#indigo graves

[msmercury84]

"The Past Catches Up With Bill-An Army Records Snafu"

"I Double Dare You-A Rendezvous With Destiny. "

*Author's Note: All info about Guarnere's military records comes from his and Babe's book. Frannie Guarnere wrote letters to Dick Winters, etc. to obtain proof of Bill's being promoted to Staff Sergeant. Bill's son and eldest granddaughter told the stories included here in a podcast.*

One evening, after supper, Bill was helping Leigh with the supper dishes. She noted that he was unusually quiet.

"Honey, what's wrong?"

"Baby, I gotta tell ya somethin', an' I hope it doesn't upset ya." As Bill collected his thoughts on how to tell Leigh what was on his mind, she wondered what was going on.

"I wanna quit the government job. I know it's a good job, but bein' behind a desk all day ain't for me. This doesn't mean I'm gonna sit back an' expect ya to support us.

I read in the newspaper the other day that veterans can get money for school. I was thinkin' about learnin' a trade that would get more money for us. Now that I told ya, I hope you ain't too mad at me."

Leigh put her hand on Bill's shoulder,

"Honey, why would I be upset with you wanting a different job? I'm behind you 100 percent with whatever you choose to do." Guarnere felt more at ease.

"Thanks for understandin', Baby, an' for supportin' me. I had another idea about a job. Doin' something' wit' my hands is perfect work for me. I've really enjoyed construction work. "

"As long as it makes you happy, do what you want to do."

"Leigh, you're an angel."

Bill decided to take advantage of the G.I. Bill for educational expenses. He was interested in engineering and enrolled in classes. Unfortunately, he had to cancel his education after going to college for in Philadelphia for six months due to the government denying him the money.

When Guarnere was shot and wounded in Holland, he went AWOL from the military hospital when he learned that he was headed to a "Repo Depot," in other words, he would be reassigned to another unit.

Bill wanted to go back to Easy Company, so he painted his cast black with shoe polish to make it look like a boot. He made it as far as an airfield before being caught.

Guarnere told the Military Police that he would go AWOL again if he wasn't assigned to Easy Company. From that point until he was released from the hospital, Bill had to walk and then run in order to get himself in shape for combat. The military busted him down to Private from his previous rank of Staff Sergeant.

Somehow, the paperwork about his demotion got lost in the shuffle, so Guarnere remained Staff Sergeant.

His records only indicated that he went AWOL when he got back to the United States, his promotion to Staff Sergeant wasn't included.

Upon learning about the reason for losing the money for his education, Bill realized he was in for a long haul with the government.

Leigh wrote to Dick Winters and other officers, asking them to send letters on behalf of Bill to verify his claim that he was never officially demoted. He wasn't receiving the money for his disability due to this error.

In an interview many years after this event, Guarnere said,

"I had a hell of a time straightening out records." That was an understatement. He got officially and honorably discharged from the Army as a private in 1946.

The government then decided Bill owed them back pay since he was paid as a Staff Sergeant and discharged as a private.

Leigh was so irate that she wanted to give an interview on the radio and in print with the local newspaper, the Philadelphia Inquirer about the situation. She envisioned headlines along the lines of "Army Denies Songbird's Hero Husband Rank and Salary"

Bill discouraged this idea, saying,

"Baby, I know ya wanna help me, an' that ya love me an that you're pissed off wit' the Army, but this ain't the way to do it. I believe they (the Army) will do the right thing. We just need to be patient."

"After what you sacrificed, they have no right to treat you this way!"

"I was only doin' my job. If ya think about it, I went against Buck's orders to stay in my foxhole. If that would come out, if we had a hearing, it wouldn't help my case.

Leigh, I appreciate ya wantin' to help me, but a man has to fight his own battles sometimes." She immediately understood that Bill didn't want her doing what he thought was his work to do with the government and the Army.

Leigh didn't like not getting involved, but she respected and loved Bill too much to go against his wishes. This was an era where men were largely in power and a woman taking action like this would go against the societal norms.

It took about eight years for Bill to get his back pay. He was, at first, considered 60 percent disabled and he got about $145-$150 per month.

Since he took the disability money, he couldn't use that money for his education due to governmental rules.

By the 1960s, the artificial leg was causing blood clots. Bill went through several wooden legs. When they wore out, he burned some of them. Some kids in the neighborhood wanted the legs. He gave one of the legs to a friend of his son.

His son later recalled in a podcast that his friend's sister "screamed her head off" when she saw the leg in their basement.

Bill's eldest granddaughter said in the same podcast, that they "should've saved the legs and made a table."

There was a danger of the blood clots going to Guarnere's heart or lungs. He told his doctor, who in turn informed the government,

"You're gonna get me on the damn leg an' get me workin', or get me off the damn thing right now an' give me full disability." Bill was granted full disability in 1967.

After a couple of years of fighting the government, Guarnere went to a hearing in Washington, D.C. where he was exonerated and his records were officially corrected.

While this was going on, Bill worked as a salesman, he also sold rugs and worked for U.S. Gypsum. Prior to doing construction work full-time, Guarnere worked as exterminator.

When Stephen Ambrose interviewed Bill about the records snafu, he asked,

"Mr. Guarnere, are you angry with the government because of the mistake they made with your files?"

"Hell, no! What are you gonna accomplish? I was one of the ones who got lumped. You take your lumps and it all works out in the end."

[homewardial]

At a little chapel, during golden hour, this couple got hitched.

[jekyll-doodles]

The Ladies of Addagala || Kofi | Commission Info | Threadless Shop|| Do not edit, trace, or repost!

So this started as another one-off bit that involved drawing the lords of Alagadda with inverted colors, but it grew into a whole realm with Lore. The finding of this place written below, pov of my sprite persona.

[ You would think I would have learned my lesson by now, considering how the blame fell on me for witnessing and then interfering with these kinds of entities. But, no. And so, with the knowing expectation that I will be held responsible for merely observing this, I wish to tell you what I saw while around the outer boundaries of ■■■ verse, ■■■ space-■■■ time, "SCP Wakey Wakey"’s reality. It would appear that, by accident, a secondary nexus evolved from my observations of Alagadda and its tributaries. An attempt by What Is and What Isn’t to balance out the chaos of the city-state: an antithesis. Such a place is a hefty feast to observe by oneself – hence my absence – so I took in what I could for now. More undoubtedly lingers beneath its glossy surface.]

The Land of Addagala – a name a little too on-the-nose in my opinion, but that's not important – was a citywide sanctuary locked within a snowglobe. The first notable sensation I recall being the chill in the air; I learned later that it became just warm enough in its spring and summer seasons to let the flowers bloom and produce fruit. A warmth that apparently came not from the grey sun, but that radiated out from their beloved monarch. The sun, which also acted as its moon, was more of a static decoration in the sky. No sunrise or sunset; the day faded into night into day into night again without it. The kingdom’s borders were high stone walls, beyond which was a mystery that even my kind could not perceive; it simply did not exist. Leaving through the gates led out to… Well, it led me out to Nowhere, but others presumably back their native reality (hopefully). Within said walls were sprawling, spiraling meadows, pastures, and gardens. Neat rows of simplistic homes and facilities leading up to its centerpiece: a modest basilica with a clock tower that stretched far higher than seemed necessary. Everything within this scenery had its similarly mandated colors – or only naturally occurring ones depending on the realm’s laws– of Silver, Indigo, Sapphire, and Turquoise.

After a general overview, I floated down and followed one of the branching stone paths in the garden. Blue roses and peonies lined in neat spirals, soft turquoise grasses, beautiful stone statues, bumbly honey bees buzzing about; I must’ve spent hours in the garden alone. The aforementioned clocktower would sweetly chime each hour before falling into a peaceful quiet again. I spied a few citizens there as I perused the flowers. Besides the silver masks (also mandatory here), they dressed in accordance with the cold weather: Long gowns, capes, and sleeves; furs, feathers, and fluff; soft, warm, and layered to keep the cold at bay. I learned later that those unfortunate few to enter without proper fittings would not stay cold long as the advising Ladies and their orderlies would happily provide suitable clothing. Their motives are well-intentioned, yet also motivated by an implied modesty dress code. Suppose I should have expected as much from the opposite Alagadda.

It was there within the gardens where I found the first lady of the city: Lady Turquoise, wearer of the Solemn mask. Dignified yet understanding. Her stature towered, imposing an air of respect. She was hard at work tending to the hedges; precise in every movement and measurement. A look within revealed more about her and the kingdom itself: This place had a rigid sense of time and a stern set of rules to keep order: both of which were expected to be followed by every citizen. And schedules needed to be planned, written, and updated by someone. The sense of such strict routines was somewhat nauseating – and I like routine, mind you. But now, in a moment of allowed leisure, she tended to her gardens. I would’ve lingered longer to watch her work, but the hint of desperate perfectionism within warded me off. I drifted off towards the main square.

More citizens, and few visitors, were found here. Pleasantly conversing, eating lunches, etc. It was hard to imagine this place had any tie to Alagadda, opposite or not. The mundanity of it was too… mundane. Even the silver masks adorn by all only gave a small sense of strangeness. Even the appearance of the second lady held little fanfare – if you could even call it that. Lady Silver, wearer of the Solaceful mask. A face that knew deep sorrow yet so hopeful. She was out on a daily constitutional, greeted by the occasional passerby. As I lingered near her, more revealed itself: this was a place of pacifism. Violence of any kind would not be tolerated and be “corrected”. That word always worried me, and for good reason. As the clocktower chimed again, I saw how these “corrections” were made. The tower held many rooms: rooms of solitary for those who needed time to accept the help they were so graciously getting. To break those unfortunate habits they brought with them. Truly, they – well, Lady Silver here had her doubts about it, how helpful – believed this method was humane. My growing disappointment accompanied me as I continued my investigation. The city’s basilica awaited.

More flowers, statues, and an endearing fountain decorated the atrium. A faint humming led me to its kitchen. A friendly tune, hummed by a most friendly person. The third lady of the city: Lady Sapphire, wearer of the Amiable mask. Her countenance bore a gentle, inviting smile. She was discussing medicines with a few visitors it seemed, all while baking some kind of honey pastry. Each and every concern of theirs was met with reassurance, every question had a simple answer. There within her I saw the purpose of the city: to be a place of healing and peace. Vows of sobriety, working treatments for nearly every ailment, and a steadfast belief that anyone could be rehabilitated. Such an unwavering optimist, of her own skills and of people in general, that it was almost… concerning. I did not peer any further.

I meant to keep this short, I really did. However, recalling the little pleasant details before Knowing has helped me get to this point. I remember the walls and columns of the nave being a marble of some kind, streaked with silver and indigo. The natural lighting filtering in and mingling with the grey candle lights. Upon the bema towards the altar, lavish bouquets had been placed. I wish I could have enjoyed the scenery longer – I wish I could have enjoyed Addagala in general longer. However, that is not possible now. There upon the altar stood a large crystalline coffin, occupied by a giant corpse wrapped in glimmering, gossamer shrouds: their beloved monarch, the Charred Queen, seemingly at rest in eternal tranquility. And kneeling at her feet, was the fourth lady of the city: Lady Indigo, wearer of the Quiescent Mask. A face serene in sleep. She was deep in prayer, some hushed communion with the queen. Beseechments of guidance, blessings, and the like. I went to peer in to gain some more insight…

But I found nothing. Hollow. Instead, I felt a connection, a string if you will, leading back to the queen’s corpse. So I followed, and I looked within her instead.

I left the basilica hastily. Back out into the open, chilly air. Up, up, up towards the grey sun until the strange claustrophobic feeling left my chest. Having experienced similar horrors already, it should not have surprised me and I should have expected it, but as you can see  – I did not learn my lesson! After a moment to calm down, I decided to make one more investigation before leaving. Hesitantly, I stepped down onto the grounds of the garden. All around me revealed the brilliant branching life of the plants, healthy and prospering. Then… then there were the “statues”. Some brighter than others, some were dimming, but none were extinguished completely…The lucky few to receive the Queen's “blessing”, I learned : an eternal state of peace in the land of Addagala. Or at least, that's what the queen told them, the Ladies, everyone...

No. She would not rest peacefully anymore.

All it would take. Is one. Little. Push.

~~~

[foxceus]

post-indigo disk team that is real TO ME.

[bipanicoverthegravessiblings]

oh no I have a type

[batty4horror]

[roxannarambles]

Answering an anon from my Inbox but it has a big spoiler to my most recent fanfic, Bloodmoon Graves. I also talk briefly about the Indigo Disk, no massive spoilers but I do discuss a few details. So I'm gonna do this behind a Read-More cut!

Thank you so much, anon!! ❤️ That seriously brightens my day to hear, I'm so glad you enjoyed it. I was definitely trying something new with that story, so it's a relief that somebody read it, haha. I've always enjoyed horror as a genre and it was fun to go past my comfort zone a bit in terms of writing and try it out.

I just finished the main storyline of Indigo Disk/got the credits roll. I enjoyed the Doubles format and increased difficulty of the battles a lot. Some of the locations were very pretty too (the re-creation of Unova's Chargestone Cave was one of my favorites). I was . . . less thrilled with the actual plot, though, alas. Let's just say I may need to write an Indigo Disk fix-it fic in the future. . .

In addition to a potential fix-it fic, I do also have a few ideas in mind for other stories. One is possibly a sequel to Picnic in Paradise since somebody had asked me if I'd consider doing one. I also might pick back up my Rika/Juniper story now that the second DLC is out. Mmm . . . we'll see. (As if the universe is calling out to me, ~Rika's song~ came up on the internet radio station I listen to just as I was typing this. I am dorky and have a particular song I've decided reminds me of her, lol)

You're certainly free to throw suggestions at me, though! No promises I'll do them, my brain is a fickle beast when it comes to writing, but there's no harm in throwing stuff out there.

[your-local-shapeshifter]

😬 Danny's crying.... Just letting ya know someone made a 'joke' too far.... 😬😬😬... Jesus....

- 🌾

someone made danny cry? give me a second.

...

....

they said what.

...anyone got an address for this fucker or are we doin' this the old fashioned way?

[iceunhie]

— out of this world (and into another) : genshin impact

premise: you could've sworn the transmigration curse didn't have an effect on you... so what exactly are you doing here?! (alternatively, you tumble straight into your favorite video game; and you're kinda fucked)

...or, a genshin manhwa otome game inspired au.

act i: scaramouche, alhaitham, wriothesley.

↳ act ii: lyney, neuvilette, kazuha, kaeya. (next)

warnings. fem!reader but can be imagined as genderless if u'd like hehe, a shit ton of manhwa tropes in one, this is a hot mess aka not proofread all that much, half clunky half decent writing

a/n: as promised via the poll heh,, while i do plan to make this an actual au, im not that sure ^^; just the tip of the iceberg here tho!!

MAIN MASTERLIST | AU MASTERLIST (coming soon)

YOU — unsuspecting civilian turnt transmigrator

you've always been too attached to fictional characters for your own good.

yes, even the ones that are remarkably irredeemable (the power of a backstory is very formidable) and complex (complexity is a virtue!)

villains have always been destined to die, be cursed, or destined to curse others. it was heartbreaking, really. you've wished for a chance to rewrite their fates for them to find even a sliver of happiness, even when the fate of their plot says otherwise.

which is why when you find yourself awake into the game of your dreams, “Teyvat's Seven Stars”, like any lover of cliche novel and manhwa tropes, this is the time you think that maybe life wasn't so shitty on you.

....there's only one tiny, teensy, itty bitty problem here, actually.

you're not the protagonist. you're not even one of the protagonist's faithful friends and underlings that light protagonist's road to conquering the world and its men (and as of the 4.0 update, it's women); no, you're none of those.

you're a no name extra, and not to mention, a character involved with the game's main villain characters who are coincidentally the love interests of the game's black route!

[ unlock transmigration package: ultimate transmigrator's route ( ????? MODE ) ]

[ no ] [ yes ]

( 国崩 ) SCARAMOUCHE — the tyrant

“as of today, you will be engaged to crown prince kunikuzushi, who is her grace the shogun's rightful heir to the throne.”

when given approval to stare at your so-called soon to be husband, you expect the worst, mostly. the multitudes of character dialogue you've played through detailing his rather discourteous personality (which basically meant he was a huge asshole) don't exactly paint a pretty picture.

however...

who was this tender hearted looking scaramouche that ‘obliterated armies in the blink of an eye?’ the t in tyrant stands for tyrannical, not timid!

eyes like lighting framed by the longest eyelashes you've ever seen and an unfairly pretty face, comparable to a fair lotus. after fawning over his otherworldly countenance, a sinking realization of dread pools in your stomach.

oh, you are so screwed.

essentially tied to the indigo-haired ticking time bomb of a future tyrant due to the strong standing of your family for a period of until the main story starts, you're destined to never get crown prince scaramouche's affection, being his fiancée who scaramouche is arranged to for political means only.

not to mention, you're in an even more deadly position; of all the characters you switched souls with, it's the one that essentially dies by their own fiancé's hand because they were horrible to him! what atrocious luck!

frantic, you wrack up about three ways to survive.

plan a) win over the shogun's favor by being an appropriate partner unlike the original flavor of this body, who resorted to bullying the innocent prince and unknowingly digging their own grave or b) be a guiding friend to scaramouche as he learns the ways of the world and c) make sure you don't end up giving the protagonist a bad ending via his twisted personality.

weighing all these options, you decide to do all three in hopes to cement a life instead of a deathflag. prevention is better than the cure (aka: the protagonist) after all!

(you may also just want to spend time with your favorite character. having a time limit and a sign that says ‘i'll die in the future!’ should at least warrant you extra time to show some affection to scaramouche, at least.)

so, you do what anyone in your position would do: give affection! lots of it.

admittedly, it wasn't all flowers and rainbows. scaramouche—ahem, kunikuzushi—was very shy and reserved indeed, with his mother ei even worse off! (besides, who trains and studies all day and has to stop crying every time they were injured?! that was just too much!)

it was rather hard at first, the frigid atmosphere of the usually silent Tenshukaku Palace almost impossible to permeate. but with your amazing charm (read: deathflag radar) and social skills, you manage to let the members of the Royal family open up to you.

speaking words of praise in ei's cooking (a very difficult feat to accomplish), spending afternoons with your fiancé and teaching him ‘how to be a shoujo worthy male lead, name-version’ (very confusing to explain), and the cherry on top, driving away that vile teacher of his—the Doctor—once word got out that he'd been taking advantage of scaramouche as a political puppet king in the future. trauma enabler destroyed! look at your immeasurable powers!

(“you're not a failure.” clasping kunikuzushi's hands in yours as he reels back from you. damn that doctor.

his tears shot a wave of heartache through you. you can't bear to see your favorite in such suffering. “whatever happens in the future, i won't abandon you.

no matter what, i'll always be on your side, okay?”

kunikuzushi looks at you with something in his eyes—something like adoration. “do you promise that?”

“yeah.” you say without hesitation, the glow of the sunlight hitting your face so dazzlingly that kunikuzushi's eyes widen that his mouth hangs agape in awe. “i promise, kuni.”)

to your greatest delight, your efforts worked in your favor.

ei now spends time with her son, and though it's almost always just a tad bit awkward, you and the guuji yae miko get the two to strike up conversation, and overtime, kunikuzushi becomes more open to you.

(“[name], what kind of man is your type?”

“huh? well...” you think for a while. this was a great opportunity to say it, right? that life changing protagonist quote!

“to me, the only person i'll ever like the most is you, kunikuzushi.”

“do you really, really mean that?” and oh, he looks so cute—flustered and red from your words. worth it.

“yup! now, i made some shimi chazuke, try some—”)

(admittedly, lots of favoritism is involved.)

—and while you reap the fruits of your hard work, you spend warm, sunlit afternoons with ei at tea, even learning about other nations from scaramouche's aunt nahida and even befriended a few of his future affiliates—childe (though for some reason, kunikuzushi always pulls you away from him whenever he spots the two of you together), signora (she tolerates you, you think) and etcetera.

(“then, if i do well, can you kiss me on the cheek, [name]?”

you agree, much to his delight. scaramouche avoids the gaze of a certain pink haired fox eyeing him questionably. unbeknownst to you, he glares at the woman's scrutiny.)

unprecedented things unrelated to the plot happen too; like how your family, which basically only saw you as a political bargaining chip and an unwanted child they could get rid of easily—no longer sent you any demeaning letters demanding money once scaramouche found out....

(“they've been leeching off of you for how long?” so scary... is this was kunikuzushi is like when he's worried?)

(“...kunikuzushi, how long will you keep up that weak-hearted facade of yours? if they find out how.... dishonest you are....”

“i don't need the reminders of a foxy old hag that doesn't know her place. this is fine as it is.”)

(you don't need to know.)

but, you're nothing compared to the inevitable flow of the plot. inazuma is wracked with war, and it just so happened that you'd been unceremoniously kidnapped by a certain resistance leader's trusted general, used as a hostage bargain for approximately the majority of your life. in the worst moments in your dreary cell, there's only one thought in your mind.

....kunikuzushi's face, devastated when he tries to reach for you, before slipping away from him like sand— face morphing into an unbridled state of rage that's too natural, too familiar. when did he learn to make a face like that?

(they say the kingdom was wracked with thunderstorms all night that day.)

afterwards, fate doesn't make it kind for you.

years go by in the blink of an eye, with your capture fervently forgotten in the midst of the growing animosity of the two conflicting forces.

although you did hear that yae sent out a search party for you while at the resistance's base, the shogun's forces never reached you.

eventually, you got released secretly by sympathy of kokomi, the leader of the resistance, who felt pity for you getting caught in the crossfire. letting you go under the condition that you'd likely never meet any of the precious characters you've gotten to know and change was a heavy price to pay, but you didn't have any choice.

indeed, no matter how much you tried to divert the plot, your duty as an extra has ended, and you were even lucky to even be alive. you could only hope that your fiancé—ex-fiancé—took note of your lessons well, bidding farewell to inazuma as you hop on the boat to mondsdat.

by now, you at least hoped that scaramouche and the protagonist met, his true chance at happiness starting now that you were basically dead.

(even if your heart felt like breaking into a million pieces.)

....is what you thought would happen, but why is it that after three years from your supposed capture, inazuma was still at war?

“that crazy prince... he's still working to find his former fiancée... and he's razing almost every village apart looking for them!”

“—didn't the shogunate say that whoever finds her would receive almost 3 million mora?”

“the entire lot of them are lunatics, i tell you. all because of a missing person, too!”

what's more, why was it still going because of you?!

( 艾尔海森 ) AL-HAITHAM: the information guild master

to be fair, normal people don't really run into one of their favorite characters often after transmigrating.

but to be fair, again, you certainly didn't think you'd actually be in your favorite video game franchise caged in bed with essentially one of its main love interests.

eyes wide and unceremoniously looking—definitely not ogling— at the toned body that's currently enveloping you in its arms, the soft tuft of ashy gray hair caressing the crook of your neck, murmuring incoherent mumbles of—is that another language?

???????

you blink, looking down at the bare body currently embracing you. oh. oh.

you're an extra.

you're just an extra, but why are you in bed, currently being served breakfast by the most gorgeous man you've ever laid your eyes on, with a pretty view of the rainforests' canopy?

“you should lie down. if i recall, sufficient sleep is required in order for the human body to perform its basic bodily functions. although our partnership is temporary, to let you fall to harm is a situation i'd like to avoid as much as possible.”

“....what?”

“...?”

the guild master, al-haitham, is a character in Teyvat's Seven Stars that is heavily debated on whether he's technically a villain or not. in the game, he's the right hand of sumeru's leader, nahida, working as the overseer of the AKASHA, a guild that gathers information to the nation's leader. he's a pretty shady character—always working behind the scenes and very unfalteringly blunt—and a ‘villain’ for crown prince scaramouche's route, helping the protagonist escape his clutches.

he's often the subject of comedic ire, his banters with a certain broke architect always the highlight of any bonafide al-haitham fan.

“we're expected to work together by lord kusanali's decree in the duration of investigating the hivemind project the lord suspects the baron siraj is partaking in.”

right, that one scene in the game where al-haitham needed to go undercover to infiltrate a coup de etat staged by one of the factions against nahida... right... what.

you were that extra! the one that fell in love with him and pined for his affection!

(“well, i get that part, but does sleeping together really have to play a part in this...?”

al-haitham gives you a mere quirk of the lip, tilting his head. “we do have to play the part of a married couple in dire straights, do we not? this cover is more efficient.

...besides, i don't have anything to complain about. you're certainly better company than kaveh.” )

in truth, al-haitham wasn't bad company. far from it. aside from the internal giggling and fangirling (you) and the incredible stack of books (alhaitham) that you have to see more than the grey haired man on a daily basis, the two of you work out a rapport that stems from memories of the body you transmigrated in.

he's nice to be around, surprisingly considerate when he wants to be—he tells you about the books he always reads....

(who even reads ‘20 Tongues Language Memorization Guidebook: A Basic Overview of Vocabulary and Terms’ for enjoyment?

the content makes your head run in circles because of how complicated it is; but who wouldn't like to listen to an extremely attractive man overexplain to you with a calm and pretty voice?)

...is generous enough to provide meals and cook dinners that have you crying tears of gratitude because you know how awful yours compares (it was either too bland or too seasoned; al-haitham is surprisingly picky when he wants to be)

(you assigned al-haitham the title of “absolute s-tier husband material”— his capabilities are out of this world!)

by chance, you once gave al-haitham a little tidbit of information that proved to be valuable later in the investigation—courtesy of your avid game knowledge—when you two had been lost to the psychological illusion magic cast by siraj when you two finally broke in his estate.

(“whatever happens, if siraj messes with your mind, just make sure to think of me instead of anything else.” al-haitham lets his hand find yours.

“you once asked me if i trusted you, [name].”

“....” you're treated to one of al-haitham's rare smiles, one that warms you up from within. “i do. so don't let yourself get hurt.”)

however, your temporary partner had faltered for once, flinching when siraj took the form of his old grandmother who'd passed to exploit al-haitham's mind, hesitating and frozen in place while siraj inched ever closer to finding out his weakness.

and you couldn't stand it, the character you cared for—the al-haitham that always had a plan, always knew how to stay calm, had looked so unsure and hopeless.

(“wake up, al-haitham!”

with you cradling his face, al-haitham stares back at the only constant in the memories of his grief, eyes meeting yours. “you don't have to do it all alone. i'm right here, aren't i? believe in me.”)

your (fake) husband snaps back to reality, finally allowing enough time to apprehend siraj and put a stop to his malicious project.

(“thank you.” al-haitham tells you solemnly. it hits you that this may be the last time you may ever see him. “i'm grateful that you brought me back to y— to my senses.”

there's a sincerity in your voice that rings from your heart. “anytime, al-haitham.”)

you thought that was the end of it.

defeating siraj meant you two no longer had to associate with each other, but somehow, to your great surprise, al-haitham doesn't stick to the plot at all. you were sure you didn't interfere with the game, though?

for some reason, al-haitham doesn't erase himself from your life, unlike the original route's flow.

in fact, he's become... easy to run into, a constant in your otherwise mundane life. he takes you out to lambad's tavern for an occasional drink, says he's lending you his headphones when you find yourself overwhelmed by the city (you were never good with noises) and even helps you out as you vent your problems to him.

(the day after, said problem conveniently disappears. how strange....)

and most of all, allowing you to enter his personal space... leaving kaveh's jaw dropping when he accuses al-haitham of having a lover.

“you're always going who knows where with them! what else is there to figure out?”

“...we are merely friends.”

“a friend that you let into your personal library? do they know that you still keep the ‘fake’ ring in a box inside the closet?” kaveh laughs. “nice try, al-haitham.”

(after all, kaveh could never unsee the way al-haitham's eyes softened at the feeling of the head on his shoulder lean onto him, with you no doubt asleep. he even took his headphones off! kaveh has never seen him actually take them off in order to keep the person who's sleeping on his shoulder as undisturbed as possible.

in fact, kaveh doesn't think he's ever seen al-haitham be this touchy or considerate with anyone this much before.

.....and most importantly, kaveh would never forget the way al-haitham, a man who found no merit in politeness and preferred bluntness, a man who preferred solitude rather than company—deliberately getting close to someone—pressing a fleeting kiss on the crown of your head.

kaveh blinks. it seems even the throes of love can reach even the most unconquerable of peaks....)

( 莱欧斯利 ) WRIOTHESLEY — the monster duke of the north

“—i need you to gather information on duke wriothesley. serve him undercover as one of the prisoners of the fortress.”

the duke of meropide—a man swamped with terrible rumors. they say he was exiled from the nation due to murdering his entire family. they say he possessed a face worthy of the title of a beast— grotesque, littered in scars. they say that any who end up in his estate, the iron prison of the north, meropide, never saw the light of day again.

(“only criminals of the worst kind are fated to be sentenced there. nobody returns, so we've stopped questioning it...” )

so to say you're not fearing for your life that bad right now is a massive understatement.

“now, mind telling me how you were able to sneak into the most impenetrable prison in all the land, miss prisoner?”

how did it end up like this?

so you wake up and find yourself in jail. lovely.

seriously, of all the places you can transmigrate into, why did it have to be fontaine?! Teyvat's Seven Stars chapter 4's main starting point, the nation of justice is littered with dark themes and high difficulty capture targets.

.... such is the case with the man in front of you. unlike what the rumors of him say, duke wriothesley paints a rugged yet dashing picture of a nobleman, even if he was —if you recall— one of the hardest capture targets to conquer in the game.

a villain character who you played once during one game route, acting as the driving force during one of the love events of one of the protagonist's other love interest, lyney. duke wriothesley almost assassinates lyney's younger brother, freminent, leading lyney to rally up a certain group to bring the nobleman down.... a typical side character villain, who's existence was added as late as 3 patches away from lyney's.

(even inazuma would be better than this! at least the tyrant route could be avoided, and let's not mention the easy sumeru route as well...)

“well, miss prisoner, cat got your tongue?”

in summary: fortunately for you, the body you transmigrated is in the position to spy on the current affairs of the fortress of meropide, with courtesy and with permission of one of Fontaine's leaders, neuvillette. unfortunately for you, it seems our dear monsieur wasn't able to inform wriothesley beforehand, leading to the current situation.

aka, you're pressed dangerously close to wriothesley's chest, with a knife at his throat and his hands pinning you against the wall, noses almost touching. you're not sure if this is even the kind of tension that two people who are trying to kill each other are supposed to have...

(“i'm an ally!” you sputter out. wriothesley raises an eyebrow at you. “monsieur neuvillette sent me.”

“how am i supposed to trust you after i saw you slinking around here, knife at my throat?” he replies, eyes narrowing. “i know that i'm labelled as a beast, but i don't really know what came over that pretty little head of yours when trying to sneak into my chambers.”

what does he take you for?! “...are you accusing me of something indecent?!”

“just saying — i've met lots of prisoners with your excuse, my lady.”

“i'm prepared to use this knife, you know.”

“hah.” wriothesley grins. “how aggressive. more aggressive than most. do you want me that bad?”

“stop twisting my words!”)

in any case, you hate wriothesley. you know he's one of the characters in Teyvat's Seven Stars and is a villain for one of the easy love interest routes in the game, but his personality is... a real piece of work.

you'd rather the protective and kind kazuha, or even the charming and elusive lyney! why did it have to be him?

not only did he not believe you, he even told you to prove your authenticity! you're just glad that his assistant sigewinne had been there to vouch for you — you're not sure if you'd even be on your two feet right now if she didn't.

so now you're stuck constantly on your feet, running to and fro — helping the dark-haired man record new prisoners, establishing trading routes to the main city of Fontaine, and treating other prisoners of the fortress with sigewinne.

your biggest surprise by far, though, is just how... different the duke is from the rumors. his scars were merely battle scars of honor (to which sigewinne rolls her eyes, “your grace, please stop trying to look cool”) he got from various succession fights, not scars to show how he was cursed to turn into a beast. he has a love for tea, but always seems to have a cup of your favorite blend with him when you feel tired after a long day of working (laboring) for him and the estate.

(“your daily report of new convicts, your grace.”

“-this is the tea you like, your grace. i've prepared it in advance.”

“you're very adamant on proving yourself. aren't you sick of such tasks by now, miss prisoner?”

“no.” wriothesley's expression screams 'why not?' on it. “ it's because of my own misjudgement of you.”

“...elaborate.”

“i may have had unnecessary prejudices on your conduct thus far. but you're... not like what the rumors paint you out to be.” you say sincerely. “you're more amazing and incredible than anyone else. i truly do admire you.”

wriothesley's expression; you couldn't decipher it. “i see.”)

he's battered, but caring. sigewinne makes you watch (in horror) as she doodles cartoonish looking characters on his face when he's asleep — wriothesley never fusses, only an exasperated sigh to his assistant. he's harsh with his tasks and duties, but is the first to rush you into sigewinne's infirmary to tend to you after you pass out from overwork.

(“don't worry, [name]. the duke may not look it, but he's very gentle!” sigewinne giggles. humoring the little girl who was the first to show you actual decency in this place, you try to nod. sigewinne doesn't seem convinced.

“i'm serious! after all, compared to other people who've snuck into the fortress, you're the first he's treated this way.” she says cheerily.

“what does that mean?” you can't help but scoff at that. “so he just works someone to the bone from the get go?” you shudder. damn production zone...

sigewinne blinks. “ oh no, not like that. it's just that he's never been so lenient before. in fact, when you fainted, he even gave me the order to prioritize treating you over anything else.”)

well, this wasn't exactly what you thought you would be doing when you transmigrated into your favorite game, but you suppose you can take it.

besides, you'd miss a certain duke otherwise. life truly is full of strange twists....

a/n: thank you for making it this far! if anyone asks why wriothesley's was short, listen, this was completely impulsive and i was out of inspiration LOL, but i do hope you enjoy! look forward to new parts though hehe :3

@ ICEUNHIE: do not repost translate or plagiarize my works.

[msmercury84]

Wedding Anniversary on the Beach

*Author's note: Wild Bill purchased a rundown beach house in New Jersey. He did construction work until the house was completely remodeled. He, Frannie and their eldest son stayed in the house on occasion. This was before the birth of his second son. Guarnere sold the house and bought another beach house to restore and selling it when it was remodeled. This information is in the book he wrote with Babe. Bill commented, "I've always known how to make a few extra dollars." He also said, "Old enough to eat, old enough to work."

The story about Augusta hitting the judge and the hit and run driver on the head with the judge's gavel and Joseph Guarnere hitting a police officer is true. It's also true that Bill's godfather punched a police officer. Augusta really told a woman in the hospital's office to "Keep him (Bill)!" This info came from a collection of letters belonging to Dick Winters that I found online. The line about "lumping the judge" with his gavel also came from the letters.

Bill was known to be largely non materialistic. This info came from his book. He often said, "We were happy with what we had. Now people keep buying more and more stuff."

The idea of paying his nephews to help him finish the first house on the beach came from my imagination, as did the backstory of the elderly nudists who were the former owners of the house.*

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

In the winter of 1946, Bill purchased a run down beach house in New Jersey. He intended to fix up the house for himself and Leigh to use. Guarnere intended to eventually sell the house and perhaps buy and restore another house for extra income.

He hired Maria's and Julia's sons to do construction work with him and Bill paid the teenage boys fair wages. Guarnere and his nephews finished the house in time for his one year wedding anniversary with Leigh.

She was eager to see the house and they decided to spend their first anniversary on the New Jersey shore. During the drive to the beach house, they were reminiscing on how they met. Bill told Leigh,

"When I saw ya kickin' that guy's ass at Toccoa, that reminded me o' Ma. You're fiery, like her."

"What makes you say that, Honey? I'm not calling you a liar, but I've never seen Mama acting that way. He laughed,

"Let me tell ya about somethin' Ma done when I was 15. I was out roller skatin' in the street. Some guy in a car hit my ass. It was a hit an' run. I had to go to the hospital an' I was there four days.

The cops got hold o' the guy an' he paid off the judge. We went to court, an' the judge wanted to dismiss the case due to lack o' evidence. It made Ma furious an' she went up, grabbed the judge's gavel an' lumped him on the head wit' it twice."

"Oh, my God! I can't picture her doing that."

"That ain't all, Baby. After she done that, she lumped the hit an' run guy. Then, a cop tried to get hold o' her. Pop punched him. Another cop got after Pop, an' my godfather punched him. Nothin' happened 'cause they figured the judge didn't want word to get out that the case was fixed."

Leigh was shocked, then she started to laugh.

"If ya think that's (he pronounced the word as 'dats') funny, wait until I tell ya about Ma an' the hospital bill. I got better an' I was ready to go home, but we didn't have $45 to pay the bill.

Ma talked to some lady in the office an' she said I couldn't be released until the bill was paid. That got Ma fired up, an' she said, 'Keep him!'" More laughter ensued from Leigh, and Bill joined in.

When Bill pulled their car into the driveway in front of the beach house, Leigh looked at the white one story house,

"Honey, it's beautiful! You and the boys made it look new." Bill was proud of his work and he was extremely pleased that Leigh liked the way the house looked.

"Wait 'til ya see the inside, Baby. We redid the wirin', the plumbin', we put new linoleum in the kitchen an' new carpet in the bedroom. The boys an' I kinda scrounged around an' found furniture for the dinin' room an' the bedroom. I refinished the wood, stripped the old stuff off an' it looks brand new."

He got out of the car, went to the passenger side door, opened it for Leigh and they walked hand in hand to the front door. Bill got the key from his pocket, opened the door and carried Leigh into the house.

"I wanted to carry ya over the threshold, Sweetheart." He put her down in the living room. The floor was light colored hardwood that would be easier to keep dirt and sand free than carpet.

Augusta had provided white Priscilla curtains for the windows and Bill bought the blinds. He found a good deal on a tan colored couch with matching chairs that he purchased from a co-worker. The co-worker included a nice coffee table and end tables, both light colored wood and two tan colored lamps with white shades.

Julia donated two snake plants in neutral colored planters. Maria made new covers for the throw pillows on the couch that complimented the tan coloring. Teresa bought a small radio for the living room.

Leigh smiled as she looked around the living room,

"It's lovely, Bill." He explained how his sisters helped and how he got the living room furniture.

"Ma gave us the curtains, an' everybody kicked in an' gave us a completely stocked kitchen. Sure, most of it's used, but I got a new set o' dishes an' silverware. I've been savin' some money for this place an' I wanted to get a few things. I got a new set o' sheets for our bed an' a nice bedspread from that fancy store where I bought your red dress.

I was hopin' maybe you could make some o' them embroidered pictures for the walls an' we could bring a few pictures from home. We got a copy o' our weddin' picture an' the portrait like we gave to our folks."

"I'd be delighted to make some counted cross stitch pictures, Honey. The portraits will really make it like home."

Bill showed her the kitchen, with a new white linoleum floor and light yellow paint on the walls. As promised, the kitchen table and chairs looked new.

"I didn't wanna choose curtains for ya, Baby. Maybe you could sew some?"

"I already have some ideas, Bill. This kitchen looks so cheery and bright. Look at that view of the ocean! It's gorgeous!" She noticed a wooden walkway from the kitchen door to the beach.

"Bill, it's just like something from a magazine. This is such a wonderful place." Leigh embraced and kissed him.

"I'm glad ya like it, Baby. C'mon, let me show ya the rest o' the place!" He led her to the bathroom down the hall. The floor was white linoleum. Blue and white tile covered the walls. The cabinet was freshly painted white and new silver colored faucets gleamed. A white bathtub with a shower and toilet completed the room. Guarnere opened a cabinet by the door that was at shoulder level.

"We made this big enough to hold towels, washcloths an' cleanin' stuff. It's up higher, so when we bring our kids, they won't be able to reach the cleanin' stuff. That'll keep 'em from gettin' poisoned." Leigh smiled,

"You'll be a wonderful Pop. You're already thinking ahead of their safety. This is a beautiful bathroom, Honey." Bill was pleased with Leigh's remark and he tenderly kissed her.

"Thanks, Sweetheart. You're gonna be one hell of a good Ma. Speakin' o' kids, follow me. We can use this for the kids' bedroom." They left the bathroom and walked a few steps down the hall to a small room with a window overlooking the beach. Bunk beds were set up by the window. The room was painted white.

"I bought the bunk beds, pretty cheap, from another guy at work. I redid the finish on 'em an' they're in real good shape. 'course there's the light fixture in here. We could get a night light if we need it." The room had the same light colored hardwood floor and the white Priscilla curtains as the living room. A light blue throw rug was beside the beds.

"I can picture sea shells on the window sill that the kids would find on the beach." Leigh looked to the right of the bed and saw a small wooden box with a hinged lid.

"You made a toy box! That's good planning, Bill." He grinned,

"We've gotta have a place for their toys." He crossed the room and opened a door,

"Here's the closet."

"It looks great, Honey."

"Now, come see our bedroom." She followed him to the room at the end of the hall. Bill stepped back, allowing her to enter the room first. She saw the beige carpet, a bed, end tables, a dresser with a mirror and a chest of drawers, all in light colored wood.

Beige wallpaper with white sea shells covered the walls. White Priscilla curtains covered a window overlooking the beach. An obviously new white chenille bedspread with small, beige sea shells covered the bed.

"Honey, this room is beautiful! You could do construction professionally." Bill walked up to stand behind Leigh, embracing her. He kissed her neck before replying,

"Thanks, Baby. I wanted to make everythin' look nice, 'specially our bedroom. It took a long time to get this room done, but it's worth it, knowin' ya like it."

"I love it! The bedspread really pulls everything together. Where did you find this lovely wallpaper?"

"The wallpaper came from that paint an' wallpaper store that's close to Ma's and Pop's house.

This room has a closet, too. I shoulda taken some pictures o' this place before we fixed it up. Everythin' was run down, kinda old lookin'. I've gotta admit doin' this kinda work is relaxin' in a way. I like workin' wit' my hands."

"I didn't realize you knew how to do all of these things, plumbing, wiring, hanging wallpaper and doing the floors and the tile in the bathroom."

"I learned real young. Pop would put me an' my brothers to work. He would always say, 'Old enough to eat, old enough to work.' We learned somethin' useful an' it could make money for us, too. I've always known how to make a few extra dollars.

Let me show ya one more thing." Bill took Leigh's hand, leading her to a set of French doors on the opposite side of the room. He opened the door and Leigh walked into a small portion of the yard that was surrounded by a tall white fence.

"This will be great for private sunbathing and we can also use it for a patio." Bill chuckled,

"The guy an' his wife who owned this before I bought it are about 80 years old an' they're nudists. I ain't got a problem wit' that, but, Holy God! No wonder they put up a fence. Nobody needs to see that."

"I have to ask, were they nude when you met them."

"No, thank God!"

After they carried in food and luggage from the car, Leigh fixed supper. While the food cooked, they got everything put away. Leigh ensured that they had a fresh can of coffee. Bill loved coffee and he drank several cups per day.

She asked Bill before they went on their trip about his choice for their anniversary supper. He wanted his favorite dish, spaghetti with one meatball, so she brought homemade pasta and made his favorite gravy (sauce) with Italian sausage. Leigh also had homemade antipasto, homemade garlic bread and she bought a bottle of their favorite red wine.

The table was set with a new tablecloth, yellow and white dishes, silverware, wine glasses and candles placed in antique milk glass candle holders. She lit the candles and Bill helped her serve their meal. He pulled out her chair before sitting down, then he asked the blessing. After supper was over, Guarnere told her,

"Sweetheart, ya done an excellent job wit' the food, as usual. You're like your Ma an' my Ma, one hell of a good cook."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it, Honey."

"I like seein' you in those pants, Baby. They show off that sweet ass." Leigh was wearing cream colored trousers, a matching short sleeved blouse and sandals. Bill was wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, black trousers, a belt, socks and shoes.

They washed the dishes together and then they listened to the radio until twilight as Bill smoked a cigarette. A full moon was out. Bill and Leigh decided to take a walk on the beach.

Leigh brought an old blanket to spread out on the sand. Bill had a small picnic basket containing two wine glasses and a small bottle of champagne that was removed from the refrigerator before they walked down the path to the beach. There was enough champagne for each of them to have two glasses.

They held hands and strolled down the wooden walkway to the beach. A full moon was out and the beach, as far as they could see, was vacant. There was no need to carry a flashlight to navigate on the walkway or the beach. The bright moonlight allowed them to see without extra light.

Leigh felt the small box containing Bill's anniversary gift gently striking her left hip through the pocket in her linen trousers. She had the cream colored trouser legs rolled up to her shins to allow herself to easily walk in the sand or wade in the surf.

Two months before their trip, she and Bill were talking while they washed, dried and put away the supper dishes. Bill was talking about a friend with whom he worked.

"Gene was showin' me a present his wife gave him for his birthday. It was a sterlin' silver cigarette lighter. The place where Annie bought it did free engravin', an' she had his initials put on it. It looked real classy. Somethin' like that is probably real expensive."

Leigh took note of his statement, because Bill rarely spoke of material things. He was content to live modestly. Still, she knew him well enough to deduce that the lighter was something he would like to have.

The following day, during her lunch break, Leigh called Teresa at work and asked if the jewelry store had sterling silver cigarette lighters with free engraving.

Teresa told her that the store charged per letter for engraving, but she lowered her voice and told Leigh the name of the jewelry store that did free engraving. Leigh thanked her sister-in-law for her help.

Then, Leigh went to the jewelry store and purchased the lighter. She had Bill's initials on one side. The other side of the silver lighter had the date of their wedding and a message, "I love you."

The clerk placed the lighter in a box and wrapped it in heavy silver colored paper with a white ribbon. After work, when she got home, Leigh hid the gift in a box of tampons, knowing that Bill wouldn't look for a gift in that location.

Leigh sat beside Bill on the blanket, resting her head on his left shoulder. Guarnere had his arms wrapped around her.

"I talked with Maxine Andrews the other day before I left work. They have a new song called "Near You" that's about to be released and I adore it. She began to sing,

"There's just one place for me, near you.

It's like heaven to be near you.

Times when we're apart and I can't face my heart.

Say you'll never stay more than just two lips away.

If my hours could be spent near you.

I'd be more than content near you.

Make my life worthwhile by telling me that I'll spend the rest of my days near you."

"That's beautiful, Baby." He moved his right arm away from holding Leigh so he could get the gift wrapped package out of his right trouser pocket.

"Just so happens that I got a little somethin' for your anniversary present." Guarnere handed her the box.

She unwrapped the small box and lifted the lid, seeing a necklace.

"Honey, it's beautiful! What kind of jewels are on this?"

"Teresa said those are moonstones. I never heard of 'em, but I thought the necklace would look good on ya. The chain is gold. Do you like it, Sweetheart? I can exchange it for somethin' else an' my feelins won't be hurt."

"I love it! You shouldn't have spent so much money. Still, I'll have to admit that I'm glad you did. This necklace will remind me of this beautiful moonlit beach. Would you please put it on for me, Honey?"

"Baby, I wanted ya to have somethin' really nice. You've done so much for me. I wanna let you know I appreciate ya." The manager of the jewelry store allowed Bill to put the necklace on layaway. Bill felt proud that he could buy something nice for Leigh.

Guarnere took the necklace out of the box and kissed Leigh's neck before he carefully fastened the clasp of the necklace. He grinned at her slight shiver when his lips made contact with the soft skin on her neck.

"It looks real nice on ya. Teresa said I could get a gold plated necklace, but I wanted somethin' that would last a long time."

" You're really good at selecting the perfect gift for me." Guarnere smiled when he heard Leigh's comment about his gift selecting skills. She added, "Honey, I know you appreciate me. You've always been very sweet and appreciative."

Then, she removed the small box from her trouser pocket and handed it to him.

"I have something for you, too." Bill unwrapped the box. Lifting the lid, he had a big smile on his face when he saw the lighter. He took the lighter out of the box and saw his initials carved on the front.

"Oh, Baby! Is this sterlin' silver? It looks classy wit' my initials on the front. Thanks, Sweetheart! I never thought I'd have somethin' like this." Leigh was pleased that Bill liked his gift.

"Yes, it's sterling silver. There's something else written on the back of the lighter. Guarnere turned over the lighter, reading the inscriptions.

"You're somethin' else, Leigh. You got the happiest day o' my life put on there. I love you, too, Baby." Bill gave Leigh a passionate kiss. After the kiss ended, she cupped his face in her hands, telling him,

"It's the happiest day of my life, too. We had such a beautiful wedding,everything was perfect, including what you told me at the altar."

"I'll never forget how I felt when I saw ya in your weddin' dress. You looked like a real, live angel. Let's have a toast to our first year as husband an' wife." Bill got the bottle of chilled champagne out of the picnic basket and two wine glasses. He undid the wire around the cork, popped the cork and poured a small serving of champagne into each glass. Then, Bill raised his glass,

"To my sweet, gorgeous baby. Thanks for makin' this date the best day o' my life." Leigh smiled and raised her glass,

"To the love of my life. Thanks for making this date the happiest day of my life. Here's to at least 80 more anniversaries." They gently tapped their glasses together and sipped the champagne.

"This is the same brand of champagne you ordered when you proposed in Paris. I remember its delicious flavor. Where did you find it, Honey?"

"I bought it in that fancy department store. A guy at work told me they started carryin' champagne. I kinda remembered enough o' this stuff's name to tell Julia. Her friend found it in stock an' gave me a real nice discount. I'm glad ya like it, Baby. I wanted it to be somethin' special." Leigh finished the champagne in her glass.

"You're so thoughtful, Bill. This is another perfect night, just like the night you proposed. The weather is perfect and we're in a beautiful place." Guarnere felt pleased that she liked his surprise gift of the French champagne. He finished his serving and asked,

"Would ya like a little more o' this, Sweetheart?" Leigh agreed to another serving and Bill poured more champagne for both of them. They sipped their drinks and cuddled as they watched the waves break on the shore. Leigh was smiling as she recalled their wedding reception.

"More than anything, I will always remember the unbridled joy at our reception. I don't think it was just my imagination. It seemed that everyone there was genuinely celebrating our marriage.

"It wasn't your imagination, Baby. I noticed it, too. We had all that great food, good music and dancin'. I think everybody already knew how much we love each other, an' they were celebratin'. Ma told me the other day, when she saw us dancin' together at the weddin' reception, she told Pop that their prayers had been answered. That was a sweet thing for her to say."

"What Mama said was very sweet. I think part of the reason people were celebrating was because the outcome could have been much worse had you not been so tough and determined to live. I still thank God for allowing you to survive." Guarnere carefully placed his wine glass on the blanket, ensuring that it wouldn't spill.

He gently took the glass from Leigh's hand, carefully setting it down and he wrapped his arms around her. Bill tenderly kissed her.

"I married an angel, ain't no doubt about it. He's why I made it, an' you played a big part in gettin' me healthy again. I don't think I could ever do enough to pay ya back for everythin' ya done for me." He gave her a tender kiss that turned passionate. After the kiss ended, Leigh replied,

"Honey, you don't owe me anything. There's no need to pay me back. If you insist on paying me back, you can do it in the bedroom and you can pay me back with some sweet babies when we're ready to start a family. Think of how much fun we'd have taking the kids to play on this beach. We could have a picnic, swim, gather sea shells and make sand castles." Guarnere smiled, imagining playing with their children.

"That would be real nice, bringin' our kids here. I don't think I'll resell this house for a few years so we can enjoy it as a family. Baby, I like that idea o' payin' ya back in the bedroom. I'm always willing' to make love to my beautiful an' sexy angel."

"I'm tempted to wade in the ocean. Would you like to come with me?"

"I'm not tryin' to be your boss, but wadin' in the ocean at night ain't a good idea. I've always heard that the sharks get a little closer to the shore at night. I don't want nothin' bad happenin' to my angel." Leigh slightly shivered at the notion of being attacked by a shark.

"Thanks for telling me, Honey. I didn't know that. No wading at night for me. If I'm attacked or eaten, I want you to be the one attacking or 'eating' me, so to speak." Bill chuckled,

"You little fireball." They decided to go back to the house. Leigh folded up the blanket and carefully placed the champagne glasses and the champagne into the basket. Bill once again insisted upon carrying the blanket and basket. They walked hand in hand to the house.

Leigh decided to move two of the dining room chairs to the fenced in area outside their bedroom. While Bill used the bathroom, she decided to put the blanket on the ground, next to one of the chairs. She had a small surprise in mind for Bill.

Once his business was finished in the bathroom, Guarnere washed his hands and went into the kitchen. He offered to wash the champagne glasses and put them away. Leigh told him to let it go until the following day, but he insisted on taking care of the task.

"Honey, when you get finished, meet me in the yard outside our bedroom."

"Sounds like ya got somethin' planned, Baby." She winked before telling him,

"I have a little...entertainment planned for us."

Leigh took this moment to go to the bedroom and put on the black lace bra, the black lace bolero bed jacket, garter belt and stockings with which she surprised him in Paris. She also inserted her diaphragm and decided to forego wearing the see-through black silk panties, recalling how much Bill enjoyed seeing her with the black lace garter belt and the black silk stockings, minus the panties.

Then, she put on her black high heeled pumps, touched up her lipstick and brushed her hair. She opened the French doors, leaving them open for Bill. Leigh quickly spread the blanket on the ground.

She decided to stand by the edge of the blanket, ensuring that Bill would see her as soon as he walked through the French doors. The thought of making love outdoors fueled her passion. Leigh heard Bill walking down the hall.

"I got everythin' done an' I wanna see what ya got planned for us." He stepped through the open French doors and saw Leigh beneath the full moon. Guarnere froze in his tracks as an extremely wicked grin appeared on his face.

"Oh, Christ! You look so fuckin' gorgeous. I love that outfit." He looked again and noticed her panties were missing. Guarnere walked over, standing in front of her. He removed his shirt, letting it fall on the blanket.

"Baby, I love seein' that beautiful pussy. There's somethin' extra hot about bein' outside like this." He pulled Leigh close to him and they shared an extremely passionate kiss. She ran her fingers through his hair while Bill gently held her ass in his hands. He reluctantly broke the kiss and stretched out on the blanket.

"C'mon over here, an' lower yourself down so I can taste that sweet pussy." Leigh's legs shook slightly as she complied. She was aroused beyond reason and she remembered how good it felt the when they did this on their honeymoon in Columbus, Ohio.

Bill's tongue licked the lips of her sex as he worked his way up to her clit. Then, his lips surrounded her clit and he gently sucked on it. In a few minutes, Leigh shivered as she came. She did her best to keep quiet since she didn't know if anyone was walking on the beach. He continued making love to her with his lips and tongue as she rode out her climax.

Leigh moved to sit on the blanket. Bill sat up, pulling her close to him.

"Seems to me that you're still wearin' too many clothes, Sweetheart." He unfastened the black lace strapless bra, allowing it to fall on the blanket.

"That's better. I love to see all o' you." Guarnere caressed Leigh's breasts, giving special attention to her hard nipples, alternating between licking and sucking them. Leigh whispered into his ear,

"Your baby needs a good, hard fucking." Bill slightly groaned, hearing her reply. He helped her stand and then he got up to stand beside her.

"Ya know what that does to me, hearin' you say that. How 'bout you bend over an' hold on to that chair." Leigh quickly followed his advice. She was extremely wet and ready.

Bill stood behind her.

"Seein' your sweet ass in the moonlight is drivin' me crazy. You oughta be a nudist, at least around here. I don't wanna share my sexy angel wit' anybody else."

"I don't want anybody else to see me. I'm all yours, Honey." Bill unbuttoned his trousers and pushed them and his boxer shorts low enough so he could make love to her.

Guarnere guided himself into Leigh, groaning at the feel of her wet sex engulfing him.

"I love how you're always ready for me. Feels so damn good!"

Then, he gripped her hips and began thrusting slowly into her. Leigh backed up against him, urging him to go deeper and faster. She could help but moan as he filled her. This was her favorite position for love making.

Guarnere eagerly picked up the pace. He wanted to go slower and make it last longer, but speeding up felt so incredibly good. He had no desire to slow down.

Both Bill and Leigh got more vocal with their sounds of pleasure. Leigh shuddered as a small orgasm passed. Soon, a bigger orgasm built. In a few minutes, she cried out as it overtook her. Guarnere felt her contracting around his cock. His thrusting got deeper and slightly off rhythm. He had an explosive orgasm, calling out,

"Fuck, yes!" He withdrew from Leigh and sat in the empty chair, pulling her onto his lap. Bill held her close, kissing her.

"You're so damn good."

"Thanks, Honey. I have a very good teacher. You're amazing."

"Do ya think ya might go around naked out here again before we go home? I like makin' love outdoors." Leigh grinned,

"Oh, definitely! As long as I get results like this, I'd gladly strip in this area. How about trying this during the day?"

"I like the way you think, Baby. How 'bout we get cleaned up an' go to bed? We need to get that room kinda broken in later, if ya know what I mean."

"Great minds think alike, Honey. I'm all for it." Bill put on his boxer shorts and trousers. He picked up his shirt and Leigh's lingerie. She took the blanket inside. They both took a bath, not together since the bathtub wasn't big enough and went to bed. Leigh kept her promise and they had some erotic adventures outdoors in the sunlight.

On their way home to South Philadelphia, Bill chuckled,

"It's a good thing I ain't in the Army now. One o' the guys, probably Luz, would see me in the shower an' say somethin' about having' a sun tan on my ass." Leigh laughed,

"I'd have to explain my all over sun tan. No regrets, though. We need to go to the shore again before it gets too cold for outdoor activities."

"Baby, that all over tan is super sexy. Thanks for the sterlin' silver lighter. That's all I'm usin' from now on."

"You welcome, Bill. Thanks for this lovely necklace. These moonstones will also remind me of making love outdoors. Thanks for buying and renovating the house."

"I'm glad ya like it, Sweetheart. If I kept the house long enough, ya might be a nudist like the older lady who used to live there."

"Who would want to see an old, naked lady?"

"When I get old, I still wanna see you naked." They both laughed and then continued talking on the way home.

"How 'bout we get started on makin' a baby when we get home?"

"I like the sound of that idea, Bill. I'm ready to start our family." Both Bill and Leigh hoped that a baby would soon be on the way.

[homewardial]

[thebibliosphere]

Am I reading this right? You have been beating yourself up for not 'working more' and not 'doing enough', but, the mere act of being AT YOUR DESK is extremely painful? Sitting at your work station, just SITTING THERE, caused you PHYSICAL PAIN, but you were still under the impression that you should be able to just 'power through that' to do, what? How much more are you expecting out of yourself? A book a month? Its not like you've STOPPED WORKING. What time table were you holding yourself to???

Here's the thing, my body has always hurt.

Even when I was a child, I was in a lot of pain that was dismissed as either "growing pains" despite the fact that I never got past 5 feet tall at the age of 11 or "attention seeking." So, I learned to stop talking about it. (The trick is now getting me to shut up about it.)

And for most of my teens and twenties, the pain didn't really stop me too much. It was bad, and it sucked, but for the longest time, everyone kept telling me that "everyone" felt that way, so I just sort of learned to power through and hide it under the assumption that "everyone" feels this way.

Well, turns out that was a mistake because my body hit its breaking point, and what might have been a mild genetic disability that could have flown under the radar is now a severe one that greatly impacts my daily life to the point where sitting at my desk causes me pain (because everything causes me pain).

Couple that with some new-age religious trauma about willpower, positive thinking, and whatever the fuck else my parents thought I was capable of as an 'indigo starseed' and the fact that I was trained to mask my ADHD by being a hyper-competent workaholic-- I really don't know what a healthy baseline is.

(I mean, heck, I wrote the first book of Hunger Pangs while literally dying. I assumed it would be edited and published posthumously. Jokes on me because now I've got to edit the rest of the fucking thing.)

I didn't, obviously, and ever since then, I've been trying to learn what a healthy baseline looks like for me post-recovery, and I think I'm doing quite well at it and enforcing my boundaries when people ask too much of me.

But none of that makes up for the shrieking frustration I feel that I can't do the things I want.

I want to be creative and do fun things, but I can't because my body won't let me. I want to write more, but I can't because I'm swimming in brain fog most of the time. Yes it hurts to sit at my desk, but I also need to earn money so the financial burden of everything isn't solely on my partner. (Something which he argues I shouldn't even be worrying about right now, but it's hard not to worry as I watch him work himself to the bone taking care of everything because I can't.)

I promise you, I'm not hustling my ass into an early grave. There is, in fact, zero hustle about how I work. I am very, very slow these days compared to how I used to be. There's no timetable for one thing. I get done what I get done, and that's it.

I'm just perpetually frustrated that my hyperactive brain is trapped in a malfunctioning meat suit. And my blog is where I talk about it and work through my emotions because, well, that's what I've always done long before Tumblr was even a thing. It just so happens now I've got an audience.

[bokonowriter]

Crimson & Curls - Part 1

Remmick x Fem! Reader Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 Description: That night in the rain with Remmick… it was more than chance; a raw vulnerability laid bare between you and him. A mutual curiosity thrummed, a silent question about the power leashed beneath his elegant coat. And behind that devilish smile, a promise of shadowed pleasures, a darkness that whispered a dangerous invitation to your very soul. Find out, what is that devil hiding? ⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆ "Tell me, honey… what else are you hiding? What desires do you keep locked away? Perhaps… I can help you unleash them."

A/n: The reader in this is mixed ethnicity, and thus light skinned. She is white passing due to her lightly tanned skin tone.

Warnings: This story contains explicit content (DO NOT INTERACT UNLESS 18+) including: oral smut, public smut, explicit language, fingering, intense sensual detail, moaning/whimpering, female orgasms, and squirting, mentions of supernatural. (more will be added as the story continues).

Seeking Shelter in the Shadows

WHEN THE cicadas fell silent before dusk – a hush thicker than the kudzu that strangled the abandoned  plantation – the old folks in Delta understood. It wasn't just the coming darkness; it was the whisper of what lay restless in the woods, a hunger older than the moss-draped oaks and twice as unforgiving.

You should’ve known. Mama's words, thick with the swamp-born wisdom of generations, should have echoed louder: "Never trust a sunset that bleeds like a stuck hog."

Yet you found yourself gazing mindlessly towards the streaks of angry crimson that slashed across the darkening horizon. 

Tonight it wasn't the peaceful blush of a typical sunset, but a violent, almost desperate flare, as if the very heavens were weeping blood. The light that did breakthrough was sharp and fractured, casting long, distorted shadows that writhed like restless spirits on the moss-draped ground.

But below, the clouds were boiling masses of charcoal and deep indigo, their undersides rimmed with a fierce, almost electric gold – the devil's own furnace, Mama would have hissed. 

These weren't soft, pillowy formations; they were jagged and turbulent, like the tormented souls Silas Crowder swore he saw clawing their way out of the earth after the great flood.

You needed to get to town, past the whispering pines that seemed to watch you, and quickly. Smoke & Stack, their eyes already glinting like hungry possums in the twilight, were tethered to your return, knowing a light-skinned girl like you could grease the wheels of a deal they couldn't manage on their own. 

Fool's errand, venturing out before the moon bled its sickly light across the marshy flats, but the juke joint's resurrection loomed, and the strain had those boys knotted tighter than a hangman's noose – a familiar dance with the demons of their own making, a twisted echo of your daddy's losing battle with the bottle.

Annie's pronouncements, heavy with the swamp's ancient wisdom, clung to you like grave dust. "It’s the ole serpent’s harvest rotting on good soil…" A shiver traced the length of your spine; that kind of talk burrowed deep, hinting at a darkness that clung to the very land. But Annie... She was rooted here, her soul intertwined with the rustling secrets of the pines and the sorrowful sigh of the willows. 

If she saw the serpent's mark on Smoke & Stack's trembling hands, then that was her truth, a truth etched in generations of backwoods lore. And you, a fragile bloom in this thorny landscape, wouldn't dare cross the only kin who even acknowledged you, wouldn't risk severing the tenuous thread that bound you to this harsh, unforgiving world.

Adjusting the straps on your satchel, you rounded a bend in the road, when the low rumble of a car approached. Little whirlwinds of baked clay and grit, like the land itself was sighing with unease, twisted across the asphalt as two trucks, rough and menacing, crawled into view, filled with men in white hoods.

Your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your ribs, a trapped bird desperate for flight, as you sank low into the sawgrass, praying its brittle blades offered enough sanctuary. The trucks crawled past, iron beasts exhaling fumes and ill-will, as the men within their white shrouds turned their faces, their gazes like chips of ice laced with venom. A guttural cry, foul and demeaning, ripped through the stagnant air, leaving you to wonder if those words of poison were meant for you alone or if it was simply the bile these creatures carried within them. 

Then, a shadow detached itself from the deeper shadows of the woods. It was as if he materialized in the center of the road, a stark and unexpected sentinel. The trucks, lumbering behemoths brought to a sudden halt, their white-clad occupants momentarily stunned by his abrupt appearance.

“Move along,” Remmick’s voice, a low drawl that belied the steel beneath, sliced through the suffocating tension. “You’re fouling the quiet of this stretch.”

"This ain't your concern, night rider," one of the shrouded figures spat, the word "night rider" laced with a venom that clung to the humid air.

Before the ugliness could bloom further, the sky, moments before a deceptive expanse of pale evening, tore open. Not a gentle rain, but a furious deluge, as if the heavens themselves had finally wept for the sins below. The dust of the road turned to a thick, sucking mud in the blink of an eye, each drop a violent lash against the parched earth.

The trucks, those iron steeds of hate, choked and sputtered in the sudden downpour, their engines wheezing like dying beasts. A chorus of curses, muffled by the sodden white hoods now plastered to their wearers' faces like grotesque shrouds, rose in the storm's fury.

Remmick turned his gaze to you, who stood drenched, the rain beading on your skin, transforming the careful lines of your straight hair into tight, dark curls that frame your face like a storm-wrought halo.

“Are you alright?” Remmick’s voice was surprisingly gentle amidst the downpour. 

A tremor ran through you, not entirely from the damp, and you managed a nod. Your gaze lifted to his, and in the shadowed depths of his eyes, something flickered – a stillness, a regard that lingered on the sudden bloom of your dark curls, a silent acknowledgment of something revealed, something…unfurling.

A slow, knowing smile, filled with warmth in the storm's sudden chill, touched the corners of Remmick's lips. His eyes, usually guarded, held a flicker of something akin to shared amusement. 

"This deluge," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that barely carried over the rain, "has taken a rather…unforeseen turn, wouldn't you say? Perhaps fate, in its soggy wisdom, suggests a more…private communion, somewhere dry?"

Before the unexpected lightness of his words could fully settle in your heart, a brutal cough of metal ripped through the downpour's symphony – another backfire, followed instantly by the vicious crack of a gunshot that sent a fresh wave of terror through you.

Instinct flared in Remmick's eyes, a raw protectiveness that tightened his jaw. Without a word, his hand, calloused but surprisingly tender, closed around yours. His grip was firm, a silent promise of safety as he urged you towards the dark sanctuary of the trees. They stumbled blindly through the grasping undergrowth, the rain a cold, relentless assault, your breaths catching in shared gasps of exertion and lingering fear.

Finally, deep within the ancient woods, the torrential downpour eased to a heavy sigh. You leaned against the rough embrace of an oak, your body trembling, your lungs burning with each ragged breath. The rain had plastered your hair to your scalp, a dark, clinging veil that starkly revealed the delicate curve of your trembling lips and the intricate beauty of your now-soaked curls, a vulnerability laid bare by the storm's harsh hand.

Remmick watched you, his gaze no longer guarded but filled with a quiet intensity. His eyes traced the delicate lines of your face, each feature softened and made luminous by the rain. It was more than observation; it was a silent acknowledgment of your resilience, the unexpected beauty revealed in this shared moment of fear and raw exposure, a connection forged in the heart of the storm.

"Remarkable," he breathed, the word a near-silent reverence lost in the rain's steady rhythm. His gaze, still softened from its earlier intensity, lingered on the way the water clung to your dark curls, each coil a testament to a beauty the storm had unveiled. A beat passed, and he almost didn't dare break the quiet intimacy. "The change… it's quite striking," he finally whispered, as if speaking a secret to the rain-soaked air. He cleared his throat, a touch of awkwardness coloring his tone. "The name's Remmick."

"Thank you, Remmick," you replied, his name feeling substantial and unfamiliar yet pleasant on your tongue.

A hesitant curiosity flickered in his eyes. "So… what brings a girl….like you out to this stretch of road?"

"A girl like me?" A wry smile touched your lips, a hint of the defensiveness you'd learned to carry always near the surface.

"Uh–no, not like that," he stammered, a flush creeping up his neck. "I just meant… someone… out here."

A soft giggle escaped you, a nervous lightness in the tense aftermath. "I know what you meant." You offered a small, self-deprecating shrug. "Helping a friend. Getting the new juke joint ready."

Remmick's interest seemed to ignite, his questions tumbling out in quick succession, his earlier reserve melting away. "It opens soon? What sort of music will fill its walls? Will it be a place… a gathering for the community here? And you… what part do you play in all of this? You seem… different." His gaze flickered back to your hair, a genuine, almost tender smile gracing his lips this time, a silent acknowledgment of the beauty he'd witnessed in the storm's unveiling.

Despite the lingering tremor of fear and the clammy discomfort of your soaked clothes, you found yourself drawn into the orbit of Remmick's intense scrutiny. His curiosity wasn't casual; it felt like a probing touch.

"Next week," you replied, your voice a little breathy. "Mostly blues. Somewhere folks can let loose the day's burdens. I…" you hesitated, a flicker of your usual guardedness returning, "I'm just a friend lending a hand."

Remmick's eyes, dark and unwavering, held yours with an unnerving focus, as if trying to decipher a hidden language etched on your skin. "A friend," he repeated, the word lingering in the damp air. "With such… singular features. You possess a… certain… dissonance with the expected fabric of this place, wouldn't you agree?"

A subtle stiffness entered your posture, a familiar prickle of defensiveness rising like hackles. "I belong wherever I damn well choose to belong."

A shadow of apology softened the sharp edges of Remmick's gaze. "Forgive my bluntness. My curiosity often outstrips my social graces. It's merely… you possess an… intriguing dichotomy." His gaze drifted downwards, a slow, almost possessive slide along your neck, a subtle pulse in his own throat betraying a deeper fascination.

"Those… men in the trucks," he continued, his voice dropping to a low murmur, the earlier levity vanished. "They exuded a… particular brand of ugliness. You were fortunate my path intersected with yours."

A genuine shiver traced your spine, a coldness that went beyond the rain's chill, a visceral echo of the hatred you had witnessed. "I… thank you  again," you managed, your voice barely a whisper. "You stepped in when you had no reason to."

His gaze met yours once more, the intensity now laced with something heavier, a nascent possessiveness that sent a strange flutter through your chest. "Consider it… a strategic investment. In the future vibrancy of this establishment… and its… unique inhabitants. Perhaps," a slow, deliberate smile touched his lips, a mirror of the one before but now carrying a different weight, "in return for my timely… assistance, you might find yourself indebted to me for a small favor? Something well within your… capabilities, of course."

A peculiar sensation washed over you– a disquieting blend of unease and a surprising, almost illicit spark of something akin to… anticipation. The unwavering intensity of his gaze, the pointed nature of his questions, the subtle claim in his words… it was unsettling, a tremor of danger beneath a veneer of politeness, yet it held an undeniable, magnetic pull that you liked.

“What kind of favor?”

Remmick's smile broadened, revealing a flash of teeth that held both a disarming charm and an undercurrent of something sharp, something predatory. "Patience, little bird. Opportunities, like shadows in the moonlight, have a way of revealing themselves in due time. But until then…" Remmick's gaze lingered on you, a protective instinct softening the sharp edges of his features. "The rain's easing, but the night's still young, and those… individuals might still be lurking. Perhaps… as a temporary measure of repayment for my unsolicited heroism, I could ensure your safe passage home? A small stroll, under a less… hostile sky."

A small, polite smile, a brief flicker of warmth in a cooling world, touched your lips. Even without Annie's watchful gaze, her shop stood as a silent sentinel, imbued with the protective essence of her craft – a whispered promise of sanctuary in this shadowed land.

"I would be grateful for that," you finally murmured. He offered his elbow, a stark white against the deepening gloom, and you accepted, your hand finding a hesitant purchase. He moved with a careful grace, navigating the mud-slicked path like a shadow avoiding consecrated ground, until your feet found the familiar, rutted dirt that had been your lonely guide before. 

Remmick steered you with a silent grace, his presence a dark shadow against the fading light. The air hung heavy, thick with the musk of damp earth and something else, something ancient that seemed to emanate from the very soil. He stopped at the edge of Annie's porch, the scent of dried herbs and something vaguely metallic clinging to the air around the shop. A subtle unease tightened the lines around his mouth.

"This dwelling…" His gaze, sharp as a hawk's, scanned the hand-painted sigils above the door, symbols that seemed to writhe in the dim light. "It hums with a… peculiar energy. You wouldn't happen to traffic in the shadowed arts yourself, would you, child?" His eyes, pools of fathomless night, held a hunger for something beyond the mundane.

You shook your head, a wry twist to your lips. "Not I. But a dear friend… she's got her fingers deep in that spiritual muck. Annie's shop is her refuge, same as it is mine."

A long silence stretched between them, broken only by the drip of water from the eaves. "And you? You linger in a place steeped in such… fancies. Yet you remain untouched by belief?"

Your gaze drifted to the lamplit windows, a flicker of something akin to weariness in your eyes. "I reckon there's things out there we ain't meant to understand. Maybe the spooks and spirits are real enough. But maybe they're just as lost and lonesome as the rest of us, searchin' for a patch of ground that feels like home."

A slow smile, like moonlight on a tombstone, touched Remmick's lips. He lifted her hand, his skin cool as river stone, but instead of a simple farewell, he drew you a step closer. His other hand, swift and deliberate, cupped the underside of your chin, tilting your face up towards his. For a heartbeat, his gaze dropped to your lips, a silent question hanging in the damp air. Then, a slow, knowing wink flickered in his dark eyes before he released you. "I find myself… unexpectedly… invested in your safe return to this haven, little wren. Until the shadows beckon us together again."

The feeling of his warmth leaving you there, made you feel naked. Then with a final, lingering gaze that seemed to promise more than his words conveyed, he dissolved into the deepening gloom, leaving you on Annie's porch, the scent of protective charms and the unsettling warmth of a vampire's near-kiss clinging to the damp night air. NEXT CHAPTER >

[selfaware-promise-au]

Self-Aware! Blade x GN! Reader

Warnings: OOC. Assassination attempt.

A/N: I was supposed to write about Blade's "recruitment", that was implied in last post, but the drafts are getting too confusing and with too much confusing lore hints for a normal fic.

_____

"It’s not even an advance, it’s just a fifth of it. Get rid of them, and you'll get a much larger sum."

Shrike, an assassin, licked her lips carnivorously, looking at the case filled with credits. She looked at the photograph of the target with renewed interest. A completely ordinary person with [e/c] eyes and [h/t] [h/c] hair. She turned her gaze to the customer, a thin figure in a robe.

"I am close to betraying my principles and wonder what they have done to make you, dear customer, pay a fortune to silence them forever."

"Dear customer" contorted with disgust.

"That sinful abomination have committed a grave sin and aren't planning to stop their corruption".

Tautology made Shrike mentally chuckle. But her expression didn't betray her. Paying client's wish was her to fulfill.

"Consider work's done, Master Cole..."

-------

Shrike pressed her back against the wall of Goethe Hotel. Belobog's cold was harsh, but not a single muscle flinched on her face. Her target were here.

She was stalking them for a few days already. For a sinful abomination they were surprisingly... boring.

They weren't yelling profanities on the main square, or vandalizing a museum or a theater. They weren't even littering.

They just spent time with other people. They were paying attention to indigo hair girl in glasses, when she told kids about Belobog's culture.

They were spending time in a workshop of a local rock star.

They were often in a company of two almost identical gray haired people, an energetic pinkette and a gloomy spearman.

Anything they do were boring, normal and totally disappointing.

Especially the fact, that they were careless enough to stay by their own in their room in a hotel.

Shrike checked her "work arsenal" again. A rope with grappling hook, lockpicks, a dagger with a poisoned blade, a bottle of oil and a brush. Boring assassination for a boring person.

------

She waited for lights to go out.

Her plan was doing so far so good. She planned the throw timing carefully, so noise didn't get anyone's attention.

Shrike was now right before target's window. In the darkness she could see the outlines of a bed and a huge pile of pillows on it. Somewhere there, her target were sleeping.

Shrike grinned. She heard, how earlier today they shared their plan of asking for more pillows with their friends. Sinful abomination wanting to have a comfy bed. There was something humorous about it.

Shrike start climbing up again.

She needed to get into the hotel.

------

Room's door quietly opened. Lockpicks and oil made their work. Assassin close the door behind her.

Shrike was inside. She proceeded with caution. It would be a disappointment to fail right now.

She finally was standing before the bed, where her target were sleeping. They were covered in multiple blankets, completely hidden from the outside world.

Now, the hard part come. To find among all this pillows a living person to unalive them.

Shrike start listening and observing.

Soon, she noticed, that one of the blankets were moving up and down.

In a quick motion, she stabbed her dagger right through the blanket, deep into the target's body.

There was no scream. Just a hiss. And blanket wasn't moving anymore.

Shrike pulled out the dagger, turning around. She whispered.

"That's it? I am disappointed. Master Cole painted you in a dangerous way, and you went down so easily."

"Well, if you allow me to try again, I might show you a real fight."

Shrike immediately turned away, but sword already pinned her hood to a wall.

She looked at horror at living nightmare.

She saw Blade's wanted posters before. He had a great bounty on him, one, that would make the person quite an attractive target for assassins. But not Blade. He was invincible, and only fools would dare to try to assassinate him.

Wound from her dagger were already almost healed, and only ruined clothes remained.

Shrike whimpered.

"But... How..?"

"Blade noticed you few days ago, ever since you start stalking me."

The lights were turned on.

Her target... Her real target stood up from the bed. They looked... rumpled. They approached Blade and Shrike, giving swordsmen a side eye.

"And while he was right, that you will attack again, I still fail to understand, why I couldn't sleep in another room, and had to stay here, in a pillow-blanket nest, with him sleeping on top of me."

Blade huffed, without loosing eye contact with Shrike.

"It still worked, right?"

Her target didn't answer. Instead, they looked at Shrike with unreadable expression.

"I... I really don't want to do it."

Shrike knew, that words weren't addressed to her.

"You knew, that she will try again. Others will come, but, at least, we won't have to worry about her."

They were silent. Then they nodded.

"Do as you see fit, Blade."

With ease, Blade pulled out his sword, freeing Shrike. He immediately grabbed her by her hood and start dragging her away.

Room's door opened and closed.

Shrike's last moments were silent and painful.

------

You were sitting on the bed. Waiting for Blade.

He was your first bodyguard, appointed by... 𝖍𝖎𝖒. (A bracelet on Blade's wrist were his sign). And he took his job seriously.

When you were near Blade, you felt small, if not outright tiny. Like you were a pebble, and he was Mount Everest.

Each time you were transported in this world, he was always near you. Protecting you from assassinations attempts.

Devines of this world hated you for breaking their control, for becoming a symbol of redemption.

And they wanted to destroy you.

Door in the room opened and closed again.

Nothing in Blade's appearance indicated, that he just killed someone.

You sighed, holding out your hands to him.

It was strange to see a somewhat soft experience on Blade's face. That experience he made only when he was with you.

He stopped before you, sitting on the floor.

You put both of your hands on his head, running your fingers through his hair.

He, as usual, leaned into your touch.

He was supposed to be a fictional character from gacha game. But now you couldn't see anyone from this world as fictional.

He was a dangerous swordsman. An avalanche of destruction.

And you, a small pebble, could easily hold that avalanche down.

"Freedom... Our Freedom..."

Blade's eyes stared into yours, filled with unspoken adoration. You didn't flinch. You were getting used to that. You didn't utter a single word. But, your expression...

"[Y/N]... Our [Y/N]." Blade's tone didn't change. Still full of gratitude.

You just continue to play with his hair.

As long as you will stay here, your life will be in danger. Back in your world, you will still work on getting people of three worlds their rightful freedom.

But, for now, in this silent room, everything was easy and slow. And, you dared to say, normal.

You continue to play with Blade's hair, enjoying this moment of normalcy in this mad world.

[fyuyushia]

It wasn't love.

: ̗̀➛You only ever realize someone's worth until they leave you.

: ̗̀➛ft. A longing wanderer

In recent years, wanderer found himself reminiscing about the past more often. Indigo hues idly stare at the night sky, counting the stars, tracing the patterns they made with his hands.

Ah.

He stops himself when his hands begin to stretch out, as if trying to reach for the stars. He blinks, snapping out of his daze. He retracts his arms, shifting his eyes to look at his palm. His brows furrows, I'm doing it again. Closing his hands to form a fist, he breathes out a sigh and rests it on his lap.

Wanderer has been reminiscing frequently these past weeks.

Perhaps it was because of the blonde traveller and the wretched archon's influence; his interactions with them guided him to be more intact with his feelings after all. Or maybe it was because a certain date was drawing near, and he subconsciously associates it with the past—with a ghost—either way, he's been thinking. His lashes flutter, finding himself more distracted than usual.

His jaw clenches, your image is too vivid. You're engraved too deep—he knows you too much, it pisses him off. Your visage is tattooed on his eyelids, every detail carved on his brain. He thinks of you too much, too long it's irritating.

He doesn't understand why now out of all times he's starting to think about you. Your smile, your lips, your eyes—your voice, you're too inside his head and he admits he's scared. He's lost, why are you so relevant now when you've already left so many years ago? Why now, when he's never cared?

He doesn't understand. Why are you in his head?

A stupid question. Deep down inside, he knows exactly why he thinks of you. He knows why he sees you in everything. In the stars, in the clouds, in the traveler, in everywhere—he knows why everything reminds him of you. He knows why he hears your laughter echo on the back of his mind, he knows why he turns around everytime he finds someone who looks the slightest bit like you—but he'll never admit it.

He'll never say it.

Instead, he'll say it's hate. He'll bury your memory, lock it in a cage and toss away the key. He'll ignore your silhouette, close off his heart and throw away anything that remotely reminds him of you. He'll burn your image, drown you in poison and sully your name with curses he knows he won't let anyone say to you.

But even if he does all that, even if he'll write a whole book explaining how little you mattered, nothing could make him forget the way your hand gently cradled his face. Wanderer can never forget the sweet words you've whispered, the stolen glances between silent exchanges, the harmless bickering, you. You were too much a core memory to easily let go.

It's not love.

Wanderer grits his teeth, glaring at the stars that had led him down the spiral into that mess of a time. He covers his eyes with his hands, trying to erase the memory of you that always grew stronger whenever that certain week came.

It's not love.

It wasn't love when he didn't mind letting you rest your head against his shoulder because you were sleepy. It wasn't love when he followed your lead and bid you good mornings and good nights. It wasn't love when he allowed you to be the weak spot in himself. It wasn't love when he spent years searching for a way to elongate your life—It wasn't love when he dug your grave himself—barehanded all night just to ensure you were resting in a place you'd approve of. It's not love.

It's not love, he repeats like a mantra.

He sits up, rubbing his eyes with his hands that were too cold to mimic the warmth of your touch. He breathes out a heavy sigh, clicking his tongue in annoyance.

He thinks of you too much, damn it

"Maybe I'll go give them a visit."

He says, yet his voice sounded defeated. Because even if he says all those things—he knows damn well it's more than love.