweat already beads on your forehead.

A cold nothingness wisps past you. Round and round your little patio table, stirring up a breeze that doesn't reach the trees.

"You can come out, Rhett," fighting your laugh is futile because it slips out as you speak, dancing through the air in tune with the wind chime.

The opposite chair scoots out on its own, a pale blue mist collecting in the seat; it'll take him a moment to get settled back into form. "Did ya happen to find my headstone yesterday?"

Your head is shaking before he can get his sentence out. "Are you sure you were buried in Wabang?"

"I don't know where else I'd be," Rhett's face isn't fully there yet, but his scowl is, settled deep into his nonexistent features. "Wabang was the only place my folks ever knew."

Your heavy tongue can't be brought to tell him about the graves you did find. Royal and Cecelia buried together, their son Perry right next to them, and their granddaughter Amy buried in the row in front of them, next to a headstone simply titled 'Autumn.'

Rhett should know. He deserves to know where his family rests, but you can't bring yourself to tell Rhett that his killer was given the privilege of being buried next to his parents. Don't know how to tell him that the Amelia County Sherrif dug up an old newspaper declaring Perry Abbott as not guilty of Rhett's murder.

"C'n I bug you to put a cup of coffee out?" Rhett chirps, and that permanently scruffy face almost looks real. His eyes must have been as blue as the ocean deep when he was alive, for even now, they glow with their color. The only thing off about him is his slight transparency and the rays of sunlight that spear through his body.

"You didn't smell it enough this morning?" You ask, but you're getting up anyway; you'd rather not deny his request and risk him making a mess by trying to do it himself.

His boots click across the old wood, in perfect tune with your step, "wasn't here."

"Where did you go?" You're already grabbing his mug out of the cupboard, other hand reaching for the coffee pot.

He's quiet for a moment, and then, "barn." When you turn around, he's no longer there, a plume of mist once more, but you don't need to see him to know that his eyes are transfixed on the ground. "Didn't think y'wanted me in the house after last night."

Most people would love it if their ghosts would leave the residence; let them live in peace without being heckled by the souls who can't move on. You'd know; you were one of them, once upon a time.

"You don't have to leave every time we bicker, Rhett," it feels strange to say, but those words are spoken directly from the heart, "this is your house too."

He manifests again. Back to his favorite spot beneath the edge of the kitchen table, cross-legged, where he can peek out to see what you're doing. A little too big to fit, but he makes it work.

Like clockwork, his right-hand toys with the cracked edge of a linoleum tile, the one he's pulled up numerous times in the past.

"Please don't tear up my tile," you try to say it as gently as you can; you know why he's so drawn to it, but you really don't want to spend an afternoon fixing your beloved floor again. Wordless, he leaves his spot, content to settle down in a kitchen chair and smell his coffee. The closest he can get to enjoying its flavor.

You wind up back in bed early in the afternoon. Downed by a migraine that refuses to pass, settling deep into your skull, brought on by an unknown cause. You think it may be from the obnoxiously strong air freshener you plugged in; Rhett blames it on your cellphone.

"Care for some company?"

You're fortunate that Rhett Abbott is easy on the eyes because it's difficult to open them. There he is, standing near the edge of the bed, in the same spot you met him three years ago.

At least this time, the two of you aren't screaming, startled by each other's sudden presence.

"As long as you don't hog the sheets," comes your conclusion, and the bed is dipping as soon as the last word has left your mouth. A weight that isn't there settles across from you, a human-shaped indent that by all means shouldn't exist.

Rhett's hair falls into his face as his pretty head lands on the pillow, snuggling against it, and you know he's trying his best to remain as solid as he can. He says he's not touch-starved, but you're starting to think that he's lying.

Your hand wanders out on its own, carefully settling against that misty cheek, trying not to go through him. "You look a little more solid than usual."

"Only took a couple years of practice," the corner of his lip rises with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

Oh, why does he have to look so sad when your hand inevitably passes through him?

You don't know if ghosts can cry, but his eyes seem to water as he feels your touch falter. They always do, but it never gets any easier to look at. It never gets easier, watching his smile wobble back into a frown, and his form grow a little more opaque.

Opening your arms to him probably isn't the best move to make. You've both discussed this; roommates is as far as this relationship can ever go because anything more asks for nothing but heartache. Heartache, such as the crushing feeling of feeling him squirm closer and not being able to feel him when you wrap your arms around his waist.

The only sign that he's real is the coldness you feel against your chest as his head settles against there. And, maybe, just maybe, you think you can feel wisps of his hair tickling your skin.

"What the hell is that?"

You haven't even taken it out of the box, and Rhett is already puffing up like a feral cat about it. "What does it look like, Rhett?"

The living room light flickers, his blue mist settling into the corner of the couch, as far as he can get from the box sitting on the floor. Refuses to take any more form than he already has, doesn't know how to react to this new thing that now sits in the same room as him.

"I don't have a clue," he says after a moment.

"It's a video game console," you want to take it out of the box and prove that it's not going to hurt him, but you don't want him getting any more surprised than he already is.

Against all odds, it seems you've got his attention because you can see his face now, head cocked to the side like a puppy. "A huh?"

"It connects to the television," nodding your head toward the flat screen next to you, "you can use it to play games on it."

He perks at that. "You can play checkers on the TV?"

Checkers wasn't what you had in mind, but you're sure it's on there.

There's a lot of fumbling involved. All the various cords and manuals only serve to confuse him more than he already is, and though he tries his best to help, he's not much assistance. There are less than five cords for the system, and he thinks they're all HDMI cables. But he's helpful when it comes to squeezing behind the television, at least.

"So that box...puts the game on the screen?" He asks as soon as you've settled onto the couch together, scooted as close as he can possibly get. "And you use that thing to play?"

For a cowboy who grew up in the days of black-and-white television, he catches on quickly. "For the most part, yes."

You'd won this thing in a raffle held down at the Bison Valley Bank of Wyoming, entered just for the hell out of it while you were down there a couple of months ago. How you won a new gaming console and why it came with a second controller, hot pink in color, you'll never know.

Rhett's simply poking at the joystick, unwilling to pick it up just yet, but you know he'll take to it like he did your television. Later, you'll wish you hadn't, but for now, you'll download one of his favorite board games.

"Monopoly?" He's fighting it, but there's still a twinge of excitement in his tone.

Now he's picking it up.

And within the hour, you regret even bringing the damn console into the house because you lose. Horribly. As soon as Rhett figured out the controls and the slight change in rules, you knew you didn't stand a chance. You can't even be upset about your crippling loss because he's kicking his legs back and forth and giggling.

"One more round?" He pleads, those opaque eyes sparkling with their childlike wonder, and you know he's never going to let this controller go.

"Let me get a drink, and then we'll play another," are you only agreeing because you enjoy the melody of laughter coming from your household ghost?

Absolutely not.

...okay, maybeyou are, but still.

At least he can't see your smile as you head for the kitchen, socked feet pattering across the cold hardwood without much of a sound. Already formulating a plan in your head, the next surprise move that might help you beat Rhett at one of his favorite games. If you can buy all four railroads before Rhett does...

The floor bends beneath your foot. Something crackles.

"Rhett, can you come here for a second?" Frozen in place, afraid to make another move. The lights are off; you can't see what's going on, but something feels wrong.

His presence is there before you can think any further, a chill ghosting over your body as he breezes around you. Circling like he's making an attempt at thwarting your fears before he flicks the light switch on.

And now you see it.

The kitchen floor is beginning to cave in, bowing inwards, right where your kitchen table sits. Beneath your foot, the tile has begun to crack, breaking into smaller pieces that cannot withstand any amount of weight on top of it.

"That floor's fixin' to collapse, doll," comes his voice, seemingly from all directions.

You're moving to step off of it and venture back out into the presumably safe hallway. But the floor crackles even louder. Tiles buckling beneath both of your feet. Sinking lower.

"I don't think I can," your body sways, fighting to remain upright.

Rhett's silently wrapping around you, formless blue mist shaping around you like a hug, tugging you away with a surprising amount of force. Practically takes your feet out from under you as he hauls you out of the kitchen.

"You're stronger than you look," you mutter in the hallway. Where the floor is solid and doesn't threaten to come out from under you.

"Only when I'm wantin' to be," he mutters directly into your ear, and you're suddenly glad that you've never asked how strong he is, as a ghost and all, "Now what kind of drink were you after?"

Rhett's your kitchen boy for the next three days until you can get someone to come and take a look at your floor. Balancing drinks and plastic cups that occasionally end in a tragic spill because he's not as good at balancing small objects. The first person never shows up; the second arrives bright and early in the morning, interrupting your morning conversation with Rhett on the porch.

"Now, like I said before, I don't have my equipment on me, so I can't guarantee you that this is the case," the guy begins, and you really, really hope he doesn't look up and see Rhett's dumbass sitting on the counter, "but my biggest guess is that your foundation has been exposed to too much moisture for too long."

"What's the worst-case scenario for this?" Your attention flickers between him and Rhett; what if it's something that you can't afford to fix?

He pauses to press his foot against the floor one more time, carefully surveying the way it shakes beneath the weight, tile crackling once more, "now it's highly unlikely, but worst case scenario, in my opinion, would be a sinkhole."

Your face drops.

"But that's highly unlikely," and he doesn't seem too concerned as he turns to face you, "I wouldn't worry until we get back out here and tear up the floor this coming Monday."

So Monday it is. That will be the day you find out if it's a simple fix or if you'll have no choice but to move out and leave your beloved house ghost all by his lonesome. Rhett seems to catch onto that thought, too. Remarkably quiet for the rest of the afternoon.

You can't blame him. For about forty-five years, this house was occupied by a family of religious folk who used some sort of herb to quite literally render Rhett into a state of unconsciousness. One too many surprise appearances in the mirror doomed him to sleep for all those years, only -reawakening after you moved in and scrubbed this old farmhouse from top to bottom.

He's never known what it's like to be alone. The closest he's come to it is the sporadic vacations you've taken over the past couple of years. None of which have lasted longer than a week, but all of which have ended in him waiting on the porch, tackling you the moment you stepped out of your car.

Unless he can attach himself to you, he'll never be able to wander further than the fields that surround your home.

Rhett doesn't take form again until Sunday night.

You don't know why you've drug these two lawn chairs out into the lawn, past the gravel that eats up the area around the house, but you have. Lounging, gazing up at the moon and stars hanging high above your heads, pointing out all the shapes you find amongst them.

The portable radio drones lowly in between you, stuck on the same old country station, ever since Rhett and his ghostly ways accidentally jammed it last summer.

"Do you wanna dance with me?"

And you don't know if...did you make that up in your head? Or was that just the radio?

"You know I'm not drunk this time, right?" Your head tilts, aiming to get a glimpse of him. He's already looking at you, smiles weakly as you meet his eye. Laying here, cloaked in the silvery light of the moon, he looks...real. If you reached out, you're sure you'd feel the scruff of his cheek scratch at your palm.

He hums, "I know." Pausing, just for a moment, to look up at the stars one more time. Your eyes follow, scanning the speckled sky, delighted to catch the tail end of a shooting star. You should make a wish...but you can't think of anything to wish for. "I just...wanted t' know what kinda dancer you are when you're sober."

"Alright," comes your answer; dry, nothing more to add to it.

And you don't know where it comes from, but Rhett reaches off to the side of his chair and plucks a translucent cowboy hat off the ground. Takes care to dust it off with his scarred palm, even though nothing can possibly dirty it, before carefully placing it atop his head.

He holds his hand out for you to take as if it's something that's become possible all of a sudden, and against better judgment, you do just that. Slipping your palm into the chilly illusion of his, deceiving yourself into believing that you feel his fingers curling around your hand. It's not, but as he leads you out further into the grass, it becomes easy to deceive yourself.

"Whoever taught you to dance, anyway?" You giggle as he spins you around; catches you by the waist when you come to face him once more.

He grins, big and wide, and you think you see his teeth glint in the moonlight. "You give amazin' lessons when you're drunk."

Oh, how easy it is.

Dancing beneath the moon, in nothing but your pajamas, held close by the ghost of a cowboy whose soul fits against your own like a puzzle piece. He doesn't know what he's doing, and if he were human, you're sure he'd be stepping on your feet, but he moves in such wonderous tune with your body that it feels like a daydream. His cold forehead rests against yours, ocean eyes peering deep into the deepest crevices of who you are.

You're drifting away from the grass and into the driveway, feet kicking up loose gravel with each and every step. Sweeping past your car, your shoulder narrowly avoids the passenger side mirror. You should be looking where you're going, you're going to drift too close to the porch and fall, but Rhett's gaze is so captivating that you can't bring yourself to look away.

How is it that your heart only longs for the ghost of a cowboy?

And why do you get the feeling that his heart utters the same for you?

"You're thinkin' awful hard," the hand that curls around your cheek feels so real, the vague callous of a thumb stroking beneath the corner of your eye.

"Just figuring out how I'm going to pack you up and take you with me," your words are a poorly collected lie; you both know it, but he doesn't call you out on it.

Oh, and he's pushing your noses together with all the boldness of a man who knows what he wants. Your fingers are trying to tangle in his hair, and it's of no use, but you do it anyway, uncaring of how your hands sink through that collection of mist.

"Take me with you, hm?" He's slowing to a stop, the arm around your waist drawing you closer to him. "What happens when y' find someone to settle down with? Y'gonna turn me into the ring bearer at the weddin'?"

"Fortunately," your gaze flickers down his face, and you're so, so sure he's real, "I've already found that someone."

Rhett has no need for oxygen, and yet he sucks in a breath of air anyway, a little reflex remaining even after all this time.

One of you should shut this down right here before it goes too far. But your arms are wrapping around those broad shoulders, precariously balanced upon the thick collection of mist that makes up Rhett Abbott's ghost. The hand on your cheek is dropping to cup your jaw, and the world spins even faster as both of you lean in. His cold breath fans out against your lips, your eyes meet one more time, and...

Kissing him is the only thing you have ever needed.

A heart-stopping boom tears through the silence. Glass shattering in hot pursuit. As your eyes flutter open, the kitchen light goes out.

"What was that?" Your feet are already moving, Rhett's form dissolving into a thin mist, following at your side.

"I don't know," his distant voice rings, "please be careful."

You can hardly heed his warning. Sweeping past the front door, not bothering to take your shoes off, as you head for the kitchen. It's too dark to see, forcing you to fumble for the dining room light that you never use. Your hands graze over the switch, flipping it on, and, and—

The kitchen floor is nearly gone.

Replaced by a deep, cavernous hole that seems to reach deep into the earth. Consumes over half of the floor where your table once sat, reaching from your cabinets to your teetering refrigerator, on the verge of falling in.

"I don't suppose you have any ideas on how to get your spirit to attach to a living person, do you?" You hope Rhett can't pick up on the shake in your tone; there's no way insurance will cover a damn sinkhole.

But your question is met with silence.

"Rhett?" You're turning, and...he's not there. The air is unusually warm, not a speck of mist to be found. "Rhett?" Trying again, louder this time, as you head for the door, because maybe he's outside, maybe he's...

He's not there either. Maybe he's upstairs. Yeah, when he panics, he usually hides out in his old bedroom. He's just upstairs.

The door slams shut.

A second crash follows suit; you don't want to know if that was your refrigerator or if the sinkhole expanded even further.

"Rhett, this isn't funny," shaking the door knob. Locked from the inside. "Rhett, open the door!"

He doesn't.

The windows are all locked down tight. Even the one you intentionally leave unlocked. You find your car keys sitting atop the roof of your car, the paint scratched from where they've been thrown from a distance.

Rhett's chilly presence doesn't visit you when you sleep in the car that night.

He's not there to spook the contractor when he and his crew arrive early in the morning. You don't find him sitting on the couch when they kick the door down, and he's not on your bed when you sneak up the stairs, even after you're warned against going to the second floor. He isn't even there when countless faces enter your home to check out just what is going on in your kitchen.

"I've never seen this before," one of them tells you, her brows furrowed as she looks at her clipboard once more, "but it's not a sinkhole at all."

You don't know if you heard her correctly. "It's not?"

"It's a fifteen-foot hole that must have been dug by a past owner," she pauses to flip through her phone, presenting you with a photo of...just a dirt hole. Nothing special about it in the slightest. "They never refilled it, either; it was only a matter of time before the foundation collapsed into it."

Your mind flickers to your seemingly non-existent ghost. Rhett's never told a lot about his murder, but you know for sure that it happened in the kitchen. "Did you find anything down there?"

That seems to give her pause, ink pen tapping idly against her lips as she rechecks her pages and pages of notes. "Aside from your refrigerator and debris from the collapse...," flicking through another page, "it was completely empty! Nothing to worry about."

Well, at least now you know Rhett's not buried beneath the kitchen floor.

Even worse, his spirit no longer lurks within the paper-thin walls of this century-old farmhouse. You call for him in the fields, disturbing the cattle your neighbor keeps, and you beg for him to be there when you crawl out of bed in the morning. But the house remains warm; the only mist you find is in the fog that settles over your home after it rains, and he doesn't come out to mess with the teen boys employed to carry in bags of dirt, to fill the hole with.

Doesn't even appear when Trevor's F-150, with its irritating color-shifting paint, pulls into the driveway one evening.

"And so there was just a hole under your floor this whole time?" He's sitting in Rhett's favorite spot, cheap beer balanced carelessly between his legs. Has already spilled it once, leaving a stain on your cushion, and you'd tell him off if you weren't hoping it would infuriate Rhett into showing his face.

"The going theory is that one of the past owners dug it," glancing toward the mirror as you speak; still no ghost.

"I bet you more than anything that it's related to that Abbott murder," Trevor says, picking his drink up once more.

Your heart lurches in your chest. "Murder?"

"Did the realtor not tell ya?" Why is he scratching his cheek with the edge of his beer can? "That uh...what's his name? Perry, that's right, got into it with his brother and beat 'em to death in the kitchen."

"They told me someone died, but they never really elaborated," you mutter as he scoots a little closer. "Do you know what the argument was about?"

Trevor's heavy arm slings over your shoulder, drawing you near, musky cologne rudely meeting your nose. This is the same man you've been pursuing for months, so why is it that all of a sudden, your stomach churns at his touch? "Think it was...mmm, I think it was over some broad that went missing a couple of months before. Perry's wife, fiance, or something like that."

The alcohol on his breath has your senses reeling, overwhelmed with a sudden onset of nausea. Rhett didn't have much of a scent, but the little he carried was nothing but leather and honeyed sweetness. Your memory of his touch is brief, can count on one hand the amount of times he wrapped an arm around you, but he never dragged you into his chest like Trevor does.

"I'm sorry," speaking gently, you slide out from under his arm, rising to your feet, "I can't do this."

Trevor's face falls; you already regret speaking up, "what do you mean?"

"I'm sorry, I thought I could, but I just..." shaking your head, eyes landing on the hot pink controller that Rhett once played with, "I can't."

"The fuck do you mean you can't?" He's shooting up from his seat, beer can hitting the floor, the golden liquid splashing across the hardwood.

Your mouth is opening, but you don't get a chance to speak.

"You sure could when you were begging me to stay in this freaky ass house of yours last week!" Roaring, face twinging with red as he tries to close the space between you. Your heart is pounding in your ears. Loud bangings that rattle you so hard the house seems to shake with it. "You put me through all this just to tell me no?"

"I didn't put you through a damn thing!" Your voice echoes through the house, tone fierce, yet your feet timidly take one step back for each one Trevor takes forward. The floor seems to tremble beneath you. An earthquake that only you can feel.

Trevor's quiet at that.

You'd rather if he just yelled.

Because now he's got you creeping backward, and there's only so much space you can back up into. Your voice is caught in your throat. Stifled by something invisible. Mouth opening, but nothing comes out. The light in the kitchen goes out. Glitters of gold flitter past your head like tiny sugar plum fairies.

All of a sudden, Trevor lurches toward you.

Your head smacks against the wall. Jumping away from him.

"You think that little of me," he laughs, incredulous, "you think that fucking little of me?"

"Trevor." Your voice bursts past your lips. Shaky. But there. "Stop."

"Or what, huh?" Spit hits your face. His hand slams next to your head. Breaking through the drywall. "You owe me! I didn't spend all this goddamn time just for you to up and change your little fucking mind!"

"They asked you to stop." That's not your voice.

And it's not Trevor's, either.

Heavy boots thump across the floor. Spurs jingling with every step. Next to your head, a dirt-covered hand takes hold of Trevor's wrist. Muscles flex as it tears Trevor's fist out of the wall. Shoves it into his chest.

Trevor's reddened face has gone stark white. Trips over his own boots as a hulking, dirt-coated figure steps in front of you. Broad shoulders, covered by a vaguely patterned flannel; plaid, it looks like. Dark brown curls rest at his nape, unruly hair flowing freely. Suspiciously similar to...

"Who the fuck is this?" Trevor's still backing up, and this vaguely familiar man eats up every inch of space that's put between them.

"The house ghost." And that's...that's...

Trevor runs for the door before you can finish your thought. Slams it shut behind himself, like it'll keep him from being followed. Truck already rumbling to life. Downright roaring as the vehicle tears out of the driveway, sending gravel clanking against your windows.

But that's not what you're paying attention to.

Truly, you should be concerned about your windows being broken. But all you can do is look towards your kitchen because the light flickers back on. Gives you a momentary glance at a bottomless hole that's returned once more. Leaving behind no trace of the dirt that once filled it. Thin wisps of gold dance through it like an aurora, seemingly alive as they move.

You blink, and it's halfway gone. The edges shrinking inward until the hole is no more. Leaving behind that same freshly packed dirt.

Leaving behind...

"Rhett?"

He jolts at the sound of his name. As if he's surprised you're even speaking to him. Has yet to speak; confirm it's really him, but you already know the answer to that. He turns. Slow. And you can't help but wonder if that really is dirt because it seems to be fading away.

Slow, your hand drifts out from your side, and when your fingers curl around his jaw, you don't know if it's you who sucks in a breath of air or him.

Scruffy. Unshaven face scratching at your soft palm, dirt sticking to your skin as your thumb soothes over a remaining patch stuck to his cheek. Warm. He's warm. And he's hesitantly pushing his head into your hand, and, and—

"Rhett." You say it once more. The only thing you know how to say.

Tears well in those eyes. They're as blue as you ever could have hoped they would be. So, so real, not a shred of translucence to their color. One spills over onto his cheek, rolling until it's caught and wiped away by your thumb.

His arms are moving, hesitant to wrap around you, and you know he's worried about getting dirt on you, but the only thing you care about is stepping into him. Wrapping your trembling arms around that big, warm body of his and feeling him squeeze you into his chest. Where his heart beats heavy, thunking against you with the strength of an ox.

"I don't know how..." he whispers, hot breath tickling your neck, where he's buried his face.

"You're still an ass for locking me out of my own house," you're trying to sound irritated, but it's difficult to feign annoyance when he squeezes you a little tighter.

"Didn't want you bein' sucked in like I was," it's so strange to hear his voice like this, no longer a disembodied sound, "I...it just...kept suckin' me in every time I got out."

You're leaning away, and God, you don't want to leave those strong, trembling arms, but you want to see that face of his even more. The wrinkles beneath his eyes, the wobble of thin, chapped lips as they rise into a meager smile.

The callouses of his fingers drag against the soft skin of your cheek as his big hand settles there. Not the misty, barely there touch you're used to, but just as gentle as it's always been. His nose bumps against yours. Don't know who's leaning in. You shouldn't. You shouldn't do this.

This time, you know for sure that it's you who closes the gap between your bodies. It's you who catches this cowboy's lips in your own, reveling in that surprised gasp of his.

If you thought that kissing his ghost was heaven, then this is something else entirely.

Molding together like you were made just for this, his hand on your cheek and yours delving into his messy hair. Feeling the strength of the arm that curls around your waist and breathing in those faint notes of leather and honey and something warm that you can't quite place.

He pauses for a moment, breaks into a big, dumb smile as you meet his eye once more. And then he leans in to kiss you once more, hands cradling your cheeks, like you're a delicate flower whose petals will fall if he doesn't hold you together. His body shudders with something torn between a giggle and a sob, tears rolling down his cheeks, but he's smiling so much that your teeth clack together.

Your name tumbles off of his lips. Then again and again, like he's trying to memorize the feel of it in his mouth. The way it rolls off his tongue and twists through the air, the sound seeming to kiss your ears when it meets them.

"Rhett," mirroring him, and oh, how he perks at that. Has he always reacted so beautifully to you calling his name?

"Say it again," his nose bumps against yours as he speaks, "Please. Wanna hear you say it again." So eager to hear you that he looks two steps away from a puppy, the tears in his eyes shimmering with wonder as you open your mouth once more.

"Rhett," you whisper, like it's a secret shared on the playground, and then, again, "Rhett."

This time, when your back hits the wall, it's because a bright-eyed cowboy is carefully backing you into it, one hand protecting the back of your head as he dresses his body against yours. Smiling too much to kiss you, can't seem to get over the feeling of your skin against his, the overwhelming reality of whatever this is.

"We probably shouldn't be..." Higher thinking rushes back to your head in a whirlwind, thoughts running wild in the darkest crevices of your mind. What if's and why's and wonderings of how this happened, if it's permanent or temporary. "What if we cross that line, and you go back to being a ghost?"

You don't think you'll ever adjust to the sound of Rhett breathing or the way his eyelashes flutter as he thinks for a moment. He's licking his lips, mouth opening, and, "What if we don't cross that line and spend our whole lives regrettin' it?" 

One too many kisses may leave you longing for him for the rest of your life, but one too few may leave you carrying eternal heartache. And that's only if he goes back to being a ghost. But he feels real. When you press your palm to his chest, his warm hand covers it, guiding it to rest over his beating heart. Little thumpings that shouldn't be there, full of life and love and all just for you. 

He could have come back to life for anyone. But he came back for you. 

To hell with it. 

Your bodies collide like galaxies. Blinded by a frantic kiss that promises bruises to your lips. Flecks of gold fall from his body as your hands roam, tugging at a flannel, at his hair, at his hands. Legs tangling because you're moving too quickly, and he's still adjusting to walking rather than floating. 

Only break apart long enough to tumble up the stairs; Rhett almost trips over every one of them. Struggling to keep his confidence but boosted along by the kisses you pepper to his reddened cheeks and the gentle tuggings of your hand in his. 

Your back hits the bed with all the grace of a newborn fawn, Rhett tumbling right along with you, chuckling into the crook of your neck. Under the dim lighting of your bedroom lamp, it's easy to catch onto the deep bruising that scatters beneath his right eye. 

"These are from Perry, aren't they," it's more of an observation than a question, your fingers soothing over the marks as if they can somehow heal them.

Rhett's pressing a kiss to your wrist as it roams past, "Don' wanna think 'bout that son 'f a bitch right now."

You can work with that. 

Especially when your bodies squirm further up the bed, his hips settling between your legs, forearms bracing themselves on either side of your head, heaving chests against one another. His lips solid against your own, hungry, urged on by the nails that dig into his shoulders for leverage. 

"You'll tell me if I'm goin' too far?" He's speaking into your kiss, unwilling to remove himself any further. 

Maybe there's a second ghost in this house because something possesses you to roll your hips up into his. Such a faint pressure, the rough bulge in his jeans rubbing against your soft pajama shorts, but it's so much compared to what used to be. "I will," you're interrupted by his mouth once more, "but I'm sure you'll be the one asking me to stop before the end of the night." 

Your hand has a mind of its own, wandering down his chest, flattening out to feel the muscles that ripple along his stomach, hidden from view by his shirt. They flex under your touch, a simple thing that makes your head spin. By some method of madness, that shirt is still tightly tucked into his jeans, the material hard to get ahold of. 

Rhett shifts above you, unintentionally moving when you feel for some slack in his shirt, something to get ahold of, and your hand wildly overshoots. Palm splaying out against the front of his jeans instead. 

"'m not so sure 'bout that, sweetheart," he groans, a deep, guttural noise escaping him as he reaches down, catches your fleeting hand, and guides you to press against him once more.  "I ain't had a dick for the better half of a fuckin' century." 

These old jeans are thick, but even so, you can still feel him twitch against your touch. This wasn't what you were aiming for in the slightest, but watching him shiver as you massage over the outline of his bulge is a hell of a sight. 

"Sensitive," you're only lightly teasing; any more words and you'll be fumbling with his belt buckle.

"You're one to talk," he mutters, head dropping to press his lips to the meet of your jaw, teeth tugging the skin there. 

You think your eyes may pop out of your head. "I thought you promised to stay out of my bedroom when I didn't invite you in." 

"Wasn't in the bedroom, baby," he's chuckling, breath tickling your ear as he works his way towards it, "When you're a ghost, you hear everythin'." 

Then he's leaning back, leaves you feeling cold as he fumbles with his jeans, boots hitting the floor with two solid thunks. An involuntary whine works its way out of you, reaching aimlessly for him. 

"Don't wanna get y'all dirty, sweetheart," he soothes, catching your hand and pressing kisses to your knuckles. Pops open his belt buckle with a pinch of his fingers, and soon those dirty jeans are sliding off, revealing milky white thighs, mottled with bright spots of red and deep purples,  a badly bruised knee to match.

...as well as a pair of boxers patterned with bright red hearts. 

"Y'ain't gonna believe me," Rhett's staring down at them too, teeth worrying his bottom lip, "but I have no fuckin' memory of wearin' these." The tips of his ears have gone bright red. Another quirk hidden until now. 

"We'll get them off soon enough, I'm sure," you say, leaning up to let him peel your shirt over your head. 

As soon as it's out of sight, Rhett's lips return to your neck, one wandering hand soothing up your side, not stopping until it reaches your breast. Does nothing more than feel you in his hand, sucking at a soft spot beneath your ear that has you fighting the urge to close your eyes. 

Your hands wander, one wrapping around a surprisingly muscled bicep while the other delves between your bodies once more. Feeling down his sturdy chest, past his stomach, and not stopping until you can take hold of him through his boxers. 

"Fuck," his body jolts, "'re you sure 'm not dreamin'?"

"I thought ghosts didn't sleep?" You're parroting something you so clearly recall him mentioning in the past, can't place the memory yet. Don't really care to, either. The only thing on your mind is the way your fingers wander past his waistband, wrapping around his cock that jumps at your touch. 

He's thicker than you imagined he'd be. 

Moans prettier, too, for that matter. A little bit breathy and so Rhett. 

"Hands of yours are so fuckin' small," he's muttering in between kisses as he works his way back to your lips. Can't kiss you because a jolted grunt interrupts him, a symphony of sounds as you slowly stroke him. Oversensitive, the first touch he's felt in decades.

His hair drops into his face, acts as a curtain when you look down to where your hand is working him. Can hardly see what you're doing, but you do catch a glimpse of precum beading at his flushed tip, hearing his gasp when your thumb swipes over it. 

"Y'need to stop that," he huffs, voice nothing but air, "gonna...fuck, 'm gonna cum if you keep..." And despite asking you to stop, he grumbles when you let go of him. 

Hands now free, you reach for your shorts, not sure why you feel so shy when he helps you tug them down your legs; it's not like he hasn't seen you naked before. From you forgetting he's there to him accidentally floating into the shower while you were using it. 

But these eyes are not the translucent ones you're used to, with their expression hidden by deviations in his mist. No, these eyes darken as they drink up the sight of you, every little thought in his head spoken through his gaze. But even as he kicks his boxers off, shirt going right along with it, you can't help but feel like hiding under the sheets. 

"'ve I ever told you that you're beautiful?" His voice breaks the silence, stroking the inside of your knee as he speaks. 

You don't have words for that. 

He doesn't need them. 

You really don't have words for when he takes hold of your wrist, guiding it up and taking two of your fingers into his mouth. Tongue carefully swirling around each of them, soaking them with a content hum. Your eyebrows furrow, to which he raises his other hand. Dirt beneath his nails and caught in the wrinkles of his hand. 

Ah.

Reluctantly, you pull your fingers from his warm mouth, and you're pleasantly surprised to find that there's hardly any resistance when you press them inside. Open and already wet, helped along by a moment of fun you'd had in the morning, hoping a familiar ghost may come to help you along. 

"How did you know I kept my lube in the bottom drawer?" You can't help but ask, watching as he fishes around for it. 

The tips of his ears are red again. "I learned the hard way not to float through bedside tables."

He's the one who uncaps the container, but it's you who reaches out for him to pour it into your palm. Not because you're concerned with dirt but because you want to feel him in your hand again. Twitching when you take hold of him, a thick vein running along the side of his length. He has to stifle a noise with each stroke, squeezing your knee all the while. 

"You're sure you're ready for me?" He asks when you urge him closer. 

"I'm sure I'll be fine, cowboy," fighting back a noise as you guide him down, letting him push between your folds, some lazy, teasing thing that has his plush head dragging past your clit. Sensitive, almost has you considering making him fuck you like this instead. 

But he's catching against your entrance, and you've daydreamed about this man too many times to pass up the opportunity. 

That tentative, forward tilt of his hips is enough to make your head spin. Pressure blooming as he pushes into you, careful, like you'll shatter into a million pieces if he's too quick. 

"Rhett," you whisper, don't quite know why. 

"'m here," he's coming back down, nose pressing against yours in his own little way of reassurance, "I've got you."

Your earlier rendezvous didn't end well for you, but you're so thankful for it in hindsight because his cock stretches you wide. Blunt head dragging against your walls, massaging past the bundle of nerves you couldn't seem to find with a toy, your thighs squeezing his pale hips. 

"So tight for me," he pauses about midway, or what you think is midway, at least, "you're sure 'm not hurtin' you?"

Your head spins, loose on your shoulders, "I'm okay." 

With a noise of his own, Rhett starts to move again, draws back a little before pushing further, and you can't help but wonder if he's holding his breath. Your nails bite into his shoulders, hanging on as he finally bottoms out, now flush against you. His mouth moves, but he can't speak. Only capable of releasing a shaky breath, lazily catching your lips in his.

He doesn't need to be asked to move, catching on the moment you grind yourself against him. Withdrawing slow, shallow, before pushing back in, and you're so, so full. Clinging to his shoulders to stay in place, feeling like you'll float away when he brushes against those nerves again.

Fuck, he's just begun to move, and you're already biting your lip. Don't know how you're going to keep yourself quiet because he massages past that little spot every time he moves, never lets it alone. 

His thumb pulls your lip out from between your teeth, "Let me hear you, darlin'."

His words alone have your cunt fluttering around him, and you're leaning into the palm that cups your cheek, mouth falling open. "Rhett, fuck."

You don't think you need to reach down between your bodies, but you do anyway, fingers pressing to your long-neglected clit. Working in tandem with Rhett's quickening hips, jolting as his angle shifts.

"There?" He says as if he hasn't already found that damned spot. All you can manage is a nod, a whimpered 'uhuh' escaping you. 

And he's doubling down, cock head kissing that oversensitive spot again and again. Grins wickedly when you shudder beneath him, nails dragging down his pale shoulders, panting into his mouth.

"Fuck, this sweet lil' pussy of yours feels so good 'round me," he groans, thrusts becoming harder now that he's remembered the ropes. Heavy balls smacking against you, and you really hope there aren't any more house ghosts who can hear the sinful sounds whistling through the air. "'s this what you've been needin', hm? 

"Rhett," you don't know how to speak, his name tumbling off your tongue.

"Bringin' home all those dates that could never make you cum," his voice dropping an octave deeper, damn near growling, but the softness in his eyes suggest he wouldn't hurt a fly. "Wouldn't have terrorized 'em if they woulda treated you better." 

That's why he chased them all off? God, how many times did you bring someone home, thinking he was gone? And how many times has he daydreamed about having you beneath him, whimpering his name as he fucks you nice and proper. 

You should be mad, but you can't. Not when you're falling apart at the seams, hand sliding from his shoulders, barely clinging to his bicep. Bounced by every heavy thrust, can't keep your fingers on your pulsing clit, tightening around him as something warm blossoms between your legs.

And he must be able to feel it because his eyes flicker into the back of his head, if only for a moment. "You gonna cum on my cock for me, sweetheart?" 

This is new. Fuck, this is so, so new and so much. No longer able to keep your eyes open, tongue lazy in your mouth, words long forgotten as you try to nod your head. Mind clouded with thoughts of Rhett, Rhett, Rhett. 

"Shit, y'got me so damn close, baby," he rasps, hair tickling your cheek as he presses kisses there, "You want me to cum on those cute thighs of yours? Or your sweet little tummy?" 

You don't have the answer to that question. Distracted by the crumbling of his rhythm, thrusts growing shaky, in perfect tune with the tightening coil in your lower belly. Almost there. Almost there. 

He's still talking. "Or would you rather I cum nice 'n deep in this pretty pussy of yours," you regret opening your eyes. All you see is the sweat beading at his forehead and strong hips working you over. Fat cock disappearing into your wet pussy, elicits a dizzying squelch every time. "Pump you nice 'n full of me, just so you'll need me to fuck it out of ya in the mornin'." 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Where's your voice? Where's your voice? "I-inside."

Rhett's breathy "yeah?" is all you fucking need. Your back rises up off the mattress, head tilting back with a silent cry as you cum around his cock.

"There you go," Each pump of his length into you only sends your head higher up into the stratosphere. Whimpering, clamping down around him as a shudder washes over you. "Feel so good when you're clampin' 'round me like that." 

And he's still fucking going. Fucking you through it, beating against that bundle of nerves even when you begin to tremble, after-shocks still tearing through you. 

"Hang on for me, baby," his eyes are bolted shut, chasing his high, biceps shaking, so, so close. 

"Please, Rhett," you whisper, your hand soothing over his hardened face. Those deep blues flutter open, softening at the sight of you, like he's just seen an angel "Cum for me." 

A whimper tumbles past his lips,  a second one follows suit, and then those eyes are closing once more, hips stuttering to a halt as his orgasm hits him. Tiny noises escaping his chest, burying his face in the crook of your neck, the familiar tune of your name tumbling off his sweet tongue. Filling you with his cum, making good on his promise, jolting as you involuntarily pulse around him.

For a while, the air is silent. 

Until Rhett lifts his head and kisses up your sensitive neck, sending you into a fit of giggles. "C'n we take a bath t'gether?" He murmurs, seemingly shy, unable to meet your eye.

"So long as you agree to bubbles, baby." Baby. You don't think you've ever called him that. 

You can't wait to do it again.

For decades, the folks of Wabang, Wyoming, have whispered the tale of two brothers. Gossiping about a murder they presumed to have taken place, for they knew that Perry Abbott was a violent man, and it was only a matter of time before his little brother became the next punching bag. 

Never have they whispered about the hole that opened beneath the kitchen floor, swallowing Rhett's near-lifeless body up, escorting him to an unknown safety while leaving his lonely spirit behind. They don't know of the decades he spent forced into an unnatural slumber, only to be awoken by another lonely soul with a heart made of the same glass as his own. 

Nobody giggles about how a human scared a ghost or chatters about the adventures they've shared in that century-old farmhouse. They do not know of the arguments, and the boyfriends lost because a ghost wanted the best for his friend, appearing in mirrors and whispering their deepest insecurities into their ears. Worse, they don't roll their eyes over the many tales of him banging a cast iron skillet on the tile just to see them run.

But you do. 

Only you know of how Rhett smiles, big and dopey, as you take him into town for the first time in decades. You are the only person who gets to explain what self-driving cars are and roll your eyes as some new thing scares him into jumping behind you. Nobody else gets to take him on a road trip, watch him fight with a GPS for the first time, and introduce him to the ocean and the concept of crabs.

"Why are they shaped like that?" Rhett's stumbling after you; not sure if he likes or hates this little creature, only knows that he wants to follow you. "Why is he following me?" 

You wish you could see the little bugger, but it's so dark that you can hardly tell where you're going. The only light you have is a dull light in the parking lot and the silver moon hanging high above your head.

"Probably because you've pissed him off," you laugh, holding your hand out when he reaches for it, "are you going to survive two more nights this close to the beach, or do I need to take you back to the pasture?"

He hums, loud and dramatic as he can manage, scratches his freshly shaved chin for added effect, "I suppose I'll survive, but if that crab kills me, I'm comin' back as a ghost and suin'."

From the moment your feet are on the cool concrete of the parking lot, Rhett's spinning you around. It's still the only thing he knows how to do, and his feet tangle with yours a little more than they should, but oh, is it as magical as that night in your driveway.

"'ve I ever told you that I love you?" He smiles as he speaks; knows he says this every time you wind up dancing beneath the moon.

"Never," feigning surprise, as he pulls you in close, noses bumping together, "but I love you more."

And then you're running. Squealing as Rhett sets hot on your trail. He'll catch you before you so much as reach the hotel doors, trap you in his arms, and insist that no, he loves you more, punctuating every word with a wet, sloppy kiss. And you're so excited for it that you think you may let him catch you early. 

Perry took away a lifetime from Rhett. 

You're more than happy to give him a life worth waiting centuries for. 

Even if he does still refer to himself as the house ghost.

[getinthefuckingjaeger]

Sensory Prompt: 20 (Reflections in Glass), Buck and Bucky

(4&38)

(for @jakes3resin - its been in the drafts for a couple of weeks, since the first time you floated the idea)

“Jesus, Buck.” 

The sounds of a quiet sigh and the rustling of pressed uniform tickles Gale’s ears as he struggles to pick up his head from the bowl of his folded arms.

Slow as molasses, he opens his eyes with the window in his line of sight. It’s early - or so late that it’s early. The world outside is a still-life painting of sleeping high rise buildings, all covered under the shadows of the blue-black darkness of twilight. His own reflection in the window watched him right back, sunken tired eyes and all.  

He blinks hard, once, then deflates. 

In the semi-darkness of a city nightscape, Gale finds himself on the floor and folded nearly in half, back curved like a bow with his folded arms resting on the low coffee table in front of the window. His back aches, his legs numb, and his neck protests as he pushes himself away from the coffee table and slumps against the side of the hotel bed. At least the carpet is lush, he muses, hands rubbing and grabbing the fibers. 

He stares blankly at his reflection in the window, seeing without truly seeing the sleeping city beyond the glass panes. He sits in the quiet like a sentinel. 

Waiting.  

“Buck.” 

Another sigh, this time exasperated, bounces in the silence of this magic hour. Gale closes his eyes for half a second. Fear and resignation stir and fall into a familiar dance in him. Gale hears the familiar sounds again - the whispers of a starched uniform fold and give with every movement. His eyes falls from his reflection in the darkened window to right hand, studying the way the carpet peeks between the valleys of his fingers. 

“Buck come on, man.”

Only a little reluctantly did Gale lift his eyes from the carpet to the darkened window. He watches as a familiar figure bleeds into existence in the window, like a drop of color in a glass of water. Gale sees a man crouching beside him with his elbows resting on his knees, his handsome side profile tarnished only by the slight displeased pout of his lips.

Gale hums in acknowledgement. He is too tired to shake off this daydream, too wrung out to pretend that he does not welcome his specter, too empty to pretend that he doesn’t want to fall into its arms and follow it into the dark.

“I’ve never been more glad than I am now that you don’t drink - I’ll never complain about that ever again, hand to God.” 

He watches his specter rub its fingers over the prolific mustache - a gesture he has seen thousands of times in their short lifetime together. Gale feels the warmth of unshed tears starts to build and nausea climbs up his throat. 

There’s an animal made of love living in his chest, one that used to be soft and sweet, pliant and receptive to Gale’s touches and kisses. All that cloying sweetness is now gone, leaving a feral living-dead beast in its wake that lives off grief and regret, and it is clawing to get out - through bones, muscles and tendons. It is willing to claw its way out to freedom even if it kills Gale. 

And Gale, who has never let go of anything that he loves and loves him back, hopes that the beast does kill him when it escapes because at least then, he won’t have to live without it. 

He watches the man in the window settle beside him, pressed together from shoulder to elbow while the man’s long legs are splayed carelessly in contrast to Gale’s crossed legs. He thinks, with no small amount of jealousy, that the Gale in the window must be warming up now - that body in the window has always emit warmth like a furnace when it lived and breathed.

Curt used to drape his entire body over that broad, reliable back and made a show of sighing in contentment, delighted in the knowledge that he’s safe from Gale’s chronic inability to share. 

This is why I’m the big spoon, fellas. This right here is heaven.

Gale’s eyelids flutter when the animal gnaws at his breastbone. He lifts his left hand to rub his chest, his fingers firm through his soft sleeping shirt. 

“Big day, today.” 

The man in the window picks up window-Gale’s right hand and presses it between his big, labor-roughened ones. Gale watches as he fits their fingers together like puzzle-pieces before pressing their joined hands against his chest. Gale imagines he can feel the stiff material of that crisp buttoned shirt and the tie tucked neatly between the folds. 

“Listen, I don’t want you thinking that I’m all bent outta shape because you asked Benny to be your best man,” the man in the window kisses their joined hands. Gale wishes the animal in his chest would just eat his heart on its way out. “He’s a good guy, the best friend you’ll ever have. After me, that is.” 

The sky outside is starting to lighten - orange and yellow just starting to climb up the horizon, blending into the blues of the departing night sky. Their reflection in the window starts to blur at the edges with the light. Gale’s own right hand, empty of its complimentary left hand that used to belong to a man bigger than life itself, twitched. 

Eat me, kill me, do anything but don’t let me live without you. He thinks fervently as the pressure in his chest mounts, the beast’s attempt at a daring escape reaching its climax. He imagines the little beast, its mouth red with the gore of his torned-up heart, ripping into the sinews of his chest and digging its way out of its grave made of flesh and blood. 

“Someone had to go, Buck.” Gale can barely make out the outline of the man in the window with how fast the sun climbs on the horizon. He feels tears flood his eyes, his breaths coming in short and harsh. He sees a beautiful smile bloom on that beloved face, one so earnest that the force of it pushes beautiful blue eyes into crescent moons that used to light Gale’s night. “And I’m glad it was me, not you.” 

Gale can feel the animal’s claws piercing the skin of his chest now - so vividly that he wonders if he will see red bleed through his sleep shirt if he looks down. He wonders if his lifeblood will soak into this stupid lush carpet that he’s been ruining with his fingers for want of something else - something untouchable, unattainable, something stolen from him- to latch onto. 

His breaths are coming in too fast, too short. His eyes are overflowing. There is no way to stop the storm. He is drowning on dry land.

“I did set it up right.” 

The man in the window is just a blur of colors now, like watercolors on cellulose paper. Dark curls a blob of black, blending into splashes of beige, that bleeds into the drab olive of their uniforms. Despite all that, Gale can just see enough to pretend that the man is kissing window-Gale’s temple. 

His mind frantically searches through its ruined depths to pull up memories of the same lips pressing countless kisses to his face, his body, every inch of his skin in secrecy, hidden in alcoves and abandoned sheds and in the belly of a decommissioned B-17. He craves the sensation of warm dry lips against his skin, the euphoria of soaking up little pieces of John Egan's soul through skin to skin contact.

Sunrise peeks through the window. Its blood orange color spills onto the hotel floor like spilled wine, slowly but surely staining the carpet. 

“I just set it up for you.” 

The animal bursts through Gale’s chest in a mess of grief, blood, and gore. It tears a wretched sob from his throat, long overdue, for the first time since he jumped over that wall in Germany. 

The sun rises.

And his John is gone.

-

-

(read my partner in crime's thought's on this)

[hyydraworks]

Hi, so I'm absolutely obsessed with your art and would buy one of everything you've ever made if I could. That being said, I have two questions: 1. Do you know of any other artists with art styles similar to yours? Either on Etsy or Tumblr, I would love to support other artists. 2. I know your commissions are currently closed, but do you have a price list or something anywhere for when they're back open? Once I have the money (and an idea) I would love to commission you when you open up again!

Hello and thank you so much for this ask!

So I will leave it up to you guys to determine whether the below artists are truly of a similar style, but these are ceramic artists that absolutely inspire me and I constantly am checking up on their work!

@kness

Simply adorable ceramics both handmade critters and just the most wonderful and whimsical illustrations on extremely well made pots of all kinds.

@a.mist.of.horses

They're not on Tumblr, but you can find them on Instagram, and have just the cutest freaking lil guys, so many adorable accessories with the guys, love them.

@lithopstudio

Same as a.mist.of.horses I just know them from insta, so many adorable and pristine little fellas often incorporated into lovely little dishes and was huge inspiration for me making dishes and putting guys on em.

Marie Claude Roch

So this artist has a focus on dolls and ceramics, and is entirely the inspiration behind my critters with little travel packs on the back. I found her art through Tumblr, though not sure if she actually has a Tumblr account? If you look at her Etsy reviews you can see her absolutely adorable traveler animals with their amazing accessories packed on their backs. She is also the only artist of this list of which I personally have purchased a ceramic friend (I'll make sure to reblog or edit in a pic of my guy, they're the best and keep my plants company).

As for the Commission part of this query, basically I don't have any info because I already struggle with pricing so much as it is, you can times that by five for doing custom work. As soon as I figure out pricing info, I promise I will post it up for people to peruse.

[shunin-gumis]

Designs of Happiness - Track A05

L4mps Main Story Translation

Title: Missing Brother's Memorial

Characters: Toi, Daniel, Ryui

Summary: Toi promises to take on any request from the protagonist if they decide to help him find his brother. Seeing as the protagonist doesn't have the heart to leave him alone, they agree to lend a hand.

JP Proofreading: aca @463ce6 on twt EN Proofreading: jes @arcanecrayonn on twt

Location: Fortune-Teller’s Parlor “Angel Eye”

Momiji: … Fate?

Toi: Yes.

Daniel: Like I said, shady… 

Toi: If I may confirm, the two of you came here because you had a request for me, right? 

Momiji: That’s right.

Toi: And I happen to have a request for you too… Don’t you think that fate is in play here?

Momiji: I… I suppose so?

Toi: If you would help me search for my brother, I’ll take on any request of yours. That’s a promise.

Momiji: Um… Were you also able to foresee that we came here with a goal in mind?

Toi: Yes, although I’m not quite sure of the reason yet.

Momiji: I didn’t know fortune-telling could find out all that… Or maybe he’s on a different level altogether since he’s from a prestigious family of diviners… 

Toi: I’m begging you… Please, help me.

Momiji: Toi-kun looks so earnest right now… I just can’t leave a kid like this alone.

Momiji: Daniel-san.

Daniel: Blah, don’t look at me like that. Do whatever you want. It’s not like I can stop you when you set your mind to somethin’ anyways. 

Momiji: Thank you for understanding.

Momiji: Toi-kun, let’s find your brother, together!

Toi: R-Really!?

Toi: …! Thank you so much! I’m so happy… ! I can’t tell you how grateful I am right now…!

Toi: Mashiro, I managed to convey my request properly!

Mashiro: It seems that those from beyond the veil have sent you their blessings! I am truly happy for you!

Daniel: So, tell us what this Ryui fella looks like, some clues on what he’s like and the sort.

Toi: Of course! I made a special episode that showcases all the best sides of the coolest, most handsomest, most PERFECT big brother in the whole wide world! I’m sure you’ll understand his charms in no time!

Momiji: Er, a special episode…?

Toi: *dreamy sigh* They’re all top tier scenes, with their own CGs*. First up is–

Memorial start:

Toi: Ani-sama… He’s not here yet… Did I get our meeting place right…?

Ryui: Oh, you’re already here? There was somethin’ I had to take care of, sorry for making you wait… 

Toi: It’s okay! I didn’t have to wait long, don’t worry!

Ryui: If you say so… Toi, about those clothes you’re wearing… 

Toi: Yes? Is there anything wrong?

Ryui: They look real good on you. You’re so cute that even literal angels wouldn’t stand a chance. But you’re always cute, haha.

~~~

Daniel: Aw geez, spare me… 

Momiji: Seems like they’re already at MAX affection level…  ~~~

Ryui: Oi Toi, you keep wanderin’ around again… I told you to stick close to me.

Toi: I’m sorry… I couldn’t help but follow the sweet scent coming from the Castella bakery… 

Ryui: Geez, you’re so clumsy… Can’t take my eyes off you for even a second.

Ryui: Here, give me your hand. I’ll make sure you won’t get lost again.

~~~ Momiji: Oh, the classic “You’re so clumsy” trope comes into play… 

Daniel: I mean, phones exist for a reason y’know… 

Momiji: Honestly, I was expecting info like his height, what he wears, what kind of places he frequents… Not whatever this is… 

Mashiro: Toi, I believe you are omitting a crucial piece of information that you must disclose.

Toi: Ah, you’re right! I need to remedy that…  ~~~

Toi: Ani-sama… Can I come closer to you?

Ryui: … Sure.

Toi: ….. 

Toi: I’m gonna intertwine our fingers… 

Ryui: *sharp inhale* ...! You… 

Toi: Ah, he gripped it back tightly… I want to touch him some more…!

Ryui: W-What’s up with you today… You’re not usually this bold– Hey! Where do you think you’re touching!? Fuck… Just do whatever you want…!

Ryui: ... You're fine if I touch you back right?

~~~

Daniel: Those are some crazy rose-tinted glasses he’s got on! I’ve got a huge itch to punch something right about now, where’s a sandbag when you need one!? ~~~

Ryui: Ah… I've been meaning to ask, you been seeing any good dreams lately?

Ryui: I’m always worried about you, y’know. You’re the most precious thing in this world to me.

Ryui: If the good dreams ain’t coming to you, I’ll accompany you all night long.

Ryui: … You know what that means, right?

~~~

Momiji: Daniel-san looks like his soul’s left his body… 

Toi: My Ani-sama was super duper cool just then! Right, Mashiro?

Mashiro: Indeed, it has been safely documented within the CG Gallery of our hearts. There is not a shadow of a doubt: he is, without question, the finest big brother in the world. 

Toi: Right~? I think so too!

Momiji: Yeah, I can tell he’s a, um, very kind brother. Yeah. 

Toi: And then there was… Ah! I can’t believe it’s already this late!

Momiji: Is something wrong?

Toi: The truth is… There is someone else besides you who’s necessary to lead me to my brother.

Toi: All of us have to gather together at a certain spot by 11 pm.

Momiji: There’s only one hour left until then…!

Momiji: Then we’ve got to hurry! Do you know where we have to go?

Toi: I do. It’s within HAMA, so it shouldn’t take too long to get there.

Toi: I’m sorry for being all over the place… The two of you can go ahead and wait outside the parlor, I’ll come out soon after I change my clothes.

Daniel: Huh, so there’s more people involved in this fate mumbo-jumbo.

Momiji: Yeah… It’s got me feeling a little excited though!

Daniel: Really? Can’t bring myself to believe in this stuff, leads to nothing but trouble anyways.

Toi: Thank you for waiting!

Momiji: Hey Toi-kun… Oh?

Momiji: Toi-kun… did you perhaps attend Ev3ns’ Hospitality Live before?

Toi: Eh?

Daniel: What, so you knew him after all?

Momiji: I wouldn’t say we’re acquainted, I only saw him in passing.

Momiji: He really stood out amongst the fans while I was making the rounds, that’s why I remember him.

Toi: I did go to the Ev3ns Live, yes… Wait, does that mean…?

Toi: You’re an employee at Chii-sama’s company!?

Momiji: Yeah, I am.

Toi: R-R-Really!? Oh my! I can’t believe I’m in the presence of someone who works closely with Chii-sama!!

Momiji: Wow… He brightened up considerably hearing that.

Toi: Chii-sama is a one-in-a-million talent that’s rare to find! His dance technique is the best and he really knows how to sell his fanservice! 

Toi: Chii-sama was born to be an idol! I’ve been a fan of his since the beginning!

Mashiro: Now, now, Toi. I must stop you there. It would be most unwise for the Master of the House* to discover your plans.

Mashiro: You must depart from here quietly.

Toi: Ah… You’re right, sorry.

Momiji: It’s fine with us, don’t worry.

Daniel: Haa… Can’t believe you’re making me do overtime… It’s ok if I come in late tomorrow right? Like, 8 hours later.

Momiji: Nope.

Toi: Mashiro, I’m leaving the parlor in your hands.

Mashiro: Rest assured!

Momiji: So, Toi-kun really is a fan of Chihiro-kun… He even attended Ev3ns’ Live.

Momiji: Somehow this feels like a night for fateful encounters. The place we’re headed is within the 18th Ward… 

Momiji: I can’t help but think this next meeting will lead to the formation of the Night Team… Yeah, I’m sure of it.

Momiji: After all, tonight is–

Daniel: Oi! Stop spacing out over there, we’re moving!

Momiji: Coming!

Momiji: My heart can’t help but pound in excitement!

Notes:

CG is known as "Computer Graphic" in the Visual Novel community, including Otome games, which are specially illustrated scenes that involve the love interest and sometimes the protagonist in unique poses and background art. This is important to note because Toi is a huge fan of Otome games.

Master of the House refers to Toi and Ryui's grandfather, who is the true authority of the family despite Toi being the current head.

The title might be a play on a popular Japanese dating-sim series "Tokimeki Memorial", of which the otome game series is named "Tokimeki Memorial Girl's Side" The scenes from Toi's "CG Gallery" are very similar to how they play out in the original games.

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Masterlist

[evans23]

Daughter of mine

Pairing : Judge Turpin x Daughter OC

Summary : When a mere acquaintance of Judge Turpin announced to him that he had a daughter, The Death's Judge is flabbergasted.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Abandonment. Neglectful mother. Mention of prostitution.

A/N: Hello dear 😁 I wanted to try something else with Turpin. Hope you'll like it. No proofreading because I am lazy 🫠😅

Part II - Part III - Part IV

Also read on AO3

Richard was walking briskly through the court corridors, a bunch of papers under his arm, his wig still on his head.

"Richard ! Richard !" he heard shouting behind him.

The sound of the irritating voice makes him walk faster. The Beadle wasn't here, having got a leave of absence for personal matters. 

Personal matters... harlot matters, thought Richard, chewing the inside of his cheek while his pursuer continued to call him. Due to the absence of his minion, he will have to talk to this clodhopper of a lawyer. He knew who it was just by earring the far too sharp voice of this incompetent. Matthew was his name and he was an abomination, bringing opprobrium to his respectable profession. 

"Richard !"

Turpin halted at once and turned towards Matthew with a severe look, one that only the Judge Turpin has the secret of.

"Yes Matthew," he hissed, ready to tear out the eyes of the poor man running behind him with a little spoon. 

"Richard !" said again Matthew when he eventually reached the Judge.

If he said my name one more time, I would judge him for anything suitable would come to the mind of The Beadle, thought fiercely Richard.

"Yes ?" said Richard frowning his eyebrows with disgust at the view of the reddened pudgy face of his non-beloved colleague.

"I need to talk with you. An urgent matter."

"No more case today, I adjourned the court, I have some important business to attend to."

Without waiting for an answer, Richard began to walk again but Matthew held him back by grabbing his sleeves.

It asked Richard all his masterfulness not to slap the poor lad in the face. After all, he was a respected judge, always controlling his emotions. He was the fucking Death's Judge fucking Turpin, he thought vehemently. 

"Richard, believe me, you want to hear it." told the little man, totally oblivious to the anger which was boiling into Richard.

"Well, what is the matter ?"

"Not here. It is too personal. Come to my office."

"No, mine !"

His command doesn't leave any room for an objection from Matthew but the joyful man wasn't offended at all by the behavior of Turpin. After all, his reputation preceded him and the young lawyer wasn't easily deterred from his optimistic good mood.

"Well, I listen really attentively to you," said Richard once he had closed the door of his office. 

He sat gracefully on his chair, denying the right to do the same to Matthew by not inviting him to do so. 

"Richard, I don't know how to say that," began the lawyer taking a seat anyway.

Turpin sighed inwardly, more than annoyed. Yes, definitely, this young fella was in to lose his eyes.

"With simple, short words and in a very economical way. No more than three or four words," said Richard without an ounce of sarcasm.

He wanted to go home and read the new book he had made come from India. 

"You have a daughter," said straightforwardly Matthew.

If Richard was caught off guard, he didn't show any signs of it. 

"I beg your pardon ?"

He didn't know if he should laugh or keep his straight face while threatening the man in front of him with an upcoming hanging. His hanging !

A bit taken aback by his bluntness, a thing he didn't know he was able to, the lawyer fidgeted on his chair for the biggest displeasure of Richard.

"Boy, I don't have the day. If you have something to say talk, otherwise leave me alone !" thundered his voice.

"Richard. I am serious. I have been called last week to acknowledge the will of a dying woman in a poor house in the outskirts of London. The woman claimed that her daughter is yours."

"Well, if a dying woman has claimed that her bastard is mine, then it is certainly true," he responded sharply, "are you really as daft as you come across when one's meet you the first time ? Even though you come across to me as stupid and incapable each time I have to process a file in which you are working. You are nothing of a lawyer," he chided severely, his nostrils almost spitting fire.

“Yeah, actually I was forced by my father to follow his steps, however, I wanted to be an art…”

“Matthew !” Cut off Turpin, his anger threatening to erupt any time soon.

“Yes, sorry,” answered the poor man, putting himself together before going on. 

“Well, the lady, plagued with a terminal disease, asked me to draw up a will. She didn’t owe much but the few jewels have been entrusted to me to be handed out to her daughter in due time. She was afraid to have it stolen by the nurses after she would have passed away.”

He stopped, waiting for any reaction from Richard which comes with a gruff comment. 

“I don’t care about the pieces of jewellery. Who was the so-called lady and what about her bastard, who she claimed to be from my seed.”

“Yes, yes, to the point Matthew,” tried to brace himself the lawyer who began to flicker under the unyielding piercing eyes of Turpin, “her name was Elena.”

Turpin went pale. It was a long time since he had heard this name. Seven years, almost eight to be precise. He couldn’t deny having known this girl as he had almost married her. But it was another story. A sad one.

After having lost the only one he has ever considered as his soulmate, he had set his sight on a girl named Lucy, the barber’s wife of the poorest quarter of the town. He was desperate to forget Elena and he thought getting that pretty little thing would help him to get rid of his sorrow. 

As a matter of course, the barber’s wife didn’t accord him even a glance and, mad with rage and grief, he had almost perjured his honourable position as a Judge by charging his husband with a false crime on the purpose of sending him away in a barren land called Australia, but he came back to his senses just in time, releasing the barber and swearing to himself to never ever falling in love. Women were nothing else but suffering and betrayal. 

“Elena,” repeated unconsciously Richard.

“Yes, Elena Bryant. She must have been a really beautiful lady when she was at her best because I could notice the beauty of her fine features even with the illness making her face break out.”

“Yes, a real beauty, indeed,” whispered Turpin.

“Her daughter is nothing short of a beauty herself. A real little doll.”

Turpin shook his head, retrieving his mind.

“My acquaintance with this girl doesn’t mean I am the father of her undesirable burden. And believe me, this woman was nothing of a lady. She came from a poor family with no proper upbringing. It was a miracle that she could read and her writing was as awkward as the one of a young kid.”

“Yeah, well, apparently she wasn’t too dull because she taught her daughter to read. She is a lively child, intelligent and so on. She has been sent to an orphanage nearby here.”

The lawyer stopped, gauging Turpin who stayed totally indifferent or at least he guises himself to look as if, yet inwardly his mind was racing.

“How old ?” He suddenly asked.

“What ?” asked Matthew, puzzled.

“How old is the girl, Matthew my patience lay thin !” said Turpin with a thunderous tone.

“Oh, six years. Almost seven. Quite soon, actually.”

Richard could have fainted with how his head was spinning. Six years, almost seven. Was it possible ?

“Her name is Catherine.”

Turpin grabbed the edge of his desk with so much force that is knuckles turned white. Catherine. He had told Elena once that should he have a little girl, he would like her name to be Catherine like his late and beloved grandmother, the only person in his life to have shown him genuine affection and taught him what love was, at least until Elena. 

“And what will be the destiny of the little bast… of the little girl ?” asked Turpin between clenched teeth.

“The mother would like you to have her custody. After all, according to her, you are the father.” 

It remains unproven, thought bitterly Turpin. After all, after having left him, she went from one man to another, living a depraved life, selling her body to earn a living. Richard knew it as a fact after having had a glimpse at her beloved Elena while he frequented a well-known brothel. The sight of her disgusted him through his bones and he had to keep his nerves under check not to drag her outside by her hair and require an explanation for her awful betrayal. He had reasoned himself, reasoning his injured soul that doing that would give the girl too much importance. An importance she didn’t deserve even less now than she wasn’t more than a disgusting whore. 

The daughter could be from any moron but him. Yet, now was ingrained in his mind a slight doubt. 

“What should I do ? For the little girl ?” asked Matthew.

Richard thought for a long time before answering that The Beadle would take care of it. Matthews acquiesced, uncertain if he was satisfied with Turpin’s answer, but he wisely kept his mouth shut, leaving the Judge’s office with a nod.

The next day, The Beadle was assigned the task to find the girl and… well, make a report. Turpin didn’t want to spread out the rumour he could have a bastard in the nature and even if The Beadle had his trust, he preferred to wait before taking action.

“Sir,” echoed The Beadle’s voice.

Startled while he was deeply lost in his work, Turpin acknowledged his presence with a nod and a frown eyebrow.

“I have seen the little girl,” he said carefully.

“And ?” growled Turpin.

He was almost expecting The Beadle to tell him she was his spitting portrait, that even if he didn’t know why he had to meet that child he had immediately understood when he saw her. Unfortunately, his answer was quite disappointing.

“She is very short for her age but she has a pretty face. A little doll, a future beauty,” said The Beadle with a glint of envy in his eyes.

The Judge felt the urge to threaten his assistant to put him under arrest for talking like that of a little girl but he retained himself, instead, he asked him to tell him more.

“She is a polite little darling, not really interesting due to an obvious lack of education.”

The Judge nodded, not quite satisfied with the report of The Beadle.

“My lord, may I enquire why this little girl has caught your eyes ?” asked honeydly the rat-face man.

“No,” was the cold answer of The Judge.

What was the matter of having an assistant if he had to do the work himself ? He thought angrily. Yet, after all, one was better served by himself than by someone else.

And so, the next morning, his carriage hit the road for the orphanage. The venue was a gloomy old building almost in ruins. The roof was leaking, the windows let the wind go through the immeuble and the floor was dirty. 

The headmaster of the orphanage, a hunchbacked old woman with a severe face, which could have matched Turpin’s straight face, wasn’t agreeable at all but when she recognised The Judge, she became nothing more than kindness and bowing. Unimpressed, Turpin asked for Catherine. 

While walking along the corridors, he noticed the famished children, filthy and wearing rags. The old woman stopped in front of an almost unhinged door.

“The girl is here. Doesn’t speak a lot. In need of a good beating if you want my opinion.”

“No, I don’t,” answered Turpin without paying more attention to the headmaster.

The Judge knocked at the door then, as no answer was coming, he entered. Sitting on the bed with what looks like a stuffed wolf in her arms. His stuffed wolf ! The one he had as a child and he had offered to Elena at the beginning of their relationship for the girl having him at her side every night. 

“May I sit next to you ?” asked Turpin to the girl who hadn’t looked at him yet.

She nodded, keeping her head low and didn’t even moved one toe when Turpin took place beside her.

The tiny room, which was more a cupboard than anything else, was as filthy as the rest of the orphanage. The sheets were filthy. Probably they haven’t seen water for ages, thought Turpin.

“What is your name, girl ?” asked Turpin even though he already knew the answer.

“Catherine,” whispered shyly the girl.

“Quite a pretty name.”

If she had heard him, she didn’t acknowledge it. Apparently, being silent was her biggest skill.

“I have been told that you were a well-behaved lady but let me tell you that a lady looks her interlocutor in the eyes when she is talked to.”

And for the first time, she tilted her head up, her awfully beautiful green eyes meeting The Judge’s. And he knew. 

Richard had thought he would know if the girl was his only if she had a bit of him etched in her face. The truth was she wasn’t looking after him at all. No hooked nose, hazel eyes or even blond hair. No, she had the black curls of her mother, the small button nose of her mother, the magnificent features of her mother and the eyes, the incredible, beautiful, unforgettable beautiful eyes of his Elena. Definitely, she didn’t look like any Turpin he knew, but deep inside him, deep into his heart, he knew. The girl was his.

He left the room without a word, asking his coachman to go to the courthouse fetching Matthew and at the end of the afternoon, the girl was officially under his protection. 

She wasn’t very talkative but the truth was that she was rather impressed by the charismatic presence of The Judge. On the other hand, Richard didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t used to talking with a child even if the said child was his and he shouldn’t feel nervous around her. 

However, he wasn’t sure if he was in front of an innocent child. Her mother sold her body, what her daughter could have seen ? But he had something worse rattling his mind. Does Elena could have committed the sin of selling her owndaughter ? Richard didn’t know how to broach such a topic without shoking the child, even less should the girl be utterly oblivious of her mother's profession.

“Where are we going ?” asked a little voice, interrupting his running mind.

Sitting on the bench in front of him in the cramped carriage which was bringing them back to Richard’s house.

“Turpin’ Manor.”

“You live in a Manor ?” asked Catherine, whereas she was trying with all her will to not sound too excited.

“Yes, dear. And you too now,” answered Turpin with an amused look on his face. “You are going to live a very different life now. You will get a proper education, food thrice a day, a warm, clean bed, proper clothes for a little lady in your position and a name. Believe me, you will want nothing in your life from now on.”

He could see the flabbergasted expression on the girl’s face at the mention of a warm bed and food put every day on the table. Unable to hold it anymore, he asked the question that was burning his lips the more diplomatically he could.

“What did your mother do to earn money ?”

Catherine shrugged indifferently.

“When a lady is asking a question, she must at least acknowledge her interlocutor and at best give him an answer,” he scolded gently, yet with a growling tone. 

“She was a waitress,” answered the child without looking at him. 

“A waitress ?” repeated Richard.

“She worked at night for a rest… rest… I am not sure of the pronunciation,” confessed Catherine, fixing her gaze on his.

“A restaurant ?” suggested Richard.

She nodded while hugging tighter her little wolf.

“And who was looking after you ?”

“No one,” whispered the girl, her eyes filling with tears. “I was alone every night from 6 in the afternoon until 8 in the morning,” she added, crying now.

“Hush, hush, no need to cry child,” said Turpin, holding out his large hand to squeeze awkwardly the small and almost fragile one of Catherine.

“Why are you crying now ?”

“It was frightening, being alone every night. I hate being in the dark but mom couldn’t afford us to let a candle burn all night.”

Turpin’s face softened. Catherine was so mature and skilful in her way of speaking that he had almost forgotten she was only 6, almost 7. 

“Well, you will have all the light you need during the night. No one will mind. Stop crying now.”

“You promise ?” asked the girl with bright eyes.

“Yes, I promise. A servant will kindle all the light you need in your room to sleep well far before your bedtime,” said Turpin, trying to mask his irritation. 

The happiness of the child for such a little promise made his previous irritation fade away and he could almost feel his heart melt at the view of a so genuine gratefulness.

“And… did your mom have a husband ?”

He swallowed his saliva with difficulty, hoping to have a definitive answer about the innocence of his… of Catherine.

“No. I have never seen a man in our house. Mommy told me she would never bring a man in our house because her heart was broken and she couldn’t love anybody else but me.”

“So never had a man lay his hand on you ?”

“No. Mommy would have killed anybody who would have hit me.”

Richard let out a sight he didn’t know he was retaining. So, Elena had at least succeeded in protecting the child from the depravation of the world. Of her world.

“And I would never let anyone hurt you in any way,” said Richard, the promise of a terrible fate for the one who would dare to just stare at the little girl.

When the carriage stopped, Richard stepped out before helping Catherine to go out. He held her without difficulty in his arms to put her on the ground. She was far too skinny, thought Richard. She weighed nothing in his arms and he had felt her bones protruding through the meagre fabric of her dress. Something that wouldn’t last now that she was living at Turpin’ Manor. She would be fed properly and never where he would tolerate to see her shiver because of a gust of wind. She will have all the clothes she needed to stay warm. Definitely, the life of Catherine was going to change for the better. 

After a quick introduction to the staff, composed of a cook, a butler and only two maids, he made her visit her new house, jubilating when the girl gawked at his impressive library and then laughing genuinely at her happiness to discover a huge, beautiful, warm and already lit room. Her own room was far more bigger than the dilapidated house where she had lived with her mom.

She sat on the bed, her wolf still in her arm, looking at Turpin with a mix of gratitude and something else he couldn’t decipher.

“Happy ?”

“Yes,” was the simple answer of Catherine but her eyes were telling so much more.

Thank you, I feel safe, I am happy, I think I know who you are. 

“Good. You will have your own maid who will help you to get dressed every morning and night. She will do your hair and starting next week you will have tutors teaching you everything a lady should know and even more. I expect your best behaviour and assertiveness in your study, understood?” said Turpin with severity.

The girl nodded once before biting her lower lip.

“Something amiss ?” asked Turpin, frowning an eyebrow.

“How should I call you ?”

Father was is first thought but he could be a bit overwhelming for the child. After all, she didn’t know yet and he didn’t want to rush her with the truth. First, he wanted to win her trust. Maybe even her love. 

“Well, my name is Richard and when it is only the both of us, you can call me so. In public, you will call me Lord Turpin like a proper lady should do.”

The girl didn’t answer him, instead, she looked intensively at him as if she was trying to discover the secret of his soul, which he hoped, she would never be able to do so.

“Are you my father ?” she asked abruptly.

Caught off guard, Turpin gawked at the boldness of the child, impressed by her perspicacity. Lying would be stupid but saying aloud the truth was overwhelming for The Judge who was still trying to proceed with the novelty of his paternity and the fact that he had now a child living under his roof.

“Your wolf… has it a name ?”

“Merlin. Like the wizard.”

“Well, Merlin was mine when I was your age.”

He hoped this answer would be enough but Catherine was only a child and the subtlety of the world escaped her.

“So I am right, you are my father ?”

Richard swallowed with difficulty and almost shocked when the girl took his large hand into her little one, her eyes bearing hope and gratitude.

“Yes kid, I am your father,” he eventually answered not without emotion and a mix of new feelings invading him deeply through his heart and soul.

Catherine offered him the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. 

Definitely a Turpin smile, he thought proudly, recognising in her smile his. 

“Yes, I am your father and from now on you will be known as Catherine Elena Victoria Turpin.”

Catherine squeezed his hand and weren’t he so awkward and reserved about his own emotion, he would have hugged the child. His child. His daughter. 

“Everything will be fine now, daughter of mine,” he whispered as an everlasting promise. 

[elvisbdoll]

THE MYSTERY IN MEMPHIS

Chapter 4: The First Clue

Chapter 3: A Warning In The Shadows

The church erupted into chaos as the shadows began to take shape. Elvis and Lucian stood shoulder to shoulder, their backs to the altar, as the dark forms coalesced into humanoid figures. The air grew colder with every passing second, the temperature plummeting to a bone-chilling freeze.

“Well, sugar,” Elvis quipped, his voice low but steady, “looks like they ain’t here for the sermon.”

Lucian didn’t smile, their eyes darting between the advancing shadows. “They’re guardians of the fracture. They’ll do whatever it takes to stop us from leaving with the orb.”

Elvis glanced at the figures, then at Lucian. “Y’know, I’ve been in a few bar brawls in my day, but this… this is somethin’ else entirely.”

“Focus, Elvis!” Lucian hissed.

The lead shadow stepped forward, its glowing eyes fixed on them. “Return the heart, and we may let you leave with your lives,” it intoned, its voice reverberating like a low hum in the hollow space.

Elvis tightened his grip on his guitar case. “Now see, I’d love to negotiate, but I got this thing about takin’ orders from creepy lookin’ fellas like you.”

The shadow didn’t respond. Instead, it raised a hand, and a wave of dark energy surged toward them.

“Move!” Lucian shouted, pushing Elvis to the side as the energy struck the altar, splintering the wood and sending debris flying.

Elvis scrambled to his feet, his heart racing. “Alright, enough of this nonsense!” He swung his guitar case with all his strength, hitting one of the shadows square in the chest. To his surprise, the shadow staggered backward, a faint hiss escaping it.

“Guess you boys ain’t as tough as you look,” Elvis said with a grin.

Lucian pulled a small, silver dagger from their belt and lunged at another shadow. The blade sliced through the dark form, causing it to dissolve into wisps of smoke.

“They’re not invincible,” Lucian said, panting. “But they’re relentless. We need to get out of here before more arrive.”

Elvis nodded, dodging another attack. “Lead the way, darlin’. I’ll hold ‘em off!”

Lucian hesitated for a moment, their gaze lingering on him. Then, with a sharp nod, they turned and sprinted toward the exit.

Elvis swung his guitar case again, clearing a path as he followed close behind. The shadows closed in around them, their hisses and growls echoing in the dark.

As they reached the heavy wooden doors, Elvis threw his weight against them, forcing them open. “Ladies first!” he called, motioning for Lucian to go through.

Lucian darted outside, the orb clutched tightly in their hand. Elvis followed, slamming the doors shut behind them.

“Now what?” Elvis asked, his breath coming in short gasps.

Lucian glanced at the pocket watch, its glow dimming slightly. “We need to find a safe place to regroup. They won’t stop hunting us as long as we have this.”

Elvis adjusted his guitar case, his usual humor returning. “Well, I know a little diner ‘round the corner that serves a mean fried peanut butter and banana sandwich. Think they’ll find us there?”

Lucian rolled their eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Let’s hope not.”

The diner was a cozy little place with red vinyl booths and a jukebox humming softly in the corner. Elvis and Lucian slid into a booth near the back, their eyes scanning the room for any signs of danger.

Elvis ordered a sandwich and a cup of coffee, while Lucian sipped on a glass of water.

“So,” Elvis said, leaning back in the booth, “you gonna tell me why these shadow folks are so worked up about this orb? Or am I just supposed to keep swingin’ my guitar case and hopin’ for the best?”

Lucian hesitated, their fingers tracing the edge of the glass. “The orb is the heart of the mechanism that controls the fracture between timelines. Whoever controls it has the power to rewrite history—or destroy it entirely.”

Elvis whistled low, his expression serious. “And you trust me to help with somethin’ like that? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered, but I’m just a singer from Memphis. What do I know about savin’ timelines?”

Lucian met his gaze, their eyes steady. “You’re more capable than you realize, Elvis. And you have something most people don’t.”

“Oh yeah?” Elvis said, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“Heart,” Lucian said simply.

Elvis blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in their voice. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, the diner’s door swung open.

A tall man in a dark trench coat stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room. They locked onto Elvis and Lucian, and he started toward their booth.

“Well, looks like we’ve got company,” Elvis muttered, his hand moving instinctively to his guitar case.

The man stopped in front of their table, his expression unreadable. “Elvis Presley and Lucian,” he said, his voice low. “You’re in danger.”

Elvis smirked. “Yeah, we kinda figured that out already, pal. What’s it to you?”

The man slid into the booth across from them, his movements deliberate. “My name is Agent Cross. I’m with a group that monitors anomalies like the one you’re dealing with. We’ve been tracking the fracture for some time now, and we believe you’re key to stopping it.”

Lucian’s eyes narrowed. “Why should we trust you?”

Agent Cross reached into his coat and pulled out a small device that emitted a soft, blue glow. “Because I have information that can help you. And because, if you don’t trust me, those shadows won’t be the only thing you’ll have to worry about.”

Elvis leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. “Alright, Mr. Mysterious. Start talkin’.”

Agent Cross placed the device on the table, its glow intensifying. “The fracture is growing. If we don’t act quickly, it will collapse entirely, taking multiple timelines with it. The orb and the key are the only way to stabilize it—but they must be used correctly.”

Lucian frowned. “And you know how to use them?”

Cross nodded. “I’ve studied the mechanism extensively. But I can’t do it alone. I need your help.”

Elvis glanced at Lucian, then back at Cross. “Well, you seem to know a lot about this whole timeline business. But how do we know you’re not just another one of those shadow folks in disguise?”

Cross met his gaze, his expression calm. “You don’t. But you don’t have much of a choice, either.”

Lucian studied him for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Fine. But if you try anything—”

“I won’t,” Cross interrupted. “We’re on the same side.”

Elvis leaned back, crossing his arms. “Alright then, Agent Cross. Welcome to the team. But just so you know, I’m keepin’ my eye on you.”

Cross offered a faint smile. “Fair enough.”

As the night wore on, the three of them plotted their next move, the weight of their mission pressing down on them. But even in the midst of the tension, Elvis managed to keep the mood light, cracking jokes and flashing his signature grin.

And though Lucian rarely smiled, there was something about Elvis’s presence that seemed to ease their burden, if only a little.

For the first time in a long while, Lucian allowed themselves to hope.

[fable-non-canon-ship-bracket]

Round 2 Match 2

Coworkers - Icarus Arisanna, Ven (queer platonic relationship)

Raetross - Rae and Centross (queer platonic relationship)

Propaganda under the cut:

Propaganda:

-Coworkers(qpr)

Would they make eachother better? Would they make eachother worse? Who knows, but they could pick up peices after fable leaves, they can comfort eachother, and they can care for eachother in a way that soon feels as natural as breathing and just as hard to hide, but still so necessary to for the fear of the dangers, from all sides, and sometimes you don't need everyone to know, sometimes you just need to curl up with the two people you've grown to trust with your life (because what else do you have anymore?) In a nest hidden away in the sleeping quarters only a couple rooms over from a war room, sometimes all you need is unspoken promises, in fear that should they be spoken the world will come down to break them itself, and sometimes you just need whispered apologies that don't stop flowing, but it's late, and so they just hold hands, and let that convey the 'I know, I understand, I'm sorry too'

Pulling your boss kid is a power move, + they all deserve some good and cuddles in their life + have you seen them

They're funny together. Also it's them against everyone else, why wouldn't they end up close?

-Raetross(qpr)

The entirety of season 2, especially that episode where Rae rescued Centross from the End, as well as got him away from Sherbs obsidian cell, etc etc. Those two have gone through so much, and deserve to be with each other in any form. After all, Centross is Rae's 3rd boyfriend (jackbox stream ref)

*point to Things Unsaid vod* they definitely cuddle to sleep that night, they hold hands, and have definitely smooched platonically before

Fellas is it gay to save your best friend from killing himself by seeing that he has the potential to change. Fellas is it gay to let your best friend punch you in the face because you're so torn up about almost killing him that you're ostracizing him to make sure you can't hurt him again. Fellas is it gay to open an inter-dimensional rift in spacetime together. Fellas is it gay to take your best friend with you to talk to your shitty goddess mother. Fellas is it gay to text your best friend at 3 am because you don't know how to make cinnamon rolls. Fellas is it gay to drop everything to respond to that text. Fellas is it gay to have your best friend be the first one you open up to about your struggles with godhood. Fellas is it gay.

[maltmealo]

Chapter 13: Apologies

That-"

"Yeah."

"We did that?"

"Adorable arent they?"

--------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Doctor

I didn’t know you for very long, I wish I had. You seemed like a nice guy regardless of how silent you were or how little you spoke with your hands. Maybe you hate me in whatever afterlife you choose, I know I certainly would have been angry at whoever was stupid enough to drive off a cliff. Stupid is a generous word for what I did, but I hope you know that I am sorry.

The pencil rests in your hand loosely, the trembling of your hands makes it hard to write neatly. The words scrawled on the paper feel empty, useless in the face of the grave you dug for an innocent bystander.

You deserved more, I know you can’t read this but

The pencil. A tool used to erase mistakes and make something better. But you weren’t a pencil, you were a sad little human writing a letter to a dead man.

The pencil is dropped and the paper crumpled, ending up in the trash, or more likely beside it, with the multitude of other letters you tried to write.

“Can’t find the words?” Nurse Darby asked from beside you, looking from your vitals to you.

Nurse Darby had been there when you woke up, with a warm smile and a kind voice in the stark white hospital room.

“Words are useless, he’s dead and can’t hear them,” You say solemnly, looking down at your casted arm as Nurse Darby comes up to you.

“Maybe not, but it’s still nice to get your feelings out there,” She offers, picking up the pencil and piece of paper and setting it on the food tray in front of you, already cleaned off from your earlier breakfast.

“Why does that matter? He’s dead.” You scoff, leaning back and staring at the paper with disdain. You would’ve crossed your arms but the cast prevented it.

“He may be dead, but you’re not, he’s not going to hate you for letting your feelings out,” she laughs, shaking her head and giving you a sympathetic smile, “you’re a sweet girl, I’m sure he knew that as well as anyone who talks to you for more than five seconds.”

“When I first came in I was screaming and bit someone,” you state bluntly, the memories of being wheeled in on a stretcher all too vivid in your head, the unbearable ache in your chest, the feeling of something being ripped away from you piece by piece like a wet paper towel.

“Eh, most of the people here are,” She shrugs, picking up the clipboard again and looking it over, “It looks like we’re releasing you soon, That Agent Fowler fella came by about an hour ago and signed your release form.”

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door and Agent Fowler stepped in, adjusting his tie as he sent you a smile.

“Glad to see you’re awake, Miss,” he says, standing beside your bed as he puts a hand on your uninjured shoulder, “We were quite worried about you, but it seems like we had nothing to worry about.”

“Agent Fowler,” You greet, giving him a tired smile as you sit up a bit straighter, more than happy to see a familiar face.

“Nurse, may we have a moment?”

“Of course, just press the call button if you need me,” she turns to you, gesturing to the remote with a big red button beside you.

She leaves the room, the door closing behind her with a click. Agent Fowler shuts the blinds to the office, turning back to you with a serious look.

“Breakdown escaped,” he starts grimly, crossing his arms as he walks to the window to the outside, “When we went to collect him he was gone, apparently getting crushed by a mountain means nothing to those ‘cons.”

You didn’t know how to feel about that, he seemed like a normal guy, except for the obvious metal part, and he was nice to you. Well, niceish. He did almost crush you, but other than that he was okay.

“We’ll be taking you back to the base, it was too dangerous to move you earlier but now it's a must, we can only hide you for so long.”

“Oh,” you say, looking down at your feet, “right, thank you.”

You don’t know why you were sad, you would be safe with the Autobots, and they would get you home after the war ends, right?

Then again, your injuries had been mostly due to the giant ‘bots. Ratchet breaking what was supposedly keeping your soul from dissipating, the Autobots' carelessness in letting a Decepticon sneak into their base, Bulkhead not even taking a second to break Breakdown’s chest, his death.

“Here, put these on, they should be your size,” Agent Fowler sets a bag down on the bed, unzipping it for you and pulling the set of clothes out.

You look at the clothes in your lap and then at the cast on your arm, a blank look on your face.

“I can go get the nurse if you need help,” Fowler says quickly, noticing your look, “I would help you myself but I doubt you want me to do that.”

The rustling of paper caught both of your attention, your note was picked up off the ground, dark slim fingers uncrumpling the note ever so gently, black eyes reading the letter.

“Ah, doctor Sowa, you’ve arrived, good.” Agent Fowler said with a smile, looking at the man, clad in a lab coat and all.

He nods in response, not looking up from the note.

You’re stunned, he wasn’t dead.

He finally looks up and takes the pen, flipping your abandoned note over and writing on it.

I will help, it says, the scribbles barely legible, almost like a first grader who just learned how to write. He holds it up for Fowler to see, tapping the pen against the paper before pointing at the door, a silent command.

“Ah, I’ll take that as my cue, I will be waiting outside, Miss.” he smiles at you again, giving your shoulder a comforting squeeze before leaving the room.

The silence was almost deafening, you couldn’t help but stare, he didn’t even have a scratch on him, not at all beat up like someone who supposedly fell a hundred feet.

He flips the paper over again, reading the unfinished note intensely before looking back up at you.

Again, he flips the paper, showing you the scribbles, and then gesturing to the clothes.

“Oh.” is all you could mutter, your voice caught in your throat.

He pauses before pulling the sheets down, grabbing your uninjured arm, and pulling you to your feet, your legs (after not having stood up for three days) gave out.

He stared down at you for a moment, pulling you back up onto the bed with surprising strength from such a scrawny-looking man. Letting you go and crossing his arms, not assumed by the situation.

You stare back up at him, finally regaining your voice.

“I thought you were dead,” You whisper meekly, suddenly not feeling too well.

He grabs the piece of paper again, tapping ‘help’ before offering his hand to you. You take it and he stands you up, putting a hand under your arm to keep you from falling.

“I’m sorry.”

Nothing, he gets you out of the hospital gown.

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

He helps you into a loose t-shirt, large enough for your cast to fit through.

“How did you survive?”

He pauses, shaking his head before helping you into pants, considerably easier than the shirt.

“Am I hallucinating?”

He looks up at you, the narrow green eyes showing no hint of what he is thinking. He shakes his head.

“You’re not even hurt,” you say, not able to process the fact that he just saw you nude, how many times do you get to see someone you thought was dead, alive, and well?

He doesn’t respond, going outside of the room and coming back with a wheelchair, helping you get into it without hurting yourself even more.

It’s quiet except for the usual clammer of the hospital, babies screaming, people crying, people complaining.

Suddenly he stops, letting a screaming and crying woman be ushered past, she looked like she had been dumped into a bucket of blood and then slammed into a wall. She was cradling an unmoving bloody mass, the thing that made you gag was the little hand attached by strings of flesh hanging out the wad of flesh.

Sowa’s head moves with the gurney, staring at the bloody mess, not willing or able to move.

“Hey, what happened?” You ask one of the passing nurses, the image burns into your brain.

“Car crash, it was flipped into a ditch,” he explains, watching as they usher her into a room, “poor woman, she was here last month to give birth.”

You utter a thank you to the nurse and he nods, going on about his day, you still haven’t moved yet, Sowa was staring in the direction they had gone, the faint screaming in the distance an eerie howl of a new mother pain.

“Hey, Doctor, are you okay?” You ask, shifting in your seat to look up at the unblinking man, tears forming in the corners of his eyes and dripping down his face, a race to the bottom of his chin only to be soaked up by the fabric of his mask.

He reaches up and touches his cheeks, his head slowly turning to look in front of him as he begins to move again, tears still falling from his eyes.

The first emotion you get from the doctor is his pain, it feels ironic as you reach up and put a hand on his, hoping it would offer some amount of comfort.

You enter the empty elevator, clicking the button for the bottom floor as Sowa stands behind you.

“I know I'm not in any place to say but, I’m sorry,” you say as you maneuver your body to look at him, the burning pain feeling like nothing, “I know the look of someone who lost a kid.”

He doesn’t look down at you, staring straight ahead as he gets ready to get off the elevator, you turn back around. You don’t know what you expecting, he’s probably still mad at you for driving off a cliff, he doesn’t want to hear words of pity from a person who almost killed him-

He places a hand on your shoulder, the grip gently yet firm as he taps your shoulder.

One

Two

Three.

[blurredcolour]

Hi I sent in a ladies who Brady prompt a little earlier. I’m not sure it went through 🤷🏻‍♀️ so I thought no harm in sending it again.

I wanted to know your thoughts on how John Brady would react to a lady who makes the first move. Who sees him and instantly is like oh it’s definitely him…he’s the one for me and just goes up to him and is flirty.

But if my original request did go through I’m so sorry I don’t mean to spam, I just am not sure bc it didn’t say submitted after I sent it so 🤷🏻‍♀️😬

Nonny! No apologies, astoundingly I did actually receive your original ask despite this hellsite (affectionate)’s best efforts. I’m gonna include it here to ensure I get the full tone of your ask.

And combine it with this topical gem that just stumbled into my ask box as well! We are feeling the bold ladies this evening 💪

Cut for length, no real warnings

I definitely see Brady as a by the book traditionalist

Not because he thinks the other ways are wrong just that this is the way things are done and have been done and that’s how he learned to do them

You are the other hand are bold, modern, thinking outside the box. Truly, how else did you find yourself working on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean for the war effort

The moment you laid eyes on him it was a revelation. In a sea of uniformed men he was one of a kind, the very kind of man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with, but now you have to get him to notice you

And it’s not like there’s a ton of competition but he seems to stick pretty close to his group of friends when he’s not on the bandstand

And you’re getting impatient, particularly when you overhear a couple of the newly arrived nurses divvying up the officers amongst themselves as though they have some kind of claim and the time to act is now

So you put in a little extra effort for the dance that night

And you hang close to the bandstand and wave off other men when they ask you to dance and when the set comes to a close you hold out a fresh beer to him

“You fellas played well tonight”

He takes it with his thanks and takes a long drink, looking you over as if for the first time

Someone sets a record to play during the band’s break and you tilt your head “so are you ever going to ask me, John Brady?”

And he looks so startled, so utterly flummoxed that your stomach drops through the floor and you are entirely convinced you’ve ruined any chance you might have had

Turn to flee in your mortification and leave him to be carved up amongst the nurses but his hand is on your elbow, guiding you over to the dance floor

The tips of his ears and the flesh of his neck are most definitely pink but he offers a somewhat confident smile “dance with me?”

And suddenly what you thought was disaster is transformed into the night of your life

He dances with you the entire break, seeming loathe to let you go when he returns to play the second set but his eyes frequently meet yours by the stage as he plays and you find a corner of the club to talk until near dawn the next morning when they eventually kick you out

All manner of stories and facts are shared and there’s a sweet kiss at the fork in the foot path before you have to part ways to reach your quarters

“Didn’t have to ask for that, did you” he teases you softly and you giggle fondly before darting off to catch a few winks of sleep before your shift