#in a very normal looking suit and his collar is up to the middle of his cheeks

[schadenfreudich]

incredibly helpful when I'm trying to figure out what something is called and all I get is other languages that call this collar "father murderer"

[suguann]

tags. fem!reader, boss/employee relationship, stupidly domestic, little wife kink in there somewhere, nanny reader, single dad gojo, breeding kink [18+ only]

You sometimes find yourself wistfully imagining having a family of your own—a soft and sweet little bundle to cuddle and someone strong and capable (competent) at your side. But you can’t think of the last time you’ve been on a date where that person had the same interest in something more serious than casually sleeping around. 

Nannying seemed like the natural conclusion, especially when you’re still settling in a new city and barely scraping by for rent and student loans for a degree you don’t use. 

You pick up a few jobs just to get a feel for it: parents going away for a honeymoon, a last-minute call-in, a weekend business trip. Then a friend of a friend says she makes enough to afford one of those picturesque apartments that overlook tall high-rises and iridescent lights, the very ones you’ve dog-eared in real-estate magazines.

All it takes are a few phone calls and an interview until you’re packing up your apartment and taking the freeway outside of the city to somewhere remote and expensive, your car looking almost out of place parked beside the shiny new one in the long driveway.

You rap on the front door before you lose your nerve, and a few moments later, it opens, and you’re unsure who looks more out of place: this man with a smile too big, dressed for work, immaculate suit dampened by the baby rag slung over his shoulder and what looks like drool on his crisp collar, or you in your scuffed shoes and second-hand store clothes, standing in front of the nicest house you’ve ever seen.

“The nanny?”

“Yes,” you mutter, licking your lips. “That’s me.”

“Good, Ren just woke up from his nap,” he says, opening the door a little wider with a creak. The darkness behind him is almost comforting.

You take a deep breath and pass over the threshold into his home.

The entire time, his hand stays on the small of your back to steer you toward the nursery, and a shiver threatens up the length of your spine.

Three months. That’s how long it takes before your employer poses a problem.

It’s not that he’s a terrible boss; in fact, he’s quite the opposite. He lets you take over one of the many spare rooms in his massive house, pays you double the regular rate, and gives you time off when you ask for it.

It also helps that Ren is cute, only a year old, and still so sweet and tiny. 

Perfect.

The problem lies in that you know what he sounds like first thing in the morning, that he knows how you like your coffee, that he helps you fold laundry in the living room while the baby naps, how you catch him staring anytime you hold his son—his expression shuttered, a foreign thing that you can’t read. It’s all so terribly domestic. 

Terrible in that you think it’s a horrible idea to develop a crush on your boss, that you can’t help but get flustered anytime he so much as looks your way, even if it’s fleeting. How a sleepy smile before he retires to his room for the night can turn your thoughts into a scattered, ill-defined mess of what they used to be until all that’s left are words like spun sugar melting on your tongue.

But also, it’s not normal, at least not from your experience. 

You were lucky in the past if your employer even wanted to know about their kid’s day. Barely saying hello once they walk through the front door before sending money to your bank account.

Satoru—because that’s what he asked you to call him one afternoon while you were in the middle of feeding Ren mashed banana, a lazy smile curling the edges of his lips after you say it for the first time—wants to know everything: what Ren ate, if he laughed, how your day was, if you finally got your hands on that book you’ve been meaning to buy. 

“You don’t have to ask about my day,” you tell him shyly, accepting the glass of wine he proffers you after spending the past hour trying to put a teething baby to bed. “To make me feel better, that is.”

“Would it be so bad if I said I want to? You live here, too.”

You try to separate the two: that he cares as your employer and not for any other reason, and how you sometimes catch the soft look in his eye whenever he looks at you could make you believe otherwise.

Cool fingers cup your chin gently, thumb caressing the top of your cheek, now close enough that you catch a few of the warm notes of his cologne, a move that’s probably very inappropriate between a boss and an employee.

“I never say anything I don’t mean.”

You swallow, nodding, slightly shaky, breath caught in your chest. “Okay.”

“Good girl.” He retreats to his office before witnessing how those two words knock the wind out of you.

He starts saying things like our shopping list, our car—because he gave you the keys to the SUV parked beside his car and hasn’t touched it since; for you and the baby, he said, plus it’s terrible on gas when I drive it to work—our house, our baby. You don’t think he means to do it; it's more of an easy slip in conversation.

But then, one morning, he’s rushing around the kitchen, hair still damp and smelling like his shampoo, as he grabs his coffee and briefcase from the counter, kissing Ren’s forehead first…and then yours.

You’re half convinced that you imagined it—that his lips hadn’t stayed there for a second longer than necessary—until he straightens his tie and heads out for the day with a ‘be good’ tossed over his shoulder, and you’re left wondering if he meant to say that to you or Ren.

It sets off a chain reaction of thoughts whirling away in your head, leaves you wanting and wondering—only ever allowing yourself to fantasize a little when the house is quiet and dark, the baby monitor humming on your nightstand, and images of your boss flit behind closed eyelids as you fit your hand underneath your soft sleep shorts.

In the morning, you worry he can tell what you did, his smile almost too sharp, too something—more teasing than what you’re used to—his hand resting on your lower back as he leans down to kiss Ren’s chubby cheek while you make breakfast.

“I have a meeting this afternoon, so I’ll be late. Want me to pick up some food on the way home?”

No, you think, there’s no way he knows.

You spend most of the morning cleaning and folding the array of graphic onesies Satoru has a penchant for dressing Ren in, and the later half walking around the pool because it’s warm and Ren enjoys splashing around in the water. It’s enough to tucker him out for bed early, unable to keep his eyes open while eating a plate of mashed potatoes.

It’s also the first time in weeks that you have the night to yourself, no baby keeping you busy, no Satoru to—well.

After a long shower, you step out of the bathroom, moving into the hallway. And there are many reasons why you felt confident walking the few steps it took to reach your bedroom. Most revolve around what Satoru told you that morning, so you don’t expect him to be standing there, shirtsleeves rolled up, piercing gaze sliding down the length of you wrapped in a towel and little else.

“I brought home those drunken noodles you like,” he says when his eyes focus back on your face, his whole expression softening into a smile.

A beat. “Thank you,” you whisper, unable to look away.

He tucks the wet strands of hair clinging to your cheek behind your ear. “Why don’t you get dressed, and I’ll join you downstairs?”

The noise in your brain goes static.

You’re unsure what causes it, but everything changes when he comes home early one afternoon and finds you and the baby napping in the nursery. He has this soft look on his face and something else you can’t decipher with his piercing blue eyes settled firmly on you.

Ren coos softly into your shoulder. 

When Satoru picks him up and settles him in the crib, then walks you to your room—here, let me help you—and when he hovers in your doorway, you let him in without question.

He doesn’t waste any time peeling off your clothes, eager to have you naked and splayed out underneath him. You cum on his tongue more times than you can count until you’re silently begging him to fuck you.

He laughs, large hands spread over your tummy. 

“Use your words, baby. I’m not a mind reader.”

You feel like you’re someone else watching you from somewhere else, another body rocking against the length of your boss’s cock, back arching every time you manage to find the friction you need. He’s hard against your back, thick in a way that makes you wonder if he did enough to stretch you out. 

“I-I want—”

All other thoughts are obliterated by the stretch and press of him against your cunt. 

“Think I’m going to keep you,” he rasps, lips dragging over your throat. “Keep this drippy little cunt spread open on my desk whenever I want while the baby naps. Would you like that? For me to fuck you full until you give me a baby.”

You clench, nerves shot.

“Gonna get all round with my baby, stay here forever,” he mumbles when he draws away, and you can’t tell if the words are meant for you to hear or slip out without him realizing. “Fuck—breed my little wife until it takes—”

Your eyes roll up, lost in the little promises he paints across your skin, body shivering over and over until you’re sobbing from it until he has to clamp a hand down over your mouth—shh, you’re going to wake the baby—going limp when he finally cums, pressing as deep as your body will allow, as if he can somehow imprint himself there. 

Wonders if maybe he’s been building up to this moment all along. 

It’s so easy to lay there after, blissed out while he litters kisses across your face and collarbones, letting him lift your hips up to slide a pillow underneath, even though the position is awkward when he tries to cuddle you afterward.

His fingers draw shapes on your stomach, giving you a wistful look, like he can’t believe he’s laying here with his cum still dripping between your thighs—no matter how many times he scoops it up and pushes it back inside you. “Do you think it’ll take?”

And you don’t have the heart to tell him about the little foil packet of pills tucked away in your nightstand.

[r0-boat]

Could I request Von Lycaon finding out his s/o made him (and, if it's okay with you, the rest of Victoria Housekeeping) new clothes?

Just imagine him walking in on s/o making a very stylish suit while surrounded by mannequins wearing elaborate clothes.

Ye ye! This was really fun to write Thank you so much!

Von Lycaon with a fashion designer S/O (feat: Victoria housekeeping)

Being not only his partner but a trusted friend to all of Victoria housekeeping, You kind of have free reign over the entire mansion. It's not like he minds any mess you make you clean up, and your presence is welcomed by all the maids and butlers. Even though it is rude to be nosy about what exactly you do and some of these rooms, He can't help but be curious when he watches you walk in and out of an old room carrying shopping bags full of items.

You had a huge smile on your face, So whatever you were doing, it was making you happy, which made him even more curious. And then it was your odd behavior He was dusting off the banister when you walked right up to him Your gentle smile as you hum a tune before he could ask if there's anything you need You grab his palm your fingers gently brushing over the cuff of his suit before your other hand gently running over his collar. His eyes go right but he does not stop instead lowering his head down to let you work your fingers. He's so glad He was a thiren then you wouldn't see the blush on his face. The way your hands were inspecting his clothes he half expected you to take them off. His voice cracks "please dear... What are you doing? We can't do it here." Embarrassment washed over him when you gave him a confused look.

Staring at The door to the room knowing you were on the other side He hesitates opening it. It is really improper to be as nosy as he's being right now. But you would understand, right? "Apologies." He says as he opens the door. He goes silent as he looks at the mannequins with elaborate dresses and suits, And you sit in the middle hand sewing to fabrics together. You hadn't even realized he entered You are so enamored with your work. Lycaon was shocked He didn't even realize this mansion had mannequins and you kept it so well hidden He swears he remembers going into this closet to clean before and none of this was here. And these designs professionally done with really good cloth and silk. "Was this all you?" He asked putting a hand on your shoulder getting your attention. You looked up at the wolf standing before you a small smile on his face. Your cheeks went red You thought you would keep this a secret for longer. "Uh yeah. It's just a hobby They don't really look very good." Lycaon shook his head. "Nonsense I've seen five star seamstresses with designs and clothing like these. Actually your work is far beyond that of a elite fashion designer." Your heart pounded in your chest being someone who wasn't confident in their own skills being judged by someone who you trusted that had an eye for quality made you warm inside. That's when something caught his eye. A beautiful white suit with a black tie and red markings, It was elegant and It looked exactly his size. "It was supposed to be for you. But I didn't want to show you." You murmur. Lycaon looked back at you and then back at the suit. "I'll wear it." What kind of boyfriend/Butler would he be if he didn't wear his own partners clothing.

He was wearing your own suit The level of happiness you felt was immeasurable. He looks so handsome in white You tried to go for a more modern style than his normal Victorian style. That's when the door opens again. You heard Corrin's voice "please help! I ripped my dress again- OH MR. LYCAON!" she shreaked half expected to get yelled at for ripping her dress. You smile that she stepped closer toward you with a needle and thimble in hand. You got to work on the tear But Lycaon has sights on something else. "Miss Corrin! Did you know our guest could sew?" Corrin looked confused "You didn't?" Lycaon's ears twitched as they folded backward "excuse me?" "Yeah um, Rina had a little costume done for her Bangboo and she was so happy she told everyone. I guess she didn't tell you?"

No she didn't this was news to him. And speak of the devil Rina flying through a wall "Dear is that dress I ordered done I would just love a matching set with Drusilla- Oh hello Lycaon." His frown dropped further "Alexandrina..."You couldn't help but crack a smile as he sounded like a disappointed father, But part of you is guilty because you knew why she didn't tell him. "I'm sorry Lycaon. I didn't want you to know. I thought I wasn't good enough." His disappointment turn into a face of shock and hurt. "Beloved I could never be so cruel. Good or not I would support your hobby 100%... Where have you gotten that poisonous thought?"

Your heart feeling heavy your eyes move to the ground. Corrin and Rina left to give you two some space. "Beloved, I understand you have your secrets, I have mine But never assume such things." He says caressing your face with his hand giving you a kiss on the forehead. "Thank you Lycaon I'm sorry." You smile kissing him back.

You're hugging was interrupted by a snore. Von Lycaon looks over in the corner to see where the noise came from. To his shock he sees Ellen Joe curled up on a trunk snoozing away curled up like a cat her tail covering her face. "How long has she been there? I've been looking for her." You couldn't help but laugh "Oh yeah she comes in here sometimes. Since you never come in here very often." Lycaon's eyes narrow "Oh really?" Oh dear... Sorry Ellen for accidentally ratting you out.

[pasta-in-the-pudding]

CORPSE BRIDE CREEPYPASTA AU

Part 1~ With this ring, I ask you to be mine

Summary: Basically the Corpse Bride movie except with Toby and Y/n (and also some creative liberties >:D)

Credits: The Corpse Bride- Tim Burton, Ticci Toby- Creepypasta, Divider- @ wcnbear

A/n: IM FINALLY BACK ARGHHH!!! IM SO EXCITED TO GET WRITING AGAIN I'VE MISSED THIS SO MUCH! Thank you to everyone who was so patient with me whilst i took this break from the blog, and i hope you all like this little (long awaited) treat!! I will also be putting out all of the other requests in my inbox either with this series or shortly after, so if you've sent in a request be on the look out!

Part 1 (you're here!) Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Clop clop clop clop....The sound of the horses pulling the carriage along a stone road rang within Toby's mind. Today he was meeting his to-be bride for the first time in order to rehearse the wedding. It wasn't too uncommon, to not know who your spouse is before you marry them in this time. His fiancé came from a powerful and respected family, and his family owned multiple businesses putting them well off financially. It was normal to marry for gaining something and not for love, and yet Toby couldn't help but feel nervous. He tried to imagine what his wife might look like. Maybe she'd have a soft face and long eyelashes. Or maybe curly hair and a pointed nose? He then pondered what her personality might be like. He hoped for a kind, caring woman, but couldn't help the nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him she could be cruel and couldn't care less about him as her husband.

His thoughts came to an end as the horses abruptly stopped and he heard the coach's coughing get closer to the door. His mother gave him a quick look over, a straightening of his collar and a pat on the cheek before getting out of the carriage along with his father. Toby hesitated for a moment before stepping out and looking at the home in front of him. It was big, not as big as his house, but it looked bigger than it was due to the lack of furniture taking up any room. He was ushered inside by the butler who answered the door, and handed his coat off to be hung up. He walked with his parents along a hallway until something caught his eye, a piano in the middle of the room. As everyone else walked ahead, he hung back and gazed at the piano. He'd learned to play it at a very young age, with the help of a hired teacher. Playing now brought him a sense of comfort and nostalgia, and before he knew it, his feet were moving to the seat and his fingers were on the keys playing one of the first songs he'd learned. It came to him as easily as breathing, and it helped calm the nerves that had been growing since this morning.

Upstairs, a young girl by the name of Natalie sat at her vanity getting ready for her first meeting with her fiancé. She had long since had her hair and dressing done, and was now putting the finishing touches on her hair when she heard a piano being played. The noise shocked her and she stopped mid tuck of a lock of hair. She couldn't recall the last time that piano was used, not that she hadn't wanted to of course, but her mother forbade it. She didn't even know it still played properly and before she knew it, her curiosity had gotten the better of her and she was making her way down stairs.

She comes to stand by a young man, who she assumes to be her future husband. (What other man around her age would be here on the day of their wedding's rehearsal?) He seems very immersed in the song he is playing, and she decides not to stop him. Why would she? She's longed to play that piano since she was a child. Unfortunately, he sees her out of the corner of his eye and jumps, making him mess up a note. He immediately stands up and smooths his suit out, trying to stammer out an apology. "Forgive me, I-" She presses a finger to his lips "No, it's alright...You play beautifully" Natalie says bashfully. Toby goes quiet for a moment before muttering a "Thank you". Natalie crosses her hands over her dress and begins to sway back and forth nervously. "You must be Tobias." Toby nods and fidgets with his fingers. "And you, Natalie" She nods. "Tomorrow, we are to be....." He trails off and she finishes it expectantly "Married?" He lets out a nervous chuckle and nods. She sighs and takes a seat on the piano's bench. "I've never cared for marriage, ever since I was small all I wanted to do was live alone. Strange for a woman, isn't it?" Toby absentmindedly agrees, "Yes, well....No!! Not-not strange at all!" Natalie lets out a small smile at his nervousness, "Well, if my husband to be doesn't think so, I think that is a good sign." Toby also begins to smile and offers his hand to her. As she takes it, the door down the hallway that his parents disappeared to opens. "Good heavens! A young lady and gentleman such as yourselves have no reason to be alone together! Into the room, both of you!"

At the sight of her mother, Natalie quickly drops her hand to her side and hangs her head as she walks to the rehearsal room, followed shortly by Toby.

Now dear readers, let us understand something. Back in the day, mental disorders weren't all that well understood or accepted. And Toby having Tourette's Syndrome is seen at the very least as him being rude. With something as delicate as wedding vows, even a stutter can ruin the whole thing, especially in the Victorian era. So when Toby is an anxious wreck, and he has Tourette's Syndrome, and it's the Victorian era, AND his fiancé's parents are terrifying, he is BOUND to mess things up. And this is exactly what happens.

Almost three hours later, they are still practicing the vows. Not even the rest of the ceremony, only the vows. No matter what he does, Toby just can't seem to get it right. He either stutters too long, tics in the middle of them (honestly kind of rare), draws a blank, etc. The priest's patience is growing very thin, and everyone is tired of being there. "Again, from the top!" The priest exclaims, motioning to Toby. Toby clears his throat and wipes the sweat off his palms. "Right, er. With this candle.." He leans down to light his candle, but it doesn't seem to want to light anymore. He giggles nervously "Um, this candle...." He says as he desperately tries to light it again. A deep sigh comes from the priest as Toby finally manages to get it lit up. "With this candle I shall- ack!!" He is cut off as a particularly painful tic goes through his whole body, causing him to tense up abruptly and subsequently, throw the candle off behind him somewhere. The next thing he hears is a scream and people clamoring around his future mother in law. He turns to see where the candle landed, only for his face to drop in pure horror as he realizes that he has just caught his mother in law's dress on fire. He completely freezes in shock and everyone seems to miss a strange man coming into the room, grabbing the cup of wine on the altar behind the couple and dumping it on the fire, putting an end to all the panic.

The attention turns to this strange man as he begins to speak. "It appears I'm a day early for the ceremony, my deepest apologies" He says as he takes Natalie's mother's hand and kisses it politely. Natalie's father raises a brow "Right, and who are you supposed to be again?" The man stands and looks to the other "Ah, forgive me. Lord Nyras. Jack Nyras, sir" He says, handing the man his hand to shake. Natalie's father takes it with a hint of suspicion and leans over to his wife to whisper. "Is he from your end of the family?" She thinks for a moment before responding "I don't recall!" Jack takes a seat in an empty seat and waves his hand "Please, do continue." The priest bangs his fist on the table and exclaims "Absolutely not! This wedding cannot take place until the boy learns his vows!" All attention is turned to Toby again as the priest continues "If not, I simply can't marry you. I don't want to see you again until you can recite them perfectly without a stammer in between, boy." At this point, everyone is looking at Toby angrily, even Natalie has a hint of disappointment in her eyes. He rushes for the door, he needs to go out for a walk and clear his mind if he wants any chance of being married tomorrow.

It is now late into the night and Toby has been wandering around the woods, trying to recite his vows perfectly. He comes to a clearing, where he pulls out the ring and ponders for a moment. Natalie looked so excited when he mentioned that he didn't mind her not really wanting to get married. If he can't pull it off, then she may get paired up with someone else who expects her to be "the perfect wife", cooking, cleaning and raising children. A miserable existence for her, he thinks. And with that, a sudden burst of inspiration bursts through him. He will recite his vows so perfectly, God himself will be shocked! Even if he and Natalie don't come to love each other, he may be the closest bet for freedom she gets. He looks around the clearing for a moment before finding a suitably shaped branch that looks just enough like a hand so he can practice. "With this hand, I shall lift your sorrows" He proclaims "Your cup shall never empty, for I shall be your wine" He snaps a twig off of a near by branch as a make shift candle "With this candle I shall light your way in darkness." He kneels down and slips the ring onto the hand shaped branch. "With this ring, I ask you to be mine."

Immediately he got a gut feeling. Something was wrong. Every instinct in him was telling him to get out of there as quickly as possible, and he understood why when the branch began to crackle and move, and gripped his arm. He let out a panicked scream and yanked his arm free, pulling the "branch" with it. As he tried to shake it off, a person was emerging from the ground. Their clothes were tattered and torn, but were clearly once white. Their skin had a green undertone to it, at least, what little skin they had left. As their face came into view all Toby heard was a whispered "I do." Toby's mouth fell open and he got to his feet and ran back for the town as he finally freed himself of the arm gripping onto him. Even though he was full on running and they seemed to only be walking, they seemed to always be only a step or two behind him. Finally as he got to the bridge, he turned to look where they were and, gone. They were no where to be found. As he was going to turn around to catch his breath, he was shocked to be met with the exact face he had been running from.

Their arms came to wrap around his neck as they whispered "You may now kiss" The last thing he remembers is the world seeming to swirl around him before fading to black.

[llamagoddessofficial]

Thank you @thats-one-cool-dude for this commission, inspired by itsxroxannex's amazing art. Nothing quite like Nightmare himself <3

---

... You were in a dream.

The realisation hit you, the moment you became aware of yourself and your surroundings. Ironically, it felt like you had just ‘woken up’- snapping back to reality. But you couldn’t have been more conscious of the fact that this reality wasn’t yours.

You still felt like you were dreaming. Partly. It was hard to think, there was still that signature disconnect between your head and your body. And yet... you could feel things you didn’t normally feel in a dream, sensations that were usually either muted or entirely gone. Was this what lucid dreaming felt like? You'd never been able to do that before. You’d never woken up, and immediately known with every fibre of your being that you weren’t really ‘awake’.

... You looked up. There was a small table before you, draped in a spotless white cloth, and decorated by a single lit candle. Very gentle piano drifted through the air, jazzy and slow, like you were in the middle of a nice restaurant... two chairs pulled up on either side of the table.

... Someone occupied one of the chairs.

He was a skeleton. A tall skeleton, his bones were slick and dark, bluish black as a midnight sky, with the faintest iridescent sheen like the shimmer on a bubble or an oil spill. He looked as if he were made of tar. A clean smile of ice white teeth... one eye, a powerful, electric cyan blue, the other socket covered by that same tar-ish substance.

... He was wearing a suit. You didn’t expect that. A nice suit, it outlined him well, it made him look well-proportioned and tidy. Somehow, the liquid of his body didn’t stain the white cuffs or collar. Dream logic? You had no clue.

Were this any other situation, you probably wouldn’t have reacted as... calmly. But because you were in asleep, your mind felt far more forgiving of the bizarreness of the situation. Sure, a skeleton with inky bones and one glowing eye was waiting for you at a table set up like a date. Why not? You'd had weirder dreams.

That, and...

... Well, his face looked so... gentle. He simply stared at you, with a low smile, like you were the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. The candlelight flickered against him... he had a nice face. Strong curved cheekbones, a pretty defined jaw. His skull was handsome in a regal, timeless sort of way.

Your cheeks felt hot.

“ah. finally.” His voice was silky, low, and dark. Very pleasant to listen to, and exactly the kind of voice you expected to hear from a creature that looked like him. “i thought you’d never sleep.” 

... You looked down at yourself. You were dressed for a date- an outfit you definitely didn’t normally wear. 

“... come on, now. don’t be shy. i’ve been waiting for you.” He said, sweetly, patiently. “come sit with me.”

...

Well. It was just a dream, right? So you had nothing to lose. You shuffled over to the table, sitting down opposite him. His grin lifted, the flickering candle played with the shadows on his face... the gentle piano continued.

“i’m sans.” He shifted his elbows onto the table. The black parts of his suit, although it was clearly fabric, very faintly had the same iridescent sheen as his bones. “don’t worry, i already know your name.”

“... You do?” You asked. Was that something you needed to worry about?

He chuckled. The sound was handsome. “of course. it’s only a dream, right?”

“... Oh. Yes, right.”

Remembering that this was a lucid dream gave you a strange sense of... confidence. It made your chest puff up a little, it brought your hands out of their curled position on your lap, the anxieties you usually always carried finally melting off. Warm confidence flooded your system- he was right. You didn’t have to be embarrassed, or scared, did you? This was your dream, wasn’t it? You could do whatever you liked. Man, lucid dreaming was great.

‘Sans’ gained a slight twinkle to his beautiful blue eye. He kept looking at you like you were everything- it was making you feel warm. Important.

“i know it’s a boring question. but do tell; how was your day?”

“... Slow.” You replied. He had such a nice face. This was a nice dream. “Very slow.”

A knowing look. “sometimes a slow day is better than a frantic one.”

... You let out a little laugh. He leaned a fraction closer to you. “Yeah, I guess. I’d take a slow day over the kinds of days I normally get.”

“what would a normal day be, for you?”

“Like you said. Frantic.” He had instantly put you at ease. His dulcet tones, his impeccable sense of dress, his gentle aura... despite the fact that you were having a conversation with a skeleton, it felt like you were talking to an old friend. “I work a lot. Then on my few days off, it feels like I’m so exhausted I have no energy to spend on anything other than recovery. It sucks.”

“i think you aren’t alone in feeling like that. today is far too fast-paced.”

There was suddenly a wine glass in front of him. And in front of you, too. An expensive-looking bottle beside the candle, in the middle of the table- Sans picked up the bottle, offering it to you.

“shall i pour you something?” He asked, invitingly.

... You paused. “I... don’t really know if I should...”

“come on now.” He purred. “it’s a dream, right? you won’t have a hangover. when will there ever be a better time to have something to drink?”

“... Pft.” You felt... kinda silly for saying no. “Oh, alright then. I guess you’re right.”

Sans grinned. He poured you a generous serving, the liquid was a beautiful tyrian purple, and once he stopped pouring the candlelight in the wine made it appear as if your entire glass was filled with ruby. He filled up his own glass as well. It was good wine, too, it was exactly to your taste.

“... What is this, by the way?”

“... wine?”

“No, this.” You gestured around. “Are we on a date right now?”

“of course.” He placed his glass down and chuckled. Sans had such a warm gaze, despite the cold blue colour of his eye. It almost looked... adoring? He hadn’t stopped staring at you since the moment you woke up in this dream.

“Why?”

“because you’re wonderful.” He knitted his fingers together, using them as a cradle for his head. The ends of his phalanges looked sharp. “and i think you deserve a good date. none of those terrible, thoughtless outings you’ve been on recently.”

“How do you know I’ve been on dates?” You asked, but teasingly, drinking a bit more. Of course he knew, this was your dream. His eye flickered to your lips as they touched the rim of the glass, but they returned to your own eyes so fast you couldn’t tell if you really saw the movement at all.

“those fools don’t know what they’re doing. who tries to take someone back to their parents’ house on a first date?” He looked like he still couldn’t believe it. “despicable.”

You snickered at that one. Who wouldn’t?

“They weren’t so bad.” You said, softly. “Rough around the edges, sure. But they meant well.”

He leaned a little closer again. Every time you laughed, he seemed unable to stop himself from drawing nearer. The space was getting more and more intimate.

“you’ll realise how terrible they were when i show you how good dates can be.”

“I’m sorry, but...” You traced the rim of your glass. “am I going to get any more context on who you are? Or are you just too mysterious?”

“i’m nobody important.” He said, reaching the wine bottle across the table again and refilling said glass. “i haven’t any ulterior motives, dear, if that’s what you’re afraid of. i just want to get to know you.”

... You liked the way he said ‘dear’. It made you feel warm again. You swirled the wine around the glass, admiring the strange colour- huh, funny. Even though this was a dream, you could still feel that familiar sensation of being tipsy.

“... This is nice.”

“yes.” He murmured, gazing at you through a lidded socket. “it is.”

“I don’t really want to wake up.”

His eyelight flashed.

“... now. don’t go saying things like that, dear. someone might think you’re serious.”

///---///

You woke up with a lovely, soft, cosy feeling. Right down to your core. Far from your usual stuffy, too hot/too cold awakenings, the bed felt like a pair of arms around you- a comfortable pair of arms that made the thought of just closing your eyes and slipping back to sleep again all the more appealing.

...

You rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling. Morning light was seeping through the curtains; as nice as it sounded, you couldn’t really go back to sleep right now. The day was starting.

... You could almost still taste the wine. You almost felt like its fuzzy warming effect was still thrumming through your body. And, in your mind’s eye, you could still see him- looking at you, smiling, like you were the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

“i just want to get to know you.”

...

... Sans, huh?

///---///

“hello again, dear.”

The same feelings of ‘waking up’. The same knowledge you were dreaming. And, when you opened your eyes... the same skeleton in front of you.

No suit, this time. Just normal clothes, all toned as black as his bones, sharing his faint iridescence.

... This dream wasn't set at a table. It was on a sunny street corner, in a musical-looking city, bright blue sky and quaint cafes surrounding you, bicycles and colourful pedestrians and trees on every inch of available pavement. People busied past both of you, like you weren’t even there- like there was nothing strange about a large, ink-black skeleton holding the hand of a bewildered human.

... Holding your hand. You blinked, looking down... his midnight claws were entwined with your fingers.

You looked back up at his face. “Sans?”

He grinned, evidently delighted you recalled his name. There was so much you didn’t know, in his eye, so much he understood but you didn’t.

“surprised to see me? i said you i’d take you on more dates, didn’t i?”

Yes. You were very surprised. It took you a few moments to gather the words, mouth opening and closing again, dumbly.

“... I-I just... it was a dream.” You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. “My dreams don’t normally...”

“repeat?” He squeezed your hand gently, brushing his thumb over the back of your palm. “perhaps they do. perhaps they just weren’t worth remembering before now.”

You flushed at the casual touch. “I didn’t expect to see you again.”

“well." He tilted his skull. "are you the good kind of surprised, dear?”

Again, yes. But you didn’t seem to need to say it, judging by the delighted softness his smile took on.

“... Where are we?”

“you're so cute. paris.” He replied, amiably. “i took the liberty of finding the nicest looking side. it’s a charming city, certainly... but not all of it is this pretty.”

“... I never thought I’d...”

“... be able to go?” His voice was a disarming, lulling purr. “i told you. i want to take you on real dates. we can go anywhere you want- anywhere at all. time and distance are no issue.”

“Why?”

“i said so before. i just want to get to know you.”

... You looked around. At the beautiful streets. You could hear people talking, smell baked goods and coffee. It was so romantic... so unlike anywhere you’d ever been.

...

“Could... we go somewhere high up, when the sun goes down?” You asked. “To see the lights?”

... A small laugh left his chest. Like your question had an incredibly obvious answer.

“... of course we can.”

///---///

Sans, whoever he was... he was quickly becoming a staple of your life. 

He kept his promise. He took you on dates. Wonderful ones, hopelessly romantic ones- strolls through starlit woods, picnics on hills overlooking the ocean, scenic boat rides through canals and rivers alike, city tours that felt so impossibly vivid and real despite the fact that your feet never ached. Various delightful places across the world you were certain you’d never be able to visit in your own reality. 

... Sans was charming. Charming in a sophisticated, cultured way, he had that lifted air to him that made you feel so important when he seemed to so much enjoy listening to what you were saying. He spoke sweetly, he was effortlessly funny, he knew precisely how to make you unwind. He already knew more about you than most people in your life.

Though you still knew nothing about him.

You’d never been so well-slept. Your dreams were starting to become your favourite place. Why wouldn’t they? Nobody in the waking world treated you so kindly. There was nowhere else where you felt so consistently cared for, listened to. If you ate together, you would wake up not hungry anymore. If you drank, you would feel the faint buzz even after your eyes opened. 

... And you always felt warm.

...

You hadn’t researched Sans until now. There was just... something that felt prying about it? You had no reason to think that way. Today was the day you were going to try and find out something about your nightly visitor.

... It was worth researching. Dreams that recurred that often probably had meaning, right? 

A few google searches wouldn’t hurt.

///---///

You saw him again the next night. Because of course you did.

... It was a much simpler setting than usual. Sans usually took you to places that would take your breath away... here, it was just a park bench in a flower garden. 

“morning.” He said, with a teasing lilt to his voice. “how was your day?”

You sat down beside him. Your heart was starting to beat faster. “... Could I talk to you about something?”

He paused. Only for a moment. It seemed like... he could sense your apprehension.

“... oh. of course.”

“I... did some research today.”

A flicker of something in his face. He covered it quickly. “the fun kind of research?”

“Research about dreams. And nightmares.” You fiddled with your hands, looking anywhere but him. “It took some digging. But I found something eventually. Old legends, really old, about a being that can enter people’s minds while they sleep and influence what they dream about. A skeleton with black bones.”

...

“... interesting.”

“... A lot of stuff was different. Like... tentacles, ‘evil’ energy, making people have night terrors so bad they’d give themselves insomnia to avoid sleeping. But, I mean... a skeleton with black bones that enters people’s minds while they sleep?”

... Sans had gone quiet. You glanced at him.

“Are you... uh... are you ‘Nightmare’?” 

...

As you held his blue eye, a strange sensation fell over you. 

It was like... you had come home, and a door you were certain you left closed was wide open. The feeling of staring into a room and knowing, just knowing, there was someone in there that shouldn’t be there. 

An interloper. 

His face... suddenly didn’t look quite as inviting.

...

Had he always been that big?

...

“i see.” He said, softly.

...

Then you were awake. Staring blankly at your ceiling.

You didn’t feel warm. Not at all.

///---///

It was a normal dream, at first. A busy room full of people you didn’t recognise, a nonsensical list of reasons you had to be there that only made sense because your higher thought functions were locked away. Your head felt as though it were stuffed full of sand, and you had little care in the world aside from the base anxieties your brain was projecting onto the scene before you. A test, a missed train, you couldn't even recall.

A normal dream.

...

Something in the corner of your eye flickered. A shadow, moving the wrong way.

...

Just like that, you were aware.

The hair on the back of your neck prickled, the faces around you blurred and unfocused. You felt... singled out. Alone. A real person, in a room full of mannequins.

... You could tell he was there. You'd had enough dreams with him to know when he was nearby. But you couldn't see him- you turned around, only the rest of your dream behind you. But you could feel it... he was in there with you.

"... Sans?" You said.

... Nothing.

Your voice wobbled. “Are you... are you there?”

Silence.

...

“Nightmare?”

“no.” He said, softly, right in your ear. You jumped- it sounded as if he was standing behind you. “do not call me that.”

You didn’t turn around. Something told you there was a reason he was remaining out of view. “... Why did you disappear?”

He hissed. “i never wanted it to be like this.”

“Like... this?”

“it should’ve stayed a dream. it was never meant to be real.”

...

Your gaze dropped to the floor. The carpet, a product of your sleeping mind, repeated itself over and over.

... You suddenly felt... stupid. For a lot of reasons- but mostly for letting yourself feel hurt by that. 

What did you think was going to happen, getting so attached to a random guy in your dreams that did little more than take you on a few pretty looking dates and say a few sweet words? All he had to do was feign interest in what you said, and you were like a fish on a hook. Idiot.

You wanted to wake up.

...

Hands pressed against your shoulders.

“ ... that’s not what i meant.” His voice was a lot softer, suddenly. Softer than you'd ever heard it before- softer, even than your 'first date'.

It was your turn to not respond.

“dear.” It felt like he wanted you to turn around, now. You didn’t. “i promise that’s not what i meant.”

When you spoke, your voice was sullen. This was the end of your nice dreams, wasn't it? “... What else could you possibly mean by that?”

He didn’t let go of your shoulders. “i... it was...”

... Him needing a moment to speak... it didn't exactly cheer you up, but it made you return to the moment a little. It made you listen. You were so used to him knowing exactly what to say at any given moment, silken words coming so easily- the fact that he needed time to gather his thoughts made what he was about to say seem a bit more genuine.

“... the waking world is so complicated.” He finally said. “dreams... are the escape. i didn’t want this to be complicated.”

...

“... Complicated.” Your tone had significantly eased. He wasn’t wrong. Things had definitely become more complicated, as soon as you brought the real world in. 

“i wanted to see you.” His hands moved, from your shoulders to your torso. “i wanted to know you, but i didn’t... want you to have to think. i just wanted to be a dream, for you, someone you could escape to. i wanted to be a good dream for once.”

You didn’t reply. He was convincing. But you didn’t even know if you believed him.

“... don’t wake up.” He murmured. You felt his face press to the back of your head... his arms tucked around your middle.

“I don’t know if I can trust you.” You said. “I don’t know anything about you.”

“i didn’t want you to be afraid of me.”

“Should I be?”

“no.” Instantly, breathlessly. Like he couldn’t believe you asked that. “no, of course not.”

...

You sighed. 

“What’re you willing to tell me?”

“whatever you ask.” 

... It was an interesting way of wording it. You didn’t miss the specificity- whatever you asked him, he would answer. But volunteering information seemed beyond him for now.

“we should go somewhere. to talk.” He offered. “where do you want to go?”

You paused.

...

“Well. How about... somewhere you want to go, this time?”

[blurredcolour]

It's Better This Way | Part One

It's Better This Way Masterlist

Carwood Lipton x Enlisted!Female Reader

Finding yourself injured and without shelter in Haguenau, you shift your focus to caring for the unwell Lipton, but as his promised battlefield commission comes through, it becomes impossible to continue pretending that your feelings for him aren't slowly killing you.

Warnings: MAJOR Canon Divergence, Angst, Bull Carries Reader, Minor Reader Injury, Detailed Descriptions of Pain, Language, Weapons, Pining for a Married Man, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: Self-indulgent canon divergence with little explanation ahead, read at your own risk. There will be a happy ending to this but unfortunately Lip and the reader are going to have to go through it first. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 5048

-------------------------

The fabric of Randleman’s ODs felt remarkably rough against your left cheek as you pressed your face tightly to the small of his back. Each time the soles of his jump boots met the wet streets of Haguenau, your body jostled against his as he ran with you slung over his shoulder, a series of splashes sounding around you as the entirety of 1st platoon fled from the outpost you had very recently been sheltering in. You wrapped an arm around his middle, trying to limit the violent bouncing of your body as the other bent at the elbow to protect the back of your head in anticipation.

“Sergeant why is your platoon running around outside?” You could hear Captain Winter’s voice and felt Randleman skid to a halt, the others quickly following suit.

The man holding you turned to address him with you still dangling from his shoulder. “Well sir, first she started sniffing like a bloodhound, next thing I know she’s screaming like a banshee to ‘get out’ so out we got, sir.” He replied, obviously winded, guilt swelling in your chest both at the urgency you’d expressed seemingly all for naught and the lengths Randleman had gone to get you of that cellar and into the street.

“What did you find, Corporal?” Captain Speirs’ voice reached your ears as he stepped around Randleman to address your inverted face, and you turned your head to speak to your commanding officer, despite the rushing of blood in your ears.

“Really big sh–” Your response was cut off by the explosion of the now vacated building, your eyes going wide before you were suddenly shielded by a wall of ODs as Randleman, and therefore you also, were ushered into a nearby alley for cover.

Your head was starting to swim, the pressure of hanging upside down becoming almost too much. “Think you could put me down, Sarge?” You wheezed and Randleman leaned forward, setting your feet on the ground with a muttered apology.

The rapid draining of blood back to its normal places had you sway on your feet, and you grabbed for his collar, wincing at the unexpected pain in your palm. You looked at the burn there in confusion as Randleman steadied you by the shoulder.

“Your face is bleeding, Corporal.” Speirs said quietly and you dug your battered handkerchief from your pocket, quickly pressing it to your cheek with a wince at the sparks of pain that erupted there, before grabbing a scoop of snow with your hand, sighing a little at the instant relief it brought to your heated skin.

The filthy state of your ODs, a brand-new set you’d just changed into not two hours ago, brought a frown to your face. Lipton was going to be so disappointed in you. Hearing your name, you looked to Captain Winters quickly, following as he motioned for you to head into the Company CP with him and Captain Speirs. A quick glance over your shoulder revealed the rest of 1st was splitting up, one group heading to where 2nd was positioned and the other to 3rd. Randleman was nowhere to be seen.

“Sit.” Winters gestured at the worn settee, and you sank into the lumpy cushions apprehensively. “What exactly happened in there, Corporal?”

“Well, sir, we were in the basement waiting for dinner when I could smell something burning – and it wasn’t just the cooking. I followed the scent of it to – well I think it was the coal cellar? And opened the small door. Then I could smell cordite, like artillery, which seemed an even worse thing to smell than smoke.” You grimaced and gritted your teeth against the pain that seared through your cheek in response. “So, I crawled in there just to figure out what the hell was going on when I saw a shell, bigger than the ones in Bastogne, just sitting there amongst smoldering wood and coal, a gaping hole in the bricks above it. But I guess opening the door fanned the flames or something because it started to get very hot in there and even though it hadn’t detonated when it hit the side of the building at some point, I figured we needed to get out of there as soon as possible.” You looked up to the two men staring at you with exhausted expressions, a stunned silence settling over the dimly lit room before Speirs cleared his throat.

“How did you get out?”

“Bull yanked me out of there, thankfully. I was not crawling backwards fast enough.” You looked up as the man himself appeared with Roe in tow, the medic quickly coming over to look at first your face and then your hand, working at bandaging your burn to start.

“Well done, the both of you.” Winters chimed in at last before turning to Speirs. “We need to have each platoon conduct a thorough inspection of the buildings to make sure there’s nothing lurking anywhere else.”

“Yes, sir.” Speirs nodded in reply before looking back at you. “We’ll get you some gear as soon as we can, Corporal, and find you a bed too.”

“Thank you, sir.” You replied before they walked out deep in conversation, and you winced as Roe probed at your face. “Thanks for pulling me out, Sarge.” You gave Randleman a lopsided smile.

“Sorry I caught your face…” He muttered guiltily.

“Just adds to my rugged good looks.” You joked bravely, looking to Roe as he sighed.

“We’re gonna have ta pull all these splintahs out.”

You nodded in resignation, trying not to frown in dread of the process. “Whatever you say, Doc.”

“Can ya lean back fo' me?” He shuffled closer to stand between your legs as you tilted your head to rest against the ornate wood frame of the settee, closing your eyes as he leaned in.

Shoving your unbandaged hand into your pocket, you curled your fingers into a fist, tensing in preparation for the oncoming discomfort of Roe rooting around in your flesh for the apparent crop of slivers you’d acquired during your adventure.

“Ya gotta relax you' face fo' me.” He chided gently, holding up his flashlight and a set of tweezers he’d procured from his aid kit.

“Sorry, Doc.” You exhaled, doing your best to relax the muscles of your face and jaw so he could do what he needed to do as quickly as possible, eyes closing again.

The scuff of boots across the warped hardwood floor followed by the soft ‘click’ of the front door signalled Randleman’s departure, so you were surprised by the dipping of the cushion beside you and a gentle tap at your elbow. You opened your eyes to see Lipton sitting there, looking just as unwell as he had when you’d put him to bed an hour-and-a-half ago. You narrowed your eyes, silently communicating that you would be discussing his presence later, but, undeterred, he offered his hand for you to hold as Roe began to pluck fragments of rotten timber from your cheek.

Fighting with the urge to yank back from Roe, and to cry out pathetically, you pulled your hand from your pocket to clutch at Lipton’s tightly, feeling a great deal of comfort as he held tightly in return.

“Can you hold that for me, please, Sergeant?” Roe handed him the flashlight and began working at a particularly large sliver.

Your fingers threaded through Lipton’s to squeeze almost painfully as you did your best to endure silently, the wedding band on his ring finger indenting into your skin as he rubbed his thumb soothingly along the edge of yours.

“You’re doing great.” He wheezed, full of congestion.

Unwilling to surrender without a fight, the shard of wood split through the thin barrier of your skin, drawing a yelp from your throat, much to your embarrassment. Mercifully neither man commented on it. After two smaller slivers were easily plucked free, Roe swiped your skin clean and pressed a piece of gauze to your cheek, wrapping several lengths of bandage around your head across your nose to hold it in place.

“All done, now get some damn rest, tha both of ya. You’ll be no good backin' up tha patrol tonigh’, I’ll tell tha Cap’n.” Roe muttered and hurried out – he always seemed to be in a hurry, something you did not envy him.

Sitting up, you rounded on Lipton immediately. “Bull called me a bloodhound and a banshee all in the span of thirty seconds, why are you out of bed tempting fate?”

“Heard your platoon ran into some trouble.” He grumbled sheepishly before a cough overtook him, body shaking the settee with the effort.

You frowned deeply. “You’re about to run into a whole lot more trouble if you don’t get back to bed, come on.” You stood, tightening your grip on his hand and pulling him after you as you made your way toward the back of the building.

Finding the room he’d settled in earlier, you led him over to the bed, pushing on his shoulders until he sat down, pulling off his untied boots.

“You need to be careful of that hand…” He protested weakly.

You simply ignored him as you lifted the sheet and blanket to tuck him in. “And stay here this time.” You said firmly as you made sure he was propped against the pillows to keep his coughing to a minimum.

“Stubborn woman.” He grimaced up at you, making your lips stretch into a smirk.

“Not very creative when you’re sick, now are you Lip.” You muttered and settled onto the filthy rug on the floor beside his bed, not at all concerned now that you’d coated your once clean ODs in all manner of dirt.

“What are you doing?” He croaked, turning his head to watch you lay on your side with the uninjured half of your face resting on your bicep.

“Making sure you don’t go anywhere, not even when the patrol is on its way across the river in a few hours.” You glared up at him affectionately.

“There’s gotta be a free bunk in the other room, go on–”

“I’m not falling for that again, Lip, you already sent me off to get some dinner and snuck out of bed. There will be no repeats.”

“You’re gonna get all dirty again…”

You snorted sleepily, shaking your head. “Too late, now sleep, will you?”

He huffed in annoyance, sending you one last baleful glance before seeming to settle into the bed. You sighed, letting your eyes drift shut as you curled up tight against the chill in the room – all your gear including your coat, blanket, and scarf were lying at the bottom of a heap of rubble, having not been a priority for you or Randleman as he dashed out of there. Despite all that, you were relatively comfortable in a room with four walls, a floor, and a ceiling. It was peaceful, aside from the odd noise outside and Lipton’s ragged breathing. Sleep had just begun to caress the edges of your consciousness when the warm weight of a blanket draped over your body.

At first it was seductive, trying to pull you under into a deep sleep, but realization dawned in your sluggish brain just where the blanket had come from, and you bolted up from the floor. “Dammit Lip, what are you doing?” You hissed at the man covered only in a sheet, pushing yourself to your feet to drape the blanket over him once more.

“Just get up here then, would you? I won’t sleep with you curled up on the floor like the Little Match Girl.” He replied firmly.

What ensued was a silent battle of wills as the pair of you glared at one another in the near-dark of the room until he broke out into another coughing fit, and you relented out of concern for his health.

“Call me stubborn” you muttered, unlacing your boots and yanking them off to set beside his before crawling over his legs to wedge yourself between his body and the wall.

It was not the first time you had slept next to Lipton – you had spent the majority of Bastogne sharing a foxhole with him. Yet there was something unspeakably intimate about sharing a bed that grated at the already frayed edges of your nerves. Doing your best to keep your back to him, willfully ignoring the persistent ache in your left cheek where it pressed against your arm, you sighed dramatically as he tugged at the blanket until it mostly covered you as well.

“Goodnight Clifford.” You said sternly, bringing out the big guns – the first name he loathed.

“When I’m better…”

“Hurry up and get better, then.” You grinned fondly as you spoke, eyeing the peeling grasscloth wallpaper in front of your nose, the ornate designs harkening back to a different time in the building’s life.

A gravelly chuckle was the only response he could muster before he finally seemed to heed your advice, breaths evening out, deepening, as he allowed his body the rest is so desperately needed.

Loving Clifford Carwood Lipton came as naturally as breathing for you. From the moment you had laid eyes on him back in England nearly six months ago, you had been lost. His kind hazel eyes, his humility, his selflessness, his strong arms, his level head amidst utter chaos – the list of reasons why you loved him was endless. You had certainly not joined the experimental female paratrooper program with the intention of finding romance, nor had it come to you willing either, for your heart belonged to a married man. You’d missed your chance with him by less than a year.

Initially the agony of your plight had been so acute you’d considered applying for a transfer, but the thought of being apart from him had proven even more unbearable. You had realized then that you were well and truly lost. Lost in the middle of a war, doing all manner of things a woman had never been allowed to do before. So, like any pain encountered during training you had taught yourself to live with it. Live with the fact that Lipton would never be yours, that maybe you would never find yourself another. It was just your lot in life to have your love so close yet so far out of reach and so you got on with making the most of the time you could have with him.

After every battle, every scrape with danger, the pair of you gravitated towards one another, your lungs refusing to fully inflate until you laid eyes on him. Confirmed he was alright. He seemed just as caring with the rest of the company, and quite honestly deserved every bit of praise coming his way, for he truly was the only reason Easy had made it out of that nightmare of a forest. A battlefield promotion loomed on his horizon, another divide to open up between you. The separation of a commissioned officer from a corporal like yourself seemed nearly as insurmountable as marriage to another woman. You were fiercely proud of him and yet it felt like the friendship you had forged would also have to come to an end any day now.

Listening to his labored breathing beside you, you could not help but frown as you carefully rolled onto your right side to look up at him. He was so pale, ashen even. Your heart ached with the desire to be able to take his suffering from him; he’d been sick for so long now and simply muscling through it for the sake of everyone else. Never thinking about himself.

The slow rise and fall of his chest caused the faint light that filtered through the boarded-up windows to glint off his gold wedding band where it rested on his hip and you swallowed painfully, forcing your eyes to close. You ought to take your own damn advice and sleep, too. With the pressure off your injured cheek and the warmth of his feverish body shared beneath the blanket, it was not long before slumber took you.

The eruption of gun fire shortly after 0100 signalled the return of the patrol, briefly tugging the pair of you back into consciousness. You wrapped your arm around his in silent admonishment against the thought of going to help, trying to quash any foolish ideas he might have harbored inside that head of his, and he grunted in annoyance but stayed put. The next time your eyelids fluttered open was sometime after dawn. The warm exhales of Lipton’s breath against your neck had your brows furrowing in bewilderment and you slowly pulled back to take stock of the situation.

At some point in the early morning hours, he had rolled off his stack of pillows and nestled his head beneath your chin, arms wrapped tightly around your waist. You were by no means an innocent party here either, for your arms had slid around him in kind, hands still laying against his shoulder blades as you cradled him against you protectively. Even your legs were somewhat entangled, though the sheet provided something of a barrier.

Shit. Your heart could not take much more of this.

Nor could the sweet, sick man in your arms. You knew him well enough to understand that if he were to wake in this very moment he would be drowning in guilt and take it all upon himself. That was the last thing he needed right now. Taking a slow breath, you retracted one arm from around him to carefully extract his from your waist. Pausing, you watched his face very carefully to ensure he was still asleep before beginning to roll him back onto the set of pillows, gnawing on your lip in concentration.

His face crinkled in protest as cold air rushed in to fill the growing gap between your bodies, a feeling which you thoroughly empathized with, but again you were doing what was best. You paused once more before disentangling your legs and finally unearthing his other arm from beneath your side, tucking him in securely as though there had been nothing amiss during the night. Exhaling slowly, you climbed over his legs and grabbed your boots, creeping from the room to go find some food as your stomach not-so-subtly reminded you that you had not eaten dinner last night.

Tying up your laces on the settee, you followed the scent of coffee to the kitchen downstairs, procuring hot beverages and food for both yourself and Lipton. You were making your way back upstairs when you nearly ran into Speirs.

“How’s the patient?” He asked, pulling his cigarette from his lips.

“Slept the night, sir, so that’s a start.” You swallowed, hoping no one had taken it upon themselves to look in on him last night.

“Good. Keep an eye on him?” He asked and you nodded quickly.

“Yes sir.”

He nodded vaguely in response before continuing down the stairs, most likely to grab some breakfast for himself. Setting the coffee down on the floor, you cracked the door open, almost jumping as Lipton turned his head to look at you.

“You’re up early.” He rumbled and you grabbed the drinks before carrying it all in.

“Got hungry.” You muttered, sitting on the floor with your legs crossed beneath you beside the head of the bed. “Coffee?” You held up one cup and he took it, sipping it slowly as you dug into whatever hot medley of food was passing for breakfast today.

“Sleep ok?” He asked quietly and you nodded, looking up to him. “You?”

“Real well, thanks to some stubborn lady.” He gave you a lopsided smile and you bit back a laugh, shaking your head.

“Glad to hear it. Eat a bit?” You held up his dish and he picked at a few bites, which you considered progress.

“Am I allowed to get up now?” He asked, a little more color in his cheeks but still clearly exhausted.

“Captain Speirs has ordered me to ‘keep an eye on you,’ so no. Unless you know, nature calls.” You took a slug of coffee, enjoying the way it almost burned down your throat.

“Hmn.” He grunted in annoyance, passing back his dish of food and settling into the blankets. “I’m not being of any use at all in here.” He sighed.

“Getting better is of great use.” You countered sternly. “That’s your only assignment right now.”

“Well, it’s…rather boring…”

“I should be offended, Lip.” You teased, finishing up your food, setting his aside in case he wanted more later. “Want me to see if Vest is done with his book yet?”

He shot you a look, one eyebrow raised, and you patted his arm. “I’ll be right back then.” You grinned and took the dishes down to wash them quickly before finding Vest.

After much cajoling he agreed to lend it to you as long as you promised not to lose his place. You were mostly pleased to find Lipton asleep when you returned with your hard-won reading material and settled onto the floor, back against the wall, to dive into the story. Much of the day passed that way, you reading, Lipton sleeping, though he woke occasionally to eat, drink and relieve himself. By the time Speirs knocked and poked his head in the door mid-afternoon, Lipton was looking remarkably human.

“Think you can join us up front, Lieutenant?” He asked as Lipton sat up quickly, nodding.

“Of course, sir.” He replied and swung his legs from the bed to slide into his jump boots.

Your fingers tightened on the edges of book, halfway read now, and you repeated the page number in your head a few times before snapping it shut as Lipton followed Speirs from the room. So, this was it, then. Walking after them quietly, you looked over as Luz called your name.

“Jesus, you look terrible.” He teased with a wink.

“Oh yeah I think Doc might’ve overdone it with the bandages.” You muttered touching the swathes of them around your head. “Just some slivers in my cheek, I’ll be alright.”

“I got you a present.” He beamed, holding out a helmet and M1 for you to replace those you’d lost in the explosion, and you smiled warmly, taking them gratefully.

“My hero.” You smirked, eyes drawn to the front room as a lot of handshaking was going on.

As if sensing your gaze, Lipton turned towards you and offered a small smile, your heart throbbing as tears began to prickle at the corners of your eyes.

“God you two were made for each other you know that?” Luz muttered under his breath and your head whipped to the side to look at him sharply, a knowing grin on his features.

“Man’s married, Luz, you’re out of your mind.” You croaked, voice betraying you, a rising sense of panic flooding your system.

“Marriage ain’t forever anymore, you know.” He shrugged nonchalantly and you bit back the urge to smack him for wishing something like that on Lipton.

“Where’d they put you last night?” You changed the subject firmly, watching him blink several times before he processed your question.

As soon as he provided directions to 3rd platoon’s outpost you turned swiftly on your heel and clapped the new helmet onto your head, walking out the back door of CP. It was time to get out of there for so many reasons. First and foremost, Lieutenant Lipton was an officer with new duties to attend to and no time to spend with a regular trooper like yourself. Secondly, what had happened in your sleep could not be permitted to occur again – you had grown complacent and careless. Lingering at his side with the feelings that you harbored for him was nothing but a recipe for disaster.

Finally, if the loveable idiot George Luz had so very clearly seen right through you, who was to say who might catch wise next. You’d had your time in the sun, there was no need to be Icarus about it and crash to the earth. A swift excision was necessary and prudent. An opportunity like this was not likely to present itself again.

You nearly got away with it, too. For almost two months you managed to avoid Lipton for the most part, through the return to Mourmelon-le-Grand, where you were fully resupplied and rested, and then Sturzelberg. On the rare occasions where he proved inescapable, you afforded him the respect his new rank deserved, referring to him only as ‘Lieutenant’ or ‘sir.’ Even though you yourself had been promoted to Sergeant, there was still the gap of a commission between you that you used like a shield. You could tell he was frustrated with you by the way his lips would press into a thin line and his breath would leave his nose in a short, sharp exhale.

The bandages came off your face to reveal an angry, raised line across your left cheekbone and many attributed your retreat into yourself to disappointment at the poor placement of a scar on a lady. You honestly could not have cared less, you were quite frankly too busy feeling sorry for yourself; grieving your self-imposed exile from Lipton’s side.

It all came to a head in Buchloe. After a long and horrifying day, you were making your way back from the house Winters had requisitioned to 1st platoon’s quarters for the night, carrying tomorrow’s orders, when Lipton finally cornered you, alone, cutting through the alleyway.

“Sergeant, wait up.” He called out to you, jogging over and you swallowed roughly, taking a deep breath to fortify yourself as you turned to face him.

“Evening, Lieutenant.” You said quietly in greeting once you’d saluted him.

His lips came together followed by his telltale exhale of annoyance. God, you knew him too well, like an extension of your own self.

“Are you doing alright?” He asked quietly, tilting his head. “Even got Winters asking about you…”

Biting the inside of your cheek in self-chastisement, you straightened your spine to stand taller. “I’m fine, Lieutenant, sorry to have troubled everyone.” You offered a smile, hoping it resembled your former ease.

His eyes narrowed as he shook his head once, almost violently. “Would you quit that?” He said with a quiet vehemence you didn’t honestly know he had in him. Apparently, he could still surprise you. “You know my name. Knew how to use it just fine in Holland and Belgium and France.” The last country he named held a tinge of sadness, sending your thoughts hurtling back to the early morning hours when you had awoken to him nestled in your arms.

Clearing your throat, and the image from your mind, with a forceful cough you set your jaw obstinately. “And then everything changed, sir.”

“God you are stubborn, woman. Lord help the man who has the privilege of trying to make you his wife.”

You unconsciously took a step back, his statement colliding with you like a blow as your eyes began to burn. Under any other circumstance the jibe would have made you laugh. Would have you returning it with some equally snarky volley of your own. But for the fact that the only man you would be willing to give such a chance was standing before you, furious with you, and you knew it could never be him.

Tilting your head to the sky you blinked furiously, willing the dampness of unbidden tears to retreat behind your eyelids. Your lips trembled as they spilled down your temples and into your hairline, breath shuddering as you fought to inhale through the painful lump in your throat, the crushing weight of longing and disappointment piled upon your chest. You were vaguely aware of Lipton whispering your name apologetically before he stepped closer to grasp your shoulders.

“I’m so sorry, that was uncalled for, please don’t cry.” He rambled desperately as you roughly dragged the cuff of your ODs across your face, frantically trying to hide the mortifying evidence of your feminine hysterics. Your other hand pressed against his shoulder, trying to push him away, but he barely budged, only spurred on to pull you closer. “Forgive me, please.” He sighed your name against your cheek as he pulled you into him, his helmet nudging yours further back on your head. “I didn’t mean a word of it, you deserve so much happiness and love and he’ll be a great guy, I know it.”

His words, his closeness, only served to intensify the flow of tears as you half pushed at him, half clung to him, a pathetic sob working its way past your lips. How could one man be so lovely and impossible all at the same time. You thought it was a fluke at first, the brush of his lips against your cheek as he continued to utter soothing things while you simultaneously struggled against and leaned into his embrace. But then his lips were pressing against yours and everything stopped.

You stopped thrashing in his arms, tears stopped pouring from your eyes, sobs stopped shuddering through you, time itself seemed to stop. The temptation to bask in the feel of his unbearably soft yet slightly chapped lips against yours burned brighter than the sun, but that rude conscience of yours reared its ugly head once more and you shoved forcefully against his shoulders, able to at last push him back a step.

Lipton paled as horror unfurled across his features. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.” He breathed.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to avoid, Lieutenant.” You muttered bitterly and straightened your helmet, stepping to the side to put some more distance between you even as your heart continued to beat an erratic tattoo against your rib cage.

Realization dawned slowly on his features, a gradual lifting of his eyebrows as his jaw dropped open, eyes widening dramatically. Sweet, sweet Lipton, oblivious to the end it seemed. You sniffed harshly, shaking your head.

“Go home to your wife, sir, it’s better this way.” You continued on your way down the alley, leaving him there in stunned silence as fresh tears blurred your vision.

-------------------------

Read Part Two

It's Better This Way Masterlist

Tag list: @bcon24 , @ronsparky

[sephythespooky]

DCA secret skeletons

HAPPY HALLOWEEN @tyra-altavilla, i'm your secret skeleton <3

i'm mostly a writer and it was so scary to get a prompt that seemed drawing-centric but I did the best I could! I hope you like it <3

words under the cut

Sun was eagerly laying out boxes and felt, glue sticks and pipe cleaners, giggling eagerly. He’d already gotten into his chosen costume for this year (thank stars that management didn’t have time to assign one to him or any of the other daycare staff this year!)

His long lanky body was draped in a white robe tied with golden rope and a collar made of carefully chosen plastic gems in red, yellow, and blue.  He had a headband taped to his forehead so his rays could still move, with a tiny cardboard snake on the center, and clip on earrings of colors that matched his collar.

Moon yawned and slipped down on his fly wire, wearing a purple suit and a wig of brown yarn with a purple top hat, “Are we almost ready, Sunny?”

“We are!” he looked up and beamed, “Oh, your costume is so dapper! Who are you, Moony?”

“I’m Willy Wonka,” he grins and pulls a cane out of the dress up box, “and my candies are my moondrops, of course.”

“Oh that’s so clever! I love it!”

“And you’re a pharaoh, right?” he asked gesturing to Sun’s outfit.

“Yes yes yes! Ancient Egyptian outfits are so elegant and pretty!

“Um…” both turned to look at Eclipse, the middle ground between the two and voice of reason, came out of the bathrooms in his own costume, a sparkly wire halo over his head and soft white wings attached to his back around his loop. The long white fabric around him only fell to his ankles, but the look was obvious even if he was shyly shuffling and his rays were partially retracted.

“Clipsy!” Sun went over and hugged him, “You look so cute cute CUTE as an angel, and it’s so perfect for you!”

“Thank you,” Eclipse hummed and relaxed as he hugged Sun back, “I was scared it’d look silly.”

“Clipsy…” Moon cooed as he took over when Sun let go. “Why would you ever look silly to us?”

“W-well…after what happened before the refurbishment…” he fidgeted his hands behind moon’s back, “I didn’t know if…if I’d deserve this kind of costume.”

Both of the other animatronics felt their metaphorical hearts crack.

“If…anyone here,” Moon sighs softly as he lets go, “doesn’t deserve to be an angel, Clipsy, it’s me. You did nothing wrong. You couldn’t possibly have stopped anything or fixed it. You got Cassie out of our daycare and away from our chaos. You calmed the storm that virus had caused in my mind and Sun’s to an extent.”

“He’s right,” Sun’s own rays were deep in their slots with heartache, “I was so so so MEAN to the people just trying to do their jobs and sometimes it even bled to the kids and…Clipsy, between Moony and I, if anybody deserves that halo, it’s you.”

The three were very down for a few seconds, but a loud “fwump” and clatter of balls changed that pretty quickly.

Another set of rays, darker orange than any of the others, pops out of the balls, along with a dark red and black face, “happy happy halloween, siblings mine~”

The voice was slightly deeper than Sun’s ‘scary’ voice but bright and full of affection.

“Prominence!” Clipsy gasped and ran over to the ballpit, his bells jingling, “What’s your costume?”

“Your is lovely, yes yes, Clipsy. Mine is funny.” The spindly animatronic moved oddly, though being a suit controlled by the wires inside rather than a normal endo explained the fluidity. “Ta-da!”

Walking out of the balls, Prominence showed off his white jumpsuit with red stripe on the side, with matching helmet, “I’m Turbo-tastic, heeheehee. I figured, if I am an arcade glitch and HE was an arcade glitch sort of, then its appropriate, yes yes.”

His brother clapped for him and Sun giggled, “It seems most of us wore white without meaning to except for Moony.”

“I don’t mind standing out. I already do since you three have warm colors mostly and I’m all cool blues.” Moon leaned on his cane and smirked, “Besides, isn’t there a line about taking a sunrise and making a lemon pie in the song from the original Wonka movie or am I forgetting?”

“no that’s right,” Clipsy chuckled. “But it’s good to see we’re all happy with our costumes and nobody has to change or something.”

“Why would we have have to change?” Prominence asked curiously as he curled up on top of the playhouse.

“I thought,” Clipsy looked at Moon, “that someone might pick a costume that is too scary for the kids.”

“I have one like that,” Moon grinned, smug as a shark, “but that is saved for the haunt later tonight. Teens and adults are fair game for scaring, after all.”

“Ooooh, can I help you, please please, Moon?” Prominence’s eyes glittered as he plonked his helmet onto his head, retracting his rays, “I can be real spooky scary, yes yes, can try to copy the cybug version maybe? Borrow some arcade machines from DJ’s back room for it?”

“Might be a good idea, but we’ll have to ask Freddy. He has final say,” Moon nodded, happy one of his brothers wanted to scare on this happy holiday.

“I don’t know why you two like that. I do not not NOT like screams and running at all,” Sun groaned a bit, “It’s so grating on my gears.”

“I don’t like it for more the emotions behind it, but I do agree,” Clipsy murmured, “Still, if it makes everybody happy in the end, I don’t see the harm.”

“Understanding as always,” Moon hummed and used his fly wire to swim gracefully through the air, “Now, I believe we have a daycare to open!”

“Right you are!” Sun ran after him, with the other two on his heels. If there was one thing all of them agreed on, it was that they loved their jobs and playing with the kids was the best part of any day.

[immoralimmortals]

Akatsuki Member Songs and Headcanons Part 2

I told you I could do this post over again with new songs! Some of the associations are more based on headcanon than others. The songs are linked in the headers. Hope you enjoy!

Hidan: BlackBoxWarrior - OKULTRA by Will Wood

This song...is definitely about someone who cannot die. Whats more: it is also definitely someone who has a strange relationship with pain and suffering. Hidan in canon so very clearly dislikes being in pain if he is not in his ritual form. Simultaneously, he says he'd love if someone managed to kill him. (I know he may be sarcastic but imagine the possibilities if he's not!) He's a gratuitous man of contradictions and confidence, and I think this song carries it well. Throughout are mentioned symbols of health and longevity in grotesque situations. You KNOW this man's body is fucked up, both by his hand and others. I want to cut him open and study him like an anatomical doll. The whole "interview" in the middle is me eventually grabbing him by the collar and going what the hell is fucking wrong with you! How can a severed head breathe and talk!

I've also heard that WW wrote this as a test to himself to get as many words in a normal length song as possible. It suits how much Hidan fucking talks. I also think it's a nice nod to the fact that he quite obviously introspects and thinks *a lot* despite being portrayed as headstrong and stupid.

Notable lyrics:

And through flight-or-fight revelation shame the Black Box Warrior He skipped this town and headed straight down history

His ego a mosquito, evil incarnate good incognito

For what? For what? For what it's worth If it was going to kill you boy, it would have by now For what? For what? For what it's worth There's no more looking back, it's looking up or looking down

He wondered if Christ Consciousness would charge a cancellation fee Auf wiedersehn, au revoir, he gripped his wits right by their ends

A bloody knife to split your infrastructure, wine to rev your motor function Coital machinations of the dead Well, you mainline your animus, karate chop your abacus And learn to be an animal instead

You've lost your mind and almost lost your life before So you'll be fine

Sasori: Thumbnail by Louie Zong and Brian David Gilbert

Something I've mulled over a long time is how the contradiction of how a man who prefers things to be long-lasting can also be so impatient. My interpretation so far is that this implies some level of anxiety; he wants things to last if they are comfortable for him to exist. That's why he doesn't mind his fight with Kankuro taking longer, despite just bashing Deidara for playing around. I think l, in perhaps the kindest way I can, that he is both shallow and more sensitive than he'll ever admit.

This is a song about wanting interactions condensed. If you tell me something bad, get it over with. But also, I don't know how to give you more than what I have. He's insecure about what he emotionally brings to the table, im sure. I figure that's a big reason he's destroying his humanity down to the core.

Notable lyrics:

Keep it quick, say it brief If it's fast, it will be a relief Short on time, that's a gift Count your seconds, and they'll catch the drift

Don't like what's revealed here When your depth of field's near, it's hard to come close Chip stones from the boulder Suddenly, my vulnerability shows Oh, you can crop and trim, 'till all that's left Is the essence of a presence that is feeling bereft Avant-garde, just the gist of a tale That is less of an image, and more of a thumbnail

How novel is a novel that can fit on one sheet It seems that I'm destined to fail To compress myself to the size of a thumbnail

Itachi: Blood on My Name by The Brothers Bright

Need I say more? Lots of individual lines that match up with his circumstances, especially his imminent death and the bodies he unfortunately racked up. And...of course...the Uchiha name is bloody as hell. His fate is inevitable, it is in stone and he is dragging his corpse to the finish line.

Notable lyrics:

When the fires, when the fires have surrounded you With the hounds of hell comin' after you I've got blood And I've got blood on my name

When the fires, when the fires are consuming you And your sacred stars won't be guiding you

Can't you see I'm sorry? I will make it worth your while Made of dead man's money You can see it in my smile Oh, Lazarus, how did your debts get paid? Oh, Lazarus, were you so afraid?

It won't be long, 'til I'm dead and gone Watch the fires rise, burn through my skin Down to the bone, scorchin' my soul

Konan: Saturn by Sleeping at Last

As tragic as life is, Konan is defined by her hope. This song references how others have come around time after time to help her see the light. This is a song that gets me emotional. It is slow, lingering, and forces you to drink it all in, every star and sorrow alike.

Notable lyrics: its literally the whole song so here's one verse

You taught me the courage of stars before you left How light carries on endlessly, even after death With shortness of breath You explained the infinite And how rare and beautiful it is to even exist

Deidara: Boss by The Correspondents

This man HATES his fucking job! He was just out there, vibing, and was forced to be an Akatsuki and remains more or less to exact revenge on an idea (that the Sharingan is perfect art). Petty bitch! But he kind of has a point, at least with the being forced to be Akatsuki part.

Notable lyrics:

I would love for this to not be an issue I would love to just laugh in your face But I'm finding it hard to dismiss you When you're the one running the place

We didn't ask for you to lead us We didn't want you to be boss You have done nothing but deceive us And it exacerbates our goals

Kakuzu: Six Feet by Patent Pending

This song is nearly perfect for my headcanons about him. The world is harsh, you must do as you must. He takes no joy in it. His ability to understand you or not does not affect your situation or relationship as shibobi. It is going to be what it is regardless. We are going to work until we die.

Notable lyrics:

When you hear that whistle blow, only the weakest go home Like their pain don't put food on their plate

You're keeping up, I see Well, it's a big world and it's only getting bigger And if you wanna be the best then you've gotta beat the best

Ain't nobody coming when you make the call 'Cause every man gunnin' for the first to fall Fill that bucket 'til the well runs dry It's left, right, left, 'til the day you die

Zetsu: Stalker's Tango by Autoheart

GREAT song if you want one for a ship with him. Describes over the course of its verses the increasing invasiveness and intensity of a stalker's relationship with the listener. References to being able to appear anywhere AND shape-shifting? Bonus! Also has a very calm yet arrogant, self assured air about the singer. I think it's great for him. I can imagine myself tied up in a chair while he explains himself to me with this song.

Notable lyrics:

I know, I know, I know this situation's strange It takes a little getting, a little getting used to

I know, I know, I know I'm always in your place But don't you see, my dear? I am your Doppelgänger I have your face

It's not that complicated, no matter what they say You'll never meet another me It's not that difficult to get your head around You'll never meet another me You'll never-never-never-ever-ever meet another me

Pain: Godhunter by Aviators

Hunting tailed beasts while claiming to be a god himself? A song where perhaps the godhunter becomes so powerful shes a God to be hunted???? YES!

...okay that last bit is largely my own very indulgent interpretation of this song. But I LOVE how it would suit him, being both the god and the godhunter in the plot of the story.

Notable lyrics: its literally the whole thing. Here's some cherry picked lines.

When you're holding on to majesty You'd fear the hunt, a travesty That balance may return

If you're something more than flesh, ascended And you've taken on the rest To end it then she'll find you in a dream, tormented Godhunter's gonna hunt you down

Tobi/Obito: The End of the Rope by They Might Be Giants

Who doesn't love a good villain song? You could almost think it's from a musical, how dramatic and explanatory it is. Very good representation of the heel turns this man makes to the protagonists throughout his character arc.

Notable lyrics: its the whole song. Here's the first verse.

How thoughtless of me How dumb can you be? Hopeless, wasn't that What you called me? And in fact It was even more true than you knew

Kisame: Delirium Tremendous by Felix Hagan & the Family

Kisame's a bit of what the kids would call, uh…blackpilled? He enjoys himself, yeah definitely, but he also knows he's a special kind of traitor, the lowest of the low. In my book, that makes him a little less low than some other villains in the series, but he would not agree.

To me, this song is a couple things. Most obviously, delirium tremens after drinking. Next overtly, it's about not being able to fit in. More specifically, it's about not being able to fit in among misfits who are defined by their abnormality, their abhorrent nature to regular society. He is a very alienated man, he wants the good, but he has accepted he is not and that the world as it is will never be that way unless someone else (Tobi/Madara, in his view) takes it by the reigns and changes everything about how it works. He yearns for something he does not feel he has earned or deserves. It captures a lot of vibes and emotions I associate with Kisame all at once: lonliness, sensation, aggressiveness, fighting, longing. AND it's a fucking bop!

Notable lyrics:

What would make you get so battered That your bones betray you, start to shatter And you can’t relate to all the happy little night-time boys and girls

Save breath, crave death Can’t be much worse And I'm sick, sigh, can’t abide This twitching track from wet to dry I’m too old to cry, too young to die Too rabid for the pack So I’ll spit, try to hold it in Search for a sign of life within And I’ll fake a grin, until my skin Is starting to crack

So just stay cool and break through this sick delirium state I got wasted, now I’m tasting the cruel justice of fate

[rubykgrant]

Because of REASONS, I remembered my Scooby-Doo character designs from a few years ago. I decided to touch-up the picture a bit and fix a few things. So, here they are again! If I were to totally make my own “dream version” of Scooby-Doo, this isn’t exactly the “style” I’d prefer them in (something a little closer to the classic), this is just a cute and simple style I use when I want to get an idea for basic body-types, hair, and outfits. As for the story, I’d toss together all my favorite things from every previous version, but the basic plot would go like this; the kids all originally met when they were very little, trick-or-treating on Halloween, and solving the mystery of some mean older kids who were stealing candy. During middle school, they wound up moving away from each other for various reasons... but all reunited in high school! They had a fairly normal time, solving mundane mysteries and such. After graduation, they decide to take a road trip together, and THAT is when they truly become Mystery Inc. A mixture of the old-school plots, some new adventures, and yes- sometimes the spooky things ARE real! I’d honestly aim for it to be PG-13, it doesn’t need to be turbo-edgey and grim-dark, but they can say swears. There would one F-bomb in the whole show, and Freddy gets to say it~

(some character notes below)

I drew Velma first because I’ve always wanted to update her outfit as sort of a sleeveless sweater-dress kind of thing. I gave her red shorts instead of a skirt, and I think it somehow made her look more sporty but still cute. Some orange high-tops sort of bring it together. I wanted her hair to have something like a flapper-girl style, and I kept classic style square glasses because she works them (and still can’t see without them). Velma is easily the most adorable. She’s still the “smart one”, but she doesn’t know EVERYTHING about EVERYTHING; history, science and chemistry, literature, and math are what she excels at. She also has a near photographic memory, and although she understands a lot about technology (in terms of software/programming/coding), she isn’t too great with machines. Some background for her; Velma is mixed Japanese/Mexican and Jewish. She’s also trans and a lesbian~

I knew I wanted Daphne to look really fashionable, but also in something simple and comfortable. I gave her a purple halter top/skirt with a leg-cut on one side, and loose lavender jeans. She almost never has pants in her main outfit, but I think it gives her a fun nostalgic look of the 60s and 70s. I moved her green scarf up to her hair, and gave her matching green earrings. I like the idea that because she’s a little clumsy (Danger-Prone-Daphne) she’s taken lots of athletic lessons to try and make up for it; she’s done ballet, gymnastics, Karate, boxing, archery, played different sports like soccer/basketball/baseball/tennis, swimming lessons, and equestrian classes. Basically, when she’s in “alert-mode”, she could probably handle just about anything… but when she’s not paying attention she tends to trip (though, she’s kinda of backwards-lucky by stumbling into clues this way). Daphne can speak several languages fluently, she’s got perfect pitch, is super sensitive to textures so she can recognize any material, and has a gift for being very charming and intuitive. Some background for her; her dad is Iranian, and her mom is Scottish. She’s also bi~

I always wanted to give Fred a blue jacket. I just think it suits him. He’s also got light-blue jeans, and a white long-sleeve shirt (with a red collar to replace the ascot haha). He’s got a little bit of a farm-boy vibe (hence the belt and work boots). He’s all about cars and other machines, a real  Mr. Fix-It, and he loves taking stuff apart to see how it works. As a result he’s pretty good at his other hobby besides mechanics… TRAPS. Fred also practices being an escape artist, so if he ever gets caught he’ll be able to get out of almost anything. Although he’s certainly not “stupid”, he has a tendency to be a bit oblivious and a little too headstrong. He’s got a heart if gold though, and everybody who knows him would agree that he’s endlessly kind. Some background for him; Fred’s parents went missing around when he younger, and so he’s had a few different foster families. He doesn’t get reunited with his folks until much later (learning more about his family, he finds out he’s mixed Italian/Norwegian). He’s also bi~

Shaggy doesn’t need much changing (if I altered too much, he just wouldn’t look like Shaggy anymore). I have him a white long-sleeved shirt under his classic green one, changed his brown pants into cargoes (all loose fitting, Shaggy likes it baggy), and gave him some black sneakers. He’s naturally still got long hair and a scruffy chin (plus some sideburns). Even though he’s a well known scardey-cat, Shaggy has a deep love for horror movies and fictional spooky stuff doesn’t seem to bother him. His various fears and phobias have actually made him a safety expert; not only does he usually carry a back-pack with a fully stocked first aid kit, he knows how rescue somebody who is drowning, all the safety procedures for different vehicles/aircraft, CPR, and survival tactics (he actually knows more medical facts than Velma). Despite being so thin and lanky, he is almost always eating, sometimes thinking with his stomach rather than his head. He’s always happy to share though, and he even cooks great meals for his friends (mindful of allergies and what-not). Some background for him; he’s Canadian First Nations and Jewish on his mother’s side. He’s also trans, bi and ace~

Scooby was maybe the most difficult to draw… he’s so iconic, and I wasn’t sure how to draw him in this style but still make him look like Scooby. I’m not sure if I succeeded, but I think the result isn’t too bad. Shaggy found Scoob as a pup, and they have been best friends ever since. Like Shaggy, Scooby loves to eat and hates to be afraid, but he’s only a coward when something threatens him; if a monster or villain is going to hurt one of his friends, Scooby always comes to their defense. People forget that he’s actually a very big strong dog because he’s usually so gentle and silly. Scoob knows all sorts of trick from the typical “sit/roll-over/shake” to more impressive stunts. Although he loves attention and praise, the best way to get him to do anything is to bribe him with a Scooby Snack! He’s a very smart animal, and the fact that he can communicate when he smells or hears something suspicious that people might miss is a real asset for solving mysteries. Like any good dog, Scooby is loyal and lovable~

[di-writes-stuff]

Cowboy Like Me

Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

Chapter 2

TW: Mentions of alcohol? Literally nothing, which is weird for me.

It’s of no shock that Valentine isn’t exactly a land of dazzling opportunity. It seems Mr. Mallory was about the only person worth robbing in the whole damned county, and of course that chance slipped right through Arthur’s fingers.

All thanks to you.

You wouldn’t exactly say you felt guilty. That’s not the right word. Empathy is better suited, although you’ve never been one to let a good job slide right past you. Nevertheless, there was something more driving your decision to send that letter.

You would never admit it, not openly. But something about him…you wanted to see him again. Maybe it was his looks, maybe the fact that for once, a man might understand you.

Or maybe it was how sweet he was that first day, coupled with the danger that comes with a man like him. The thrill of knowing damn well you’ve seen that face before, and only later realizing where. In the middle of a bounty poster with a reward of more money than you’ve ever even gotten close to.

Five thousand dollars on his head alone. You’d be a damned liar if you said that didn’t make him more enticing. And so, after you heard about a goldmine in the midst of the barrenness that surrounds Valentine, writing to a certain Arthur Morgan didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

After all, everybody deserves a second chance.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

Outlaws don’t typically get mail from random women, so when Miss Grimshaw let Arthur know there was a letter from a lady sitting on his cot, confusion was the first thing that sprung to mind. After he saw your name on the envelope, then came the recognition.

A poster pinned up outside the sheriff's office a couple towns back. He could have gone for your bounty, it was decent enough, but something in him told him to go with the man next to who he now knows to be you.

He’s never felt better about that decision than now as he reads your swirling handwriting.

Dear Arthur,

You don’t know me very well, and I’m not quite sure I know you at all. But, I figured if the price on your head is of any indication, your skills could be useful to me, and mine to you. See, there’s a train running through these parts this Saturday, full of all kinds of rich folk with plenty to go around. If you’re as interested in this prospect as I believe you will be, meet me on Friday morning at the Valentine saloon. I’m sure we can think of some kind of plan together.

Besides, I’m afraid I’ve been in your debt since poor old Mr. Mallory “misplaced” some valuables. I figured it was high time I repaid you for that little incident.

- Y/N

He sits on his cot like a fool for a few moments, a boyish grin on his face before the realization hits him. It’s Friday, and it’s already well past sunrise.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

For a moment you started to believe he wasn’t coming, imagined images of him throwing away your letter in confusion filling you with humiliation.

That is until the man himself walked through the doors of the saloon, although if his appearance had anything to do with it, you’d say he rushed. His hair is a little messy as he removes his black leather hat, and you can’t help but notice that the top few buttons of his shirt are undone, hair peeking out of the loose collar of his shirt.

His steps come down heavy on the creaky wooden panels of flooring as he makes his way over to you, willing his heart rate down to normal as he does.

You, on the other hand, look like a perfect picture of a civilized lady. The vest you bought with the money from oh so generous Mr. Mallory fits snugly around your waist. Enough to be attractive, but not too enticing, that wouldn’t be very lady-like, of course. Your skirt hangs off the edges of your stool, covering any bit of skin that would leave the rather judgmental citizens of Valentine scoffing and tugging their daughters away from such a bad influence.

In short, you look innocent, something you’ve mastered after years of being the exact opposite.

You also look beautiful, something Arthur notices very clearly as his eyes sweep over your waiting figure. The saloon had few windows, flickering candlelight creating shadows that seemed to dance along your face. You can’t help the smirk that creeps onto your face at the relief on his upon finding you awaiting him.

He walks over slowly enough, not too eager, although the way his fingers rap along the leather brim of his hat tell you otherwise, the the dull tapping the only sound made between the two of you as he sits on the stool beside you.

You break the silence, seeing as you’re the one who invited him here. “You came.” Is the only sentence you utter, his presence in front of you a little nerve inducing, if you’re being honest. You keep your voice at a low murmur, watching as he leans in ever closer to hear you better.

He nods slowly, and you watch his lips move as his gruff voice sounds. “I’ve learned enough not to keep a lady waiting.” The smile on your face only grows at his words as you examine every detail of him that your previous meetings were too short to notice.

His honey-colored hair is choppy, only a few tufts growing long enough to brush along his forehead. Tanned skin shows little crows feet by the corners of his eyes, ones that you assume are from years of squinting against the desert sun rather than laughter. His eyes are just as entrancing as the day you met, swirling shades of blue and green trapping you like a moth to flames. Stubble adorns the lower half of his face, the only spot untouched a little scar on his chin.

The most noticeable thing is that Arthur Morgan is handsome, distractingly so. The sleeves of his faded blue shirt are rolled up to reveal the strong build he has underneath, a sheen of sweat across his forearms.

Your eyes snap back up to his face to find a rather cocky smirk waiting for you, a clear sign that your admiration hadn’t gone unnoticed. You don’t mind too much, seeing as his didn’t either. After the pregnant pause you find your voice again, enough to respond to his little quip. “Good choice, Mr. Morgan.” You watch as shock flits across his gaze for a moment at your knowledge of his full name.

It’s a small victory, but impressing him once again fills you with a bit of pride. “Now, about that train.” You begin carefully, not wanting to abandon the small talk too forwardly.

After all, men can have such fragile little egos.

Although, it seems Arthur had been waiting for you to bring it up, his eyes lighting up at the thought of a good job. He nods, waiting for finer details than what he found in your letter.

It seems as if the train is on a scenic trip through the countryside. Giving all the stuck up rich folk from the big city what they think is a taste of western life. All from the from the safety of a train, of course. After all, what would they do if mud disgraced the bottoms of their fine, imported shoes? It couldn’t be further than the reality of living out here, but you imagine they don’t care to know what it’s really like. They never do, it’s all about if something looks nice.

For a moment you find yourself thinking they’d like the sight in front of you then, too. He’s certainly easy on the eyes, but you try not to linger on that thought too long.

You receive only nods and the occasional “mhm” as he listens, sipping a beer as he does. Once you’ve finished explaining he looks confused for a moment, and you wonder if getting him involved with this was a mistake. The question that leaves his mouth next certainly isn’t what you expected. “I’ve seen you work. You’re good, so why do you think ya need me on this?” He asks, his southern drawl hushed to avoid any gaining any listeners.

You can’t help but blush as little as you look down, a lock of hair falling in front of your face. The truth is, you don’t need him. You could do this job yourself and be out in no time. Sure, two people might get it done faster, but working with an outlaw as known as Arthur comes with it’s own slew of risks.

The truth is, you wanted to see him again. For some foolish, girlish reason, you did. Enough that the payout wasn’t the first thing you thought of upon hearing about this job.

It was him.

You clear your throat a bit, resisting the urge to look away again when you see a certain glint in his eyes. You’ve seen it before, on different men, on different days. The only difference is they were all, well, them.

Dull, cookie cutter versions of the same man over and over. No cracks in the surface, nothing to strike your interest. So dreadfully un-ordinary that they could all be clumped into the same category of men trying to be what they assumed you would be attracted to.

Perfect.

It’s not as if you know Arthur well. Some would argue you don’t know him at all. Maybe it’s foolish of you to think he’s different simply because he’s not so eager to take a step into the new world. Void of outlaws and freedom, of wild land untouched by gluttonous men who believe that it’s something to be owned, dominated.

Void of people like you and him, living with the land rather than atop it. Maybe it’s because in him, you see that fire that everybody seems to be trying so hard to extinguish.

And so, you answer honestly, because lying to him is something you’re not sure you want to do. “I don’t need you, Arthur. As shocking as this might seem, I’ve found I rather like your company.” The smile on his face is mirrored on yours quickly, brightened cerulean eyes watching you over the rim of a beer bottle.

He’s a smart man, so your answer didn’t exactly come as a shock. Still, hearing it brought a certain flush to his face he hasn’t felt in years. The sound of your voice is still just as sweet as it was the very first day when you speak again.

“So, are you in?” He smirks, a devilish kind of excitement on his face.

You know you shouldn’t, he’s trouble. It’s as clear as day. But that look sends your stomach fluttering like a teenage girl.

“Course’, miss.”

It’s a bad idea to involved with the likes of him, but you can’t seem to find your reason as a smirk grows on your face.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night. Meet me at the train station.” As you stand to leave, you can feel his eyes follow you to the door, just like the last time you met, and just like the time before that.

You can’t help but throw one last glance over your shoulder at the figure watching you, smirking as he brings the bottle up to his lips.

“Goodbye, Arthur.”

A/N: JENDHWJSGDHWGDHEBHEHD

(i love him sm)

- di <3

[willxmeyers]

WILL + LEMIE

where: coral cottage bed & breakfast, garden who: @lemielewis x @willxmeyers what: a birthday engagement 💍 when: may 10th 2024

Will: Tugging at the collar of his favorite Tom Ford suit; Will couldn’t help but look back over the past year. Something about birthdays had always made him melancholy. Last year was downright disastrous. Well, not the exact day per se. It had been exactly what he’d wanted, a silent drift into his 40s without any of the fuss. However, his secrecy about it had resulted in a break up that had set him back into his old ways. The pacemaker inside his chest wasn’t the only thing that kept him alive. But Lemie too, who had never left his side, even when she probably should have. If it weren’t for her, Will doubted he’d be celebrating another trip around the sun.

Things were different this year. This year, he was downright terrified. The first birthday he’d ever wanted to celebrate, but not for him. For her. Time felt like it was running out but all he could do is stand and wait for her to arrive, shuffling on the spot. Their reservation at Neptune wasn’t for another hour. But he’d managed to escape back to the Cottage early, stating there was from work men who needed him. When she’d called to check in to see how long he’d be, Will had asked if she could meet him here instead. An orchestrated move that he hoped would result in her walking through the back doors and into the garden. Their garden. Where he had a one very important question to ask.

--

Lemie: Finding beautiful dressed laid out on the bed she shared with Will was becoming a recurring event and Lemie couldn't even pretend not to like it. She had never been that into clothes, but there was something incredibly sexy about him knowing exactly what she enjoyed and would look good on her. He knew her in a way maybe only her brother did, which was a feat in itself. Not many people were allowed to see past her walls.

Despite being the most contradictory person on earth, she put on the dress and met up with Will in the garden, their spot. The place when the two of them had paused the bickering long enough to find a middle ground. "You know I'm not your personal Barbie doll, right?" Lemie asked him as she walked out into the garden, her narrowed eyes meeting his. She couldn't let him know she enjoyed this so easily after all. "What is it now? Another fancy restaurant? Quick getaway to Paris?"

--

Will: His smile widened as she turned the corner, seeing her appear before him like a vision. Lemie looked exactly as he hoped she would. He’d ruminated over this moment for months now. Wondering what was the best way to ask, how many people should be there, would she want it photographed or was that borderline creepy? None of those worries mattered as she took a step out into the garden. Eyes narrowed and barbed tongue, it contradicted the dress that flowed down her hips. Feminine and light. Something she’d wished she was but never thought possible without changing herself. Will never wanted her to change. Not a single thing.

The lights in the garden trees sparkled, just like his eyes did as he watched her. Whether or not her suspicions were higher than normal, he couldn’t tell. “Paris is overrated.” Will shakes his head, smile still etched on her lips, reaching up to his eyes. “I thought we could just.. talk for a second,” Will said, taking a step towards her, hand extended for her to take. “Then dinner,” he adds, in case she was worried about what their conversation would be about. “You look beautiful.”

--

Lemie: There was something intoxicating about the way Will looked at her whenever she appeared wearing one of his extravagant dresses. Anything she deemed too feminine usually looked ridiculous on her or it had until she met him. He had somehow led her to believe that just about anything suited her even though that couldn't possibly be true. Maybe it was just that somewhere along the way, only Will's opinion had started mattering. Who cared about the snickering cheerleaders from high school when he thought she was soft (when she felt like it) and caring (ditto)?

Lemie frowned in response to his comment, walking closer to him and putting her hand in his extended one. "Paris is overrated? Are you okay? Did you hit your head?" Her heartbeat picked up when he mentioned a talk. This couldn't be good. "Did you make me put on a dress to break up with me? Because that is grounds for murder and I bet the local cops would turn a blind eye under the circumstances." Alright, her fears were a little ridiculous admittedly. He didn't look like a man about to break up with his girlfriend. "I look alright. You look very dapper. I've mentioned how much I love you in a suit, right? About a million times?"

--

Will: Now wasn’t the time to get into his personal thoughts about Paris. To him, there were too many tourists and the whole city smelt a little like a urinal. But he shook his head, laughing a small chuckle as she threatened to murder him. Admittedly, it was a little reassuring to see her so nervous. It mirrored his own internal giddiness.

He had to disagree with her assessment of herself. Will had never seen a person more radiant. But he chose to not fight her on it. “You may have mentioned just a few times,” he replied with a smirk, taking her hand and giving it a warm squeeze. Will wanted to put her fears aside, reassure her that only good could come out of this situation.

Leading a little further into the garden, away from the house that he’d purposefully cleared for the day, Will stopped and looked at her. “I’ve never had a favourite place,” he begun, eyes looking down at her hand in his own. “A lot of my life was just trying to find the least shit place to be, looking for the thing that hurt the least. And I lived that way for a really long time.” Will fought with the urge to make an old man joke. “When I moved here, I slowly realised that this place.. was what people meant when they said somewhere could feel like home.” His throat bobbed a little as he looked from her hand to meet her eyes. “But it’s not this place. It’s you. You’re what feels like home.”

“You know that I’ve not always been the best person. I can be selfish and stubborn, I hate admitting when I’m wrong. And despite all these flaws, you love me anyway.” Despite her better judgement, he thought. “And I love you. More than I’ve ever loved anything or anyone,” Will released her hand to reach into his pocket and get down on one knee. “You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted to spend my life with. Every minute of every day,” he looked up at her, eyes misty and full of love. “So, Lemie Lewis, will you marry me?”

--

Lemie: It was still odd to Lemie that no matter how weird she got or what she might throw at him, he still looked at her with nothing but love in his eyes. No matter how far she pushed the limit, Will wouldn't budge. It was still mind-boggling that someone could love her this fucking much and that she loved him just as much.

"Not enough if you ask me. Seriously, when you add the accent on top of it? We're reaching James Bond level of hot," she insisted, moving closer to him while running her thumb on the back of his hand. She tilted her head to the side slightly as he started talking about the garden and favorite places, her eyebrows scrunching in confusion.

Just as she was about to throw one of her cynical, sarcastic comments at him, it dawned on her that this wasn't just the start of another extravagant date. She'd seen enough movies to know that this was usually what people said right before pulling out a big ol' ring. She froze slightly, her heart skipping a beat or twenty. She understood exactly what he was talking about, the feeling of a person feeling so safe and familiar. That was what he felt like to her.

"I don't know that. I know you're the best person whose made questionable decisions. Who hasn't?" She managed to say, voice strangled right as he did exactly what she had expected him to. "Fifty percent of marriages end in divorce. Or so I've heard." Definitely not the thing to say in replied to a marriage proposal, but a very Lemie thing to say. "Are you sure you want to marry me? I don't think I'm the main character in this love story, I might just be the evil ex-girlfriend. No one marries the evil ex-girlfriend."

--

Will: If Will hadn’t been the midst of proposing, he’d have thrown his head back in a laugh but instead, it was more of a quick chuckle in response. Of course she couldn’t just accept that she was the love of his life. Lemie’s instinct to believe she was unlovable was something that they had in common. “I’ve already been divorced,” he reminds her with a smirk. “And it wasn’t so bad.” Not that Will wanted his marriage with Connie to be anything like what he had with the woman in front of him.

“If I wasn’t sure, Lemie, I wouldn’t be fucking up the knees of my favorite suit right now,” he motioned down to the garden floor with his head. “And you’re not evil. You’re the woman I love, the one I want to grow old with. Have a bunch of little rugrats with. I want to sit on a wraparound porch and yell at teenagers who walk across our lawn with you.”

He tried to not let his spirit falter. “If you think it’s too soon,” Will implores, “I won’t take it personally. We can make this an annual thing where I ask you to marry me until you inevitably say yes. I’ll pop a reminder in my calendar.” There was little doubt that this was what she wanted but it was more about whether or not she thought she deserved it.

--

Lemie: Lemie sometimes forgot about the whole entire life Will had before they met. Honestly, she sometimes forgets about the life she had before she met him. In a lot of ways, it felt to her like her life began the second his smug face walked into her life and not one second sooner. "Are you saying you're already planning our divorce? The ring isn't even on my finger yet, William."

The suspicion in her eyes vanished at the mentioned of children, the thought softening something inside her she didn't even know existed. Kids had always been a non-factor in her life, but now… My god, did she want them. She wanted to experience everything with him. "You want kids, huh? You don't think we'll fuck them up the way our parents did us?"

She shook her head immediately, trying very hard not to snatch the ring right out of his hands in order to make sure he didn't take it back. "No, it's not too soon. In fact, it's taken you way too long," she told him with a crooked grin, extending her hand out to him. "Yes, I'll marry you. Put it on."

--

Will: “No,” he replied instantly. “I’m trying to assure that if getting divorced is the only reason to not marry me.. it’s a risk I’m willing to take.” Will hadn’t made this decision lightly, even if it did seem like the most natural thing. They lived together, they loved each other. There wasnt a minute he wanted to be apart.

Will made a face. “We already have a child,” he countered, knowing Paprika would be disappointed in not being recognized for the baby he was. “But human children? Of course I want them. And I don’t worry about becoming our parents because there’s no way we’d let that happen.” Will would make damn sure of that. “I want everything with you.”

His smile widened, taking the square cut diamond ring out of the box as instructed and slid it up her finger. It fit perfectly, as it should considering how much sleuthing he’d done to make sure it was the right size. Nothing had felt more right in that moment, he stood from his kneeling position. “I thought you might say that,” he replied cheekily, cupping her cheeks with his hands and kissing her. A moment he’d never forget.

--

Lemie: No matter how cynical Lemie might be, she actually believed him when he said divorce wasn't in the cards for them. She was certain that neither of their parents had ever loved their partner as much as they both did. "Fine. I guess I'll have to take it with you then. It's not like you can take the leap by yourself," she said petulantly, as if she were doing him a favor. In actuality, he was doing her a solid by proposing to her.

"Sure, but we can't actually fuck up a cat… Can we?" The thought of Paprika needing therapy, a kid however… much more likely. "I'd be unbearable pregnant. I obligated to warn you. You know, in case you want out. Because once that ring is on my finger, there's no getting it back. You would have to pry it out of my cold dead hands."

Lemie held her breath as he slid the ring on, the fit perfect somehow. This man had definitely been plotting. "We're not doing a big wedding," she warned, hating the thought of all that attention on her. Being Will's wife would come naturally, but being a bride? Not so much. "And you had the nerve to look like you thought I might say no?" She asked him with a grin as he leaned in for a kiss, her hands moving from his sides to his back to pull him closer.

--

Will: He’d barely stood from his kneeling position before she was warning him, her brow furrowed. “I don’t need a big wedding,” Will assured her. “I’d drive us to Vegas right now if that’s what you wanted.” Whatever she wanted, he’d give her. That is all he’d ever wanted to do. Take care of her, love her. Despite the weight that hung heavy on her shoulders, it was what Lemie deserved.

“I’d knew you’d say yes, eventually-“ Their kiss was chaste, not necessarily wanting to get too hot and heavy. Will was sure they’d celebrate in that manner once they were home. He did trail a few kisses across her cheek, around her neck, smiling all the while.

Taking her hand again, he looked down at the ring before glancing back at Lemie. “Do you like it? Lucky helped me pick it out.” Another conspiratorial player in all of this. Will had let Paprika know that morning, however, the ginger cat didn’t seem all that interested and simply went back to licking himself. “I had my mother’s engagement ring, I thought about it but.. there’s probably some generational curse on it.” Will bristled at the thought. “If you don’t like it, we can look for something else. It just.. I thought you’d like it.”

--

Lemie: It wasn't like there were very many people that Lemie even wanted at her wedding in the first place. Lori, Lucky, Cherry… Those were her people essentially. "I don't know about reading my vows in front of an Elvis impersonator, but let's keep it uncomplicated. Our favourite people, loads of food, kitschy music and the two of us. That's all I need," she told him with a grin. Her parents wouldn't be anywhere near their special day, that was for damn sure.

"Of course. Saying no didn't even cross my mind. Not even to fuck with you," she pointed out seriously, as if this was big of her. It was, in a way, but it was also how normal people reacted to a marriage proposal.

"I love it. It's perfect. I can't wait to walk around town with this baby and flash it in everyone's face. I'm definitely posting it on Insta, my mom will combust from jealousy." This was exactly the kind of ring she had always wanted for herself. Not necessarily the cut, but the size of the diamond was definitely a goal of hers. "Yeah, no. I want this to be ours alone. We're nothing like your parents or mine." She stood up on her tip-toes, her fingers curling in his hair as she pulled him down for a quick kiss. "It's perfect, unsurprisingly. No one knows me like you do."

--

Will: Will leaned in to give her a quick kiss, almost unable to keep his lips off her. The happiness he felt, it was not to be contained. It was in his eyes, his smile. “Sounds like we’ve already made her first wedding plan.” Lemie hardly seemed like the Bridezilla type and Will had already done the big wedding with the hundreds of people only there to judge. “Just us and the people we love.”

He glanced down at ring, moving it slightly with his thumb. “Lucky helped,” Will added, smiling. Partly because he was the only man Will wanted to tell but also because he was… traditional. He wasn’t going to ask for Lemie’s hand from any of her parents, it was an outdated notion. But if there was any doubt in Lucky’s mind that this wasn’t a good idea, Will wanted to know before he got down on one knee. “If you didn’t like it, I was just going to throw him under the bus.” In a true brotherly style, Will thought jokingly.

He was unsure of the time, wanting to stay in this moment forever but.. “we have reservations for dinner. At Neptune.” Will contemplated just abandoning their plans to take her up to a vacant room upstairs. But nights like these needed to be celebrated properly. And his fiancée and the new diamond on her finger deserved to be shown off.

--

Lemie: Will had done all of this before, but Lemie liked to think it felt like the first time for him too given the circumstances of his first marriage. He might care for Connie, but not in the way he cared for her she hoped. She inhaled sharply, surprised to find she felt sort of anxious about the planning that was to come. "Maybe we can do it here. In the garden, I mean," she suggested, her fingers running through his short hair.

Her eyes were also locked on the ring, already used to seeing it there. "Of course he did. He knows me best. After you, obviously." She never thought she'd be able to say that someone knew her better than Lucky, but she had found that person in Will against all odds. "I would've let you, I'm a pro at throwing my siblings under the bus. It's usually Lori, but I could stab Lucky in the back for you."

The only thing that could rip her away from this moment was food, which again proved just how well he knew her. "Perfect. I'm dying to show this baby off and feed off everyone's jealousy."

[mentallyshattered]

This is part 13 of the "What if Yuu didn't want to go back?" Series!

(I, the author of this work, do not consent to this work being crossposted/translated without my knowledge or used to train an AI, ever.)

Masterlist

My good mood shatters when I hear about Ace.

"You slept where?" My voice, when combined with Grim's and Deuce's, is apparently too overwhelming for the visibly exhausted ginger.

"Outside of Scarabia's dorm building, okay? What do you guys care, anyway?"

"I'm sorry, Ace, is it unusual to be concerned for a friend when you hear he slept outside? And has sand in his hair, and is visibly exhausted?"

Ace just stares at me, wide-eyed and shocked.

"That... is the first time I have ever heard you say we are friends. Or call me by my first name. And... all in the same sentence..."

Hm. Evidently, he needs some time to proceed that. Although... he is right.

Given my recent mental breakdown, though, that's not much of a suprise.

"Is that why you have sand in your hair?"

Ace sighs. "Yes, Grim, that is why I have sand in my hair."

"Myeh. Deuce, do you know why he didn't just sleep in his bed?"

"Yeah..." Deuce pauses, momentarily searching for the right words. "Housewarden Riddle kicked him out of the dorm. It was in the middle of the night, but Ace is very loud, so I heard it anyway."

"Yeah, I stole a tart."

"You got kicked into Scarabia's sand dunes over a tart?"

"Yep. It was only a slice, too."

Wow. Only a slice of a tart, and he dons, not only a collar, but a sandy scalp. Talk about strict. Dare I say, Rosehearts has some serious, unresolved trauma- and it's causing problems for others. Something has to be done.

Thinking about it, though, he probably just needs a hug, some support, someone to show him they care. That's what I needed, and I've been feeling so much better since.

My mind is made up. When I see him, I'm going to let Riddle know he's not alone.

"Alright, class, I hope you all have your textbooks. Open to page 56 and read to page 57. You have twenty minutes."

Ace looks nervous. Deuce notices.

"We can share."

Guess the ginger left all his stuff at his dorm.

After class, Grim and I make the trip to alchemy without talking. Ace and Deuce do not follow suit.

"One slice! I get it, they're probably for the unbirthday party, but still!"

"I'd help you more if I could, Ace."

I spend alchemy trying to cast a spell. I do succeed, but not without narrowly dodging a detention.

It's just a little thing, but it's something, and that's enough- just for now.

P.E. is just pain. While Grim and I stay conscious, Ace does not, and Deuce carries him to the nurse in what I assume to be the same way he carried me and Grim on the first day of classes.

I'd almost forgotten about that. What a throwback. Still, lunch does come.

"Yer tellin' me 'e slept where?"

"Outside of Scarabia's dorm building. He had sand in his hair, none of his stuff... and he passed out during P.E.- Hey, Yuu, hand me another sardine bite."

I comply. "He said it was over a slice of a tart. He got kicked out over a slice of a tart."

"I'm glad w-we're in Pomefiore and not H-H-Heartslabyul, Mandible."

"Same. Gimme another grape, I'm hungry."

"Well, I ain't ever been more glad t' be under Vil's," he pauses, "supervision, I guess."

I nod. We all share a moment of relative silence, our familiars eating quietly as we all stew in our luck and Ace's lack thereof. How close was that mirror to grouping us in with Ace and Deuce and Riddle?

How close were we to being in Ace's place?

Before I realize it, it's bio time. We don't take notes. It's a video about wolfmen.

Then, it's art class. Grim and I sketch a tart, with a single slice missing. Our teacher praises it.

MacGyvering consists of a lecture that is three parts relevant to the subject and one part "no dogfighting." It doesn't take a genius to guess what brought that on.

After class, we sit in the courtyard. Normally, we'd head to Pomefiore immediately so I'd have time to change, and then spend that time talking to our friends before dinner.

Next to us, on our hidden little bench, a boy with red hair, a Heartslabyul class uniform, and a book sits down to read. It takes no genius to guess: this is Riddle Rosehearts, the Heartslabyul housewarden.

"Hello, Rosehearts."

He jumps. My voice apparently caught him off guard.

"My apologies. I am usually the only one here at this time. What brings you here?"

I look at him until he opens his mouth to ask what I'm looking at, and then I hug him, doing my best to imitate the strong, comforting hugs of Rook and Vil. Riddle was apparently not expecting this.

"Why are you-"

"Shh. We know, we know, you think you don't have anyone. You think you're alone in however you feel, but you're not. And you're going to be okay."

I've never heard such wise words from the mouth of a cat. Riddle, however, does not seem to appreciate them.

"It is against the rules to touch another student unprovoked! And, according to rule #665, nobody may touch the queen without express permission!"

"How many rules are there, Riddle?"

"810."

"And you follow every one, every day?.. myeh..."

"Riddle, are you happy, following all those rules?"

"Of course!"

"Liar. Nobody follows 810 rules to the letter every day and still lives a happy life."

"You..."

"Yes, that is my name."

Riddle quiets. I consider my job done, hug him one last time, and leave. Riddle does not ask why I hug him, and he does not fight.

Dinner is cod filets. Nobody talks; we're all too busy stuffing our faces with fish and the daily vegetable.

Grim and I both silently agree: Ace is not the only one with a serious problem. Korrak tosses and turns in his sleep, occasionally begging some unknown figure for help.

We try to wake him. We try to wake Mandible, who acts the same in rest. We fail, both times.

In the morning, we'll tell Rook and Vil and hope they can help. For now, we sleep.

[autisticclownfromhell]

More sagau ideas

FASHIONNNNNNNNNNNNNN.

sagau characters being transported into readers world is just the funniest shit ever to think about, so here are some ideas I came up with in the shower

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Like you CANNOT under any circumstances let them go outside with their normal outfits. They will be mistaken as cosplayers, and trust me explaining that is not gonna be fun. So just give them different outfits :)

Dragging 'em to the mall to get them new clothing, since they're just wearing loose stuff you found in your closet that fit them. Since there's a lot of ground to cover, you bring groups of people that have similar taste shopping.

I am taking off to Hot Topic with Xiao, Wanderer, and Xinyan. We will buy 90% of that store. (im forcing them to pay btw dont ask how). Also taking Xiao to Claire's bc how does this man have a sleeve tattoo and not pierced ears, I'm getting him those rock star-like black studs. He shall be the silent guy every college girl has a crush on with a simple style that includes a ton of black.

Snatching Albedo from the nearby university and dragging Venti out of a bar to give them the Victorian light academia treatment. RUFFLED COLLARED SHIRTS, you will wear them. >:D Also Venti is making his part of the now very expensive rent by playing music around the nearby cities' streets. Albedo buys those khaki shorts that we all had for middle school dress codes... yeah. Just get him khaki pants instead of shorts and it's all good !!!

SPRINTING to forever 21 with Kaeya, Yae Miko, Childe and Lisa bc we need those stylish slutty outfits for them. </3 Kaeya is getting the black sleeveless sheer shirt w/ grey sweatpants. I'm not sorry. Shopping with those three is an absolute MOOD in the best way possible. Having a bunch of incredibly hot people around you that know they're hot shopping for those tiktok whore outfits bc they would be the only ones who would actually wear those lol.

Imagine just walking around with Ayato, Zhongli, Diluc, and Al Haitham to get them all suits of some sort in their respective color pallets. I'm sorry I just can't see them wearing anything else than history teacher style suit and ties. Shopping with them would be so funny though because with so many tall professional looking guys I think you accidentally scared like 120 people.

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

<< Beginning < Prev || AO3 || My Website

Chapter 75: September 2012

There should be more people here.

Actually, there shouldn’t be any people here; this isn’t a place anyone should want to be, or really needs to be. But if they have to be here at all, Gerry thinks, there ought to be more than just six people in the room.

Well. Seven if you count the one in the box.

At least, Gerry assumes there’s a body in the box. Or what’s left of one, anyway. The casket is firmly closed and sealed, has been since they arrived. There wasn’t even a viewing this time around, although given the nature of…what happened, that’s not surprising. Melanie wanted to go for a cremation, for a couple of reasons—at least one of which, Gerry knows, is so he can be buried with both his wives—but Lily is his next of kin and isn’t yet considered unable to handle her own affairs, so the final decision for disposition of the remains lay with her. A normal person with half a heart would at least consider the wishes of his only living child. Lily, however, is neither normal nor in possession of any fraction of a heart.

And so, Roger Henry King is getting a full burial with honors.

There’s a man in a clerical collar with a tiny pair of round spectacles who looks more like he’s dressed up as a priest than that he actually is one standing behind the coffin, leading the service. Lily sits in the place of honor, front and center, wearing the same mourning outfit Gerry remembers from her father’s funeral fifteen years ago, this time with the veil covering her face. The only real difference is the absence of her cane, either the silver-tipped fancy one or the sturdy nickel-plated claw-footed piece of equipment she used to drag herself around the last time Gerry saw her—has it really been five years? Instead, she sits in a large, uncomfortable-looking hospital chair with PROPERTY OF ROSEWOOD FOREST HOSPITAL AND CARE HOME stenciled in flaking white on the back, the arms of which she is gripping very tightly indeed. Sitting behind her, one chair over, is a muscular middle-aged woman in black scrubs with a slightly bored look on her face—at least she had the decency to wear black, even if she didn’t dress up. Gerry gets it; she’s a nurse, and she needs to be able to keep herself clean and sanitary if she has to assist Lily, but still.

Melanie sits in the front row directly opposite Lily, dressed up for the first time in a while, the only splash of color the teal streak in her hair and the gigantic glittery bright pink butterfly clipped to it. Beside her sits Martin, it’s a miracle he was able to get the time off work for this, wearing the only black outfit he owns—a calf-length dress with half-sleeves and a high collar that fits him like it was made for him, which, well, it was. It looks good on him, but Gerry knows he’s internally panicking over what Lily might say. She’s not exactly the most accepting person in the world and she’s never been particularly thrilled about Martin’s “inclinations”, as she always puts it, and that’s just her knowing that he’s gay; seeing her only son in a skirt, especially a tailored one, is likely to send her into the stratosphere. Gerry’s just thankful what’s left of his mum isn’t able to get here.

Gerry’s suit doesn’t fit him quite so well, but then, it’s one he found in the back of one of the closets at the bookshop; from the fact that it’s forty years out of style, he guesses that it once belonged to his father. With his hair back in a neat braid and a touch of makeup pilfered from Melanie, he looks different enough that he won’t attract undue attention, even four years after his face got plastered across the papers. In the seat next to Gerry is the only really surprising one there. Evan only ever met Roger once, as far as Gerry knows. Still, the fact that he’s here means a lot. It either means that he cared about Roger, or that he’s there to support Melanie. Either one is fine with Gerry.

There isn’t another soul in the room.

It’s obvious the man leading it has never met Roger, and when he talks about how much Roger brightened the halls of Rosewood Forest before quickly correcting himself to Ivy Meadows, Gerry realizes he’s the chaplain for the nursing home where Lily lives. He’s probably used to running funerals, comforting the bereaved, all of that, but it does mean he never met Roger. And it means he’s doing this service completely on Lily’s memories, or Melanie’s, or possibly just making it up as he goes along. The latter seems more probable, since he’s droning on about things like great worker and brilliant mind and man of God. Gerry doesn’t know what religious beliefs Roger might have held, if any, but even his and Lily’s wedding hadn’t been in a real church, and he’s never known any of them to attend one. Maybe Lily’s found religion since moving into a home, which, honestly, good for her, Gerry hopes it might make her a bit nicer, but as far as he knows Roger never did. As for his being brilliant, or a great worker…maybe it’s just the poetic license of not speaking ill of the dead, but truthfully, even before he lost his job, Roger was never what anyone would call a genius. He’d had his A-levels but not a university degree, and while he’d been a diligent and steady worker, he hadn’t exactly been impressive. Sort of mediocre, really.

The important things about Roger are the things the chaplain doesn’t even know to discuss. Like how Roger taught himself to bake so Melanie—and later Martin—would get homemade cakes on their birthdays, and braved a phone call to his mother-in-law—his first mother-in-law, Adeline Yuen, to get her to walk him through making a traditional New Year’s Eve dish. Or how he took a spinning class one summer in the hopes of being able to give Martin some homespun yarn for his project and been genuinely upset when all his efforts failed. Or how he never, not once, no matter what else was going on, missed one of Melanie’s boxing matches or one of Martin’s concerts. Or how, even when his brain failed him completely, even when he couldn’t consistently remember his own name on a daily basis, he always remembered his “little moth”.

Their absence from the eulogy makes it fall a little flat.

At last, the chaplain comes to a merciful halt. He prays, gives a blessing, and dismisses the gathering. A pair of men Gerry assumes to be employees of the funeral home come in, lift the coffin onto a weird sort of cart-like contraption, and wheel it out of the room. As the rest of them get to their feet to follow, he notices Lily beckon to the nurse and say something. She listens, then nods, then crosses over to where Martin stands.

In a low, genteel murmur, she says, “Miss Liliana asked me to tell you that she is feeling unwell and needs to get back to her room. This is all a bit much for her. She will visit once he has been interred.”

Martin’s voice betrays none of the emotions he must be feeling as he murmurs back, “Of course.”

They wait for Lily and her nurse to leave before they follow. The funeral home has a memorial park attached, meaning there are no headstones rising from the grass—only flat plaques set into the ground, some of which are studded with flowers or flags—but somehow Gerry isn’t surprised to be directed along a paved path to a large stone mausoleum. Assuming Lily ever actually does come to see Roger, she wouldn’t be able to get her chair over the grass. At least with it being a stone vault, there won’t be the whole thing with throwing dirt into the grave, which Gerry is grateful for. Roger, of all people, doesn’t deserve to be covered in dirt.

Melanie checks briefly at the threshold, but with Martin’s supportive hand at her back, she braves her way in for the rest of them to follow. There is a stone sarcophagus open off to one side; the priest stands next to it, the casket before it on the wheeled contraption. Gerry can’t see the two workers who must have brought it in, but after the chaplain says a few words of the ashes to ashes, dust to dust variety, they emerge out of the shadows, lift the casket, and drop it unceremoniously into the sarcophagus, like they’re delivering a package instead of interring a body. Melanie flinches and takes a half-step back to press against Martin and Gerry. Both of them, without saying a word, wrap an arm around her shoulders. She takes a handful of Gerry’s suit jacket on one side and a handful of Martin’s skirt in the other, but stays silent and stone-faced as the workers lift the gigantic slab for the top and, with surprisingly minimal effort for as heavy as it must be, slide it into place. With a final blessing, the chaplain dismisses them, and they re-emerge into what little sunlight there is today.

Melanie takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and turns to Evan. “There’s a café a few blocks away,” she says, her voice rough, like she’s been gargling glass. “If you like to join us.”

Evan nods, but doesn’t say anything. Gerry’s never been up here, not this part of Devon, so he just trusts Melanie and Martin to know where they’re going and follows them to a quaint little place, very white and clean and tidy, with both indoor and outdoor seating. It’s not exactly crowded, but all the same, Gerry isn’t surprised when they elect to sit outside. A waitress comes to take their orders, but after she leaves, they all sit in silence for a while, broken only by the chirping of late-summer birds and the light breeze rustling the leaves of the big, showy rosebushes planted around the edges of the patio.

Finally, Melanie speaks again. “Thanks for coming. You didn’t…have to.”

“Of course I did,” Evan says gently, because all of them know damn well she’s not talking to Martin or Gerry. “What else are friends for?”

“Yeah, but you’ve got…work or, or class or something, right?”

“Right. And I told them I was going up to Devon for my mate’s dad’s funeral and wouldn’t be in today.”

“And they didn’t give you grief?”

Evan shrugs, obviously unconcerned. “Couple of them did. All I had to say to the lab supervisor was Ivy Meadows and suddenly I had the whole week if I wanted it, and I just told my thesis advisor where he could shove it. There are more important things than a master’s degree, and there will be other jobs.” He hesitates, then adds, “I…kind of expected there to be more people, if I’m honest. I, I thought your dad was pretty well liked.”

“He’s been out of a job seven years now,” Melanie says. “And…it’s not like anyone from Ivy Meadows who knew him was left to come. Maybe Hannah, I think she’s…but we lost touch after she quit, and that was before…you know.”

Evan winces, but nods. Martin sighs heavily. “She might’ve been able to come, if this had been in London, but…well, Mum insisted.”

A delivery van trundles by, and for a second, Gerry wonders if it slows down to look at them, but it moves on quickly enough, so probably not. He refocuses on the conversation as Evan says, hesitantly, “Well, it makes sense she’d want to visit, right?”

Martin shrugs. “Maybe, but I doubt she will, honestly. It’s mostly because Melanie and I live in London, and because that’s where the Yuen family plot is.”

Evan blinks. “The who?”

“It was Mama’s maiden name.” Melanie stares at the tablecloth like it holds the secrets of the universe. “Before she married Dad. Amy Yuen Xinyi. What of her family didn’t make it back to Fatshan to die is buried in Kensal Green. But Lily’s not really one for tradition and this is closest to where she is, so it’s probably where she’ll end up buried when her time comes. And she doesn’t like us.”

“She likes you,” Martin mutters.

“Bullshit. She thinks I get you in trouble.”

“Neens, seriously, Mum doesn’t think I need any help to get in trouble. As far as she’s concerned, ‘bad kid’ is my default state and always has been. I can’t tell you how many lectures I got before they got married about why I wasn’t more like you and Gerry.” Martin winces and glances at Evan. “Sorry, you don’t…”

Evan just raises an eyebrow. “Martin, I’ve known you since we were sixteen. Do you really think I didn’t know by now that Melanie is the only person at this table who wasn’t a complete disappointment to her parents? If it weren’t for the fact that mine don’t socialize, and that I don’t talk to them, I’d have suggested they come up here and meet her.”

Martin gives a surprised-sounding laugh. “That would probably be a disaster waiting to happen.”

The delivery van rolls by again, or maybe it’s another one for the same company. Gerry watches it less because he’s concerned about it and more for somewhere to look as Melanie sighs. “Mama died when I was seven. I’m sure she’d have been plenty disappointed in me given time.”

“Hey, don’t say that.” Gerry’s head snaps back around to frown at her. “You’re a goddamn delight and any mother would be proud of a daughter like you.”

“Any mother should be proud of a son like you or Martin or Evan, too, and we all know how that worked out,” Melanie points out. “It’s immaterial. I’ll never know.”

Martin and Evan both blush. Gerry shakes his head at Melanie. “The difference is that our mothers never loved us in the first place, only what we represented for them, and that ended pretty quickly when they decided we weren’t going to be what they wanted. From what I’ve seen, yours liked you for being you.”

“You never met her.”

“No, but I’ve seen that picture of her taking you skating for your birthday,” Gerry reminds her. “You know, the woman who’s smiling and laughing with you, for you, knowing she’s so sick that in less than a week she’s going to have to go into a hospital and that she’s likely not coming out? That woman? That’s not someone who would ever have been disappointed in you.”

Gerry still, despite having known Melanie for sixteen years and loved her for fifteen of them, doesn’t speak Cantonese, but he recognizes every single one of the words that flow from her glossy lips as an obscenity. He also sees the suspicious brightness in her eyes and the slump of her shoulders and knows it’s only halfheartedly directed at him. He takes her hand and kisses her knuckles and murmurs softly, “Je t’aime, ma petite soeur.”[1]

Melanie’s French is about on par with Gerry’s Cantonese, but from the tiny smile she gives him, he knows she understands that much, at least. Evan smiles, too, then it morphs into a puzzled frown and he stands up. “Hang on. Those guys must be lost…I swear that van’s been by four times already, and now it’s slowing down.”

He starts towards the street, but the delivery van accelerates, quite naturally, as if the driver was just waiting for something to get out of the road and is continuing its journey. Martin frowns in its direction. “You’d think whoever runs the company would give them better directions to deliver.”

Gerry shrugs. “This is outside their normal route.”

“How do you know?”

“Mum used to use Breekon and Hope for deliveries all the time. They’ve got a pretty broad delivery range and branch offices in a couple different places, but Devon isn’t one of them, as far as I know.”

Martin shivers slightly. “That doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence.”

Gerry pats his arm as reassuringly as he can. “I promise, Martin, she just used them for delivering the…normal stuff. Not that she had a lot of that, but still.”

“Yeah, okay.” Martin sighs.

The waitress finally comes back with four cups of tea and the sandwiches they ordered. As she sets them down and gives them all a brilliant smile, she asks, “And what brings you four up here? I don’t think I’ve seen any of you before.”

Gerry frowns, because it looks like she’s flirting with either Martin or Melanie and he’s not about that—Martin won’t be interested, he’s gay, and Melanie is probably not in the mood—but Melanie doesn’t seem to notice. “We came up to bury my dad.”

That fast, the waitress’s smile vanishes, and she looks slightly horrified. “Oh. Oh, I’m—I’m so sorry to hear that.” She gathers her tray to her and scurries off awkwardly.

Evan snorts. “You seem to have broken her.”

“Eh.” Melanie shrugs. “She asked. I wasn’t going to sugarcoat it.” She picks up her tea and adds sugar to it.

Martin holds up his own. “To Roger.”

“To Roger,” the other three echo, clinking their cups against his, and they start telling Evan stories about Roger he hasn’t heard before. Melanie doesn’t exactly relax, and she certainly doesn’t look cheerful, but at least she looks less lost by the time they finish their meals and Evan solves the squabble between Martin and Gerry over which one of them will cover Melanie’s part by taking the check and paying the whole thing. He offers them a ride back to London, too, but they already have their tickets, so in the end he just gives them a lift to the train station and leaves them with a promise to see them the next time they’ll all be at the pub.

The trains don’t have compartments or three-across seating anymore, haven’t for years, but Melanie is skinny enough that doesn’t usually stop her from squeezing in between them if she needs it. Sure enough, when they find their seats, she sits on the hard plastic gap between them and curls against Martin’s side. Martin doesn’t let her do that for long, though. Instead, he just sweeps her onto his lap and holds her like a little kid.

“I’m not a baby,” she mutters, but makes no effort to get away from him.

“You just buried your dad,” Martin says in a gentle but firm voice. “You don’t have to be a baby to want to be held after that.”

Melanie sighs and flops her head against his chest. “I love you,” she says softly, reaching out a hand for Gerry. “Both of you.”

“We know,” Gerry assures her. He takes her hand and puts his free one on Martin’s shoulder, closing the circle, so that both of them know he’s there and that he cares about them. “We love you, too.”

[1] "I love you, little sister."

[1eos]

Leo's collar grab shoulder swerve move during the chorus of chained up has been imprinted in my brain for literal yearssssss. ESPECIALLY with his bleached hair and nipples out like I was losing my mind. I truly think it awakened something in me like im not joking.... those red collars. um 😳 I know the other members were technically doing the same move but its not the same at all. its wild too because he's so tall and normally lanky ppl have a difficult time moving their bodies but he can MOVE. he learned that choreo and was like okay *pussy activated*. I remember I wasnt even familiar with vixx at the time but I constantly rewatched the mv and dance practice. I definitely think Leo contributed to the popularity of the song bc the most replayed part of the video is 0:59 when he's center! I know I might have replayed that part a few times myself... its kinda crazy rewatching the video in 2022 now that ive learned so much about Leo through your blog 😭 at the time I thought he was just a really sexy idol and now im like... thats Leo

thank you so much for your opinion anon it makes me feel so seen to know chained up formative for other people. chained up being my very first vixx comeback too...i was like oh ok the blond slut in the middle is what i'm here for. and its crazyyyyyyyy how different the choreo looked for everyone. like a textbook example of how sex appeal and slut appeal can change EVERYTHING. i’d never be stupid enough to say hakyeon isn’t the best dancer but leo’s definitely the sluttiest and maybe the most dramatic and that served him so well chained up era. and i agree its so fucking weird cuz normally big men are so stiff *looks at chanyeol* and personality wise you’d think he dances like hongbin but naur leo put his back hips pussy everything into those body rolls!!!! the era was abt being thotty slutty boy toys and the only one giving that energy 1010% was leonard!!! and the public agrees! his center part being most replayed? iconic. and what’s so funny is that i keep forgetting just how viral the chained up eatage was until i stumble upon ppl, in 2022, who know nothing abt vixx but have seen leo’s nipples in that blue suit 😭😭😭😭😭 like nawt leo’s it boyism entering in tiddies first!!!!!!!!

[guitarleglover]

Stillness

Part 1

Janet always enjoyed summer, it always felt so good on her skin and in her mind. Especially in the cool evening after a hot steamy day.

She loved coming to this park in the middle of no where with a river running through it. Hardly any one ever came here “after hours “. once in a while a local couple walking a dog or the kid. She enjoyed the light breeze in the leaves. The sound and the feel. The smell of honey suckle and pines. A stroll up the road and over the hill. The cooling air and the dusk as each star popped out at her. If she waited long enough, dark would descend and surround her in blissful peace. She could feel moisture from the ground sooth her tired legs. All the heavens just for her. It felt comforting, soothing, friendly and sensual. Sensual, um. Maybe even a little sexual.

It had become dark as she came to a pavilion with the many picnic tables. She sat on one. Not the sitting bench but the eating table. She giggled think of it as naughty. She thought back to the time when they had gone on picnics, swimming together, hiking.....Oh the still did things together but not like they use to. Bill was away a lot for work and when he was home he was out with his buddies. Football, baseball, hockey. They were sports enthusiasts If the were not playing it, they were watching it. She liked sports too but, not as much as they did. And she did not drink anywhere near the beer they did.

Sometimes Bill would call her from the sports bar, “game on honey. Why don't you come down and join us?” Normally she would, just to see the guys and visit with the wives or girl friends. Bill's best friend Shawn was a great looking guy. He was not a muscle bond body but he was solid enough. Curvy brown hair blue eyes that could reach right down to your....any way, he was nice too. His wife Gloria was a knock out. She had all the looks a man could handle. Great figure, gray eyes and red hair. She started Janet in the gym. Gloria always invited Janet out for girls night but that just was not her thing.

She lay back on the table calves and feet dangling over the end. Arms over her head with the backs of her hands on the table palms up. The fringe of her white denim cut offs tickling her thighs. The breeze picked up a bit and she felt her silk halter top cool and the softness aroused her nipples. Um, she felt the luxury of the peace and quiet and the darkness.

She brought her hand down and caressed her belly. She felt the smoothness of her skin, the tightness of her muscles. No she was not “BUFF” but she worked out often. She was feeling sexy, the cut offs a bit to short, the halter a bit to low, maybe to tight. But then who was to see her?

Speaking of Buff, Bill's friend David....wow he had it. No matter what he wore, a suit from the office, causal oxford, open collar, and chinos, or work out shorts and T at the gym He was hot. His Butt was cute and tight. And he was one solid hunk of good looks and muscle. Not huge rolls of muscle just solid. Wavy blonde hair and blue piercing eyes. 6Ft something and the sweetest guy you ever met.

Any time he walked in the room with Gloria present. She would gasp and start fanning herself. With that tiger “I'm going to devour you” look on her face. Janet could not help but laugh at her but she understood.

Not that there was anything wrong with Bill. He worked out once in a while...manly lifting 16 ounces at a time. Really, he did work out but not being home a lot did not help. Fast food, lots of drinks with clients and lots of beer at ball games made him a little soft in the middle. He still had that cute smile she fell for and he was still funny. Made her laugh a lot. They still were in LOVE. But it had become kind of stale. Romance only on special times like Valentines, Christmas, etc. Love making was dwindling. Bill had nice hands. The explored her very well and he often brought her to the height but never finished her off before he climbed on and got off himself.

She lay back hand on her belly feeling the cool air. She thought about Shawn and David. They were pretty close too. Maybe Closer than Bill and Shawn. David often left the bar after a beer, never really being involved with the game like the other guys. Most guys did not even know if there wives or girlfriends were there. Come to think of it, Shawn and Gloria would leave soon after David. Hum.... I wonder what that is? She laughed at herself. Probably nothing. Just a over active imagination. Or a undersexed one.

Her mind drifted almost asleep with the breeze and the cool air her mind wondered back to the gym, back to the people there the men and women. Some fat and flabby. (Not there for long) and some slim and muscular. She always thought she was attractive. Not HOT but attractive. Gloria always told her she was beautiful and had a great figure. Bill does too but he was suppose to say that. She caught a few of Bill's friends checking her out from time to time.

Her hand slid up and started to gently pinch her breast through the silky material. She thought back to the time David was at the gym the same time she was. He saw her and came over. “Hi there. Good to see you. I saw your name on the roster but I have never seen you here.” He was donning his great white toothed smile. And a 3 piece suit.

“I come often”. Janet said smiling back at him a little frightened. Wow he knows I'm on the roster she thought.

“Well I must get to my routine.” He said sliding off his suit jacket. “Maybe some time we can work out together” he said turning to go. He turned his face back to her, eyes taking in her body waiting for a reply.

“Sure.” was all she could gulp out her voice catching in her throat.

“Good” he said and walked off to the shower.

She could not help but stare at his ass while he walked away.

She cut the work out short and almost ran into the shower. Why was she so nerves? He was here to work out same as her. She felt like high school.

Her nipples became hard thinking of his ass. She slid her other hand into her shorts. She felt wet and Hot. Maybe she take a swim....maybe skinny dip. Later. She wanted to feel someone else hands where her hands went. She wanted to be held and caressed by another. She imaged David touching her. His hands on her his mouth on her mouth and down there too. Her fingers hit her clit. Oh damn these shorts she thought. I can not get the right angle. But it is dark and no one is here. She felt sexy, naughty and who cares. She unzipped her shorts pulling them and her panties down enough to get her fingers into her and her thumb on her clit. Her hand was firmly squeezing her breast now. She felt her heat rising. Her pelvis humping up off the table. She felt so released out here in the woods. She felt more sexy than she ever had. Her body convulsed and she twisted side to side as she felt her cum start running from her vagina. Oh she wanted to cum.

She felt more than heard or saw a shadow enter the Pavilion. Her back dropped to the table . She slammed shut her legs almost crushing her hand.

A deep dark male voice came out from the depths of the earth. “You don't have to stop. I have never seen, or heard any one so deep into there sexuality as you were just then. May I join you?”