#vivian answers asks

[where-is-vivian]

Viv !! I’m now the biggest North African James fan !!!!! I NEED FICS AND HCS NOW !!!!!

@reverie-darling see what we have created...

I don't have any fics in storage with north African James right now 🤔 we need to change that (I'm thinking about writing him with another hc than Hindi on the next long fic I have planned so maybe that)... if anyone has fics like this, feel free to share!

for the headcanons, well I'm not north African myself, so I only know some bits of the culture from my friends and from the internet, but here's a few that I think fit for james:

1. He'd be from Morocco. He's getting the Moroccan genes from his mother, and he often went back to his mother's parents home during holidays as a kid. He has good memories of running around and having fun with his cousins and the beautiful view when they'd be high enough to see the whole qsur.

2. He's also spoiled rotten by his grandma. No further explanation x)

3. He'd do tricks when serving the tea. oh my. James would show off every time there were guests (and especially if at some point he invites lily or regulus). He trained for years for that, burning himself several times (and Euphemia giving him healing ointments after while scolding him lightly (it's her love language)). He'd just show off. Oh also he'd love mint tea.

4. He's a cat person. Sirius feels betrayed but I'm sorry, that might be a cliché idk; if you've seen the guy on tiktok saying that all Arab people are cat people and all cats are Muslims, well. All of my Arab friends are cat people (no fr x)) so I say: James cat person (also he absolutely looooves Regulus in his Animagus form).

5. And last, but not least, he'd speak French. You probably come from this post already but I'm putting it here anyway x)

If you have any hcs for north African James, feel free to share!

[milolovesbmc]

bites you… dilf whizzer is on my mind again

Whizzer Brown the man you are……..

[linkedin-offficial]

how does goombella feel about chimera vivian? i imagine she's got some real charged emotions about it all

ohhh for sure without a doubt shes got emotions alright . for being so small , she does a pretty good job of not exploding due to the stress of it all, frankly.

i did explore how she would react a teensy bit in this post, but that was made before i wrote out the entire timeline/series of events of the whole au. now its clearer in my head that she definitely would absolutely Hate everything about the situation and would probably act really out of her normal character. irritable, not talking as much, shut off and secluded, the works.

but to be fair, it would impact all of them horribly. i cant imagine watching a really close friend of yours get eaten and then turned into a horrible beast once you go through all the trouble to revive them would really do much good for anyones psyche .. ^_^;

[mercurygray]

Ooooh, build-a-fic! How about "here, let’s get you warmed up" + contentment + the bedside of someone who doesn’t want you there :)

I find it very, very funny that no less than three people gave me the dialogue prompt to warm up, and I think just that many gave the location prompt about bedsides.

I took the wild-card option on characters here as an excuse to do a little thought experiment - the threatened Vivian/Doctor Huston fic.

It's a bit whumpy.

---

It was the nightmares again.

Adam rolled over in bed and tried to control his breathing, focusing on the sloped, white ceiling of his room. It had been a while since he'd had one. He thought he'd been getting better. It was always the same dream, or similar - the siren announcing the need for ambulances on the airstrip, the thrumming wind from a still-beating engine, and then the orderlies were pulling everyone he'd ever loved from out of the plane in bits and bloody pieces, and the bodies never stopped at ten.

He closed his eyes, hand splayed over his heart like somehow the weight would slow down the muscle. Your name is Adam Huston. You're a doctor with the 8th Air Force. You're at Coombe House, in Dorset. You're here for a few weeks away from your unit, just like everyone else here. You are good at your job. You will try your hardest to make sure they all get well. You will try your best to make sure you get well.

Get well - a high order. Who was the doctor here, and who the patient? The line seemed indistinct sometimes. It'll be an easy posting, Adam. Observe and evaluate. They just need a little time away from it all - get a chance to get their feet back under them. If you see anything serious, you can mark it in the file. Big house, plenty of fresh air - and half a dozen pretty girls to keep you on your toes.

Pretty girls - offered like they'd stopped making them in England when the war started and the beauty of women were somehow also rationed. Francy, in charge of everyone, as well as Susan, Julia, Peggy, Caro, and Vivian - smiling, shaking hands, welcoming him in like they did to everyone who arrived here, the all-American girls from next door, if next door was an extremely selective women's college.

The last woman, Vivian, had looked a little pale next to the others, her lipstick somehow too bright for her face. "Everything all right?" he'd asked, duffel in one hand and raincoat in the other. The urge to reach out and take her pulse was tangible, and the fact that his hands were full was suddenly unsettling. He adjusted his grip on the suitcase instead.

"Just a little under the weather, is all." She gave him a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'll be right as rain when it blows over. Can I show you upstairs to your room?"

Coombe House was a country estate, built for shooting weekends and house parties, with bedrooms and corridors that went for miles. The airmen were downstairs in the guest rooms, and the staff, along with the hostesses and him, were upstairs in the servants corridor, with sloping ceilings and threadbare runners in the hallway to deafen the noise. "Your own, of course," she'd said, opening the door for him and letting him step inside. “We couldn’t have our doctor bunking. Butler’s down at this end, and we’re at the other, with the maids. Just how it was before the war.” Somehow the sparseness of the room didn't bother him. It's only temporary, this place. She watched him set down his coat and duffel on the bed. "They've opened up a wall a little way down for a little kitchenette - a sink and a gas burner for tea or reheating a cup of soup. Sometimes we keep strange hours." He nodded in agreement, glanced out the window at the grounds below, taking in the garden, the hedges and the curve of the river, everything still green and growing. "I'll leave you to get settled then. Dinner's at seven - dress uniforms." And then with a brief smile she was gone.

He wandered through the house, getting a feel for the corridors and the rooms - the library, the games room, the sitting room filled with ping pong tables, the ballroom with its badminton nets. An office, too, white cabinets, a desk, and a chair across, so someone could sit. No lights, no exam chair - a consulting room. A file drawer, too, standing in the corner, full of other men's secrets.

He turned off the light and left that for another day.

The rhythm of the house took some getting used to, after months on the flight line. Breakfast was at 9 am, not six, and everyone slept in. There was no review of the ward, no supply stock take, no white coat and stethoscope...no late afternoon flight return to manage. He took walks, watched birds, tried to ride a horse. Mainly he talked to the men. Theirs were quick stays, six or seven days, long enough to watch them uncurl a little, unclench their jaws and slide their shoulders down from their ears. Easy enough to understand - how many men back in Norfolk with the 96th were just the same as they?

The hostesses, too, were easy to read - Peggy with her bicycle and her loud laugh, Susan with her easy knowledge of the whole library, leading her book group like she didn't know that it was her smile and her black curls that made them all come to talk about things they hadn't read. Francy, effortlessly in charge of everything, everyone's sister and everyone's friend. Always first names, with the girls, and never Miss, while the boys were Patterson and Johnson and Reed, last names and nicknames and inside jokes. And he was Doc, as though they'd always known him thus, stamped from the same plate as every other doctor on every other base, the kind and concerned uncle asking obliquely how they were doing, whether they'd gotten the game scores, how they were sleeping, whether the dream had come back.

But Vivian remained aloof, somehow. The ashen look from her first day retreated, but she was still different from the others, somehow set apart. He found out that she was from Massachusetts, that she had two siblings and a ginger cat. It felt like the others saw it, too - she was the older woman, somehow a better prize where attention was concerned. One night after dinner he caught her singing at the piano while Susan played - a children's song in French. She played tennis like a champion, danced beautifully, never got a man's rank wrong - but what she'd done before the war she never said.

Finally his curiosity got the better of him one afternoon, listening to Caro call for her twice before she answered, as though she didn't know her own name. The filing cabinet beckoned. He sat down and found the stack of medical records for the Red Cross.

He'd made good headway through the cabinet when the gong rang for dinner (After a week here, it still sounded silly to hear it) and he rushed upstairs to quickly change into his better uniform, comb his hair and make sure his tie was straight.

In the dining room he made a beeline for Vivian, smiling away the lieutenant she was talking to by clearing his throat and flashing his captain's bars. (The younger man took the hint, given in so many officer's clubs, and beat it.)  "How are you feeling today?"

She didn't look pleased to be asked. "I told you I would be fine in a few days."

He stepped in, pitched his voice lower. "And are you expecting to recover from recurring malaria overnight, Lieutenant?" He pronounced the rank with special emphasis and watched her eyes flash in recognition. The Red Cross certainly didn't make them officers, but the Nurse Corps did - and Vivian Arsenault hadn't started her time with the Army passing out donuts and coffee in England. In fact, she hadn't started in England at all - and that was just the trouble with tropical climates, wasn't it - that they had different diseases there? Such a lot of trouble from such a little insect.

"You read my file." It was an accusation - almost a disappointment.

"I'm a doctor. I needed to know who I was working with. And I was wondering why you never seem to hear your name when anyone calls you. It's because you're still not expecting to hear it." He looked at her daring her to disagree - she didn't.  Yes, First Lieutenant Arsenault, joined in '38, three years abroad in Manila, invalided out of the Nurse Corps in June of 1941 for recurrent malignant malaria. A lucky thing, since the Rock fell in January of 42 - if you thought about luck that way, anyway. "I expect this is quite the change from Fort Mills," he offered, glancing around the room.

"Not really," she replied. "Soldiers are soldiers. But you're right. I was Arsenault for so long that Vivian sounds wrong, or ...insubordinate." She sniffed. "Francy knows, but please don't tell the others. They know I'm a nurse, but not - not that."

"And as a nurse, I didn't think I'd have to tell you that you ought to be in bed if you're having an episode."

"I've told you," she said, fixing him with a look that would not be crossed or questioned, "I'm fine. It passes quicker if I'm busy."

"We're not going to win the war by you working yourself to death," he said, a little more strongly than he meant. "It's not the end of the world if someone doesn't have a tennis partner."

"But how will I feel if he goes down next week?" She looked at him with a grim smile. "They only have the time they have."

It was an argument he could see he was not going to win, and he let her move away, down the table to another group of soldiers. And what about you, he'd wanted to ask. What about your time? Somehow silence seemed wiser.

Days passed - men came and went.  Outside the estate the war went on regardless. This being England, sunshine was cause for celebration, and a cloudless day practically cause for a parade. Huston opened the windows in his office to watch the men on the pond trying to tip their boats, and decided to try and squeeze in a walk before the day took a turn. He paused at the house’s great front door and considered his options, hands in pockets - the gardens? The lake? The stables? 

He made his way to the back of the house, passing a few fellows on bicycles, one of the groundsmen with a dirty shovel,  the kitchen maids putting out the rubbish bins for someone to move and collect. The bicyclists waved as he went by, but most everyone else out here ignored him, too caught up in the world of their own making. And that was fine by him. Responsibility sat differently outside - here he was neither doctor nor parent, only a fellow traveler, out to enjoy the air. The gravel of the house’s footpath opened up to the lawn, lined with trees that some pair of jokesters were making a contest out of trying to climb, egged on by a crowd, the tennis court, air filled with laughter, the rhythmic thwack of a tennis ball, going back and forth. Adam stood and watched the game for a minute, watching Vivian set and serve with the abandon of someone who did this far too often to be considered merely ‘good’.

And then a great crack, a cry of pain - the tree limb behind the tennis court had broken and sent its traveler down to earth. It was all instinct, what that sound woke in him- Adam picked up and ran.

It had been weeks since he’d treated a broken limb, felt like months since he’d seen blood - it didn’t matter. The measures of command came back like water. You’re a doctor in the 8th Air Force, and you’re good at your job. “Easy there, Carl, easy does it. I’ve got you. Sit up with me now, you’ve had a bit of a shock. Can someone run back to the house for Francy? We’ll get you inside in a minute, Carl, just sit and catch your breath. That’s just the adrenaline kicking in. Can you move your fingers for me? Good. Stand up, easy now, there’s a good chap, we’ll wait just a moment here…”

Suddenly there was Vivian in her tennis whites, murmuring something about helping, about not needing Francy, and the two of them took Carl inside to the consulting room and Vivian went for bandages and alcohol and Francy turned up regardless to manage the curious crowd outside the door.

Palpate, clean, numb, set, bandage. All the same steps in the same cadence, just the same as he’d been doing for years. And at every movement there she was - swab, syringe, bandage. It would keep Carl Nolan off the flight roster for a few weeks, but he’d manage. Young men always did. He looked up from tying off the bandage and saw that Vivian was watching him closely, her expression hard to read. 

He finished setting his instruments back on his tray and rose from his chair to go and wash his hands. “That was good work,” he said, as blandly as he could.  She wasn’t the type who took a compliment easily, and if you were too effusive, he’d observed, she’d assume you were lying. (Had she learned that in the Army, at officer’s club dances and the tennis court? Or was it before then, back home in Haverhill? He had such a lot of questions for her and he didn’t think she’d ever answer one.)

“And you.”

He bit back a smile over the washbasin and turned back to look at her. “You sound surprised.”

Was that a smile? But just as quickly as it had appeared it fled. “Maybe I am,” she replied, leaving to change her clothes or return to her game, he didn’t know which. He snorted and set it aside. It had been good work, small though the service might have been. An arm broken falling out of a tree wasn’t an arm broken on a bombing run getting thrown against a wall while your pilot dove to avoid a flak field - injured, rather than wounded. Still, it was good to feel useful - some days he felt like he was hardly doing anything at all. 

The end of one crop of soldiers meant the arrival of another - Adam watched the hostesses dash outside in the mornings to make introductions as the van rolled up, letting out another group of airmen all with that slightly dazed look in their eyes, glancing up at the house’s grand facade like they still weren’t sure this was real. Three…four…five. Five.

He stepped out into the hallway, counting shadows on the drive outside again. Five. Hm.

Adam retreated back to his office as Francy brought the new group inside and showed them the stairs and the door to her office, the lavatory on this floor and the way they could get to the dining room, and waited until the coast was clear before opening his door. "Hey, Francy.” She stopped, clipboard in hand. “Where's Vivian?"

"She's upstairs," Francy said, extremely unconcerned in a way that Adam found hard to interpret. Was she being calm for the benefit of the airmen, or was there really no cause for alarm? But then, perhaps she didn't know about the malaria, and thought only that Vivian was the kind of person who got a stuffy nose a little more often than most. "It's just a cold. She said she'd be down tomorrow."

Adam nodded and tried to follow Francy's calm, wondering if he ought to cross to the women's side of the house and check the room under the eaves with ‘Vivian’ chalked on the door. She won’t want that, he told himself. She’s a grown woman - she knows herself. You can give her that respect. It’s a cold - nothing more.

Day came, and day went - and still no Vivian. Susan left a tray at her door, but no one saw her take it in.

It wasn’t a cold that woke him up the following night - and it wasn’t one of his nightmares, either. He rolled over in bed, wondering what it was that had roused him, and heard a clatter in the kitchenette down the hall, a low moan. Adam blinked in the dark, swinging his legs over the side of the bed searching for his slippers and fumbling for his dressing gown, belting it against the nighttime chill. (It was always cold here, under the eaves. Warm air was supposed to rise but somehow it never seemed to reach their rooms.)

His eyes adjusted to the relative dark, moonlight peeking in from the window at the end of the corridor, and made his way down the hall, somehow already knowing who and what he’d find. 

There was Vivian, yellowed out and chattering, wrapped in her bathrobe with her blanket around her shoulders and her hand feverishly knocking against the counter, looking at the spilled kettle on the floor with bleary eyes. A deflated hot water bottle sat on the sideboard, waiting to be filled. How hard had it been for her to find the kettle and fill it in the dark, when her hands were as bad as they were?

"Jesus, Vivian.” In two moments he was next to her, picking up the kettle and its lid and setting them on the sideboard, grabbing a towel from the rack to mop up the floor. “Why didn't you say anything?” 

"Don't send me home." Her voice struggled through chattering teeth. "I don't want to go home."

"No one's sending you home, I just want you to be warm." It was the most honest he'd been all day. “You're shaking. Let's get you back to bed."

“I have work to do.”

“Yes, you do,” he agreed wholeheartedly, steadying her back down the hall to her room. “And so do I.” It was all too easy to steer her back down the hall, back into her bed and to tuck the covers around her. “You’re going to stay in this bed until that water boils, and I will bring the hot water bottle back to you,” he said, in a tone that said he would not be taking no for an answer here. “There’s no sense in the two of us freezing here.”

How long it was, to wait in the dim light of the kitchen impatiently anxious for the kettle. She’d been left for the last 48 hours, but who was to say it hadn’t started sooner? Without antimalarials she needed the shivers to come down as soon as possible, or there was a risk of febrile - 

He darted back to his room for aspirin and came back just as the kettle was starting to boil. 

“Take these,” he ordered, handing her the tablets and a glass of water, the now full bottle under his arm. She palmed the pills and drained the glass, teeth still chattering. “And then let’s get you warmed up.”

“What are you doing?” she asked, as he tucked the now-hot bottle in between her and her blankets, and then left his slippers at the side of the bed and slipped in between the sheets with her. 

“Making sure you stay in this bed and sleep,” he said, as if this were the most normal thing in the world, to climb into a woman’s bed. (No one could complain - she was still in her dressing gown and he was still in his.)

 “I’ll be warmer than a hot water bottle, in this icebox.” 

Her body felt strange next to his own, hot and cold all at once, and there was the familiar urge to do what one did with a woman in bed, wrap your arms around her and pull her closer than law and manners would allow. But that was for another time and another place. You need care just like any of those men downstairs do - but it’s not your arm that’s broken, Vivian Arsenault, and you don’t need someone to talk to. And I care, even if you don’t want me to, even if you want the world to think you don’t need caring. A little distance was required - but not much. His arm was loose around her body, outside the folds of her bathrobe.

He thought she’d make more noise about it, but nothing came. “And here I thought you might protest a little more, Lieutenant.”

A pause. “You’re the only one who read the files,” she managed, quietly. “ All of the others were too worn through to care.” Another pause. “And If you were really going to try something you’d have done it by now. First week, maybe. First night.” She hugged the hot water bottle closer. “You saw I was sick and asked if I was feeling alright.” Another pause, longer this time. “And I don’t…mind it so much, from you.”

Something in him was in freefall. I feel…something for you, Vivian Arsenault, and I thought for a while it was simple fascination but I think it’s more than that. “I may kiss you,” he warned, perfectly serious about it. Make me useful to you, Vivian.

“I may let you,” came the reply, gently tucking her body closer to his. Her hand closed around his and he shut his eyes feeling finally content, knowing that tonight, at least, there would be no dreams except of her.

[simplydannie]

Vivian and Brandy getting along with their hot husbands>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Haii Pookie!

Those girls are totally all over their husbands no lie! Both being VERY affection towards them. But I can totally see Vivian and Brandy sitting down at the mini bar with a drink or two and just gushing about their husbands!

[mpsansy]

Imagine if Thatch met Vivian.

Two different types of vampires finally interacting. With one looking more alive than the other. Not to mention more intimidating.

Vivian wouldn’t hate the kid. Not at all, but is overly judgmental about his attitude towards others. So much unchecked unnecessary aggression. Can’t be healthy for any child. Monster or not

[thatdraggo]

VIVIAN NEEDS TO EAT THE PHONE IMMEDIATELY TO SAVE HERSELF AND GOOMBELLA FROM THE RABID VIVIBELLA STANS (AKA ME) GO GO GO

“Absolutely NOT!” As Goombella flipped through her giant textbook with a red face.

Sadly (?) I cannot eat her phone, “Rabid Vivibella stans.” She said she’d explain that species to me in the morning! But for now, I guess answering questions on here is funner than sleeping. Also, her hair is surprisingly soft to lay on! I’ve been touching it all night!

(I know what you are…)

(QUESTIONS ARE OPEN!)

[himexyandere]

So VIVIAN POOPS OUT HIS POCKET ROCKET?

NAH WHAT IF HE WANTS TO POO WHILE WE HAVE SEX😭

Why am I getting so many asks about Vivian shitting-

Anyway, no, snakes don't shit out of their dicks, their cloaca are located on the undersides of their tails, and that's where they shit from. Since he's half snake/half human, his dicks are located where a human male's usually are, while his cloaca is in the same spot as a snake's

[pealeii]

ASK ATTACK!!!!!!!! haiiiiiii :3

HAHAHAA HELOO ;)))))

[where-is-vivian]

hello hi viv my love i just went through your art tag here on tumble because i wanted to find the dorcas video but i cant find it. (insert elijah wood interview voice) is it on tumblr? have you put it on tumblr? will you put it on tumblr? when will you put it on tumblr? sending you all the love!!!

hello!

no I do not, no I have not, maybe *saturated laugh*

no for real x) I haven't put it on tumblr yet! I wasn't sure about tumblr being the proper platform for it, but since you're so kindly asking, here it is:

I hope the quality isn't too bad! have a good day 😊

[blorbocedes]

why do you think nico retired from f1?

got mpregnant

[evaslytherpuff]

Okay, since you're an Omi girlie, I'm going to ask for 19, 24 and 35 for the 50 OTP Things for Ominis and Vivian! <3

Hi, Becki! How are you? I hope you are doing well!🫂❤️ Thank you for asking about my favorite couple. I’ve been having major writers block and I’ve been dealing with a lot of family issues and loss in my life. It’s been chaotic and honestly, heartbreaking. Answering these questions has really been helping me and inspiring me. It makes me want to write.😍 Thank you for submitting them!🥹🥰

19. Who loves to call the other one cute names?

Vivian definitely does it more than Ominis.🤭 She has so many for him. Love, Darling, Prince, Mon Amour, Chéri, the list goes on. She knows he loves to sleep and take naps whenever he can and she is the only person who can properly wake him up. (That he allows to wake him up.😂) She will whisper all these cute names to him and stroke his hair or back until he wakes up with a smile.

Ominis has a few for his curvy queen.❤️ Darling, My Love, Princess, his Little Serpent. (When she’s in her Animagus form.) He will playfully tease her about her height but secretly, she loves it, especially when he kisses the top of her head. Although she is much shorter than him, she is not a pushover and that is something that Ominis adores about her.

24. Who is the talker/ Who is the listener?

Vivian tends to talk and Ominis is a very good listener. Vivian isn’t really shy and she’s confident with who she is. She’s a French girl with a passion for fashion and loves talking about all her designs with Ominis. He is also her business partner and she will not sell a design without his approval. They make a dynamic and powerful team in the fashion industry. Ominis will also listen when she goes through one of her rants in French and does his best to calm her down.

Vivian listens to Ominis as well. He’s able to be himself with her and she’s always telling him how he can talk to her about anything. She doesn’t judge him or make him feel worse about himself. People are often surprised to discover that Ominis actually has a silly and humorous side. Vivian encourages him to just let go and enjoy life, especially after everything he has been through. He loves to cuddle and play with her cat Willow. Ominis and Vivian bring out the best in one another and even a few students envy their relationship.

35. Who goes overboard on the holidays?

Hands down, it’s Vivian. lol. She will design matching costumes for them, plan to go to a couples baking class for Christmas, have Ominis spend the holiday with her grandmother in a cozy cabin, buy lots of candy for Halloween and feed it to him. Ominis may not enjoy the costumes or large crowds but he loves how happy it makes Vivian and if she’s happy then he is happy. She will reward him for being a good sport as well with lots of steamy sex.🤭 He’s been a good boy in her eyes, he deserves it.😁

I had so much fun answering these! I thank you once again for submitting them, Becki.🥰❤️

[mercurygray]

For the one word prompts, how about “security” + whichever one of your OCs the inspiration strikes! - @softspeirs

Katie, I hope you don't mind that I've decided to use this prompt for Crank and Laura!

For those of you who might be new here, Laura Arsenault is an OC of mine from The Darkening Sky; she's a nurse with the 128th Field Hospital and a good friend of Frankie Horgan, who is a good friend of Marj Gordon's. Part of Laura's story is that she has a brother, George, serving with a tank regiment, and an older sister, Vivian, who was one of the Army nurses imprisoned on Bataan.

--

She never thought she'd miss the war.

Well, not the war, exactly - Laura didn't miss the war itself. She didn't miss the smell of operating wards and dirt and wet canvas and boots that were never dry and washing out of a helmet and keeping the rats out of your bunk and scrubbing blood out of your nails. She didn't miss the dying, or the dead.

But maybe it was - was the being in it that she missed, the sense of shared self and shared goals and shared purpose. And she missed the people. They weren't ever alone, in that hospital - there was always someone to talk to, always work to help with, always someone to go see. And getting a date had been infinitely easier. Easy as pie, when you were one of only fifty or so girls and there were dozens - or hundreds - of guys at the dance.

Not any more. Now she was back home, where no one knew her, and everyone she did know was always a bus ride away instead of a two minute walk, and finding dates was awful - especially once everyone heard what she did for work. "Oh, a nurse." And then this odd little smile and an anecdote about whoever they knew in the hospital, or something like that, and she'd have to smile and nod and pretend to care.

And all the men were - well, she didn't know where they were, but none of them seemed to be in Boston, or at least, not the part of it that she was, and yet everyone seemed to have a brother, or a cousin, or a - a someone who needed to meet someone. But none of those guys ever seemed interested in more than one meeting. She wasn't desperate enough yet to start answering those ads in the paper, but it felt like a distinct possibility - reduced to twenty words or less.

So here she was again - another blind date, this time with Rose's cousin Charlie. "You'll like him," Rose had said, patting her arm and handing her the address of a restaurant. "He was a pilot."

A pilot - possibly her least favorite kind of soldier, probably because she'd seen so few of them, and heard so much, and your average infantryman didn't have a lot of nice things to say about the bomber boys, except that they were lazy, and they were late, and they were getting all the press. Now, come on, Laura, you haven't even met him yet.

Yes - hadn't met him yet because he was late, and now she was sitting, like a bad penny, all on her own at this table in the middle of the back wall trying not to look too lost in this big room with all these other perfectly paired off people.

"Miss Arsenault?"

Well, here he was - and lord, did he ever sound like a local boy - Laura heard it in every syllable. She held out a hand to shake, and he took it, his grip firm and uncompromising.

"Mr. Cruikshank."

He had a kind face - that was something, anyway. Not the sort of face she would have thought belonged to a pilot, if she was being honest, but that was Hollywood and a lot of movies talking. His hair, she could see, was very naturally curly, though he'd done his darnedest to comb it down into parting neatly. He was wearing civies, or mostly civies, anyway - charcoal grey trousers and a sweater that wasn't too far out of current fashion with his leather bomber jacket over it, his name, C. Cruikshank, stamped into the leather plate over his left breast.

"It's Charles, if that's too much of a mouthful."

Not Charlie, then. She'd have to remember that. "Laura," she offered, watching him pull out his chair and drape his jacket over the back. "The waiter should be back soon, I didn't - want to order without you."

"You ever been here before?" he asked, obviously just trying to make conversation, his eyes darting around the room.

"Once or twice, but not - not for dates." I'm trying not to sound like the kind of girl who goes on a lot of dates. "Rose said you were - were a pilot. What'd you fly?"

"Heavy bombers," he offered, shuffling a little in his chair. "B-17s, out of Norfolk. And you were a - were a nurse?"

She nodded. "Field hospital. We were everywhere."

"Imagine that was a -- a hard job." His eyes were still avoiding hers, his hands rubbing together nervously in his lap.

"I can't imagine what being in a plane was like. We didn't get too many airman."

He nodded, and Laura looked back down at the candle on the table, feeling foolish for not knowing what else to say. He was bouncing his leg, underneath the table, his chair not quite pulled in all the way, like he was going rather than coming, waiting for the check instead of waiting for the menu.

Well. I guess that's that on that, then. Failed before we even ordered. She'd get chicken - that was easy, and cheap, now, too. They could eat and mumble through something about the weather and she wouldn't have to do this again and she could tell Rose on Monday that Charles had been charming but not the guy for her.

Just how had Vivian managed it - finding the love of her life before the end of the war, and in a hospital, no less! Laura knew she shouldn't compare, but it was hard not to, when it seemed to have been so easy and where she was now seemed so hard. Not that Vivian had had it easy, at all - she'd only been in Hawaii because she'd been in the Philippines, and she'd only met Andy because she'd been on light duties, and him recovering from surgery. She'd made the mistake of saying it, once, a few months ago, and the look Vivian had given her would have scared anyone silent. "Don't say that, Laur," she'd begged. "I'm not lucky. You don't want to be where I've been."

"So, what did Rose say about me? When she set this up?" He looked nervous about hearing the answer.

"She said she thought we'd get along, I think." Laura offered, and then paused. Wait. That's ...not what she said. She said we wouldn't have to explain anything to each other. And she said that you'd had a hard war...but who didn't?

She didn't want to say that last part out loud - no one liked to be a charity case, and she knew that better than anyone. But as she thought about it, really thought about the way Rose had spoken about her cousin, she realized that Rose had only brought up meeting Charles when she'd told a story about Vivian. And she realized, finally, where she'd seen the look on his face before - in Vivian's eyes, always trying to find the exits, calculate the quickest way out. This man wasn't just a pilot - and maybe there were things from his war that he didn't want to explain, either, things that really were hard. "Do you want to switch places?" she asked, moving her chair out from the table a little.

He looked guilty, and…afraid, even, a man trapped who'd been trapped before. "My sister never wants to sit with her back to the door," she said, trying not to pry. "She always wants to - see that there's a way out." She paused. "Three years behind wire will do that to a person."

He looked up from his hands and stared. "Your sister?"

She nodded. "She was with MacArthur in the Philippines." She met his eye. "I don't mind, really."

"Thanks." They moved seats, leaving their coats where they were, and a kind of calm came over him as he took in more of the room. "Imagine she had it worse. I was…only eighteen months. In Germany. 43 to 45."

Laura could see her sister's face as he said that - could see Andy's face, too, talking with her brother George over their pipes after dinner about whether fighting in the heat or the cold was worse. "She'd tell you it wasn't a competition. If it helps."

He smiled at that, loosing up a little. "My doc says I should work on things like this - dinner, and conversation, and…crowded rooms." He shrugged. "I know no one likes a project, but I'm….trying." He smiled a little bashfully. "And I'm a little nervous anyway - Rose …didn't tell me you were pretty."

She felt herself blush, and looked down at her napkin. Well, all right, Charles Cruikshank, tell me I'm pretty. "She didn't tell me her cousin Charles was cute, either."

It was his turn to blush, and he did it almost sweetly, a touch of color coming into his already ruddy cheeks. "You know I haven't…actually been called Charles for about five years. He feels like…some other fellow that's not me. All my friends call me Crank."

"Crank?" What a name! Pilots.

He smiled again - really smiled, this time, his eyes even lighting up a little, and she was glad, finally, that he'd felt security enough in being called by his name to show her what his smile looked like. "Someone would tell you it's 'cause I complain a lot, but it's, it's short for Crankshaft. It's a long story."

The waiter appeared, pad and white apron at the ready. "Are we ready to order?"

Laura looked at Crank and smiled. She would still order the chicken, and there would be no need to talk about the weather. "Well, why don't you tell it to me? I think we've got some time."

[masterofieryjinkskinnie]

I'm glad there's a blog dedicated to her so much! She's always been an all time favorite of mine!

Same! She's very relatable and it really does break my heart to see her get emotionally abused by Beldam including having transphobia getting dished out onto her!

[mpsansy]

How I long for the Casper eliminates J.T. with his bare hands...

Casper and his family never get that satisfaction 👍

But you know who does? Their loved ones. Primarily (Stinkie) Silvester’s lady friends Isabella & Vivian

[linkedin-offficial]

Okay a question. If Vivian is that dragon- bird hybrid from the Dungeon Meshi, who would the other partners be matched with in the dungeon meshi cast? (If that makes sense)

okay so i have thought about this!!!!! very extensively might i add

of course, the way the au works isnt nessesarily a "replacement" au (where certain members assume a role as the story of another media is transported to the one in question); but i did write this down because i thought it would help my thoughts roll around clearer

(some are greyed out because there was no one i thought thatd fit them/i planned to create a character that would fit)

unfortunately it didint really help my thought process in the end and i ended up scrapping the idea of referencing "who replaces who" at all, since it would just make things complicated and i didint want to nessesarily make this a replacement au in the first place anyway. but these notes exist! so here they are

btw, ill probably be answering asks like these on my other blog, @linkedin-corp, instead, from now on. any i get here will be answered there! id just like to keep my ramblings over there and not on my art blog xD hope that makes sense