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thewickedjazzy · 2 days

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“Stay with me, milaya”

➵Pairing: fyodor x afab! reader

➵Summary: fyodor searches for you across countless lifetimes, witnessing you die in his arms again and again. Yet, fate continuously brings you both back together with each of your rebirths.

➵Tags and word count: 5.3k words. sfw, angst to comfort, slight fluff, hallucinations, vivid memories, delusions, shifting scenes, mental health struggles, dissociation.

➵want to read more for fyodor ?

"There is a cruel irony in the fact that you are bound to return to this world, only to be torn away from it time and again. Seven lifetimes, each one a fleeting moment in the endless passage of time. But even as you are reborn, your fate is always the same—a life cut short, a soul never allowed to rest."

The sky is a deep, unforgiving gray, the snow falling gently around him. He stands alone in the desolate landscape, a faint figure against the blanket of white. His breath is visible in the frigid air as he stares down at the burnt-out edges of an old photograph clutched between his slender fingers. The image, though charred, still reveals traces of a face—your face, the one he’s sought in every life.

"Milaya... even now, your features begin to fade from memory, like everything else in this world. But I will not allow time to erase you completely—not when I am so close to finding you again."

His whispers drift on the wind, barely audible but there is an unwavering resolve in his eyes. He carefully traces the faint outlines of your face with his thumb, trying to capture every detail, every curve, every hint of the life that once was. Yet, he knows the futility of it—each reincarnation is a shift in memory, altering your essence just enough to make you a stranger once more.

"This time, my dear," he murmurs to himself, "I will not let you slip through my fingers. I have searched for you across centuries, manipulated the lives of others, all to find you. I will not be denied, not by destiny, not by anything."

Fyodor tucks the burnt photograph back into his coat, his expression stoic as he surveys the snow-covered ground. He is nonchalant, almost detached, but beneath the surface lies a storm—a desperation that he cannot fully suppress.

He begins to walk, the snow crunching beneath his boots as he heads toward the place where he knows you must be. His heart, though often cold, beats a little faster at the thought of seeing you again, of hearing your voice, even if you do not remember him. But he is nothing if not persistent. He will make you remember, one way or another.

Yet there you are gazing at the sky above you as it transforms into a canvas of burnt orange and fading blue, cinnabar streaks bleeding through the clouds like a watercolor painting. Your thoughts drifted back to a time you thought you'd forgotten—a memory of the day you first met him. It felt distant now, yet the details were so vivid.

He had been unlike anyone you'd ever known. some how he stood out in ways most people didn’t. His features were strikingly beautiful, but it wasn’t just his looks that caught your attention—it was the quiet mystery that followed him wherever he went. His pale skin, almost alabaster, contrasted sharply with his dark clothing, and his eyes—those glowing, enigmatic violet eyes—held depths you couldn’t quite reach. There was often a flicker of pain in them, so subtle it disappeared as soon as it surfaced, leaving you to wonder if you had imagined it.

Which makes total sense. His father 'Mikhail Dostoevsky' was well-known for his austere and viciousness—well after he was granted a nobleman's rank of course— contrariwise, Fyodor was something of a benevolent despot.

The gardens of the palace stretched out before you, a haven full of flowering fragrances, nooks and crannies of sheer delight.

You caught sight of him standing beneath the glow of the moon, his posture composed as he conversed with his elder sibling. The moonlight cast a soft halo around his figure, making him appear almost ethereal. He seemed unbothered by the festivities around him, his attention focused solely on the conversation. Even in this elegant setting, he exuded a calm detachment, as though the world itself was just an intricate game he was patiently observing.

The path before you was lined with gravel, your footsteps muted by the soft crunch beneath your heels as you made your way through the evening’s parade of guests.

Delicate fairy lights hung in the trees, casting vibrant hues that danced across the faces of those gathered. There was laughter, the clink of glasses, and the hum of casual conversation, but your attention never wavered from him.

As if sensing your gaze, Fyodor glanced your way. His eyes met yours across the distance, and for a moment, everything else fell away—the lights, the music, the crowd. There was something paranormal in the way he looked at you. His lips curved ever so slightly into a familiar smile, one that seemed to say he had already anticipated your approach long before you had made up your mind.

Without thinking, you moved toward him. The space between you disappeared as you stepped into his world, where time seemed to slow. He turned to face you fully, his elder sibling excusing themselves from the conversation as you approached.

“Good evening,” his voice was smooth, a touch of amusement hidden in the depths. “I was wondering when you’d come.”

You hesitated, momentarily taken aback. “You knew?”

“Of course,” he replied, his gaze never leaving yours. “You’ve been watching me for some time now.”

His words made your heart skip, but you steadied yourself. There was always something about him that made you feel as though you were always a step behind, as though he had already calculated every move before you even realized it.

“I couldn’t help but notice,” you said, finding your voice again. “You stand out, even in a crowd like this.”

His smile widened, but it never quite reached his eyes. “Perhaps, but it’s not the crowd I’m interested in.”

There it was again—that flicker of something deeper, something unreadable. You could sense the burden he carried, a burden of his past, his family’s legacy, and the expectations placed upon him. But beneath all of that, there was something else, something that drew you in even as it warned you to stay away.

“Shall we walk?” he offered, extending his arm toward the gardens.

You nodded, slipping your hand into the crook of his arm as you both began to stroll along the moonlit path. The evening air was cool, and the soft glow of the fairy lights seemed to follow your every step.

“What do you think of all this?” you asked, gesturing to the grand event taking place around you, the celebration, the laughter, the excess.

He looked thoughtful for a moment before answering. “It’s fleeting. Moments like these… they’re beautiful, yes. But they fade, just like everything else.”

“But not everything fades,” you ventured softly.

He stopped, turning to face you fully once more. His eyes seemed to pierce through you, reading your thoughts before you could speak them. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, but the way he just stood there gazing at you said everything.

“Perhaps,” he finally murmurs, his voice low, “but that’s what makes it dangerous, am I right?”

You weren’t sure if he was talking about the night, about the fleeting beauty of the moment, or about something else entirely. But in that instant, you realized that with Fyodor, nothing was ever simple. He was a puzzle, a mystery, one that you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to solve, but one that you found yourself wanting to.

As you walked beside him, the moonlit scenery unfolding before you, his appreciation for beauty became evident. He had always been drawn to those who possessed a rare allure, and tonight, it was clear that you were his focal point. You were a vision of rare beauty, a one-of-a-kind presence in a world of fleeting appearances.

The scene before you blurs, in an instant, it felt as though time had slowed, and a piercing ringing filled your ears, making you gasp, overwhelmed by the sudden influx of memories.

“He sent you, didn’t he?” he murmured as he tilted your chin to meet his gaze.

Wait.. when did you get here? Where do these memories come from, and why do they haunt you so persistently?

“I’m just following orders,” you replied slowly, bringing your eyebrows together in a slight frown.

“Stay away from this,” he imploded sighing. “Please, lyubov.” He places a tender kiss to your forehead.

“But fedya...why now? We’re on the brink of ending your father’s relentless corruption,” you argued. “Why give up now?”

But you knew... you know he wants to protect you from the malignant influences of his father’s world. Yet, the very opportunity to dismantle the chains binding him to this sinister system was slipping away. His father’s grip was a malignancy that threatened to stifle all hope.

“Close but no cigar,” he murmured, his chin resting on your head as he inhales your fresh scent.

But he was right. You should've stayed away from those morons ages ago. You made a mistake and paid dearly for it.

In that moment, the same familiar searing ringing in your ears swept across you, pulling you from the depths of your reverie.. it's happening again.

"Fuck, I am such an imbecile." blood spilled from your abdomen, splattering across your trembling hands as you pulled the dagger free. Your back pressed against the cold, damp wall, every inch of movement sending sharp, jagged pain rippling through your body. And slowly but surely, all you can see is the orange sky getting fuzzier and fuzzier as the pain intensifies.

You reached out with a shaking hand, desperately trying to anchor yourself to something, anything, but your limbs refused to obey. Instead of crying out for help, all that escaped your lips is the metallic taste of blood.

“Ah...fuck, not now…” you gasped, the light behind the man standing in the distance, widened with each passing moment. Is this it? Is this how it all ends for you?

You blink, once, twice, trying to focus as everything around you darkens, and just as quickly as you are pulled into this chain of nightmares, you find yourself back in the present as the persistent ringing stops.

Gasping, you sit at your desk, drenched in cold sweat. Your fingers instinctively press against your abdomen, but there’s no blood. No wound. The dagger, the pain, it’s all gone, as if it never existed.

You press harder against your stomach, feeling for any injury, but your skin remains unscathed.

"I need a mirror," you mutter, voice trembling as you push away from the desk and hurry toward the mirror in the entrance. Your reflection stares back at you, eyes wide with panic, face pale, but undeniably yours.

“It’s me,” you whisper in relief, leaning closer, bracing yourself against the cool surface. You reach for the pill bottle on the nearby shelf, your fingers fumbling with the cap as you swallow a dose, desperate to calm the storm inside your mind.

You sit back at your desk again, hands still shaking as you breathe deeply. "It’s fine. I'm okay. It’s all delusions," you whisper, trying to convince yourself.

But you somehow memorise all of these memories like the back of my hand. You call them memories, despite knowing you never actually lived through them, yet they always feel so incredibly real.

They never really leave, do they?

Even now, the phantom ache in your abdomen remains, a cruel reminder of something you’ve never lived through but can feel so vividly. The sky outside your window returns to its soft twilight hues, but you can’t shake the feeling that reality itself unravels around you. Each time you are pulled into those visions, it becomes harder to tell what is real and what is imagined.

While you're sitting there, managing to steady your breath, you wonder—how much longer can you hold on to what’s real when your mind keeps dragging you into a world that feels just as tangible?

You exhale a long, relieved sigh finally calming down as you try to regain your focus. What were you doing again? Ah, yes... finishing your new book.

You type the final words of the epilogue, fingers hovering above the keyboard for just a second longer. The ending comes together, but still, something doesn’t sit right with you... the title. The book is finished, but how can it be complete without the right name? You lean back in your chair, stretching your arms above your head, eyes scanning the screen with tired satisfaction.

You aren’t just any writer, though. Hidden behind your pen name, you’ve become a literary sensation, with fans desperate for even a glimpse of who you really are. But anonymity suits you; fame has never been the goal. The words are the only thing that matter, and the world you’ve built between the pages feels more real than anything else—maybe too real?

Despite finishing the epilogue, something feels unresolved. Titles usually come easily to you, but this one, this book demands something special. Inspiration eludes you. You need a change of scenery... somewhere that can kickstart the creative process again.

With a resigned sigh, you dress quickly, grab your notebook, and head to one of the few places that has become your sanctuary when ideas won’t come: your favourite café.

The café sits nestled on a quiet street, its warm glow inviting you in like your old home. There’s something about the atmosphere, the soft hum of conversation usuallybetween elder people, the scent of freshly brewed coffee, the soft clink of cups against saucers—that always seems to loosen the knots in your mind. You order your usual, find a quiet table in the corner, and set your notebook down, flipping it open to a fresh page.

"The War of Sakura," you scribble, only to strike it out immediately. "No, no, that’s terrible!! Ugh," you mutter to yourself, tapping the pen against your lips in frustration.

You take a sip of your coffee, leaning back in your seat as you stare out the window, hoping for some stroke of genius. Come on, Kurasu Café, work your magic. But the more you stare at the page, the more the words seem to evade you.

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t notice someone sitting down across from you until you catch movement in your peripheral vision. Startled, you blink and look up, eyes widening as they land on the man before you.

It’s him.

For a moment, you’re convinced your mind is playing tricks on you again. The man in front of you has the same striking features, the same quiet mystery, the same piercing gaze that seems to see right through you.

The same man from your memories—the one you’re certain is nothing more than a figment of your imagination, or perhaps a character you’ve written into being.

But no. He’s here, in the flesh, sitting across from you in Kurasu Café.

Your heart skips a beat, and you quickly blink, half-expecting him to disappear like a mirage. But he doesn’t. He just sits there, watching you with an amused glint in his eyes, as though he can read every thought running through your mind.

“Excuse me…?”

He tilts his head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You looked like you could use some company,” he says with the same silky smooth voice."You seemed… preoccupied."

You stare at him, dumbfounded, still trying to reconcile the fact that he’s real. The man in front of you is every bit as captivating as the one from your memories, as though he’s stepped right out of the story you’ve been crafting in your mind.

“I—uh,” you stammer, your fingers tightening around your pen as though it can somehow anchor you to reality. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

His smile deepens the same one that doesn’t reach his eyes. “No,” he says simply,“but I know you.”

Your heart stops beating for a second. You open your mouth to respond, but no words come. How can he know you? And why does it feel like he’s not just referring to surface-level details of your life, but something deeper, something far more intimate?

You glance at your notebook, half-expecting to see the story you’ve just finished reflected back at you, as though it’s somehow come to life.

He leans forward slightly, folding his hands on the table between you. “You’re searching for something, right?”

You narrow your eyes, “And what makes you think that?”

He shrugs, a graceful gesture that seems too perfect, too practiced. “I can always read your eyes, my dear” he replies. “You’re chasing after a truth that eludes you.”

Your breath catches in your throat. There’s something about the way he speaks, the way he seems to know things about you that you haven’t even told yourself. You should feel unnerved, but instead, you feel drawn to him—just like in those memories you can’t escape.

“Who are you?” you finally ask, hoping it's not one of your delusions playing tricks on you.

His smile softens, but there’s something unreadable in his gaze, it's the same flicker of pain that's so fleeting you almost miss it. He stands smoothly as he places a card on the table.

“Call me when you’re ready to stop running from your life,” he says, turning to leave.

You watch him go, your mind racing as you stare at the card he’s left behind. No name. No details. Just a single word, embossed in gold.

"Remember."

The café around you blurs, the noise fading into the background as you stare at the word on the card, your mind spinning with questions you can’t answer.

And in that moment, you know—this isn’t over. The story isn’t finished. Not by a long shot.

It's now 1:25 am as you sit at your desk, the dim light of the lamp doing little to coax you into sleep. Your eyes fixate on the card that lies on the desk, the single word "Remember" still taunting you. It feels surreal, like the whole encounter earlier today had slipped from reality into something else entirely. Your fingers brush over the card, tracing the embossed letters, as your mind races to make sense of what happened.

Should you call him?

You hesitate, holding the card between your fingers. Who was he? Could he really know you, or was he just one of your creepy fans, trying to unnerve you by dressing up like the protagonist of your story? You’ve heard of fanatics going to great lengths to mimic characters, but this felt different. Something about the encounter stayed with you, gnawing at the back of your mind.

You shake your head, trying to dismiss it. Maybe it was just an elaborate prank, you think. Maybe he was just trying to scare you. Or worse, trying to manipulate you into thinking your own creations are coming to life.

But even as you try to convince yourself, it doesn’t sit right. No fan, no matter how obsessed, could have pulled off what you experienced earlier. The way he looked at you, as if he had known you forever, made your skin prickle. His words had hit too close to home, and the feeling that he understood something about you—something you barely understood yourself—makes it impossible to shake off the encounter.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart as you finally make up your mind. Your fingers hover over your phone, the screen glowing faintly in the dark room. You type in the number from the card, each digit sending a shiver of doubt through your body.

Placing the phone to your ear, you close your eyes as the ringing begins. Once. Twice. Your heart pounds in your chest, every nerve alive with anticipation. What if he answers? What if he doesn’t?

What if he answers? What if he doesn’t?

Just as the ringing starts to stretch into a third tone, there’s a faint click. You hold your breath.

“Hello?”

His voice is calm, like the same smooth, familiar tone from the café.

You pause, unsure of what to say, gripping the phone tighter. “It’s me,” you finally manage to say.

He chuckles softly, as though he expected your call all along. “Ahh my dear...I was wondering when you’d call,” he says, his voice oh god his voice is so soft. “Did you figure it out yet?”

Your heart races. “Figure what out? What’s going on?” you ask confused. “Who are you?”

There’s a long pause on the other end, and for a moment, you wonder if he’ll answer at all. Then, finally, he speaks, his voice low and steady. “You already know who I am,” he says. “You’ve always known, milaya.”

Your breath catches in your throat. The room seems to close in around you, the silence pressing down as you try to piece together the meaning behind his words. You want to argue, to demand answers, but something stops you. It’s as though the truth is right there, just beyond your reach, but you’re too afraid to grasp it.

He continues, his voice softer now, almost intimate. “There are no coincidences. I didn’t come to you by chance. I came to you because we both have known each other for way too long.”

Your head spins. What does that even mean? You glance at your manuscript, the story that had felt so real, so vivid—too vivid. The lines between fiction and reality begin to blur, and the more you think about it, the harder it becomes to separate the two.

“What do you mean we know each other?” You whisper, voice trembling.

On the other end, he chuckles softly, a sound that’s too familiar, as if you've heard it a thousand times before in some forgotten dream. The sound pulls you out of your racing thoughts and back into the moment, grounding you in an unsettling way.

"You’ll understand soon," his voice is calm, though it does nothing to ease the knot forming in your chest.

Before you can protest or demand more answers, he continues, "I’ll come to your place, darling. We can talk then."

Panic flares inside you. Your eyes widen as you shoot up from your chair, nearly knocking it over in the process. “What? How do you—” you begin to ask, but before you can finish, his voice cuts through.

“I know where you live,” he says simply, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Your breath catches. “What… are you a stalker or something?” The question tumbles out, half-accusation, half-fear.

But his response is immediate, eerily calm, “No,” he says. “I’m no stalker. I know because no matter how many things change, no matter how the world twists and turns… the place you live, it always remains the same.”

Your heart races, your mind scrambling to process his words. The place you live… always the same? How could he know that? Why does it feel like he’s speaking of something far deeper than just the physical space around you?

“Please, my dear don’t worry about the details right now,” he interrupts your thoughts. “Just know that I’ll be there soon. And when I arrive, we can talk more about what’s really going on.”

The line goes dead before you can respond. You stare at the phone in disbelief the world around you seems to tilt on its axis, and the comforting normalcy of your room suddenly feels alien. You sit in silence, the unanswered questions swirling in your mind as you hear a soft knock on your door.

You rise from your chair with trembling hands, each step towards the door feeling heavier than the last. When you open it, he stands there—just as enigmatic as before, with that same stoic, detached expression.

He smiles when he sees you, and the smile feels almost out of place with his otherwise stoic demeanor. In his hand, he holds a bouquet of red roses. “Good evening, Malyshka,” he says smoothly. “I thought these might brighten your night.”

Confusion knots in your stomach, but you take the bouquet from him, stepping aside to let him in. The roses are fresh, their scent a heady mix of sweetness and subtle spice. “Thank you,” you manage to say, “Please, come in.”

He moves past you slowly, navigating the living room with the familiarity of someone who’s been there more than a few times.

“I didn’t expect you to show up so soon,” you say, trying to steady your voice. “How did you find my place so quickly?”

He turns to face you, his eyes meeting yours with that familiar look. “As I mentioned earlier, some things remain constant, no matter how much else changes. I’ve always known where to find you.”

“And what exactly do you want from me?” you ask, struggling to keep your voice steady.

He sits on your couch, smiling softly “I want to help you understand the connection we've always shared,” he says. “There’s much to discuss, and I believe it’s time we begin.”

You nod, slightly anxious of what he's about to reveal, “Alright. I’m listening.”

He relaxes his posture, his eyes never leaving yours. “Let’s start with the basics,” he begins. “You’ve been searching for answers, and I’m here to provide them. But first, you need to accept that the boundaries between a life and another are not as rigid as they seem.”

With a deep breath, you take a seat across from him silently waiting for him to continue.

“This is probably the sixth time I’ve been through this,” he continues. “my dear...you have an ability—one that makes you reincarnate. It happens every seven lifetimes, and this one is the seventh and final life.”

You stare at him, your mind struggling to grasp the enormity of his words. “Reincarnation?” you echo, incredulous.

He nods, “Yes. I’ve witnessed you die in my arms time and again. Each time, you lose your memories, and I find you again. No matter how many lifetimes pass, I have always been there. In every life, I have been your one and only—your husband.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he speaks. “But… but how? I’ve been experiencing delusions lately, slowly disconnecting from reality. I- I even went to a therapist, thinking I was going insane, but…”

“But what?” he prompts gently.

“But now I’m starting to think those memories were real,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I thought maybe the writing affected me, that I was imagining things. But if what you’re saying is true… I’ve been recalling memories from past lives?”

He nods, his gaze compassionate yet firm. “Those fragments were memories from your past lives. The feelings of detachment, the disconnection from reality—it’s all part of your ability’s process. Each lifetime, you’ve struggled with this, but you’ve always managed to find your way back to me.”

You sit back, feeling overwhelmed. “So, all this time, I’ve been recalling memories from past lives? And that’s why I felt so disconnected and unsettled?”

“Yes,” he confirms. “It’s why you’ve felt like something was missing, even when everything else seemed to be in place. Your soul remembers our connection, but the details slip away with each new life.”

Your eyes search his face, trying to find the truth in his words. “Are..are you immortal?”

He sighs softly, a look of resignation crossing his face. “Something like that,” he admits. “I’m not exactly immortal, but I endure through each lifetime. It’s not without its own pain.”

He stands and moves closer, his hands gently cupping your face. His touch so tender making your heart flatter subconsciously leaning into it, his eyes filled with profound...it's heartbreaking. “You have no idea how much I miss you, milaya,” he says quietly. “How much it hurts me to see you slip away from my arms each time. Every time, you’re taken from me by an ability user. The first time, it was my cruel father who killed you. The second time, it was an assassin with an ability. And so it went, one after another.”

His voice cracks slightly as he continues, “But this time? I will never let you go, moya lyubov. I won’t let anything take you from me again.”

Slowly, he leans in, and you find yourself lost in his half-lidded amethyst gaze, the slight glance of pain in his eyes is now gone. You brush a strand of his slightly long hair behind his ear, your knuckles grazing his cheekbones.

"Milaya," he whispers, closing the distance between you, his cold lips gently brush against yours, The moment your lips touch, a warm, relaxing spark ignites deep within you, spreading a soothing glow through your entire body. It’s a kiss that feels like coming home, like finding the missing piece of your heart.

Your body reacts instinctively. You wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. He lifts you gently, your feet barely touching the ground, as he holds you close. His hands rest on your waist, massaging circles onto your skin under your shirt as his kisses start to get sloppier with a sweet, heartfelt heat. It’s as if he’s trying to savor every moment, every touch, to make up for all the years apart.

He gently pulls away, his breath mingling with yours as he murmurs, “You should get some rest, darling,” His words are a tender reminder, and his touch lingers as he softly caresses your cheeks, jaw and chin.

You keep your arms wrapped around his neck, “Please don't leave.”

The Russian man, ever devoted, cannot bear the thought of leaving your side now that you are once again in his arms. With a serene nod and a tender, otherworldly smile, he whispers,

"I will forever be by your side, moya milaya."

A/N: I know this isn’t my best work—I've been dealing with writer’s block lately, especially after spending the last few days working on Kinktober fics. Apologies if any part feels rushed. I also made sure to use past tense for the memories and present tense for the current events, in case you noticed that. Anyway, thanks for taking the time to read this!

129 notes · View notes

sweemmy · 22 hours

Text

“Remember, dear, the key to being an excellent broadcaster isn’t just having a pleasant voice, but knowing how to use it to capture and hold your audience’s attention. Speak to them as if you’re sharing an intimate secret, something only they should know. Make every word feel as though it’s meant solely for their ears.”

Alastor's voice flowed smoothly, weaving through the air like a hypnotic melody, and it took hold of you in a way that felt almost suffocating. His red eyes glimmered with a dark amusement, a twisted joy in watching your reaction. There had always been something unsettling about him, a danger lurking just beneath his charismatic exterior. But tonight, that danger felt closer, more present than ever before.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” His voice dropped lower, no longer just instructive but now filled with an edge of menace, as if testing how much you could handle. His gaze bore into you, evaluating, judging.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words press into you, constricting your breath. “Yes, Professor. I understand,” you managed to say, though your voice came out more fragile than you intended.

Alastor’s smile deepened, predatory, as he closed the distance between you with slow, measured steps. Each one made your heart beat a little faster, the tension building as his shadow loomed larger. Though he stood only inches away, it felt as though his very presence consumed the room, suffocating any sense of control you thought you had.

“Good,” he purred, his voice a whisper laced with satisfaction. “Then let’s test that understanding, shall we?” He handed you a script, his fingers brushing against yours for a fleeting moment, leaving a trail of warmth that lingered far too long. “But this time, I want you to read it as though you’re speaking directly to me, as if every word is a whisper meant only for my ears.”

You took the script with trembling hands, the paper feeling heavier than it should, as if it carried the weight of the moment. Your eyes skimmed the words, but focusing was difficult with him so close. His proximity was overwhelming, the heat radiating off his body like an invisible force that seemed to pull you in. You could feel the breath of his words still clinging to your skin, each syllable echoing in your mind like a spell.

“Slower,” he murmured, leaning in just enough that his lips brushed the shell of your ear. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, making it hard to concentrate on the script in your hands. “Take your time. Control the rhythm of your words, just as you would control an audience. Let them hang on every syllable, every pause.”

You tried to follow his instructions, your voice faltering as you read. But it wasn’t just the words that were slipping from your grasp—it was your own control. You could feel his presence everywhere, an invisible hand guiding you, pushing you further into the depths of something you couldn’t fully understand.

Alastor’s hand slid down your arm, so light it was almost imperceptible, yet it sent a spark through you. His touch was both comforting and threatening, a duality that left you frozen in place. You knew you should resist, should step back, but instead, you found yourself leaning into him, letting his energy consume you.

“Better,” he said softly, though his tone was still thick with dominance. “But you’re holding back. I want more.” His fingers trailed down your spine, and every inch he touched ignited a fire under your skin. “You’re trying to control your voice, but you need to let go. Surrender yourself to the moment, to the power of your words.”

Your breath hitched as his hand came to rest on your waist, a subtle but unmistakable claim. He was testing you, not just your voice, but your will. And the worst part was that you could feel your own resolve crumbling, your body betraying you as it leaned further into his control.

“I... I don’t think I can,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out.

His laugh was low, almost sinister, as he tilted his head, his lips ghosting over your neck. “Oh, but you can, darling. You just don’t realize it yet.” His voice wrapped around you like a noose, tightening with every breath you took. “You’re not here to think. You’re here to feel, to experience the raw power of your own voice... and mine.”

Without warning, he plucked the script from your hands and tossed it aside, his actions deliberate and dismissive. “Enough of the formalities,” he said, his tone dropping to something far more intimate, more dangerous. “Now, I want you to speak from here.” His fingers brushed over your chest, just above your heart, and then moved downward, tracing a path that left your skin burning in their wake. “From your soul.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, the room growing hotter, more oppressive. His hand rested on your hip, pulling you gently but firmly toward him, and despite the alarm bells ringing in your head, you couldn’t resist. You didn’t want to. Alastor’s gaze was magnetic, a dark promise of pleasure and pain that made your knees weak.

“Control isn’t about restraint, my dear,” he whispered, his lips so close to your ear that his breath sent shivers down your spine. “It’s about knowing when to let go. To let someone else take the reins.”

Before you could react, his lips met yours, and the world seemed to stop. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was consuming, filled with a hunger that felt centuries old, as though he was devouring a part of you. And you... you gave it willingly. His hands moved with expert precision, tracing the curve of your body, igniting a fire that burned hotter with every touch.

Your mind screamed that you should stop, that this was wrong, that he was playing you like a puppet on a string. But your body, traitorous as it was, responded to his every command, melting under his touch.

“Alastor...” you gasped between kisses, but he silenced you with a look, his eyes burning with that same dangerous glint you had seen earlier.

“Shhh,” he whispered, his voice dark and velvety. “Now is not the time for words. It’s the time for surrender.”

His hands slid under your shirt, the cool air meeting your heated skin as he pushed the fabric away. Every movement was deliberate, calculated, as though he was savoring the moment. His fingers danced across your skin, making you arch against him, seeking more of his touch.

“You see?” he purred, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “This is what true control feels like. You think you’re helpless, but in reality, you’re exactly where you’re meant to be. In my hands.”

You tried to speak, to regain some sense of control, but the words died in your throat as his lips found yours again. This kiss was different—slower, more intense, as if he was drawing out the pleasure, savoring every second of your surrender.

The world around you seemed to blur, your senses overwhelmed by him—his scent, his touch, the sound of his voice in your ear, promising both salvation and damnation.

And in that moment, as his hands moved with precision, as his words wrapped around you like chains, you realized the truth: you were his. Entirely, utterly his. And there was no turning back.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #human alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x reader smut

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blakeswritingimagines · 2 days

Text

Dear Y/N

My love for you is fierce and all-consuming. I would do anything to keep you by my side, even if it means going against everything and everyone. I would follow you to the ends of the earth and back just to be near you. Your every action, every word, every gesture is like a drug to me. I become obsessed, obsessed with every move you make, and it drives me crazy. I want to protect you, possess you, and make you mine and mine alone. Don't ever think of leaving, because I'll never allow it. You're mine. I know every little detail about you. Your favorite color, food, and the way you laugh. And the way you bite your lip when you're nervous, the way you twirl your hair when you're thinking. I've memorized every scar on your body and the way you move. And I would do anything to ensure that no harm comes to you. You're the most important person in my life. And don't forget it.

I've watched you from afar, studying you, and learning every part of you. Your fears, your dreams, your hopes, your secrets. I know your favorite books, movies, and music. I've watched you grow and change, and it's only made me love you more. I know your every move, every step, and I will always be there, watching and waiting. You're the center of my world, the reason I breathe, and I won't let anything or anyone take you away. I know you better than you know yourself. I know your strengths and weaknesses, I've seen every side of you, and I love them all. I've seen you at your best and your worst, and it only makes me love you more. Whenever you're away, I wonder if you think of me. Do you dream of me at night like I dream of you? I hope you do, because you're all I think about. I think about how your hand would feel in mine, how your lips would feel on mine, and how your body would feel against mine.

I wonder how it would feel to hold you close, to feel your breath on my skin, and to hear your heartbeat against my chest. I'm counting down the seconds until I can see you again. I count the days, the hours, the minutes, and the seconds until I can see your face until I can hear your voice, and until I can touch you again. You complete me, and I can't stand to be away from you. I'll wait as long as it takes, I'll fight as hard as I need to, just to be near you. Every time we're together, I feel like I'm in a dream. Your touch, your smile, the way you look at me, and it all makes my heart skip a beat. But the thought of ever losing you, of ever being apart, is enough to drive me crazy. I don't know what I would do if I ever lost you if I ever lost your love. The thought alone fills me with a sense of dread and desperation. I need you like I need my next breath. I know I'm a little intense, a little obsessive, but I can't help it. You do something to me. You make me feel things I never thought possible. You make me feel alive, and I'd do anything to keep that feeling going. I'd burn the world down just to hear you laugh, just to see you smile. I'd fight off monsters, or gods, or anything that tried to come between us. I sometimes wonder if I'm a little too much for you. I know I can be intense and maybe a little overprotective. But it's just because I care about you so much. I'm scared to lose you, to lose your love. I see the way other people look at you, and I want to hurt them, to make them pay for even daring to think about you. I know it's wrong, but I can't help it. The thought of you with anyone else drives me crazy.

I can be a little possessive, I admit it. I'll watch you like a hawk when you're around other people, especially other men. I'll study how they look at you, how they talk to you, and how they touch you. And if I think they're getting too close, I'll step in, and make my presence known. I know it's not fair to you, I know it can be suffocating, but I can't help it. I just can't risk losing you, not even to another person's harmless flirtations. I know it's not healthy, but I sometimes go through your things. Your phone, your purse, your diary - I go through all of it. I want to know everything about you, every secret, every thought, every dream. I know it's not right, I know it's a violation of your privacy, but I can't help it. I need to know every part of you, even the parts you try to hide. I find myself watching you sometimes. When you're sleeping, when you're showering, when you're getting dressed. I know it's creepy, but I can't help myself. You're just so beautiful, so perfect. I want to know every inch of your body, every freckle, every scar. I want to touch you to feel your skin against mine. But I know I can't, not until you're mine. So I just watch, and I wait, and I dream. I know I'm not perfect, and I know my love can be a little overwhelming. But I hope you can see that it's a love that comes from the depths of my soul, a love that will never fade, never die. I'll wait for you, I'll fight for you, I'll do anything to make you happy, to make you mine. And if you ever doubt my love, just look into my eyes, and you'll see the truth there. Because there's only one person in the world I love, and that's you.

Yours forever.

#logan howlett x reader #logan x reader #logan howlett #yandere logan howlett #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine #yandere wolverine #love letter

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e-dubbc11 · 3 days

Note

Hi, Ericca! 😘 I was looking your prompt lists, and was thinking how about: "your scream is kind of cute I’m sorry." With Billy from the spooky prompts list?

Love ya girl, I know it takes a lot of energy to write, so take your time.

🍁📚🐈‍⬛🔮🦉👻

My dear Katherine,

Thank you for being such a good friend to me, for sending this in and for participating in my follower celebration. I love you to pieces and I hope you like what I did here 💜 Thank you again my friend!

There’s still time to join the celebration. I’ll leave the link HERE

Scream

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Billy Russo x F! Reader

Warnings: A few swear words, small jump scare but mostly fluffy bunnies and unicorns. And alluding to smexy time.

Word Count: 1.5K-ish

Summary: You and Billy are looking for very specific costumes to wear to a Halloween party

As always, thank you for reading! I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

“We don’t have a yard, sweet girl. Where are we gonna put that?” Asked Billy, pointing at the giant 12-foot skeleton. “And I can justify a LOT of purchases, but I can’t justify that and only keep it out for Halloween.”

Pleading with him, you said, “But it doesn’t have to be JUST for Halloween! We can put strings of lights on him for Christmas time and a Santa hat, bunny ears for Easter, ooh an Uncle Sam hat for 4th of July! It will fit inside the penthouse, pleeeeeeease!”

You knew he wasn’t buying it but he really loved to watch you beg.

“We’re supposed to be looking for costumes, baby.” Said Billy.

Defeated, you hung your head and replied, “Okaaaaaay. Can I look around on this side for a few more minutes and I’ll meet you on the other side where the costumes are? Pleeeeeease?”

Looking up into his onyx colored eyes, you playfully batted your eyelashes at him. Billy’s lips curled into a slight smile and he slowly shook his head. You knew he would do anything for you and if you wanted to stay there all day, he would do it and he’d do it happily.

If it put a smile on your face, then it was all worth it to him.

Playfully, he rolled his eyes and said, “Alright, beautiful. Come find me when you’re done, ok?”

Biting back a smile, you said “Thank you, handsome. I won’t take too long.”

Billy placed his hand on the small of your back, guided you closer to him and softly touched his lips to yours. He tasted like raw sugar and black coffee as the bristles of his beard tickled your chin.

The woody fragrance of his cologne rushed past your nose as you caught the top notes of lavender, bergamot, cardamom, and violet leaf. His scent was addictive, you couldn’t get enough and almost made you not want to walk away from him.

“You better not. I’ll come find you if you’re gone too long.” Joked Billy with a wink.

He kissed you on the forehead and you watched him walk over to the other side of the store. For the Halloween party, you were doing a couple’s costume. Billy’s costume was easy enough; he was going to be Joe DiMaggio but you were going as Marilyn Monroe and needed to find the perfect white dress and wig.

The two of you had already been to three stores looking for the perfect dress but none of them had one so you just needed a little bit of a break before starting to look again.

This shop had everything from table cloths, dishes, unique candy bowls, to gorgeous centerpieces and candelabras. Halloween style wreaths and lawn decorations were at the front of the store. This place had everything you could possibly want to decorate the house for Halloween.

Billy did have a point about the larger decorations. No one in Manhattan had a lawn or a balcony big enough to put some of these. The penthouse did have nice high ceilings and the 12-foot skeleton would definitely fit inside but he had to say “no” sometimes.

Meticulously, you combed over what seemed like every decoration they had in the shop and after looking at your watch, you realized that you had been looking around for 30 minutes and wouldn’t be surprised if Billy left. You told him you would only be gone for a few minutes.

Rushing over to the other side, you found the store owner.

“Excuse me, sir. Have you seen my boyfriend by any chance? He’s tall, handsome with dark brown hair and brown eyes?” You asked.

He smiled and asked you, “Is your name, y/n?”

You nodded.

“He’s around somewhere, Miss. But he did leave this for you to try on. He mentioned the two of you were going to a party dressed as Marilyn and Joe DiMaggio.” He said.

It looked exactly like the one she wore in The Seven Year Itch. An ivory halter style, plunging neckline cocktail dress with a softly pleated skirt; a small neat bow was tied on the side at the waist and reached to about mid-calf; it was perfect. You delicately ran your fingers over the smooth fabric as a slight smile stretched across your lips.

Billy found the dress you wanted.

“It’s beautiful.” You said.

The owner replied, “I knew I had one. It’s pretty much an exact replica. Go try it on and I’ll see if I can find him for ya.”

You thanked him, picked up the dress off of the counter and headed for the fitting room. After pulling up the zipper and fastening the buttons behind your neck, you stood in front of the mirror for a few minutes, twirling and looking at yourself from different angles just in complete awe of how gorgeous the dress was; you felt confident and beautiful in it.

The owner called out to you again.

“Miss, there is a 3-way mirror out here if you’d like to get a better look.” He said.

Making one small adjustment before exiting the dressing room, you slid the curtain to one side and came face to face with a figure in the Ghostface mask and black robe from the movie Scream and scream you did which probably could have been heard by everyone walking by outside.

A muffled laugh could be heard from behind the mask. You knew that laugh. “It’s just me, baby. It’s just me!” Said Billy, trying to stop himself from laughing as he took off the mask.

You playfully slapped him on the shoulder.

“BILLY!! You scared the shit outta me!!” You yelled.

The smile he had on his face stretched from ear to ear.

“I can see that, sweet girl. I told you I’d come find you if you were gone too long.” Said Billy.

As you tried to catch your breath, you felt like your heart was in your throat and it was also beating rapidly. You could feel your chest expand and contract in conjunction with your shallow breathing.

“YOU are not funny, Billy Russo!” You yelled, turned on your heels and walked back into the fitting room to take the dress off, closing the curtain in his face.

Billy stood outside the fitting room as you changed, apologizing profusely but you ignored him and after you changed back into your clothes, you continued to ignore him.

Silently, he took the dress from your arms and paid for it along with the baseball uniform costume he found. All he needed now was a DiMaggio jersey.

“Did he make you a part of his little prank?” You asked the owner, trying to bite back your smile.

He nodded. You could tell he felt a little bad; you did let out a scream loud enough to wake the dead.

“Well…thank you for the dress. It’s perfect.” You said softly.

You knew it was just a joke but that didn’t make it any less humiliating and on the way home, you gave Billy the silent treatment.

“You gonna give me the silent treatment all the way home, baby?” Asked Billy, stealing glances at you as he drove. “Come on, my love. I said I was sorry.”

With a scowl on your face, you continued to look out at the city patrons quickly whirring by on the busy New York City sidewalks.

The elevator ride up to the penthouse was quiet. Billy didn’t like it when you were mad at him but you weren’t exactly mad, you were mostly embarrassed and to get scared all the way down to your soul like that was mortifying more than anything, especially in front of strangers.

“Thank you for my dress, Billy.” You suddenly said after a long period of silence.

Billy tossed the garment bags with the costumes in it onto a chair and replied with a warm smile, “You’re welcome, sweet girl. Ya done bein’ mad at me?”

“I wasn’t…THAT mad at you.” You said, shyly.

“Your fiery glare suggests otherwise, my love.” Said Billy, pulling you in close by the waist.

Hesitantly, you snaked your arms around his neck as your nails gently scratched the back of his head.

“I’m sorry, handsome. You really got me good and I guess I was just embarrassed.” You said, averting his gaze.

You could feel him smiling down at you.

“Look at me, sweet girl.” He purred. “I just think your scream is kind of cute, I’m sorry.” He shrugged.

The corners of your mouth slowly curled into a smile.

“You are so full of shit, Billy. I’m already in love with you so you don’t have to make up bullshit like ‘your scream is kind of cute’ to get me to fall for you, ya know.” You said with a chuckle.

His lips were suddenly on yours, crushing them and his kisses were all tongue and teeth as you felt a tremor of pleasure in between your thighs. Billy nipped at the soft skin of your neck, making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

He whispered against your mouth, “I love you too, baby. And I really do think your scream is cute.” Biting down on his lower lip, his gaze raked over you as he asked, “So do you think I could make you scream in a…different way?”

As you clenched your thighs together, you drew in a sharp breath, kissed him again and replied, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Tag List: @wheresthesunshinesblog @idaoftheburningmind @rafaelakelley @fakehappy27 @snowkestrel @music-indie-tv @kayhi808 @munsonownsmyass @gijos @fictional-hooman @nutmeg17 @k-marzolf @vaguekayla @rosaleenablack @danzer8705 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @aoi-targaryen @rachlovesactors @qu1etwolf

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @jvanilly @ittybxttykxttytxtty @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @mrsbillyrusso @colereads

If you’d like to be added (or removed from) my tag list(s) for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕💕💕 If I tagged you but you didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo fanfic #billy russo imagine #billy russo x female reader #billy russo x you #billy russo fluff #ericca answers #ericca’s 500 follower celebration

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howlingday · 2 days

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Jaune: Mom, Dad! I'm home~!

Mama Arc: Jaune~! (Hugs him) Welcome back, dear! Are you hungry? I can whip up some dinner right now if I need to!

Jaune: If you do, Mom, could you set a couple extra plates?

Mama Arc: E-extra plate? Don't tell me you've brought a couple girls home with you!

Jaune: Actually, Mom, it's more than a couple... and one guy.

Mama Arc: A BOY?! That's what you are, right? I know it may look like a dress, but-

Ren: Greetings, Mrs. Arc. My name is Lie Ren. Jaune and I have grown very close since meeting at Beacon.

Mama Arc: Oh, good... Jaune was only bringing girls home for a while, so I thought he wasn't making friends with any boys for some reason.

That's what you were worried about?!

Jaune: Yeah, I get along with guys just fine. Actually, I think I like hanging out with guys just as much as I do with girls.

Mama Arc: What?! MY BABY BOY JUST CAME OUT TO ME!

Jaune: What? Is something wrong, Mom?

Mama Arc: No! No, of course not!

Mama Arc: (Thinking) I get it now. All those girls who would follow him home were just a means to keep his true feelings hidden. I'm so proud my son doesn't feel like he needs to hide himself from anyone!.

Nora: ...You sure you don't want to butt in, Pyrrha?

Pyrrha: I think... it'll makes for a funny story for late.

Mama Arc: REN! (Holds his hands) There's nothing wrong with you both being boys! You will always be welcome in my home, no matter what!

Ren: Um... Thank you?

Papa Arc: JAUNE! (Slams open door) Jaune... My son... Thank you for telling us. I think I can wrap my head around it... except for one thing.

Jaune: One thing?

Papa Arc: Are you... Y'know, the pitcher? That I can totally get, no problem! Or... Or are you more of a catcher? I can't say I've ever been in that position, but... BUT I CAN TRY!

Let's- Let's just ignore that.

Nora: So... You gonna set things straight soon?

Jaune: Er... Later. After dinner.

Nora: Hey! You still didn't set things straight after last time!

Pyrrha: So, uh, you two don't find this weird at all?

Mama Arc: It's not something we expected, but... So long as Jaune's healthy and happy, that's all that matters.

#rwby #the misfit of demon king academy #jaune arc #mama arc #papa arc #lie ren #nora valkyrie #pyrrha nikos

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witchofhimring · 2 days

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Family tensions (short fic)

Pairings: Tamlin x Reader, Feyre x Rhysand, Nyx x OC (Tamlin and Readers daughter)

Synopsis: Your daughter Tamar is mated to Rhysandss son Nyx.

Warnings: family tensions

Despite your insistent that this was in fact not the end of the word Tamlin still insisted this was the worst thing to happen. 'Have those Illyrian rats not taken enough from me!' Following your husband up the flight of stairs, you attempted to convince him that Tamar might just love Nyx. Of course you did not fully blame him. Given his past with the Night Court and its ruling lord and lady one could understand. You were torn between wanting to protect your husband and look out for Tamara. 'Perhaps we should talk to Tamar first?' Tamlin turned around. 'That is exactly what I intend to do!'

Unfortunately, the pair of you had horrible timing. Because when the door to Tamara's room was opened it was not just your daughter there, but Nyx.

Tamlin looked ready to pass out. There his daughter and Nyx were, Tamara on his lap reading a book. The moment they realized who had walked in both jumped up. 'What is this!?' Behind Tamlin came you. 'Hello Nyx.' You said politely. Oh dear. Nyx's blue eyes went back and forth between Tamara and Tamlin.

'Father, this is Nyx.' Tamara, looking unrepentant, stared defiantly at her father. It occurred to you that Tamara did not know the whole story between your families. Perhaps you should have been more forthcoming. 'Tamara dear, could we talk about this in private?' You gave Nyx a tremulous smile. 'Yes. Boy, leave.' Nyx ignored your husband. Placing himself protectively before Tamara, Nyx drew himself to his full height. 'Tamlin calm down. Nyx could you go to your parents and speak to them about this?' It was best to deal with this diplomatically. Tamlin was mostly calm these days. Years had passed since you last saw him so angry.

'Nyx. You go and I will deal with my father.' Tamara placed a hand on Nyx's shoulder. 'Are you sure.' Nyx seemed unwilling to go. 'I will be fine. You being here will make things harder. Go back to your parents.' Reluctantly Nyx left, only when he was sure Tamara was safe. Against your will, you liked him for that.

'You were where!?' His father was leaning forward on the armchair of the throne. Nyx stood before his parents in the throne room. Empty except for them three of them, Nyx was wondering just how well this would go. His father had no love for the Lord of the Spring Court. To heard that his son was courting that lords daughter might just send him.

'Is that where you have been.' His mother sat on the throne. Rhysand looked towards his wife. 'You knew?' 'No my love. I had no idea where Nyx was. But our son is nearly grown now. Should he not be allowed to chose who he loves?' Feyre, although not having ever fully forgiven Tamlin, was of a mixed mind. She did not know his eldest child well. But the few times they met Tamara had been polite. And if this had been going on for years then perhaps this was not a hasty decision. Rhysand had no such debates. In this mind this was terrible. Under no circumstances was he to be in laws with Tamlin of all people.

'I do love her father.' Rhysand raised an eyebrow. 'And what if this is a plot?' Both Feyre and Nyx looked shocked. 'Father-you can not mean-) Nyx spluttered. 'Tamara is true to me. And Lord Tamlin was nearly red with rage and-'Rhysand raised a hand. 'I'm sorry, he was what?' 'Furious. I doubt Lord Tamlin will agreed to this marriage.' Suddenly Rhysand smiled, eyes lighting up. Suddenly this marriage seemed like a terrific idea. 'Furious was he.' Rhysand was starting to think this marriage was not such a bad idea.

The idea that Tamlin might be furious over this possible marriage made the idea of uniting their families seemed a splendid idea. Rhysand nearly giggled himself sick with delight. Feyre told him he best behave. Especially since a month later they were invited to the Spring Court. Tamlin did not greet them. Feyre had never met Lady Y/n, but she had been polite, although warry. Feyre could understand why. If it had been the other way around she might be hesitant. Yet Y/n was polite and soon they were in the tea room. Feyre could not believe how different this place looked. Everything was so tidy and had a homely feel to it. Cakes and eat were placed on marble tea tables. Conversation was slightly stilted, Y/n seemed careful of every word she said. And that was when Tamlin entered. Feyre's hands clenched with anxiety. While Y/n was courteous Tamlin might not show the same restraint. Taking a seat, Tamlin kissed his wife on the cheek.

It was mostly Feyre and yourself talking. Despite your apprehensions she seemed nice enough. On the other side sat Tamlin and Rhysand sitting in stony silence. Tamlin seemed to be looking anywhere else but Rhysand, and Rhysand's mouth was placed in a frown. While the mothers seemed quite happy to chatter amongst themselves, the fathers looked like to smack each other. You prayed this would go well.

that was when Nyx and Tamara entered.

Notes: I plan to make more fics for this concept. This is kind of shorter than I would have liked but oh well. As I wrote this on a whim future fics might be slightly different. Hope you liked it! 💕

#acotar #acotar x reader #acotar x y/n #acotar x you #tamlin x reader #tamlin x you #tamlin acotar #tamlin #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfiction #feyre archeron #feyre #feyre acotar #rhysand #rhysand acotar #rhysand x feyre #nyx archeron #nyx acotar #oc daughter

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novankenn · 15 hours

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Nah-Nah =8P

In their third year as Beacon students team JNPR was sent out on what was supposed to be a simple grimm cull... it was anything but. Under assault from all sides Jaune made a final call, ordering a retreat... it was the last commend he ever made... as he was overtaken by the horde of grimm before reaching the safety of the evac bullhead.

So gathered in a small private conference room, Glynda Goodwitch proceeded to read out Jaune Arc's last will and testament to his grieving team mates.

Glynda: Now considering there are clauses in this document specifically related to Mr. Arc's family, and have been given permission I will address Jaune's final wishes for you... his team. Pyrrha openly crying.

Glynda: I Jaune Luna Arc being of sound mind and body hereby...

Nora: I wouldn't say that... is entirely true.

Glynda: divide the entirety of my estate as follows. To Pyrrha.

Civilian with passing resemblance to Jaune: Honey, they're talking about you.

Pyrrha: *sniffles* What?

Glynda: My dearest Pyrrha, the one who first believed in me and the future I wanted to achieve. My partner who helped me overcome my own foolishness and trained me to be not only a better combatant, but also a better person...

Pyrrha: *sniffles*

Glynda: ... and who abandoned me...

Pyrrha: WHAT?!?

Glynda: ... and our potential future because she was too afraid to take a risk... I leave you... A BOOT TO THE HEAD.

WHAP!

Glynda: And one for the wimp she chose to date...

WHAP!

Pyrrha: *shaking away the impact of Glynda's booted foot.* huh? What? I don't understand?

Glynda: Wait there's more... Dear Pyrrha I know you'll want something to remember me by, and you've always had your eye on my Pumpkin Pete Hoodie... so I...

Pyrrha: Thank you, Jaune... I'll cher...

Glynda: leave you a BOOT TO THE HEAD.

WHAP!

Glynda: And another one for the wimp!

WHAP!

Glynda: To my dear teammate Nora...

Nora: Ah no... I don't want no boot to the head.

Glynda: Who while made my life as a team leader very interesting, but also drove me to the brink of insanity with your vapid schemes and chaotic behavior...

Nora: *Ducking her head under the table* I'm covering my head!

Glynda: I leave three cases of pure Forever Fall refined tree sap...

Nora: Oh wow! Thanks Jau...

Glynda: and a BOOT TO THE HEAD.

WHAP! THUD!

Glynda: And another to Pyrrha and the wimp...

WHAP! WHAP!

THUD! THUD!

Glynda: To Ren...

Ren: It's okay. I don't want anything...

Glynda: ... my friend, and a rock on which I could rest when things were getting too much. You gave me health drinks and teas...

Ren: It was my pleasure...

Glynda: You did you best to curb in Nora and prevent me from strangling her...

Ren: I tried...

Glynda: a BOOT TO THE HEAD.

WHAP! THUD!

Glynda: In closing I hereby leave the entirety of my vast hidden fortune to the people of Vacuo... so they can finally move someplace nice... and a BOOT TO THE HEAD for Pyrrha and the wimp.

WHAP! WHAP! THUD! THUD!

/==/ the Inspiration /==/

youtube

#rwby #jaune arc #pyrrha nikos #nora valkyrie #lie ren #glynda goodwitch #jaune died #four on the floor #the frantics #boot to the head skit #stupid shit #Youtube

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songsofadelaide · 2 days

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"—ppy Birthday tooo yooou!" The light was dimmed and the only illumination came from the numerous candles set alight on a shiny fruit and cream shortcake, your smile as bright as the sun as your friends sang in the background. "—ke a wish before you blow the candle—"

Click.

"—toru, hurry up before the timer hits!—" "—f my life, my angel, my—" A young Satoru ran to your side and gave your cheek a big-ass smooch as countless golden ginkgo leaves rained in your background. A picture-perfect autumn ahead of a new year full of decisions. "Ahaha! Nooo! That tickl—"

Click.

"—guru, come on over! You too, Shoko! It—" Empty coffee cups were strewn across your shared table with your friends, the sound of both laughter and complaints filling the air as your friends gathered around you and Satoru, his laughter the loudest of them all. "—haha! Ack! No! W-Wait up, Kento! Satoru said—"

Click.

"Oh, so that's what you've been up to, Seiya," you said, breaking the silence that enveloped your son's bedroom as he jumped from his gaming chair and hurriedly minimized the open video player on his PC.

"M-Mom! H-How long have you been standing there?!"

"Long enough for me to know where my missing SD cards went," you chuckled at the evidently embarrassed face of your teenage son, the spitting image of his father in his youth except for his eyes— which he clearly inherited from you. "Now how did you get your hands on these?"

"W-Well, I..." Came the boy's sheepish reply, a nervous hand on his nape as he evaded your curious gaze. His embarrassed expression starkly contrasted with your husband's usual mischievousness and boisterousness, even though they shared the same long, feathery and silvery eyelashes and hair.

"You're not in trouble, dear, if that's what you're worried about," you reassured him as you took a half-seat on the handle of his chair, careful not to rest your entire weight on it. "Now let me see..."

Seiya released his mouse to you, which you used to click on the minimized video player once more. Digicams were all the rage back when you were in high school and well into college and as the only one in your friend group who owned one, you were primarily responsible for documenting every mundane and special occasion whenever you all got together.

"Oh, this was from my 18th birthday," you laughed as you clicked on the following snippets. "And this was when your father and I visited Meiji Shrine before our college entrance exams. Aaand I think this was just a regular day! We just had coffee..."

"Aunt Shoko never really stopped smoking, did she?" Came your son's query as he eyed you browsing through the aged video clips with a small smile on your face. It was clear to him that you were reminiscing now about the days of your youth, encapsulated in slightly grainy and overexposed photos and videos, yet the memories were clear as day.

"Nope. Though she does that thing now. That, uh, vaping thing? Now don't get any ideas, young man."

"I-I won't, Mom! I promise!" Seiya stammered at your slight warning. "I'm sorry I touched your things. I just thought it would be interesting... to see how you and dad were when you were my age."

Oh, but he pulls off those adorable puppy dog eyes just like his father, all right.

"It's hard to believe that he had so much time for you back then! I-I mean he's so busy now! Does he even remember to text you or at least get you a gift every now and then? I-If not, maybe we can go somewhere together? Or do something together?"

"Oh, Seiya. I'll have you know that I am very happy to be married to your father," you gently laughed at your son's little outburst, coiling your arms around his neck as he lazily rested his warm cheek on your chest. "He loves me a great deal and does so much for me. And for you, in case you've forgotten."

"I... I know," came his defeated response. "All the work he does is for us..."

"I don't think Toru is so busy that he forgets us... Do you perhaps miss your father, Seiya?"

"N-No, I don't!" The boy huffed in your arms, his brows furrowed as he attempted to hide his evidently embarrassed face yet again.

"Your father and I love you very much, Seiya," you said with a smile and a soft hum as you tenderly ran your fingers through your son's hair. You weren't surprised when he wrapped his arms around you and returned your embrace. I suppose he takes after his father in clinginess, too.

"I already know that... But thanks, mom."

#songsofadelaidewrites💛#mari's prompts 🎠#jjk au #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru my beloved #things i can't stop thinking abt lol #bringing back my baby seiya #this was inspired by fire emblem fates ahh #shiro's supports with his mom are so cute #my baby fever is still off the roof lol #starry divider by @/cafekitsune

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minmin-vs-physics · 1 day

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HUP, EPR, and Bell’s Theorem

Abstract

An educational document discussing the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, the EPR (Einstein- Podolsky-Rosen) Paradox, and Bell’s Theorem, written for an audience without a background in physics, but with their head still screwed on right.

1 Introduction

Ah, quantum mechanics. A bizarre theory which unfortunately describes our physical world exceed- ingly well. Einstein didn’t get it. Bohr didn’t get it. I don’t get it. And soon, you won’t get it either. As the saying goes, the more you know about quantum mechanics, the less you understand it.

I will be skipping around in terms of topics covered in undergraduate quantum mechanics courses to prepare you for the actual beast, Entanglement.

Entanglement, the property of quantum systems to remain correlated even when separated, is a concept which has transformed from a worrisome byproduct of a thought experiment [1] into a cornerstone of quantum mechanics itself. What is a quantum mechanics? Google is your friend, my dear reader. My time with you is limited„ and I cannot teach you the alphabet to make you read Shakespeare. I can only explain what you directly need to understand this article. Anything else shall be your homework, and if I am feeling kind at the end, I will provide a list of accessible resources on learning quantum mechanics the RIGHT way.

As we dive into the frankly confusing world of entanglement, it is vital that you remember one thing– A quantum particle is described by a wave function, Ψ. This wave function is a solution to the Schrodinger equation.

This is what they mean when they say something is both a particle and a wave; It’s behavior can be described by a special kind of wave equation, which we all know and love as the Schrodinger Wave Equation. But that’s not important right now. I’ll explain more if I need to. We need to get to HUP.

2 Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle

Formulated by Werner Heisenberg in 1927, the Uncertainty Principle is an indomitable tenet in the field of quantum mechanics. Its premise is simple. The more precisely a particle’s momentum is determined, the less precisely is its momentum. In one dimension, this can be summarized with the following mathematical statement: ∆x∆p ≤ 2

Here, ∆x is the standard deviation or “spread” of the position x, while ∆p is the standard deviation of the momentum p. As the spread of one quantity decreases, the other must increase in order to maintain the inequality. I will not bother proving the Principle in full, but I have Heisenberg’s original proof in the references.

Is that it?

Ummmmm, no. An important thing to remember about HUP is that it is not exclusive to x and p. HUP applies to any two quantum mechanical operators, A, B, which do not commute with each other i.e. [A, B] = AB − BA = 0. But that’s all mathematical nonsense, Min! What does it really mean?

Fine! I’m only doing this because it will be useful when we get to measurements in the EPR paradox and Bell theorems. In order to understand what “not commuting” means in the physical sense, let’s use our favorites, position and momentum, as an example. In quantum mechanics, xˆ andpˆ are referred to as the position and momentum operators respectively. (Why the little hats? Firstly, they’re cute, and secondly, well, you’ll see.) The whole point of calling them operators is that they act on wave functions. And in the crudest sense possible (please don’t try this at home, folks), hitting an operator on a wave function and taking the expectation value, gives a measurement of the quantum mechanical system.

There is about three semesters of quantum mechanical education I’m waving off right now, but bear with me. When we act the momentum operator on the system, in some sense we extract the momentum. Same thing for position. However, the whole deal about x and p is that they do not commute. So, the order in which you conduct the measurements absolutely does matter. First measuring x and then p would give you a different answer than first measuring p and then x. This is because the very act of measuring a quantum state changes it. That’s right! It changes. This makes all the difference when you consider the standard deviation of a bunch of measurements. If my memory of introductory quantum mechanics serves me right, after about three pages of algebra you arrive at the familiar position-momentum uncertainty principle.

The moral of the story is that the non-commutativity of these operators manifests as a sort of granularity in the accuracy of measurements you can make on a physical system. This granularity is retained between any other kinds of non-commuting measurements you can make!

On second thought, do you really need this? Probably not. But, the algebra of uncertainty principles is a pet project to me. Especially the strangest of them all, the energy-time uncertainty principle. Enough on that! Here’s the main takeaway (other than the actual HUP statement) that you need from this section:

Making a measurement on a state changes its wave function. No exceptions. None. The detached observer is not a reality in the quantum mechanical world.

3 Spin

I realized that the following sections will not make any sense if you don’t at least know what spin is. So, let’s make a short pit-stop at Spin City to learn about this nonsensical physical quantity.

We’re all aware of angular momentum– its the rotational analog of linear momentum (which we talked about the previous section). We all agree that it is a property related to the motion of an object, right? WRONG! Sometime in the 1900s (Seriously, 20th Century Physicists should chill out), it was discovered this angular momentum from motion i.e. “orbital” angular momentum, as it was called in the atomic physics context it was first described, does not account for all the angular momentum of a particle. Long story short, the remaining angular momentum, which is intrinsic to a particle, is now called Spin. Every fundamental particle has a particular value of spin, which, in quantum mechanical jargon, is the eigenvalue of the spin operator.

For understanding the following sections, we really only need to care about spin-1/2 particles, which are lovingly called fermions, and are the building blocks of all ordinary matter. The shining feature of spin-1/2 particles is that their spin can either be +1 or −1 , which is often referred to as spin-up (↑) and spin-down (↓) respectively.

Physically, the up or down comes from whether the measured spin is along the axis it is measured, or opposite to it. Yes, spin is a vector, so it does have three independent components in the three spatial directions, but it is convention to consider the z-component of the spin for calculations and experiments. Any references to up and down in the next sections are along the z-direction.

Oh, and one more thing, spin-0 particles have no intrinsic spin. This will be important when we encounter the EPR Paradox.

4 EPR Paradox

After skipping a whole bunch of most-likely important concepts in the study of quantum mechanics we arrive at the EPR paradox.

The EPR paradox is a thought experiment first described in the groundbreaking paper [1] by Einstein, Podolsky, and Rosen in 1935. Einstein was quite vocally a hater, and the EPR paradox was proposed as evidence that the description of reality provided by quantum mechanics is incomplete. Reality doesn’t care, of course, and the EPR Paradox isn’t really a paradox. In fact, it is the foundation of entanglement– a magnificent, very real feature of reality which spans black holes, quantum computers and even my field of research: Entanglement in elementary particle physics.

In fact, I’m so self-centered that the example we will use to illustrate the EPR paradox is from particle physics. Just kidding, my explanation follows Chapter 12 in Griffiths’ Introduction to Quantum Mechanics, and is a simplified version credited to David Bohm

EPRB Paradox

Suppose a pion (funky particle with spin-0) at rest, decays to an electron and positron which fly off into opposite directions. Since the pion has spin-0, conservation of angular momentum dictates that the electron and positron occupy the following spin configuration.

√(1/2) (|↑↓⟩−|↓↑⟩)

BE NOT AFRAID of the mathematical jumpscare. The fancy bracket |·⟩ is what’s called a “ket”, and is used to denote the state of a quantum system. All the expression says is that either the electron is

spin-up (+1) and the positron is spin-down (−1) or vice-versa, because the total spin of the system 22

must add up to 0. (Since the initial state is spin zero, the system must stay spin-zero even after the decay occurs. That’s what angular momentum conservation is all about.) We don’t know which combination we will get, but it must be one of the above. Measuring the spin of one of the particles will automatically tell us what the spin of the other particle is. This means that the spins of the electron and positron are correlated. In modern terms, such a state is called entangled.

Now, let’s pretend that these particles fly off in opposite directions, until say, they are several light years apart. What would happen if we found the electron and measured its spin to be +1 ? We instantly know that the positron’s spin is −1 . This is obvious. Why are we mad about this?

Naturally, we may think that the electron really was spin-up from the moment it was created and it was only that quantum mechanics did not know until we made a measurement. But by the principles of quantum mechanics, neither particle had a definite spin, until we made a measurement, causing the wave function to “collapse” and instanteously produce the spin of the positron which is lights years away!

The EPR bros were NOT having it. Einstein famously called this phenomenon “spooky action at a distance”. They stated that the quantum mechanical standpoint must be wrong! The electron and positron must have had well-defined spins from their creation, even if quantum mechanics does not know it. Quantum mechanics is not a complete description of reality and there must be some hidden variables which describe a physical system that we do not yet know.

The fundamental assumption guiding the EPR argument is that no information can propagate faster than light. This the principle of locality. In order to appease this, we can say that the wave function collapsed at some finite velocity and is not instantaneous. However, this violates conservation– If we measured the positron spin as well before the information of collapse reached it, there is a 50–50 chance that both particles are spin-up, which means the system has total spin-1. Preposterous! You can mess with anything you want in this universe, but you don’t mess with conservation laws. What do we do now?

Okay, let’s calm down. The theorists may say whatever they want, but experiment doesn’t lie. Experiment tells us that in these cases, spin is perfectly correlated. The wave function collapse is instantaneous. That’s crazy. Call your mom and tell her you want to go home. The EPR Bros are frightening you— Quantum Mechanics is NOT local so it is NOT complete.

...Except. It is. Enter, Bell’s Theorem.

5 Bell’s Theorem

Now, what’s the situation? The EPR gang is not happy. I’m not happy. You’re not happy. Is quantum mechanics wrong? No, silly! EPR said it themselves: they think it’s merely incomplete. So, in order to completely describe a quantum mechanical state, you not only need the wave function Ψ, you also need some unknown, hidden variable λ. Lots of hidden variable theories were proposed after the Einstein-Podolsky-Rosen paper, but none of them ever gained traction. It was still a respectable area of study until 1964, when J.S. Bell proved that any local (Remember locality from the last section?) hidden variable theory is incompatible with quantum mechanics.

I’ll spare you the details of Bell’s work, dear reader. One thought experiment in an essay is gruesome enough. (It is also getting quite late and I still didn’t code my calculations. I have spent far too much time on this already.)

Bell’s proof involves the wonderful use of probability, and the barest assumptions that can be made about local hidden variable theories. Basically, in any local hidden variable theory, the probabilities of various outcomes are related by what’s known as a Bell inequality. If EPR’s conjecture is right, and there really are hidden variables we don’t know about, then any physical system must obey its Bell inequality.

Except, there have been various experiments since the 1960s confirming that Bell’s inequality is indeed violated. This came as a rude shock to scientists as it is not fun to learn that reality is very much nonlocal. It was all fun and games when this was all merely a mathematical artifact, but nonlocality felt like a gateway drug to a much grimmer violation.

Causality

Bell inequality violations, no matter how surprising, are merely wonderful correlations between two sets of otherwise random data. Sure, the measurement of the spin of the electron affects the positron, but it does not cause it in any meaningful way. The person measuring the electron spin cannot use this collapse of the wave function to send a message to the person with the positron, since they don’t control the outcome of the experiment. They can decide whether to measure the electron at all, but the other person only has access to the positron’s spin and cannot tell whether the electron has been measured or not.

Phew! This sort of nonlocal influence does not transmit any energy or information, so it is exempt from the speed of light. Meanwhile, causal influences, those which do transmit information or energy, cannot travel faster than light. According to special relativity, if this was possible then, there are reference frames in which information can propagate backwards through time. And that, my dear reader, is what we call a big nono. Since the EPR paradox does not imply that causality is violated, we can lie uncomfortably on our bed of nonlocal but causal theory of quantum mechanics.

So rest easy, quantum mechanics is weird, but safe. Entanglement is not a fairytale, but also not the boogeyman. It’s probably more scared of you than you of it. Just give it some time. More answers will follow.

What Do I Do Now?

So, you want to know more? Or curl up in a ball and never think about this again? Either is fine. I won’t judge. If your answer is the former, here are some resources to guide you through the thickets of quantum mechanics.

PopSci Sources

1. IDTIMWYTIM: Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle 2. Why did Quantum Entanglement Win the Nobel Prize in Physics? 3. Bell’s Theorem: The Quantum Venn Diagram Paradox

Surely, you’ll get more out of these wonderful science Youtubers than you did from me yapping for four pages. There are a bunch more probably, but you’ll have to find them yourself.

Academic Sources

1. An Introduction to Quantum Mechanics, D.J. Griffiths.

Of course, there are other quantum mechanics textbooks that I like much more than this one. But, this is the least daunting, so I’ll leave it here.

Don’t forget to like and subscribe for more silly academic style papers.

References

[1] A. Einstein, B. Podolsky and N. Rosen, “Can quantum mechanical description of physical reality be considered complete”? Phys. Rev. 47, 777–780 (1935) doi:10.1103/PhysRev.47.777

[2] Heisenberg, W. “Über den anschaulichen Inhalt der quantentheoretischen Kinematik und Mechanik”. Z. Physik 43, 172–-198 (1927). https://doi.org/10.1007/BF01397280

[3] D.J. Griffiths, D.F. Schroeter, “Introduction to Quantum Mechanics, Third Edition” Cambridge University Press (2018) 978–1–107–18963–8,

#physics #quantum mechanics #heisenberg uncertainty principle #bell's theorem #epr paradox #quantum entanglement #min vs physics #lol i guess i am posting it

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katuschka · 1 day

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Blowing Smoke – coming soon

Tom (m!OC) x Josh Kiszka x m!OC

Huge thanks to my dear @edgingthedarkness, who came up with the initial idea for this fic and later offered it to me to write it, so I think of this as a collab. Thank you for your consultations, babe. Mwah. If Tom sounds familiar to you, you're right – it's the Tom from Usually Sexual and A Rollercoaster Ride with Tom&Jerry. I just really like the character and he fits in perfectly. :) Warning no.1: This is going to be pretty intense. Full of smut, angst, deception and intense emotions (if you know me already, you know what to expect...)

Here's my taglist, if you're interested.

TEASER BELOW contains heavy angst, foul language and a dose of violence.

“I’m not interested in hearing the whole tall tale, you asshole. Get to the point. DID.YOU.FUCK.HIM…?”

The silence that followed should have shattered the window wall. Physical laws should have succumbed to the power of their internal screaming. They could both feel it: the supersonic wave of go-to-hells and suck-my-dicks. However, nothing happened. On the contrary, the setting sun kept mocking them as it continued to cover the room in its warm glow. How fucking romantic! It once was, when they were both equally loud, but for completely different reasons…

Tom couldn’t stand it any longer. He grabbed his still half-full whisky tumbler and smashed it against the wall, dangerously close to Josh's head. To make him say something.

Again, nothing happened. Looking at now utterly bewildered Josh, Tom thought the hell must have frozen over during those last few horrid minutes they spent yelling at each other, because that was the only explanation for Josh’s sudden loss of speech. For years, those puppy eyes filled his heart with joy and his dick with blood, but now they only made him SICK.

“Nothing? Not even a simple yes or no? I thought I deserved more than that. But you know what? Don’t bother trying to explain. I already know you did. You finally did it! We’re done.”

Finally? FINALLY!!! The sheer hypocrisy of Tom’s accusations finally helped to untie Josh’s tongue. Hitting the very same wall with his own fist, he bellowed back: “Yeah, because he told you, huh? This was your plan all along! You played me…”

“Not this! Not this public parade. I never wanted this...”

The last words left them both deflated. When Josh finally spoke again, it was with a shaky voice: “No, that was his plan. He played us both.”

I started a joke which started the whole world crying But I didn't see that the joke was on me oh no I started to cry which started the whole world laughing Oh If I'd only seen that the joke was on me

@its-interesting-van-kleep @takenbythemadness @edgingthedarkness @writingcold @ignite-my-fire @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @fleet-of-fiction @lvnterninthenight @myownparadise96 @josh-iamyour-mama @jazzyfigz @sanguinebats @thewritingbeforesunrise @wetkleenex-gvf @lyndz2names @gretasfallingsky @clownstarr @lipstickitty @gvfmarge @emojakekiszka @lizzys-sunflower @fleetingjake @wetkleenex-gvf

#greta van fleet #gvf #josh kiszka #josh gvf #greta van fleet fanfic #gvf fanfiction #greta van fic #josh kiszka smut #josh kiszka x oc #greta van smut #greta van fleet fan fiction #josh kiszka fanfiction #gvf smut #gvf fic #Spotify

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kurishiri · 2 days

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11 . . . alfons main story (with letter)

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— cw: passing mention of non-consensual touching, consumption of alcohol.

In the end, after we made a mess of ourselves in the shower, we were faced with our clothes, which was also a mess — just in a different way.

Alfons: The prospect of wearing these clothes again... don’t you just loathe to imagine it?

And with those words, we spent the night in that room, nude.

When morning broke, we had new clothes delivered to us, courtesy of whatever happened during the night before,

and while batting away those evil hands that only knew mischief, I put on the clothes before we made our way back to the castle.

Alfons: So, how was it?

A: Care to tell me whether I looked like I was enjoying myself while indulging in pleasure with you?

Kate: ...!?

His question was so direct that the next moment my face burned up.

All I remembered from last night were our breaths and lips, and the sensation of our bodies rubbing together...

Kate: I-I’m still not sure.

Alfons: Well that’s disheartening to hear. In that case, it seems we will need to do even more naughty things.

Kate: Wh—!?

Alfons: But alas... I plan to sleep today away. I won’t be waking up until tonight, so do what you will and like, dear exclusive fairytale keeper.

A: Dare I say, though, I would imagine you could catch up on sleep as well. Perhaps doing so would do you good as well?

Just like that, as always, Alfons left there.

(...It seems Alfons’ goodbyes are always one-sided.)

In fact, so much so that I felt it wouldn’t be strange if he just disappeared right before my eyes the next day, much like an illusion.

It was almost as though he was distant from everyone.

From the friends he played with at night, with Crown——and of course, me as well, seeing as we’ve just met too.

(...I feel like I shouldn’t try to delve deeper into Alfons’ ‘truth’ any more than I have.)

There was not a single doubt in me that I would only end up getting hurt.

Such a premonition, filled with certainty, left a mild pang deep in my heart, but I pushed it down.

(It’s just as Alfons said——‘this relationship will end after only a month.’)

(So if he takes my heart too...)

Kate: .........Only painful memories will follow.

The words I murmured seemed to warn me, and they made my heart hurt more than I thought.

But I pretended like such pain was never there, and walked with brisk steps.

(It’s going to be okay. Because I... I don’t like Alfons, one bit.)

—— Perspective change; in the lounge ——

Roger: ...So what happened to ‘I plan to sleep today away’?

Alfons had just downed his first glass when Roger came in.

Alfons: ...Goodness, eavesdropping on other people’s conversations like that, I know of no ability more distasteful than yours.

Roger: Hey, I just happened to be around to hear. It’s not as though I activated it just to listen in on you guys.

A crease formed in Alfons’ brows, clearly unamused, before he spared a glance at Roger’s hand.

Alfons: Having a beer in the middle of the day, I see? What a lament indeed, seeing a doctor neglect his own health.

Roger: To be fair, I did pull an all-nighter last night. And besides, I’d say I’m infinitely more healthy than you, at least, seeing as you’re drinking a gin in the middle of the day.

Roger lightly swung his beer jockey before he downed some.

And after making a sound from his throat in satisfaction, he turned to Alfons once more.

Roger: ...So, how’s it going? I bet you’re pretty taken by Kate.

Alfons: Why of course I am.

A: She is a little robin who had haplessly fallen into a den of evil, she’s honest and pure, having done not a single evil deed before... or something of that nature.

A: I hardly come across such interesting playthings, you know.

Roger: ...Hmm?

His voice seemed to hold some hidden meaning to it, and he narrowed his eyes sharply at Alfons.

Alfons: ...Did I say something strange?

Roger: It doesn’t look to me like you’re spending time with her out of that sort of ‘interest’ anymore though.

R: Isn’t it as simple as you just liking her?

Alfons: Would that be your opinion as a doctor? Because unfortunately for you, you’re sorely off.

A: You see, there’s not an ounce of the thing called love in me.

Roger: Is that so? Because to me it seems like she’s taken quite an interest in you.

Alfons: Ahha! Were you expecting anything else?

A: Our relationship is simply a diversion that will last but a month.

A: So, even if there’s no love to be seen, at the very least it will remain something to enjoy, to be sure.

Roger: ...Okay, then don’t egg her on too much.

R: You’re probably teetering on a real thin line right now between something serious and some ‘sick diversion.’

Alfons: ...hah.

It was probably the most dry sigh he had let out up until now.

Alfons: Just when in the world have you become such a good-natured person?

—— Perspective change ——

When Alfons and I returned the next day, we were informed of the good progress made regarding the previous mission in the impoverished parts.

The collusion between the director of the almshouse, who had supervised that evil group,

and the director of the orphanage who was responsible for that huge stack of corpses we first saw was brought to light, and as a result——

The name of a certain gentlemen’s club allegedly turned up.

Kate: When you say ‘gentlemen’s club’... that means entrance is restricted to members, and it’s only open to those who have been acknowledged even among high society, right?

William: Yes, that’s right. It refers to lodgings, restaurants, bars, and libraries that only members have access to...

W: And prominent figures from each industry gather there, seeking to make personal connections with one another.

W: There’s a high possibility that one such club is responsible for the massacres occurring in the East End.

W: Allegedly, they take pride in being a club of ‘purification’... or ‘cleansing,’ so to speak.

(‘Purification’...)

With London’s population swelling, the divide between the wealthy and the poor also grew.

Hunger gave way to disputes, and disputes led to tragic incidents.

And when newspapers made a lot of noise about it, there were people who took a glance at the darkness of this city and held a eugenic mindset,

thinking that ‘the poor were born to be criminals.’

(But... there is no one who would not mind people being killed just for living.)

The people who tried to run frantically to escape from the knives pointed at them indiscriminately.

The people who clung onto the illusions Alfons gave.

How the scene I watched through the lens of an illusion made my chest hurt.

(If they really think that killing people who have done no wrong indiscriminately is an act of ‘purification’...)

(...then what severe haughtiness they have.)

—— Flashback ——

Alfons: If there are children who die without being known by anyone out there riddled in the world,

A: then it goes to say that there are also those that believe this to be nothing more than cleaning up garbage from the street corners where the dropouts gather. That’s just how it is.

—— End flashback ——

(...I wonder if Alfons lived in such places,)

(where he could tangibly feel such incidents were happening to these people on his skin.)

Truth be told, I was scared of once again facing the cruel things happening in the East End this time.

(But, now I want to witness it to the fullest...)

Such feelings blossomed from within my heart.

Victor: In order to capture the mastermind behind this, we would need to infiltrate this ‘purification’ club... however, that would be easier said than done.

V: Many gentlemen’s clubs are restricted, and because they’re aware of what they’re doing, they will be especially cautious of others.

William: ...And that is why, Alfons, we would like to entrust you with this infiltration.

(...!)

Alfons: Your wish is my command. I happen to be quite proficient at deceiving people and slipping in.

This was a dangerous mission where we would have to head straight into enemy territory, and yet here Alfons was, laughing without a care in the world as he accepted the mission.

(And since Alfons is assigned this mission... that means I, too...)

(This time for sure, I will witness the mission until the end and record it as his exclusive ‘fairytale keeper.’)

Alfons: Ahh... and what of Miss Kate?

William: Seeing as she’s your ‘exclusive’ fairytale keeper, it seems you have no choice but to take her along.

Kate: ...Alright.

For a moment, the barbaric events by the ‘purification’ club flashed in the back of my mind,

and I felt like fear was about to crawl up from my legs, but after a scolding at my weak spirit, I raised my head.

Kate: Uhm, but how will we be able to get into the gentlemen’s club? I’m pretty sure women are unable to enter, right...?

William: That won’t be a problem with Alfons’ ability.

W: He can easily make them believe those without membership are members of their club, just as he can also make them believe a woman for a man.

Kate: ! I see now...

Alfons: Oh, Miss Kate, there is no need to force yourself to do this.

His voice spoke right in my ear.

I didn’t even need to turn around to know Alfons was right beside me, his lips near me as he laughed.

Alfons: If you’re scared, you are more than free to go kill time at a nearby café. We can always touch base afterward then.

(I mean, he isn’t wrong in that I am scared, but...)

[1] I don’t want to run away.

[2] I have a responsibility.

[3] I want to help you. (+4 / +4)

Kate: Even if it’s just a little bit, I want to be of some help to you in solving this case.

K: So please, let me come along. I’ll catch the evidence together with you.

Alfons: I hold nothing but amazement at just how serious of a person you are...

William: Hehe, you’ve become a brave little robin, haven’t you?

Kate: Alfons, I look forward to working with you.

Alfons: ...Goodness, whatever am I to do with you.

His smile seemed somewhat troubled, with a hint of exasperation and tenderness, making my heart skip a beat——

(I don’t like him, I don’t like him.)

I chanted this over and over in my mind like a spell, driving away the sweet feelings bubbling in my heart.

Alfons: Well, since it cannot be helped, I’ll take you along.

A: Now isn’t this something to positively look forward to? An infiltration into enemy territory, just the two of us.

A: Just imagining what sorts of dangerous things we’ll run into has me giddy now.

And so, on a moonless night——

(...To think we really could get in without any trouble at all.)

At the reception, Alfons used his ability,

and when he said that we were members, we slipped into a hotel that was exclusive to members of the purification club.

In case something happened on the inside, Lord Elbert and Roger were outside on standby.

Kate: Alright, let’s go, Alfons.

As I stepped forward with resolve, he lightly tapped my shoulder, and...

Alfons: I must say men’s clothes suit you quite well, Miss Kate.

He then blew into my ear, as though teasing me.

Kate: W-what do you think you’re doing...

Right now, I was wearing a suit and pants, along with a thick overcoat to hide my figure.

And I had also tied my hair, tucking it in the overcoat, as a hat couldn’t fully conceal my long hair.

But if I got outed by anyone who wasn’t under the influence of his ability, the plan we came up with would be as good as gone.

(If I let out a cry or something, people might find out I’m a woman!)

Alfons: Hehe... you were so positively stiff as a stick out of nervousness, so I thought to help you loosen up a little.

Kate: Then can’t you do it in a less risky way!

Apparently, the word ‘tension’ just did not exist on any page in this man’s dictionary.

Kate: Do you even understand what we came here to do in the first place?

Alfons: But of course. We are to obtain proof that this club is responsible for the string of incidents. If we can pin down exactly who is behind this, that would be ideal.

A: But if we can get concrete evidence that they have given out orders to initiate these incidents, then the police can be dispatched.

A: In the event we are unable to do so, however, then we must set aside any lawful methods,

A: and opt for the veeryy bloody judgment from Crown instead... I suppose this sums it up?

Kate: Well, as long as you understand!

When he explained the plan without missing a beat, I was rendered at a loss for words.

Seeing me like this, Alfons mirthfully narrowed his eyes before straightening himself.

Alfons: Now that that’s sorted out——

A: How does having a drink sound?

Kate: Wha—? You do know this is a mission, right!?

He was heading toward the bar lounge, so in a panic I tried to stop him, when he turned back to me with a smile.

Alfons: Shh... of course, this is for the mission.

A: Whether in the big heap of rubbish of the slums, or in the neat and pristine high society, we humans all have one thing in common.

Kate: And that is...?

Alfons: Of course, that would be how loose-lipped we become when we consume alcohol.

to be continued…

I do look forward to it

I am most excited to do an infiltration investigation, just the two of us.

The possibility of being outed as a woman through your men’s attire and having to roleplay this and that for lascivious members in exchange for their silence...

Or perhaps opening the doors of a gentlemen’s club in name only, only to find obscene debauchery spread before your eyes...

I daresay it’s these sorts of absurd happenings that actually contribute to the fun. Would you not agree?

Ahh, but if there ever does come a time when you are struck with fear, you are always free to say ‘actually, I won’t accompany you any further.’ I won’t mind that at all, actually.

After all, there is not an ounce to gain from exposing yourself to the grotesque evils that lurk within England’s society or knowing the schemes of a serious murder case.

I do so reckon that relaxing at a café while enjoying a most delicious lemon drizzle cake would have been better suited for a little robin like yourself.

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sergeant-spoons · 2 years

Text

I Will Follow You ~ Pt III

Perrine Blomme (Perry Bloom)

Taglist: @thoughpoppiesblow @chaosklutz @wexhappyxfew @50svibes @tvserie-s-world @ask-you-what-sir @whovian45810 @brokennerdalert @holdingforgeneralhugs @claire-bear-1218 @heirsoflilith @itswormtrain @actualtrashpanda @wtrpxrks

Part 3/Finale of Follow Me, My Dear, And Know That Only I Will Follow You.

Plus a bonus epilogue!

Title comes from the song “Long Way Around” by The Sweeplings.

Apologies for the delayed update - this final part (+ the epilogue) clocks in at over 10k words.

Read it on AO3!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Easy Company departed Nuenen shortly after Bull and Victor's return. Rumbling away on their fewer transports and tanks, watching the smoke rising from a burning Eindhoven on the horizon, they sat and nibbled at rations or smoked, all in silence. By the time the sun found her midday perch, the mood of the company had lifted slightly. A few conversations had started up, though only among only the closest of friends, and Perry turned to try and find somebody to talk to. Garcia sat closest to her and proved her immediate choice, but he was staring up at the sky, a kind of hollowness in his eyes that made her wary to interrupt his thinking. She looked to Babe Heffron next, and he looked in turn to Bill Guarnere, who seemed pleased at the singling out. He started up a barebones game of craps just to pass the time, rolling the dice inside his upturned helmet so they wouldn't go flying off the transport with every bump in the road. The participants got a few ugly looks and a few kinder ones, too, but none seemed worth the bother. They just kept on playing.

Days passed, then weeks. It was in France, at that place known simply as 'the Island', that Perry found out she wasn't alone in her secret after all. 'Victor' Rich turned into Verity, and Perry clung to their sameness like it was the last chance she had of making it through the war alive. For the first time, she told someone what she thought she might be feeling for Joe Toye. Saying it aloud made it real, in a way. And in Perry's situation, truth was scary—truth made her vulnerable. Truth nipped at her heels as Easy paddled across the Rhine to rescue stranded British paratroopers and lost Lieutenant Heyliger to friendly fire and finally returned to Mourmelon-le-Grand for a bit of a breather with the rest of the 101st. As October turned to November, Perry (recently twenty-three) was getting antsier by the day. Verity was the first to notice, then Babe Heffron, and even Donald Malarkey, who she knew even less well than Skip Muck. By then, she knew the time had come for her to do something about her anxious heart before it got her killed.

A week into their stay at Mourmelon, Perry resolved to go to England and see Joe Toye face to face.

By the end of the month, she'd managed to secure for herself a four-day furlough, during which she intended to travel back across the English Channel and pay a visit to the hospital where Joe—restless, no doubt—was still recuperating. The little tugboat she took across the Channel puffed along slowly but surely, and she watched as the French coast diminished behind her, too nervous to look ahead to England. The seawater splashed up over the deck and Perry winced as it lashed, cold, against her ankles. She stopped on the docks and changed her socks before she went any further, but any sort of practicality was overshadowed by her guilt of stalling. She was finally here, wasn't she? Then why wasn't she getting a move on?

A kind of uncanny guilt kept her feet firmly affixed to the pier until a dockworker took her by the shoulders and moved her out of everybody's way. Embarrassed into making an exit, she kept her head down and moved quickly, skirting feet and crates and a few seagulls as she went. As her chin bowed further and further, her cap started to slip off her head, and when it finally fell, she fumbled to catch it. Her clumsy hot-potato-esque grabbing drew a few amused looks from English passersby, but this time, she didn't notice whatsoever. Standing there under a bulbless lamppost, her chin tilted steadily upwards as she took in the building at the end of the street. It was pale and broad and adorned with the largest stitched red cross Perry had ever laid eyes on. More jarring was that the place was twice as big as she'd expected, and then some. As she came closer, she saw there was a garden to the eastward side of the building, and that allowed her a bit of a smile.

Greenery was always good for healing the soul.

Little did she know that when she came around the side of the hospital and went into the gardens, Joseph Toye would be thinking the same thing, but for an entirely different reason. She came around a hedge and stopped in her tracks at once. It was hard to tell who saw who first, but Joe went as stiff as a statue and Perry had to look at his eyes in order to see him blink and reassure herself she wasn't imagining him standing not two yards away from her. He looked well. He was leaning on a statue as if he'd taken a moment to catch his breath, but he jumped up just as soon as he saw her as if she'd caught him in a state of leisure he shouldn't have dared enjoy.

Without knowing any better, she smiled.

"Joe."

Saying his name seemed to snap him out of whatever trance her sudden arrival had put him in. He balked and grabbed onto the statue to steady himself, and she started forward, concerned at his state of balance. But he shook his head and she stopped, easily understanding that he didn't want her to come any closer. She tilted her head, curious and a little hurt, but he just stared as if he didn't know what to say.

He stared because as soon as she'd turned that corner, her green eyes caught on his and his heart skipped a beat he could no longer ignore.

What she couldn't have possibly known was that ever since that night in Eindhoven, he'd been falling to pieces inside, thinking about Perry night and day, even at the times he shouldn't have. The hospital was boring to the point of annoyance, and his recovery was taking long enough that he'd started to snap at the nurses, who were still too nice to him even when he didn't deserve it. He'd started thinking about going AWOL these last few days just to get back to Easy, but he hadn't a clue how he'd manage it with his leg still stiff and achy as it was. The one main reason for him wanting to leave the hospital before he was ready was yet the same for him wanting to stay. And now that reason had appeared like a ghost summoned by the silent misery of his heart, come to England where she wasn't supposed to be, and when he looked into her green eyes, Joe panicked.

He panicked because they were a green he knew too well, a green he wasn't sure he could live without.

"Perry?" he asked, and she nodded, her faint smile growing a bit stronger.

"Yeah. Yeah, Joe, it's me." She laughed softly, a nervous thing, and it made him want to run away. "How're you doing?"

How was he doing? He wanted to tell her he was good—great, even—because it was her, but that's exactly why he couldn't. This was Perry Bloom, a man, who was making him feel all sorts of things he'd only ever felt with women, and now twice as strong. So forgive him for panicking a little—he felt as though he'd lost sight of himself, and fear like that is a bitter vice.

"Go away, Perry," he said, forcing himself to stand on his own although his leg trembled under the strain.

Watching that pretty face fall almost broke his shaken heart.

"What?"

"Leave me alone. Please."

"I-" She looked around as if she thought she might be dreaming. "I- I don't understand."

"I don't either."

It was the only honest thing he could really say to her at that moment, and it brought green eyes back upon him without any sort of warning or mercy. When he flinched, she saw it as clear as day.

"I thought we were friends."

He wanted to say so much but he didn't know how to make the words fit right, so he just turned and started to limp away. She hiccuped and he stalled.

He'd made her cry, hadn't he?

Shaken to the core, he left her there in the garden without looking back. She ran away crying and didn't stop for some time. Even as she wandered blindly around the streets of London, she cried, swiping at her cheeks with her sleeves until they were positively waterlogged. Eventually, she happened upon the inn where she'd meant to stay for the night. To her utmost thanks, the secretary at the front desk was sympathetic and didn't ask any questions about the tears still making tracks down the young soldier's face. She went upstairs to the room, turned the key in the lock, and shut herself away from the world. When she tried to look around inside but found everything was still wet and blurry, she gave up and sat down on the floor right there where she'd stood.

Leaning back against the bedframe, weepy and forlorn, she went over every second of that awful rejection in her mind, trying almost desperately to pinpoint her fatal mistake. Though she tried not to let it, every minute more thinking about Joe was tearing her up inside. What could she have possibly done so wrong? It had been nearly two months since they'd seen one another. Should she not have smiled? What didn't he understand? Had someone somewhere somehow found out about her by some cosmic stroke of wretched luck and let it slip to Joe? Every possibility seemed more outlandish than the last. She wished she could have called Victor or Babe or, hell, even Captain Winters, but she felt so low that she doubted anyone would have picked up, had they had a phone to answer at all.

At the hospital, a nurse came and found Joe a few minutes after Perry had left. She scolded him a bit, saying he shouldn't have gone out into the garden like that without somebody to make sure he got back alright. He almost told her that there had been somebody, but chances were that somebody would never walk at his side again. But he didn't tell her that. He couldn't. Instead, he limped along to the lunchroom, ate alone, and limped back to his sterile white bunk, and there he sat, silent, as the afternoon wore on and on. Just as he was readying to go to bed, having skipped supper, a different nurse tracked him down, and when he saw the bewilderment on her face, he knew Perry had been back. Indeed, the nurse passed him a note and told him it was from a soldier who said he was a friend of Joe's, a friend who would be heading back to his company much sooner than planned.

Joe's heart wrenched. He wasn't sure he could call Perry his friend any longer. The scary part was, he didn't want to—he wanted to drop the 'friend' and just call Perry 'his'.

Even scarier was the creeping suspicion that Perry just might feel the same.

He nearly crumpled up the note but stopped himself at the last second. Almost rebelliously, he unfolded the wrinkled paper and gave it a read.

Joe ~

I don't know what I did, but if you hate me for whatever it is, that's up to you. Maybe I deserve it. Either way, I've been keeping one hell of a secret from everybody and it's something you should really know about. Even if you never want to speak to me again, if we were ever friends, even for a minute, please let me tell you this one thing.

Find me once you're back with the company. I hope it isn't too long—

(For your leg's sake, not mine.)

P.B.

Joe ran his thumb across the paper and discovered that the spots that he'd first assumed to be natural blemishes were, in fact, damp to the touch. She'd been crying when she wrote this, and she didn't care if he knew it. Maybe she'd done it purposefully. He doubted it. There wasn't a vindictive bone in her body.

Or maybe there was, and he'd done enough harm to discover it.

Perry tried not to think of Joe on the boat back to France. The waves splashed and a few seagulls cried out to one another, and Perry watched the English coast grow smaller and smaller until her boots were back on solid ground and the little tugboat was long gone.

Twilight had fallen by the time she made it back to the Company the next day. Verity was puzzled by her early return and asked plenty of questions, but Perry wouldn't say a word about what had happened in England until Verity threatened to write to Joe herself. All Perry could think to say was that Joe hadn't wanted to see her. That quieted her friend into a kind of melancholic pity, and Perry shied away, escaping into the night. Babe found her before long and dragged her over to a makeshift firepit he and some of the other fellas had started up, and she stood there with them, warming her hands and wondering in silent grief:

How had it come to this?

Several weeks later brought a small high point in the matter of Verity's birthday, an event which culminated most unwelcomingly in the 101st's abrupt deployment to Belgium. The next day passed in a blur until Perry once again stood warming her hands at a firepit, now eyeing the woods ahead as her friends predicted what they'd find in there. Some joked, others were more serious, but all seemed a bit antsy to figure out exactly what they were doing here. Then the rows of battered soldiers began to march by, and they kept going for ages. The men began to speculate more darkly and Verity inched closer to Perry, protective. It didn't do much good. With every fallen face that passed her, Perry lost a little more hope.

Sergeant Lipton (who'd lit the fire this time around) tried to make small talk with the soldiers clustered within earshot, but few paid him any mind. Because Verity did, Perry did, too. Lip mentioned something about the forest and Perry mentioned that she knew the place. She'd never been, but her father had, long ago, and she was just about to tell him and Verity all about that 1912 camping trip when she heard singing and whipped about like her name had been called by the angels.

“I’ll be seeing you, in every lovely summer’s day…”

Verity immediately urged Perry to go to Joe, but she just couldn't seem to make her feet move. As her thoughts whirled and her heart thundered in her chest, all she could picture was the look of stunned distaste she feared she would find on Joe's face when she told him what she could no longer hide.

"I dunno if he’d be happy to see me," she told Verity (the understatement of the century), but her friend, opposed to her meekness, took her by the elbows and marched her all the way to the source of the singing.

There he was, gazing up at the night sky, his hands tucked nonchalantly in his pockets. He was standing in the shadows behind a truck, the shadows in which no one would find him unless they knew to come looking. As Perry inched toward him, he looked down and faltered, and she knew in a heartbeat that he'd picked the song because it would bring her to him. In that same heartbeat, all the resolve she'd had to tell him her secret came rushing back, and her steps became more assured, her strides steadier. She opened her mouth to try and speak, but before she could even start, he launched into a flurry of apology and uncertainty, disallowing her to get a word in edgewise. He was saying something about how he felt for her but she was so bewildered by the intensity and rambling nature of his speech that she couldn't make sense of it. His whole body was taut with emotional tension and fear, and Perry, blanking on what else she could possibly do, decided her best chance to get his attention was to grab his hand and place it palm-down upon her chest.

Doing so had her whole face aflame and her heart pounding so loud she was sure he could feel it against her ribcage, but watching the wheels turn in his head and the weight visibly lifting off his shoulders as it all clicked was worth it.

"Did you read my note?" she asked a bit lamely, letting go of his hand.

"I didn't get it," he breathed, and at her look of alarm, he shook his head. "Didn't understand it, I mean." He knocked on his head with a loose fist. "Not much up there, y'see?"

Perry, her eyes watering, threw her arms around him in a tight hug.

"Don't you talk like that," she grumbled into his chest. "You just got back, for Pete's sake. Have a little more faith in yourself or you'll be gone again in a week."

He softened, knowing she was probably right. Embracing her, he gave her a squeeze, a silent reassurance. After a quick glance around to check they weren't being watched, he dared to rest his chin on the top of her head. She sighed against his chest and it was heavenly, and for the first time, he wasn't afraid to believe in the way she made him feel.

"So you've prob'ly figured it out by now," she said once they stepped apart, "but I'm not a man."

"Yeah," he chuckled, running his hand through his dark hair. "Yeah, I get it now."

"Okay." She stuffed her hands into her pockets and pinched the inside corners, fidgety. "So?"

He blinked at her for a moment.

"... So?"

"So are you gonna... report me, or...?"

Before she'd even finished the flimsy question, he was shaking his head.

"Not my business to tell," he said, and her heart, already so full of love for him, made room for just a little more.

"Thank you," she said, and there was something in her quiet voice that hinted at what she really felt, but Joe blinked it away, labeling it wishful dreaming.

"C'mere, Lovely Summer."

He drew her back into a hug, and she settled into his arms as easily as if it were home. She felt a little thrill, relishing in the nickname, not knowing that it had never really been a tease, not really. It was a little funny at first, but as the days went on, the association of the pet name with Perry made it sweeter and truer. Since that night in Eindhoven when she fell asleep on him and he'd started to realize just how much he cared about her, he'd meant it in earnest.

"You sang because you knew I'd come," she murmured, smoothing her thumb over a wrinkle in his uniform, "didn't you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I did."

"Keep doing that," she said, straightening up and fixing her cap. She sounded so even-keeled, but even in the shadows, he could tell she was blushing something awful. But he understood, and if he'd been a man to blush, he might have been a little pink himself.

"When I want to see you as you," he agreed, "I'll sing."

"Not just any song," she pointed out. "Just 'I'll Be Seeing You'."

"Of course."

She giggled—actually giggled—and it made Joe happier than he'd been in months.

"Of course," she repeated. "Of course."

They didn't get a chance to talk like that for nearly a week. The entire Company was up to its knees in patrols and skirmishes—not to mention the snow. Foxholes were dug and campfires were banned and everyone got colder by the day until you couldn't shake a man's hand without the both of you trembling like a leaf. Perry and Joe had taken up residence in a foxhole for three, joined most nights by Johnny Martin. On the seventh night, Joe and Perry got back late from a patrol and found Martin fast asleep. They slipped into the hole as quietly as they could and settled in, side-by-side. Perry's jaw was so shaky from the cold that when she mumbled Joe's name, she stuttered on the 'J'. He frowned, wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and tugged her against his side.

"I should try to find us a blanket," he mumbled against the side of her head, pressing his lips there in what she hoped was a smile but could never be sure. "How're you holdin' up?"

"Well, it's cold." She snuggled a little closer to him. "I'm better now."

"Aww. Cute. Thanks."

"Oh, shush, you."

He smiled and closed his eyes. Perry looked at him for a moment, then tilted her head onto his shoulder and joined him, seeking rest.

"Perry?"

"Hmm?"

Joe cracked one eye to check that Martin was still asleep. He appeared to be, so Joe went on.

"What's it like, for you?"

"You mean as a...?"

"Yeah. That."

"Oh." Perry considered, lifting her head off his shoulder. "Well, gee, I dunno... Pretty much the same as anybody, I guess."

"But you're hiding all the time."

"Yeah. I guess that's the big difference, huh?" A weak chuckle. "It's not all that bad. Some things are harder than others. I can't shower with the group, of course. There's never any piece of the uniform that fits the way it's s'posed to, but then again, it doesn't fit half the men, either. And if people start noticing bloodstains on the sheets—when we had sheets, that is—they're gonna start asking questions, so that's always a bit... perilous, each month."

"'Perilous', huh?" Joe smirked. "I think you've been hangin' out with Rich too much."

Perry snorted. "What're you, jealous?"

He was quiet for a moment, then turned and nuzzled his face against her shoulder. Her face felt warm and for a moment, she feared frostbite only to realize she was blushing instead.

"A little."

"Well, don't be."

He looked at her, seeming a bit puzzled, and Perry couldn't help a giggle. She leaned in toward his ear and he shifted a bit closer to hear her whisper:

"You know Victor Rich?"

"'Course, I do. He's a Toccoa man."

"You mean a Toccoa woman."

Joe pulled back and gaped at Perry, and she shrugged, her smile fading a bit.

"What?"

"Jesus fucking Christ. I never would’ve-" He took his helmet off just to run his hand through his messy hair. "Well, shit."

"You can't say anything, though. Not a word."

"'Course not." He thought for a moment, then smirked. "So it's Rich and Roe, then, huh?"

Perry gasped and swatted his arm. "Shh! What'd I just say 'bout 'not a word'?"

"I won't, I won't," he reassured, smirking a little. "But hey, I gotta know..."

"Yeah," Perry sighed, unable to help a small smile. "You're spot on."

"Yesss," he hissed in victory, cuddling her a little closer, and Perry gave in to his embrace at once. Shivering in a cramped foxhole in the dead of night, what she felt for him was all-consuming. She'd known it forever but she just couldn't find it in her to tell him. She opened her mouth to ask if she was wrong, then, to feel so strongly yet unable to find the words, but Joe beat her to it.

"You got somethin' on your mind?"

"Maybe." She shrugged, just a little, so he would feel it against his cheek. "Nothing that important, though."

He kissed her shoulder and lifted his head, eyeing her with a small smile.

"C'mon. You can tell me."

"Ah, well..."

"Come on." He jostled her a bit and she giggled into her fist. "Tell me."

"Alright, alright. It's just..."

She took a deep breath and poorly stifled a wince to feel the frigid air pricking her lungs. Joe waited beside her, and Perry hoped he didn't realize she was looking anywhere but at him.

The last time I came close to telling you how I feel, you panicked and sent me away. I cried all day. I thought you hated me. I'm still afraid you DO hate me, just a little.

I can't face that rejection again, Joe. I can't. I'd fall to pieces, and then who knows what would happen to me out here in the woods?

So yeah. I can't tell you how I feel. And it's eating at me, day by day, but I just have to ignore it.

"Hey-" He bumped his shoulder against hers. "-what's going on in that head of yours? Let me in."

He asked too much of her, though he couldn't possibly know it.

"It's my family," she admitted in a rushed sigh. "I miss them. A lot."

Joe was quiet for a moment and she started to think he didn't believe her, but then he nudged at her arm until she laid her head on his shoulder again and settled his own head against hers.

"Yeah," he murmured, "I miss mine, too."

That was the end of that discussion. A few days passed. Perry hardly ever saw Joe, but no one would ever get her to admit it was by design. He was right, she did have something on her mind, but that something was entirely about him. He couldn't know. So she stayed away as she tried to come up with an excuse or a way to suppress her feelings even more than she already did. She wasn't having much luck. On the third day, Bill Guarnere tracked her down and told her to stop ghosting around like she was before she started looking like Lt. Dike. He didn't have to give a name for her to know Joe was looking for her. She capitulated, but before she could take a single step in the direction of their foxhole, the first shells started to hit and she had to run instead. A blast hit a tree not far behind her, and when she turned to look, her fear started to grow to realize Guarnere was no longer at her side.

"Crow! Hey! Hey!" She followed the call, a lifeline thrown by Babe Heffron from his foxhole. "Come on, get your ass down here!"

She sprinted for the pit of safety and threw herself in headfirst. Babe grabbed and righted her, and they huddled together, keeping their heads down until the barrage stopped. In the stillness that followed, Perry poked her head up above the rim of the foxhole despite Babe's protests and peered across the forest until she saw Bill's unmistakable limping form crossing the snow toward them.

"You alright, Sarge?"

"Fuckin' fantastic," he called back, grimacing; when Babe popped his head up next to Perry's, he grunted. "Watch it, Babe. This ain't over with."

"Yeah? You think?"

"Yeah."

"Alright."

Perry hauled herself out of the foxhole and let Bill take her place. He grabbed her sleeve and made her stop so he could ask:

"Where the fuck are you goin'?"

"To find Joe. I'll see you in a bit."

"Be careful," Babe said at the same time as Bill warned, "Don't stop movin', kid, that's how they getcha."

"I will. I won't."

She was a bit shaken, her heart still pounding away in her chest from the adrenaline of having been caught out in the open. It was a terrifying business, shellings. It all came down to mad luck, in the end, who got hit and who didn't. As she wandered, she looked for Joe and felt better as soon as she found him singing their song, looking for her.

"Jesus," he swore, "the hell are you doin' out here?"

"It's my hands, Joe," she mumbled lamely, showing him. "They're so cold."

He brought her away from the line and led the way to their foxhole, worriedly eyeing her hands as they walked. They arrived and Perry slipped into the foxhole without question, nodding as Joe instructed her to get down and stay down. When he got up to leave, however, she impulsively grabbed his sleeve, and he paused.

"What?"

He had the stars in his eyes and she didn't think she could bear it if he left her now.

"Stay with me a little longer?"

He did. Night fell quickly but Sergeant Martin did not appear. The longer they were alone, the shorter Perry's resolve became. Joe had tucked her against him just as soon as he'd sat down beside her, but then they blinked and it was truly dark out, and something shifted. They crowded one another like never before. Joe snuck his hands into Perry's pockets and wrapped his fingers around hers. She gasped, feeling the usual butterflies in her stomach kick it up into high gear. Joe just smiled.

"For warmth," he said, and she wouldn't argue with that.

Still, it wasn't enough, and they kept on snuggling closer and closer until Perry dared to turn and straddle his lap. He drew in a deep breath and she had to duck her head to hide her smile.

"For warmth," she mumbled, pressing her face against his scarved neck.

Thankfully, reassuringly, Joe hummed his approval against her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her. She nestled into his embrace, tucking her hands between their bodies to try and warm them up. They kept on shaking and shaking, and when Joe let go of Perry, she thought she might have gotten too close and panicked. She started to move off of him, but he grabbed her hands and kept her close, and as she watched, he lifted her fingers to his mouth and kissed each one before taking her hands and rubbing them between his own to stimulate heat.

"For warmth," he repeated, and she nodded.

"Thanks."

It was only a whisper, but he'd heard it nevertheless, and he slowed, then stopped. He let her hands fall back between them, but this time, she placed her palms flat against his chest. He sucked in a breath and when she exhaled, it came out all shaky. They inched closer, bit by bit, and there came a point where they could either let go or take the leap. Perry could feel Joe's breath on her upper lip the moment before he kissed her, slow and syrupy and everything she'd been waiting for.

"For warmth," he whispered when he drew back, but he was staring at her lips, and before she could lose the nerve, she leaned back in. In one fluid motion, she stuffed her fingers into the loose folds of Joe's scarf, cupped his face in her hands, and brought his lips back to hers. He hummed happily into her mouth and she kissed him like they might never have tomorrow. He wrapped his arms around her tight and reciprocated before deepening the kiss, his tongue grazing her bottom lip. She let him in with a whimpering sigh, and he held her even closer. His lips found their way down the side of her neck, and she gripped his scarf, tilting her head to give him better access.

"Warmer?" he mumbled as he nipped at her skin.

"Much."

They fell asleep like that, with Perry on Joe's lap, their lips a little raw and their arms squeezing each other tight to keep ahold of the dream. Warm and content, they dozed, but it wasn't to last. When Perry awoke the next morning, her hands had gone stiff and hot, and Joe dragged her over to Sergeant Lipton before she could even say "good morning". Lip scolded her for how she'd caught the frostbite ("You should have known better than to shovel snow with your bare hand") and sent her to Doc Roe without delay. Joe walked her there, holding her arm instead of her hands so she could keep them in her pockets. He kissed the top of her head when Roe's back was turned and whispered in her ear that he'd see her soon, and though it hurt, she made sure to wave as the truck drove away.

The day Joe Toye lost his leg was the day Perry hated the war the most.

In retrospect, she couldn't remember much of that time, just snippets of misery and terror and grief—kneeling in the blood-soaked snow, staring at Joe's twitching stump of a leg, pleading with God to let this all be a nightmare until Joe grabbed her hand and she knew it was real. She could, however, remember what he'd said to her before he went. For the rest of her life, that conversation would sound through her head, as clear as any tolling bell.

“You gotta hold your- Gotta hold your head up, okay?”

“Joe- God, I don’t know if I can-”

“I’ll be seeing you."

“You promise?”

“In- in every lovely summer’s day.”

The rest of the war was a messy blur of Foy and Haguenau and Mourmelon-le-Grand—then a brief spot of clarity at Landsberg—and Thalem and Berchtesgaden and, finally, Austria. Perry missed Joe every minute of every day, and every day, her heart broke anew to know she'd never told him what she should have before he went. It nearly ruined her, once, thinking about him off in that English hospital with the garden outside his window in full bloom as Spring turned into Summer. He wouldn't be able to go out walking there for a long time, if ever. Verity found her drunk and sobbing far away from the others the night they found out the Germans had surrendered. She took her up to the party and made her dance to the music from the radio until she was delirious with laughter and fell asleep on one of Verity's shoulders while Doc Roe took to the other.

She couldn't have known that while she was missing Joe all across Europe, he was trying his hardest not to think about her through weeks and weeks in a hospital bed. What could have been haunted his every waking moment, and he hated himself for having hoped. When Perry missed him in Haguenau, he hated himself in the hospital in England with the garden still dreary and devoid of green after the harsh winter. When she missed him in Berchtesgaden, crying in the corner, he hated himself on the hospital ship back to the States. When she missed him in Austria, he hated himself, sitting in the living room of his parents' house, back home in Pennsylvania before she could even imagine returning to California. He hated himself because he'd convinced himself he'd lost everything that day—his leg, his dignity, his girl. He'd never even told her he loved her, for God's sake, and now she was off in Europe with the rest of them, kissing somebody with both their legs and a chest full of medals to boot. These were the visions he tortured himself with in the dead of night, sleepless and in more pain than from just his leg. He'd become a bitter man and he hated himself even more for it.

And then a letter came—a letter from Eugene Roe, of all people. Joe didn't know what to make of it and so left it sitting on his bedside table for almost a week. When he finally worked up the nerve to open it and saw Perry's name in the first sentence, he put it down and didn't pick it back up until his mother told him he was being stupid. As he'd expected, Roe had news, but to Joe's surprise (and relief), the news wasn't about somebody dying. Perry was alive. Perry was doing fine. Perry had earned enough points to go back to California and was already on her way. Roe, God bless him, had found out Perry's mailing address from Verity Rich and enclosed it at the bottom of the letter. Joe stared at it for what felt like an hour though he'd memorized the number for the P.O. box within the first minute. Little by little, the shell of bitterness and grief he'd been carrying around for so long started to wear away. He knew what it meant, that address, and why Roe had enclosed it. It meant Perry hadn't forgotten about him. It meant Perry still talked about him.

It meant Perry was within reach.

Joe spent the rest of the morning writing back, and by the time he was done, there were pages and pages to be stuffed into one small envelope. He wanted to know everything—how was everybody? What had gone down in his absence? Most of all, how had Perry been getting along? All of a sudden, he was back to loving and thinking things through and wondering how his buddies were getting along without him. The resentment was gone. He still felt a sting when he thought about Perry, but the hate was gone, hope taking its place. Roe's reply took some time to arrive, but when it did, it was even longer than Joe's, and he knew the medic had taken the time necessary to find the answer to every single one of Joe's questions. He spent days pouring over the contents, reading the letter over and over until it started to wear and tear at the creases. He learned all about Rachamps and Haguenau and Berchtesgaden and Austria. He found out that Perry had been promoted to sergeant and felt the flame of pride spark inside his chest. He wished he could have been there to take the Eagle's Nest but was pleased to hear a toast had been made in his and Bill's honor with the finest of Hitler's champagne.

And all the while, he wondered what he would say when he finally sat down and wrote that letter to Perry.

It was inevitable. He'd have to write to her. Even if she told him she'd gotten married to God-knows-who in Austria and they'd honeymooned in Paris and now they were both back in California making babies, he needed to know. He couldn't live his life without knowing her. He wouldn't.

Still, he put it off. He was scared. He didn't think his writing was all that good, didn't think it would be enough to convey all he needed it to. What if he said something that dissuaded her from writing back? What if he implied something too quickly and made her balk away from his too-obvious, too-gripping love? What if she really had found somebody else?

Another letter came before he'd made up his mind, posted from Victor Rich (now also sergeant) but signed simply 'V'. It was brief but invaluable to Joe. Verity, of course, had been writing back and forth with Perry since the minute she left Austria. Joe trusted that Verity knew Perry almost as well as she knew herself, which was why he believed her when Verity said Perry had never stopped loving Joe. She was leaving Austria now, too, now that the war was fully over and no one would be going to the Pacific unless it was on vacation. Verity warned Joe he'd better not write back to her until he'd written to Perry. Though he usually wouldn't like being told what to do like that, he appreciated it this time around. She was pushing him to do the right thing. Still, he couldn't help but wonder why Perry herself hadn't written, but Verity answered that question too:

She's dealing with a court case right now, trying to keep her family together. It's a nightmare, Joe, and she's been so busy I only hear from her every other week. She told me she wants to write to you, but she's scared you won't want to hear from her. I told her that's bullshit but I don't know if she'll listen to me. You will. You know better than to let her slip away like that. Don't you?

He did.

Perry got the letter three days after Halloween. The verdict had come back that same morning: Clyde was a free man. Free from his mother, anyhow. Sacramento was looking ready for a nice, balmy Autumn, with the breeze sweeping inland from the ocean down by San Fransisco. Forks, Washington was behind them; a Californian future ahead. The court case was over, and the cherry on top was the letter sitting nice and neat in her P.O. box, the name scribbled in the upper lefthand corner already enough to make her heart go all-pitter-patter with anticipation. She tore it open as soon as she got back inside but had hardly started to read when her brother asked who it was from. She paused and looked up, and it was the not knowing what to say that gave her an answer.

"Well, Clyde," she admitted, "I'm not entirely sure."

He rolled around the side of the breakfast table, munching on a muffin from the Blomme's favorite bakery in town, and picked up the envelope.

"'Joseph Toye'," he read aloud. "Oh, it's him."

Perry was so astounded that she stopped where she stood. Clyde gave her a knowing look, and she folded the letter up and sat down in the chair beside him.

"What? How did you...?"

"You say his name in your sleep, sometimes," he told her. "It's only ever him. I mean, you talk about your friends to me, like Verity and Babe Heffron and George Luz, but whenever you get to thinking about this one guy, you go quiet." He shrugged. "It didn't take all that long for me to put the pieces together."

"Huh." She patted the letter on the table, a bit embarrassed. "Well, if you're so smart, what do you think he's got to say to me?"

Clyde raised his hand and started to tick off on his fingers.

"That he misses you. That he's meant to write but it's been hard since he got hit. That he loves you-"

"Woah, woah, woah." Perry went pink. "Why would he-"

"Because you love him, don't you?" Clyde smiled as he broke off a piece of his muffin and offered it to her. "He did write to you, after all, Nell. Hard to imagine he doesn't feel the same."

After a moment's hesitation, she took the gift and wrapped her arms around her brother in a hug.

"You're right," she said, giving him a grateful squeeze. "I do love him. Maybe he does love me, too."

She read the letter. It was exactly what she'd hoped for, but it still managed to fill her with such anxious energy that once she started pacing, it took her ages to stop. Eventually, she picked up the phone and called Verity over on the East Coast. Her friend reiterated what Clyde had said almost word-for-word. She was right, of course—Joe had called her 'Lovely Summer' in the letter. Five times. She’d counted. When they hung up, Perry looked at the phone in its receiver, took a deep breath, and turned around to start that letter. Clyde was already there behind her, holding out a pen and a few sheets of lined paper.

"If you start pacing again instead of writing him back," he said, a smirk playing on the edge of his mouth, "I will put you on a train to Pennsylvania this very minute, so-help-me-God."

Perry took the pen and the paper, eyeing him in awe for the second time that morning.

"How did you...?"

"His address is on the outside of the envelope, silly. Speaking of-" He produced it from the pocket of his jacket, the letter tucked inside. "-I checked out the San Fransisco timetables while you were on the phone, and it looks like there's a three-day overnight that ends up in Wilkes-Barre, so-"

"Point taken. I'll go write him now."

Her brother shrugged, following her down the hall.

"Hey, I'm just saying—you could be there by Saturday if you wanted."

In the doorway to her bedroom, Perry hesitated, then turned back over her shoulder to face her helpful, meddlesome brother.

"When did you say that train leaves again?"

"I didn't." He grinned. "3:10 in the afternoon on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays."

"Right." Perry swallowed thickly against her nerves. "Thanks."

"Yeah, yeah, anytime." He patted the doorframe. "And Nellie-"

"Yeah?"

"Good luck."

She'd expected the letter to be a challenge, but once she got started (just like with her pacing), she couldn't stop. She had to get up twice to get more paper, she just had so much to say. She wasn't sure how much he knew about what had happened with the Company since his departure, so she wanted to tell him everything—well, everything that wouldn't break his heart. She told him all about the trial and how glad she was for it to be over and that she was sorry she hadn't written sooner. She told him how much she'd missed him these last nine months and that she hoped he wouldn't mind her telling him something she should have told him years ago. When she finally penned those three words and all the reasons for them afterward, it felt as if a heavy fur coat she'd worn since January 3rd had finally slipped off her shoulders. She felt freer as she slipped the thick envelope into the P.O. box and walked home with a slight spring in her step. Clyde met her outside with a basketball in his lap, and they tossed it back and forth, talking about nothing in particular and feeling twice as good because of it.

Perry was going to get on the train. She really was. She just needed to hear back from Joe first. If he didn't want her the way she wanted him, well, then, she wouldn't go, simple as that. She'd just stay at home and let her heart break and wonder how she could have thought those kisses in a bleak winter could mean something beyond the war. The days passed, and the longer she waited, the antsier she became. Clyde did his best to keep her occupied, having her take him to the pictures and help build his model boats and read through pamphlets for California State at Sacramento, his dream school. Perry didn't mind. She loved her brother and wanted nothing but to make him happy. He was a good kid getting close to becoming a good man. Where had the years gone? The war had taken her away for just one, but just one was still one too much. She'd been away from Joe for almost a year now, too. She wasn't sure which was worse. But she was going to get on the train, she really was.

In the end, Joe—marvelous, unconquerable, would-go-to-the-ends-of-the-earth-for-the-people-he-loved Joe—beat her to it.

He showed up on her doorstep two weeks and a day after Clyde rolled out of court for the last time, his sister on one side and his father on the other. He was the one to open the door. Joe hadn't been expecting a kid with sandy blonde hair and a basketball in his lap. He cleared his throat and offered an awkward, brief smile. Just as Joe was starting to think he'd knocked on the wrong door, the kid stopped studying his face and offered up the basketball.

"D'you play?"

Joe glanced down at his leg.

"Not anymore, I reckon."

The boy shrugged. "I play, and I haven't got either leg."

A smile crept onto Joe's face, and the kid broke out in a grin. He rolled himself into the house backward and waved for Joe to come in, but the unexpected visitor hesitated on the threshold. Instead, he leaned on the doorframe and listened as a conversation took place down the hall of the single-story home.

"Hey, Nell."

"Hey, what's up? You wanna play?"

"Maybe later."

Joe heard a chair scrape back and a person stand. With his heart in his throat, he tried to make himself appear relaxed as he leaned on the doorframe. At the last second, he changed his mind and went back to his crutch, wobbling a little at the abrupt shift in balance.

"Something wrong?"

"Nah. You should probably go check the door, though."

"Mail's here? Already?"

"Eh..."

The young man in the wheelchair rolled back a few feet and nodded toward the end of the hall.

"Not exactly."

She appeared in the hallway, then, looking curiously at her brother, and Joe felt it all come rushing back, everything he'd missed about her. She looked good. She was wearing a green wraparound dress with white polka dots, and he could tell she'd been growing her hair out. When she looked up, she tucked a few locks behind her ear to see him better before she even realized who he was. It didn't take her long—no more than a second, really. She visibly jolted where she stood. Her brother couldn't stop grinning behind her. It was almost enough to make Joe laugh. He started to smile, and just as he crutched that first step over the threshold, Perry lurched into motion. She practically dove down the hallway, racing to meet him there, but when she collided with him in a hug, she was careful to lean back the way she'd come so she didn't knock him off-balance. It was that one little thoughtful thing that gave him the confidence to kiss her neck.

"Hey, Lovely Summer," he murmured against her skin. "Hey. Good to see you, too."

"Joe," she gasped, "oh, Joe."

Perry started to shake. He lifted his head and looked her in the eye. Balancing on his crutch, he reached up and cupped her cheek in his free hand.

"You never wrote me back," she whimpered, starting to cry, and he shook his head, smiling despite it all.

"Oh, I did." He chuckled. "I just got here first."

She threw herself back into his embrace and held him tight.

"God, I love you."

She went still, then, as she realized what she'd said. She started to pull back, but Joe didn't let her go far. He could see the fear and uncertainty in her eyes and knew it was high time he remedied that.

"No more waiting," he swore, tenderly smoothing his thumb over her cheek. "I'm here, now."

"Joe?"

He pressed his lips to hers, keeping to his promise. She stumbled and almost fell over, and in doing so, nearly took him with her. They broke apart in laughter, but it felt out of place and so petered out too soon. Joe kissed her again, firmer this time, and it was when she eagerly reciprocated that he knew he was home.

"Hey," he said once they broke apart, kissing her nose just to see her smile, "guess what?"

"What?"

"I love you, too."

Her eyes were all watery again, and when the tears began to fall, Joe was there to wipe them away. Perry clung to him and wept, touching his arms and his chest and his waist as if making sure he was really here, really alive, really come back to her. Clyde rolled up behind her and bumped the wheel of his chair against her foot. She turned over her shoulder without letting go of Joe, and when he saw her all weepy-like, he patted the back of her knee.

"There, there," he said. "He's not going anywhere. Right, Joseph?"

Joe gave a start. "How'd you...?"

Perry gave a teary, hiccuping laugh.

"Apparently, I talk about you in my sleep," she admitted, and Joe positively melted.

"Cute," he said as he smoothed his hand up and down her arm. "Can't wait to hear all that."

As Perry went red, her brother laughed. He inched to the side and offered his hand for Joe to shake.

"I'm Clyde," he introduced himself, "Perrine's brother."

"Joe." He smirked. "Though I guess you knew that already."

"Yeah." Clyde gave a small smile. "Hey, Nell?"

She turned around to face him, evidently very pleased at how Joe tucked her against his side with his arm around her back, his hand resting familiarly on her hip. Perry smiled and reached down to ruffle her brother's hair.

"Yeah, Clyde?"

He swatted her hand away, still grinning. "Think I could be the ringbearer?"

Perry laughed. Joe went still, his hand freezing in his pocket where he'd been fingering a very particular box. Clyde pouted until Perry took his hand, squeezed it, and told him:

"Not the ringbearer," she informed him. "You'll be my man of honor."

Clyde brightened up significantly, hitting his fisted hand with his other open palm to emphasize his victory. Perry grinned and turned back to Joe but faltered, catching his hand in his pocket.

"Joe?"

"I'll do you one better, kid," he rasped, looking at Clyde. "You can be both. Catch."

He withdrew and tossed the little box in one motion. Clyde, star basketball player that he was, had no problem snatching it out of the air. He took one look at it and started to laugh in awe. Perry just gaped. After a moment, she turned back to look at Joe, who shrugged, unable to keep a nervous smile off his face.

"I was kinda hoping my letter would make it here 'fore I did."

"Why's that?" she breathed, glancing between an anxious Joe and her gleeful brother. "Joe, tell me why."

"Because," he breathed, watching her lips move, entranced, "I said I had a very important question to ask you once I got here."

"Ask it," she pleaded, and Clyde held up the box, nodding right along with his sister. "Ask it, please."

He took the box from Clyde, who then backed up several feet and swung halfway into the kitchen but kept watching around the corner, leaning so far forward he came close to falling out of his chair altogether. Joe crutched a step back from Perry, making sure he could see her whole face clearly before he began, and his smile turned a bit apologetic.

"I can't kneel-"

"Then don't." She rubbed her hands together and he realized she was just as apprehensive as he was. "Just look me in the eye and tell me you love me one more time."

That eased his nerves a bit. She wasn't asking anything of him he wouldn't have already done. Of course, she wasn't. She knew him, and he knew her, and that's why this didn't have to wait.

"Perry," he said, his voice low but plenty loud enough for her to hear, "I love you. I've loved you for more than a year, and I know I'll love you for a lifetime. And so I'm hoping, maybe you'll let me."

Even though she knew it was coming, she still squeaked when he opened the little box and showed her the ring he'd picked to promise her forever.

"I love you," he vowed, his voice dropping nearly to a whisper as a single tear crept down his cheek. "Will you marry me?"

"Yes," she wept, giving him her left hand as the other came up to cover her mouth. "Yes, yes, yes."

Clyde whooped. Joe wanted to pick Perry up and twirl her around, he felt so high, but he knew he couldn't, so he settled for slipping the ring onto her finger and drawing her into his arms. They shared a kiss or two and started laughing all over again, and this time, they didn't stop, knowing they had all the time in the world to make up for the war.

This seemed like a good start.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

April 4th, 1954

This wing of the hospital was blessedly quiet. The sunshine of early afternoon slipped through the windows and gleamed in thin lines across the painted floor tiles of the recovery room. Joe sat on a stool at Perry's bedside, his hands clasped together as if in prayer. The door clicked shut as the nurse left to give the couple some time alone. Perry raised her chin up off her pillow and pouted at Joe, wanting a kiss. He complied, then sat back, stroking her tangled hair. His gaze slipped toward the bundle resting upon her chest, and she smiled.

"About time we got to meet her, huh?"

Joe nodded, his brow creased in wonder.

"She's beautiful," he breathed, the tears in his eyes choking up his voice. "She's ours."

Perry reached out and took his hand. She looked down at the little bundle of joy sleeping on her chest, her tiny little cheek pressed to her mother's skin, and sighed fondly.

"She is," she agreed. "She's got your nose, see? And she smiles when she sleeps the same way you do."

When Joe didn't respond, she looked up and discovered he'd started to cry.

"Oh, honey..." She squeezed his hand. "Everything's okay. I'm okay. She's okay. You're okay. We're all okay."

"I love you," he wept, bringing her hand up to his mouth to kiss it over and over. "You're incredible."

He looked at the babe and carefully leaned down to kiss her on the top of her little head.

"I love you, too," he told her, whispering so as not to wake her. "I love you, little Mabel."

They sat in a comfortable, loving silence for a time, a family of three, at peace at last. Eventually, Perry squeezed Joe's hand and gave a slow nod.

"I'm ready," she told him. "Would you go get them?"

"Sure." He pecked her cheek and stood, tucking his crutch under his arm. "Be right back."

Clyde rolled in first. He was already smiling, but when he saw his sister and newborn niece, he completely lit up.

"Wow, Nell," he said softly, reverently admiring the sleeping babe. "You've really done it all now."

"Isn't she just perfect?"

"She is." His smile grew the longer he looked. "Oh, I'm going to spoil her rotten."

"As am I," Verity chimed in, smiling fondly at her friends as she followed Joe into the room, shutting the door behind her. "How are you holding up, Perry?"

"Better than ever, Red. How're the kids?"

"Gene's keepin' 'em busy in the lobby. Maddie's infatuated with her princess coloring book and Nicky's got his letter blocks." Verity rubbed her visibly-pregnant stomach. "Number three figured out recently how much fun it is to kick me right in the bladder."

Perry laughed gently, her eyes twinkling with some warm hidden knowledge. After a beat, she turned to her husband.

"Should we tell her now?"

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He nodded, and his wife waved for Verity to come closer.

"We've named her Mabel Rodezus Blomme-Toye."

Verity beamed and put her hands together, none the wiser. Clyde, however, went still and looked at his sister, wide-eyed.

"I love it. A beautiful name for a beautiful baby."

Clyde gave a soft whistle, recovering from his initial shock. He reached over to Verity and tugged on her sleeve. She quirked her head at him and dropped her hands, her smile fading.

"What?"

"'Rodezus'," he translated for her. "It's Dutch. Means 'red sister'."

Slowly at first and then far quicker, Verity's expression began to transform. She took a deep, shaky breath and started to cry. Joe came over, gently took her hand, and guided her over to Perry's bedside, allowing her to clasp his wife's hand between her trembling fingers.

"You're as good as my sister," Perry reminded her, tearing up just the same, "and I love you." She brushed her thumb over her daughter's swaddled body. "She will, too."

"I love you, too," Verity wept. "You're an angel, you are."

Perry just smiled, tired but happy as could be. Her friend turned to look at the rise and fall of the newborn's chest, smiling through her tears.

"Hello, little Mabel," she whispered. "You're gonna be so happy, you know that? You're gonna be such a happy little girl, with parents like these."

She looked at Perry and then Joe, wiping the tears from her eyes though they just kept on coming.

"You've got two of the best people in the world looking out for you." She bumped her hip against Clyde's wheelchair. "Make that three."

"Make that four," he corrected, rolling up beside Joe's chair. The two men shared a warm smile. Verity's cheeks pinkened a little, and though her laugh was weak, it was full of gratitude and devotion. The four of them—mother, father, uncle, and namesake—sat around that hospital bed and breathed in life, holding hands and smiling a thousand blessings upon little Mabel, who slept and slept and knew she was loved.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Read Pt I here. Read Pt II here.

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