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So… What was supposed to be a much shorter prompt for Captain Renault developed a mind of its own and became a crossover prompt/story the length of a novella. Whoops. But I regret nothing. It’s a fitting end before I take a long break from Casablanca to focus on other movies! Don’t fret though! I’m not gonna stop writing for Louis Renault entirely, just any future prompts he’ll be in will be crossovers while I dip into other Claude Rains characters! This is part 1 of 3! Buckle up because this is my attempt at a slow burn and told through a partial epistolary format. Not every plot point is told in chronological order. The narrative mostly takes place in the past but occasionally jumps around with flash forwards and flashbacks interspersed.

Content warning: Majority of this story/prompt takes you through a fictionalized portrayal of World War I and some aftermath, neither of which are depicted in a way that would get approved under the Hays Code. World War II is also discussed, but not in nearly as great of detail because I was running out of steam. It will get dark and heavy at points, but there will be light at the end of the tunnel. I promise. That being said, this story/prompt contains mentions and depictions of adultery, violence (the kind of violence that comes with war but also a Claude character beats another Claude character with a blunt object in part 2) death, murder, verbal/domestic abuse, threats, blackmail, sickness, trauma, depression, pregnancy. Dead Dove Do Not Eat. There might be more that I’m forgetting. Pls tag me if you’re inspired by any of this and I’d love to read it! ⚕️🤍

You’re enjoying a quiet day at home with your husband and daughter when she finds old photos from your time during World War I and World War II. Neither you nor your husband have looked at these photos in what feels like ages. She asks, more like begs, for you to tell her about what it was like for you during those time periods. You’ve told her abridged versions before, but you thought it’d be too long and boring for her when she was growing up and kept it limited to only the parts that were appropriate for a child to hear. She’s an adult and old enough to appreciate it now, so you and your husband decide to finally tell her the entire story.

The increased militarization of Europe and the lack of negotiations between major powers led to harsh and rash actions taken by both sides in respect to Alsace-Lorraine during World War I. As soon as war was declared, both the French and German authorities used the inhabitants of Alsace-Lorraine as propaganda pawns. Germans living in France were arrested and placed into camps by French authorities. German authorities developed policies aimed at reducing the influence of the French. In Metz, French street names, which had been displayed in French and German, were suppressed in January 1915. Six months later, on 15 July 1915, German became the only official language in the region, leading to the Germanization of the towns' names effective 2 September 1915. Prohibiting the speaking of French in public further increased the exasperation of some of the natives, who were long accustomed to mixing their conversation with French language. Still, the use even of one word, as innocent as "bonjour", could incur a fine. Although the both of you were posted outside of Alsace-Lorraine, you were all too aware of the tensions that were rising between the Germans and the French, fueled by hate and fear. It wasn’t just the Alsace-Lorraine region that was affected, it was happening in other places all across Europe.

You tell your daughter that, while all this history may seem irrelevant at first, it’s important that you properly set the stage so she can fully grasp the seriousness of your situation. You, a German woman, and your husband, a Frenchman, befriended each other and later fell in love. That may seem inconsequential now, but back then, it was anything but.

Had it been like it was in the “old days” before Florence Nightingale, countless of otherwise perfectly strong and healthy men would’ve died. Back in those days, hygiene was neglected, medicines were in short supply, there was no equipment to process food for the patients, and poor care was being delivered to wounded soldiers by overworked medical staff in the face of official indifference. With overcrowding, defective sewers and lack of ventilation, ten times more soldiers died from illnesses such as typhus, typhoid, cholera, and dysentery than from battle wounds. Mass infections were common, many of them fatal.

But the First World War represented a turning point in the history of war and medicine. For the first time in a major modern conflict, doctors were able not just to treat and save the lives of hundreds of thousands of sick and wounded military personnel, they managed also to make unprecedented numbers of injured and diseased soldiers fit enough to return to the front lines to fight again. This was in part thanks to important developments in surgery and medical science – particularly advances in wound management, fracture and nerve injury treatment, bacteriology and immunology. But it was also the result of a gradual revolution in the organization and administration of wartime medical care – something to which most governments and armed forces were by now giving a great deal of attention.

Despite the many, many improvements since Nightingale’s time, your hospital wasn’t perfect nor were the people working there infallible. The working conditions for nurses overseas were generally poor. Typically, nurses had to adjust to many things that were uncomfortable or limited their ability to provide care. Long hours (14- to 18-hour shifts), extreme cold, and poor weather conditions were just a few of the adjustments that needed to be made, along with seeing and treating severe and often horrifying injuries with minimal equipment. Though considerably less, your hospital still had the occasional case of negligence on the ward. It was your duty and your mission to make sure that everything was kept clean and procedures were conducted in the correct manner to prevent infection. Your goal was to make sure that all the patients were comfortable and recovered quickly. Your passion was to look after people and to make them well again, and laziness you couldn’t abide. You had a duty to stamp out any traces of negligence and to intervene at the first sign something was wrong. Anything from an overworked nurse to a lookalike medication or patients with the same name mixup, you and your sisters on the ward all had a responsibility to watch each other’s backs and do everything in your power to prevent easy mistakes from being made before they became fatal mistakes.

You first met Louis Renault in November 1915. He had been posted abroad with the French Army and fractured his right leg below the knee during his service. He was sent to the hospital you worked at for medical treatment and put under your charge. At the time, the both of you were already married to other people. You were estranged from your husband. Louis, in contrast, was content in his marriage. He at least had a spouse who cared enough to write to him and loved her enough to write her back. He thought she was the love of his life.

You show your daughter one of the old journals belonging to Louis, in which he meticulously logged his major life events. You flip to the page where he wrote of his engagement, as this could be considered the very beginning of what would later become your love story. The ink is faded in spots, but still legible.

19 March 1912

Today is a day to celebrate! At long last, the woman I love has agreed to give me her hand in marriage. I must begin preparing for her arrival at once! I'll gladly change every fixture and fitting in the house so that she feels at ease. I'm also commissioning a special dress to be made for her. She's going to look stunning in it. I just know it.

When war was first declared in 1914, the reality of the situation didn’t immediately sink in for Louis. He knew that he was eligible for service and there was a high chance his name would be selected from the local ballot. He knew that he had only hours left to spend with Madeleine, his young wife, before he was forced to leave her behind to hold down the fort on the home front. But he kept these thoughts to himself and spent as much time as he could with her, hardly letting her out of his sight or out of his embrace for even a second. He doted on her, spoiled her, nearly smothered her in his affections and made love to her almost every day like he normally would.

The romantic that he was, he played his role and happily fulfilled his husbandly duties at home…until he received his conscription notice and couldn’t play pretend anymore. A single sheet of paper held so much weight. It forced him to face the reality that he had another duty, a duty to his country. After he was shipped out, he looked back on those last days spent with Madeleine and came to the realization that he made love to her and acted in a way indicative of how a man would if he was uncertain whether he’d survive or not. He never wanted it to be goodbye sex with her but there he was, subconsciously trying to use his body language to say goodbye without using words, in case he came home in a wooden box or didn’t come home at all.

The separation was extremely hard for the both of them. He missed his wife terribly, so much so that he nearly became physically ill from homesickness. She became lonely and wasn’t the same vibrant young woman that he once knew. He could tell this just by the change in the tone of her letters. The way she wrote, the words she used. In the years that followed, she became much more withdrawn and depressed. He did everything he could to comfort her and be there for her, but he couldn’t just abandon his post and she knew that. But phone calls and letters simply weren’t enough for her. Their marriage ultimately became much more subdued In the long run.

Your husband hadn’t bothered to write since you first began your training, citing that he had to go to Mexico on business then back to America. Before you left for your training, he told you over dinner that he’d be gone a long time and you wouldn’t see him very often. You weren’t surprised nor disappointed. He only confirmed your earlier suspicions that he wanted you out of the house and had ulterior motives behind his decision. But you were relieved. You had an extremely unhappy marriage and felt like a massive weight was lifted off your shoulders in your husband’s absence. You were free from the prying eyes and eavesdropping ears of both him and the servants, free from the stifling atmosphere of the cold and pretentious mansion. You no longer had to walk on eggshells out of fear of bringing embarrassment to your husband or jeopardizing his carefully constructed reputation. Here you could finally be yourself and stop putting on airs of being a great lady or happy wife. Though you had no say in it, in some zigzagged way, your husband gave you your name back and, with it, you had some grain of independence back. Whether he intended it to be that way or not, it was the greatest gift your husband ever gave you.

“You know, in some strange way, I feel closer to you than I ever have to anyone in my whole life. Do you understand that?”

“I think so.”

“You know that I'm married. I cannot ask anything from you but your friendship. But that would be very precious to me.”

“And to me, too.”

And so you became friends. With Louis, everything was new and fresh and wonderful. What he liked, you liked. A poem you loved before became twice as magical to you because Louis loved it too. While he was recovering from his leg fracture, he began to worry when he still hadn’t received word from his wife. He kept writing her almost daily, but nearly two months passed and still nothing came for him while he was in hospital. It became harder and harder for him to keep his thoughts at bay the longer he went without a peep from her. His letters not being returned to sender was of little comfort, but knowing that they were at least getting to her gave him the tiniest sliver of hope. Laid up in bed, he could do little else besides read and write in his journal. Maybe if he was just patient and waited long enough…

9 January 1916

I don't know how many weeks have passed, waiting to hear back from her. It's been so long, in fact, that I can barely remember even sending my last letter. I’m beginning to suspect that my letters never made it to her. Or worse still, what if she’s ignoring them or throwing them on the fire to burn? Oh, my dear Madeleine, just to hear from you is all I desire. Just a kind word from you to put an end to my inner turmoil is all I ask for. Maybe she really doesn't love me. Maybe she's happily living a brand new exciting life, getting romanced by other men. Maybe I’m just being paranoid. The drugs I’m being injected with numb the pain but make me drowsy. I can barely keep my eyes open. I need to stop writing now.

Louis developed a fever as his body attempted to heal itself. He experienced vivid fever dreams that felt almost like real memories, but weren’t. In his dreams, people all around town fell ill with a disease that had no name yet. Tourists and locals alike spread rumors that France had fallen victim to a silent but effective attack of biological warfare, while others called it a karmic curse brought upon them by their own hubris. In his nightmares, he couldn’t even think of leaving, still under the thumbs of his superiors and bound by his duties in the French Army. The thought of being forced to stay and keep fighting would’ve been more daunting and disturbing were it not for his wife. As long as she was waiting for him and safe at home, he believed he had the strength to see through till the end of the war. But his fever dreams always started and ended the same way:

It was a gorgeous early summer day. The sun was shining brightly, the birds were singing, and there was a warm gentle breeze. He came home early, expecting a kiss from his beautiful wife, and instead found her in the process of writing a Dear John letter. Sometimes she’d be writing to her lover and telling him of her upcoming nuptials, and other times she’d be writing to Louis and telling him of her affair and her desire to divorce him so she could marry the man she truly loved. Even after he woke up in a cold sweat, he still remembered the words on the half-written page so vividly that he logged them in his journal before he forgot:

Dear John,

I received your letter— glad to hear from you. We have been corresponding for some time together. This is very hard to tell you, but I know you’ll understand. I hope we’ll always remain friends, but it’s only fair to tell you that I’ve become engaged to another man. Now we will have to quit our corresponding to each other and I shall have to say farewell to you, my darling. As there was not any promise of marriage made between you and I, I feel at perfect liberty. If you’re in want of a reason, I would just say to you that I was afraid you would never come back; you are away up North, exposed to death, disease, and a smashing of your teeth on them hard crackers. After the war is over, I hope for a world where we may live in peace and safety.

But until that day comes, I must accept the security that wedlock has offered me. I leave the subject with you. I cannot stay with you or ever see you again, but I can only hope that you will understand some small measure of my conflict, and someday forgive me for my actions. Remember that however much I may appear to love him as a wife, it will never come close to amounting to the love I’ll always hold for you, my darling. Though my hand will be his, my heart will always be yours.

Madeleine xxx

Dear Louis,

I received your letter— glad to hear from you. We have been corresponding for some time together. Now we will have to quit our corresponding to each other, as I wish to be joined in wedlock with the man I’ve truly been dreaming of. I believe we are right together. We see no reason to delay in the inevitable. I wish to begin the divorce proceedings as soon as possible. I leave the subject with you. I know it’s not the welcome home you’d been hoping for, but putting it off and continuing this facade of a happy marriage would only be unfair and cause more unnecessary pain to you and I. If you’re in want of a reason, I would just say to you that I was afraid you would never come back; you are away up North, exposed to death, disease, and a smashing of your teeth on them hard crackers. Becoming a war widow is such a ghastly prospect, I can’t bear to even entertain the thought for a second. I really do my best to not think of it at all. I cannot stay with you or ever see you again, but I can only hope that you will understand some small measure of my conflict, and someday forgive me for my actions.

Oh, Louis. I'm sorry. So desperately sorry. I'm so grateful to you, and so proud, and fond of you. I don't know why I can't love you the way you want me to. I've tried, God knows, but I can't change my feelings. And it'll be a lie to say I do if I don't. I’m sorry, Louis. I’m really sorry I can’t love you as a wife should love her husband. You should be loved in the way that you want, in the way that you deserve, but I’m not the woman who can give you that kind of love. I hope someday you can find her, the special woman who can. She’s out there somewhere, waiting for you. I know it.

As for me, I shall have to say farewell to you, my dear. Though I do wish we could have parted friends. I so very much want to feel that you're happy for me. As I'd be happy for you, my darling. Remember: However much I love him as a wife, I will always love you as a friend. Stay safe and be happy, my darling, and God bless you.

Madeleine xxx

In his nightmares, Louis had no control over his words or his actions as he snatched the sheet of paper from Madeleine’s hand and began interrogating her as if she were a prisoner of war. He demanded an explanation but he never got one that was satisfactory. In the moment, he was confused, heartbroken, and angry all at once.

“But you and I are married! How can you just leave me here? I won't have it!”

“This whole city is cursed. If we remain here, all those dear to me will die.”

“Am I not dear to you, Madeleine? Stay with me, and we'll make it through the war together. We’ll rebuild our lives and start anew elsewhere once the war ends, if that’s what you want. I promise you!”

“I’m sorry, Louis. It wouldn’t make a difference where we’d go because I could never go with you.”

“Why not?”

“A journey like that? It’s impossible.”

“Tell me something, my dear. Ever since I got back, I’ve had a feeling that you were very far away from me. Have I changed so much?”

“We both changed. It seems centuries since we were married. Since I knew you.”

“Yes, I’ve seen that. But can’t we find those old selves again?”

“I’ve tried, Louis. I’m afraid they’re gone.”

“You did love me when you married me.”

“I thought I did.”

“Is there someone else?”

“Yes. I'm sorry, Louis, but there's someone else I love who needs me even more than you."

“I’ve sensed that. But I— Oh, well, I hoped against hope. Is that the real reason you want to go? Because there's someone else? Why didn’t you tell me so at once?”

“I thought I’d never tell you. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Do you think it hurts any the less now?”

“I’m deeply sorry, Louis. I wish it could’ve worked out differently. I wish it with all my heart.”

“Do you love him?”

“Yes, I do.”

“What’s his name?”

“Does it matter?”

“What’s his name.” He was no longer asking. He was demanding. He had been crossed, and his expression hardened into iron. His smile seemed more the result of a frozen face muscle than a cheerful disposition. He wasn’t Louis, her husband, in that moment. He was Renault, a hardened Captain of the French Army.

“Louis—”

“I have to know it eventually.”

His fever dreams were often unpleasant but never revealed the name of the man his wife was seeing behind his back. His mind was always too foggy. While he didn’t think he’d ever talk to Madeleine in such a harsh or cruel manner, he felt unsettled by what he saw. He was just a Lieutenant and didn’t have the rank of Captain yet, but his dreams showed him as a leader. Was he experiencing prophetic dreams that gave him glimpses into his future? He didn’t want to think about it.

When Renault awoke again, you were in his room. He didn’t move a muscle except for his eyes, which followed your every move as you went about your work. When he was first admitted, you asked him to tell you how he ended up with the fracture in his leg, as it looked to be very painful. He told you the entire story about how he ended up in your hospital. He left out no detail, no matter how gruesome. As a war nurse, he assumed you were experienced enough to have seen it all, and he was right. You treated numerous types of wounds, as well as infections and mustard gas burns. Bullet wounds and outdoor exposure, combined with the added hardship of not having antibiotics, made for risky work. You and your fellow nurses were also faced with soldiers suffering from emotional injuries, including shell shock. Some of you were trained in social work, including psychiatric training, in order to help current soldiers and those returning home deal with their experiences.

From what he told you, it sounded terrifying. You’d seen many soldiers come through hospital with similar injuries to his, but they unfortunately didn’t survive. In the early days of World War I, if a soldier suffered a broken femur, at best, he would endure incredible pain and a high probability of infection of his wounds during his extraction from the battlefield. If the fracture was compound (where the bone pierced the skin), there was a greater chance such men would die from the resulting blood loss and infection. In the horrendous conditions on the Western Front, combat medics and stretcher bearers struggled to dress broken legs and transport the patients back behind the lines to casualty clearing stations for treatment without causing further damage and immense pain. The standard method of splinting fractured limbs was not simple or fast enough to be performed in a lot of combat situations.

The Thomas Splint revolutionized the manner in which men injured in the First World War were treated. It was easy to use and highly effective. It allowed access to wounds for dressing and cleaning, while immobilizing the limb, reducing pain and the risk of further damage and severe haemorrhage. It was comprised of a ring that encircled the top of the thigh at the hip joint, and two sturdy wires that ran down the length of the leg on either side, joining at the ankle or below the foot. It could be applied quickly on the battlefield without removing clothing or boots, before lifting a patient onto a stretcher, making for safer and less painful transportation to medical care. These types of wounds needed patience and time, which the Thomas Splint could help with.

You disparaged those practitioners who didn’t take care to achieve accurate alignment, as they got nervous after a number of weeks and interfered with ‘delayed union’, as you liked to call it, which could lead to a permanent disability. Ideally, a team of three was required to apply the splint (an operator and two assistants) but it could be undertaken by just two members of the team, if necessary. There were twelve different stages in the application of the splint, which all served to make the patient as comfortable as possible – including the last stage of applying hot water bottles. The main goal of that was to be able to move the patient without causing him pain, or any further damage to the injured part. Teams practiced the application blindfolded, so they would be able to perform this function at night and in times of poor visibility.

The timing of when Renault suffered his injury linked nicely with the idea that treatment for fractured femurs had started to improve by that point. You told Renault that he was very, very brave and lucky to be alive. He was fortunate that hospitals had adopted the Thomas Splint, otherwise it was very likely he would’ve lost his leg to infection and amputation, rather than explosion or falling from a great height. Just the other day you had a young soldier who had a very non-fatal wound and, because of incompetence and negligence, that wound became infected. You were quick to assuage Renault’s fears by assuring him that the soldier was perfectly fine but, because of the infection, you had to use more resources and more staff to look after him which, of course, put strain on everybody else.

You were determined to keep Renault in one piece while he convalesced. He wouldn’t be subjected to limb amputation under your watch. You knew that he was a fighter and, thanks to that splint which stabilized his fracture and prevented infection, it looked to you that his leg was healing up very nicely. You did everything in your power to let him know that he was in the best hands when you were looking after him. You scooted your chair closer to his bedside but asked for his permission before you leaned in and invaded his personal space a little bit to get a better look at him. You noticed beads of sweat dripping down his forehead, shining like diamonds in the lamplight. He seemed to look a little bit flushed in the face and, when you felt his brow, it confirmed for you that he had the start of a fever coming. How long had he felt feverish? Two days? Had he told anybody about this? He did? Had anything been done? Had the doctor given him medicine? Nothing had been done? Oh, dear. He had been suffering so.

Your ward had some very serious supply issues because of the war. The supplies hadn’t been getting to you promptly and this obviously caused you and your fellow nurses and doctors some distress on the ward because you couldn’t give the patients and the injured the right things that they needed and, of course, like Renault himself, fever set in and then you had to work even harder to break that fever. You managed to find a very small tincture of tonic for him. It wasn’t a full dose but it was the best that you could do. At least it would provide him with some comfort at least for the next twenty-four hours or so. You warned him that it was bitter stuff and tasted awful, but you promised that it would make him feel better. You told him that it should hopefully break his fever or, at least, make it feel like it for a day or so. Wishing to get it over with as quickly as possible, Renault downed it like a shot of brandy and quickly swallowed before he had a chance to really taste it on his tongue. You told him how well he was doing and how proud of him you were. The worst part was hopefully over now.

You asked if he was quite comfortable and, when he responded in the affirmative, you asked if he had any family. That’s when he first started telling you about Madeleine, his young wife back home. While he was bedridden, he showed you pictures and told you everything about her. She was a beautiful young woman who was many years younger than himself. In fact, she was closer to your age than his own. Despite their age gap, he spoke of her with such love and reverence that you could tell she meant the world to him. He adored her very much, but their marriage hadn’t produced any children.

“How wonderful! Well, you’ll be seeing her very, very soon once your wound heals up. It looks like it’s very much on its way! Once your fever breaks then I’m sure that you’ll be sent back to France swiftly to be reunited with your wife. You must miss her very much. You’ve been stationed here an awfully long time. Well, to be here all this time and only now just become injured, I would say that you’re a very good soldier and very lucky too. Now let’s reapply this bandage on your leg so that this won’t be quite so unpleasant as before. But you just tell me if it hurts at all.”

Wanting Renault to sleep as soon as possible, you fetched some cool water and a clean cloth to bathe his forehead. He still seemed quite flushed and a bit sweaty, so you wanted to provide him some relief from his fever by just cooling his face down until the medicine kicked in. You knew that it was no fun for anyone to feel feverish and sweaty when trying to fall asleep, and sleep was the most important part of recovery. It allows our bodies and minds to relax, which is very helpful in the healing of our bodies of any wounds, as well as our mental and emotional wellbeing. He closed his eyes and you encouraged him to think of his wife back in France. You wondered aloud what she was up to and told Renault that he was doing a great service by being here fighting for his country. You bathed his face, his forehead, and the back of his neck, all while continuing to tell him that everyone was so proud of him, proud of everything that he did for them. You were all proud, so very, very proud and thankful. He and men like him kept you all safe from your enemies and allowed you to live in peace and safety. He had sacrificed so much and you were truly thankful.

Renault looked to be on the verge of falling asleep at any moment, his eyes drooping and closing before reopening just slightly, but just for a few moments so he could tell you that he was feeling a little bit better. He grabbed your hand and stopped you from moving away when you made to get up. His brown eyes, though tired, looked at you imploringly. He was too drowsy to speak coherently and he slurred his words, but you could tell that he wanted you to stay. Though he knew he needed rest more than anything, he didn’t want to fall asleep just yet. The fever must’ve been making him a bit muddled since he acted in a way as if he was afraid that, if he fell asleep, he’d never wake up again. It’s a behavior you’d seen all too often in patients afflicted by fever.

“Oh, my dear, don’t be afraid. I am never too far away. As long as you can see my lamp, then you know that I’m around and, should you need me for anything else, all you have to do is call my name and I’ll come and assist you. Now is there anything else that I can do for you before I move onto the next patient?”

In a spur of the moment, he held your face between his hands and pulled you in for a kiss. It happened so suddenly that you didn’t have time to overthink it because it was over as soon as it began. With that, he finally closed his eyes and released you, seemingly drifting off to sleep seconds later. Though the kiss came as a shock to you, you didn’t think too much of it. Renault was feverish and probably out of his mind with delirium. The line between dream and reality was probably so blurred that he mistook you for his wife for a moment. You doubted he’d remember it in the morning, so you just washed your hands and took other precautions to make sure he wouldn’t get you sick. The last thing you wanted to do was put other patients at risk. Unbeknownst to you, Renault was still awake, though barely. After a few minutes of listening to the sounds of your voice and your fingers turning pages as you scribbled down notes on his chart, he could’ve sworn he felt you lean over him and kiss his forehead. Maybe he was already asleep and dreaming, maybe he was just imagining things due to the fever, but he thought he heard your voice whisper in his ear,

“Now sleep, darling. The doctor will be back tonight.”

But what nobody knew was that, just mere days later, his world had been turned upside down by a letter from his wife. Although initially happy to receive the correspondance, as he continued to read, Louis realized that the letter she sent wasn’t intended for him. From the contents of the letter, he discovered that Madeleine had been cheating on him with John Stevenson, a family friend from England who joined the British Army. This was only made possible because Madeleine, who had been writing to the two men in secret, had accidentally placed this most recent correspondence into the envelope addressed to him. An easy mistake to make, but a damning one.

The revelation was especially hurtful to Louis because he was the one that had introduced Madeleine to John in the first place. He had frequently seen the pair chatting animatedly at social get-together's but, up until that moment, he had always dismissed these interactions as a close friendship or even motherly affection on Madeleine’s part. In hindsight, Louis realized that he had been foolish to think that. Not only were John and Madeleine closer to each other in age, they also shared many interests. It was only natural that an attraction would develop between them. Once he finished reading the damning letter, he folded it, placed it back in the envelope and safely put it in his breast pocket. He’d probably need it for evidence once he began the divorce proceedings - if he began the divorce proceedings - and he didn’t want to risk it being destroyed. The safest place for it was on his person.

Nearly three years out there in that hell of loneliness, thinking always of her. Thinking he couldn’t die because she’d never know how much he loved her. Didn’t she know what it meant when he received her letter after enduring such a long silence? How he wanted to hurry back to the happiness he’d missed, only to find it gone. Stolen from him, stolen! All for this…this ridiculous notion of calf love. This... Why, he showed her what life was. He showed her love and he gave her understanding. Was this infatuation so precious to her that she could turn her back on understanding? Oh, he knew he wasn’t a youth. He wasn’t a savage, a little wavy hair... Why should he have denied it her?

Although devastated and justifiably furious by his discovery, Louis decided not to confront John nor Madeleine about their affair. That being said, he refused to forgive them either. Louis, not yet willing to give up on his marriage, quietly blamed John for seducing his wife and thought about waiting for an opportunity to not only get revenge but to remove his traitorous friend from the equation. John ruined his life, so he thought about taking his. But these revenge fantasies were intrusive thoughts that only lasted for a brief moment and he quickly thought better of it.

21 January 1916

Oh, this wretched life of mine! Madeleine, the woman I loved and to whom I am married, has been unfaithful to me with John Stevenson, a man I always thought of as a dear friend and confidant. Now I don’t know what to think of him. Or her. Did she never love me at all? Why wasn’t I good enough for her? What does John have that I don’t? From just one letter I can tell this has been an ongoing affair. This wasn’t just a one-time event, a lapse in my wife’s judgment brought on by loneliness and anxiety. That I could forgive. This has been a conscious decision from the both of them. Knowing what they did, I don’t know if I could stand to look at either of them if they stood in front of me now. Maybe they’d be too ashamed and wouldn’t be able to look me in the eye either.

It may seem vindictive and petty to think such things, but a part of me hopes they felt guilty for doing it and were thus prevented from enjoying their first time together in our marital bed. If they felt guilty to the point of denying themselves pleasure and being unable to find that release it would mean that, even in its smallest measurement, they cared about me, about my feelings. They had to have known what they were doing was a betrayal of my trust. Do they still feel guilty? No matter which way I look at it, their deceit cuts me to the core. Now I'm lost. Where do I go from here? What's left for me? I can’t go home once the war is over, can I? No. They love each other. She’ll leave me for him, and they’ll take the house. There will be no home to go back to. Not for me. I know it.

It was a war healer's duty to patch the wounds of the soldiers they encountered. But the war felt endless, almost pointless and, after Madeleine’s betrayal, a certain contrarian Renault enjoyed dashing your hopes. He became cynical, jaded, and defeatist, but you were the only person he trusted enough to confide in about his wife’s infidelity with his friend, so you knew his sudden change in attitude and personality was due to his grieving. You wouldn’t let his pessimism and bleak outlook on life get to you, however. Though he was stubborn and tried to fight you on it, you strictly upheld a fixed limit on how much he could drink and smoke per day. This was an extremely stressful time for the both of you. Renault said some rather nasty things to you that don’t bear repeating, but you stood your ground. You wouldn’t let him recklessly jeopardize his health in his vain attempts to numb his emotional and mental pain.

He could insult and cuss you out all he liked, you weren’t going to give in to his demands. You weren’t going to let him kill himself. Too many good men had died already. You instead helped him find better coping mechanisms during this difficult time. Even if he refused your help at first, you never gave up on him. He wasn’t just your patient, he was your friend. And you didn’t want to abandon your friend while he was hurting. He later apologized to you for what he put you through. His emotions, though justified, were misplaced and he wrongfully took it out on you. You forgave him. You knew he wasn’t a bad person. He was a good man underneath it all.

When the doctor later gave him a physical examination, nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary. The swelling and inflammation seemed to have gone down. There were no signs of infection or nerve damage that would impair his ability to walk or run in the long-term, but he still had some healing to do before he’d be able to get up and move normally again. Or at least, that’s what the doctor tried to tell him.

“You're in pretty good shape. For once the Germans failed to shoot par for the course.”

“I wonder why. By now according to the rules, I should be floating in the bay or lying in a mass grave somewhere.”

“Maybe they were horrified at the sight of blood. Why don't you ask your nurse why they didn't dispose of you?”

“I already asked her.”

“And she didn't know a thing?”

“What are you getting at?”

“Nothing.”

“This place has really made you sick. She's actually trying to help me.”

“Last night the nurse came and told me to put you back together again. A woman like her? That's something else again.”

“Ah, you drunken... Doc?”

“Yes?”

“How am I?”

“How are you, or how are you if anyone asks me?”

“How am I if anyone asks?”

“Non-displaced transverse fracture in the right leg. You won't be up for some time.”

“Thanks.”

With that, Louis put on a robe and grabbed a pair of crutches as he got out of bed against medical advice. He wandered the hospital in search of you and, when he found you alone in a supply room, he quickly shut and locked the door. If anyone else saw either of you alone together in a supply closet, you would’ve gotten into so much trouble.

“There’s something I wouldn’t talk about while there was a chance I’d be half-crippled. You have to know I love you.”

“That’s enough, Renault.” You made to leave, but he stopped you.

“No, please wait!”

“I’ve got to take you to the x-ray room.”

“You don’t need an x-ray. I’m telling you the important thing that’s going on inside me right now. That first night here, I remember your face as I went down to the anesthetic. It was your face that smiled at me as I woke up.”

“All patients think they’re in love with their nurses.”

“This isn’t that kind of stuff. Believe me, I know. I’ve been around a lot. I’m glad I have, otherwise I wouldn’t know the real thing now that I’ve met it.”

“I think you better have another nurse, Renault. I’ll speak to Matron.”

“So will I. I’ll tell her I’ll shoot any other nurse on sight.”

No longer ailed by a fever, his mind was clear and he was fully aware of what he was doing as he grabbed you up in his arms and kissed you with such fervor. Though you tried to refuse him and push him away, your resistance didn’t last very long. You gave in and reciprocated his kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck and curling your fingers in his hair. While you both may have thought what you were doing was wrong, your guilty consciences weren’t enough to stop you. Neither of you allowed for doubt or regret to set in because you didn’t want it to. Such thoughts were kept at the very back of your minds. But you still pulled away to admonish him. He shouldn’t have been up and about just yet! He needed more rest! The doctor made it clear that he needed to stay in bed for the time being until his cast was ready to be removed. His wandering around the hospital without at least notifying a nurse first was so dangerous. He could’ve slipped and fell or otherwise hurt himself even further.

But he silenced your admonishments with more kisses. In between kissing you, he teased you that you were a nurse, so this was him notifying you that he was up and wandering the halls. He insisted that he felt better than he ever had before, that he was made of tougher stuff than you gave him credit for. He could survive anything so long as he felt loved by you, even those pains that exploded within, those silent hand grenades. With your kindness and compassion, he could endure it. When you smiled at him you were a bandage that wrapped around his body, heart, and soul, piecing him back together again finer than any surgeon could’ve done.

With his marriage falling apart and the whole world crumbling around his ears, Renault, who wanted you to drop the formality of calling him by his rank or surname and call him Louis, chose this time to fall in love with you. It was you who ultimately helped mend his broken heart and helped him to see from a new perspective. His marriage wasn’t a waste of time nor a failure. Divorce wasn’t an admittance of failure. He wasn’t a failure. He needed to figure out a way to go about getting a divorce from Madeleine so that he could be free to be with you without causing anyone involved in this complicated affair unnecessary pain or hardship. Louis did end up walking with a slight limp after his treatment. However, that was a much better outcome than that which other men had to deal with. There was no loss of life or limb in his situation. You believed that, with physical therapy and time, his limp would be corrected.

“No, really, why didn’t you come?”

“Was it so urgent?”

“Terribly. Can you stand a bit of shocking news?”

“Please, tell me the worst.”

“Are you sure you’re prepared?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right then. Here it is: I’m well. They’re kicking me out of hospital today.”

“Today?”

“Fit for duty with a week’s leave recommended.”

“You must be very glad after all these months.”

“I suppose I should be glad. It’s your fault that I’m not.”

“Where are you going for your leave?”

“I’m not going. I’m staying here. Do you mind?”

“Why should I?”

“You shouldn’t. You should try to look pleased.”

“Should I? You really ought to go now.”

It was inevitable that you both had to return to your duties, but that didn’t stop either of you from continuing your love affair by writing to each other. Louis made a smooth recovery and was eventually released from his medical discharge, deemed fit enough to rejoin the fight.

It’s at this point in your storytelling that you show your daughter some of the old love letters you and Louis wrote to each other. In those days, you and he just wrote and wrote and wrote until your hands became sore and covered in ink or charcoal. There’s hundreds of them and you’ve kept them all.

19 February 1916

…Do you remember, dearest one, that I once told you of a girl years older than myself who taught dancing, and who I had a calf infatuation over when I was very young? And the father had asked me my intentions!!? Well, she married a year ago a very nice man whose wife had deserted him by going to America at the beginning of the war. The divorce of this man took three and a half years to go through, and had far more uncertainties and difficulties than you could ever have dreamed of, and all the time she and he were longing to marry and wondering if it would ever come true. Well, it did, and they married. He's 45 - she’s 42. They’re terribly happy, and they said that after all they'd suffered, waiting and worrying, nothing could ever again make them unhappy.

He told me all he knew of the divorce laws, and he knows just everything, because I wanted his advice. He said how anxious the whole business was, but they never lost heart. Our wait will only be about a year, but when I saw what they'd endured and survived, I just knew that we too would stand the test, and knew also that, when we finally got there, no power or circumstances on earth could ever again separate us or make us unhappy. Because I know that our love is a really true love of the right kind. So wait for me, my own darling, and when I come back to you, I'll make you the happiest of women that the world has ever known and you mustn't mind if I spoil you all the time. Oh darling, darling one, if I could tell you half of how much I love you, and how completely you are now a part of me. But I think perhaps that your heart does know all this. And now I'm going to stop. All my love, my darling.

Louis xxx

He contacted Lee Gentry, a clever and suave but unscrupulous and dishonest American lawyer who had just come over to Europe with his girlfriend, Katy Costello. He was always saving somebody’s life, so abominably clever at solving other people’s troubles yet so half-witted when it came to his own. Mr. Gentry boasted that he lived by lies, made money by lies, and became famous by lies. His analytical mind was always working on something. A little voice inside that legal brain of his was always whispering to him, walking him through step-by-step of what he should do next.

His life, as he told it to Louis, was also complicated by a love triangle. He began where sensible men left off. Hand-holding and what went with it didn’t seem to be enough. He had to pull them apart and see what made them tick. Overwhelm them with attentions, absorb them. With the result that, when he showed signs of leaving some little thing, she acted like sixty-five wives. Why couldn’t he find some interest other than women? Something normal, like poker or running for Congress. Then he never would’ve been in trouble. Two years ago Mr. Lee Gentry began dating Ms. Carmen Brown. But then he later met and fell in love with Ms. Katy Costello. He was so crazy about her that Carmen became something horrible to him.

Every time he saw her, he had to keep her out of his voice, his eyes, his hands. That hatred, that wanting to turn on her and yell… But it couldn’t be done that way. He didn’t want to leave a woman behind whose grief was going to be a beggar pulling at his and Katy’s elbows. But he couldn’t go on like that for much longer. It wasn’t fair to either woman and it wasn’t fair to him. He called on Ms. Brown with the happy notion in mind of just getting it over and done with by telling her that he didn’t love her anymore. Instead he ended up in such an epidemic of kisses, vows, promises. It was discouraging. Carmen believed they had been in love for two years, that it had all been so sweet and was more than an affair, that he wouldn’t have tried to hurt her in the way he did unless there was some reason because he was too nice for that.

When he came to her room to finally break things off with her once and for all, Carmen was near hysterical, telling him that he couldn’t leave her now. She wanted Lee to tell her about Katy, believing that if he told her about her, she’d have a chance. She wanted so badly for Lee to give her that chance. He insisted there was nobody and begged Carmen to stop. He didn’t want them to go on like that and torture each other. Carmen called Katy a cheap little blonde who was as empty as a paper bag. She accused her of only wanting Lee for what he had, not him. She didn’t believe he could love a woman like that. Not him. Lee still pretended to have no idea what she was talking about. He refused to listen to anymore, but she caught him in his lies. She knew he’d been lunching with Katy at the Royal Hotel. The orchestra leader played there in the afternoons and he saw them together.

Lee finally decided that he had had enough and told her his right name finally. That he loved Katy. He loved her and he was leaving Carmen for her. Carmen was so distraught that she professed that she didn’t want to live. That she wanted to die. That they’d find her dead and fix Lee for it. She fumbled around her desk drawer for the gun she kept there. The gun that he gave her. But it was missing from the drawer. While she was in the other room, Lee was smart enough to take it away, empty the chamber of all the bullets, and stuff them in his pocket. Not trusting her with that plaything, he told her that he was going to keep it. Just like he thought she would, she tried to physically stop him when he made to leave. She wrestled and reached for the gun, but it was unloaded and wouldn’t do her any good even if she had gotten a hold of it. She could do nothing to stop him as he left her apartment.

But then he heard the news that she leapt from the window. He never thought she’d stoop to suicide. He thought her too real, too proud for that. But he was wrong. That tragedy led to a court case where he was considered close to the deceased and a person of interest. During the investigation into her death, he was suspected for a time since he was the last person who saw her alive. That period of being questioned by police and in a court of law was extremely stressful, the most stress he’d ever endured. He was so comfortable with being on the opposite side of the stand, the man who asked the questions. But being called to testify on it and having to give the answers to another man’s questions was nearly petrifying. Ultimately it was ruled there was no foul play and Carmen’s death was indeed a suicide.

No charges were pressed against Lee and he was able to walk away a free man, but he didn’t want a repeat of ever coming that close to the electric chair ever again. It was all much too close for comfort. He moved as far away from that case, from her, as he could go. It was an arduous undertaking that took many years and hard work, but he eventually succeeded in moving his practice area from criminal law to civil law. He was and always had been a genius of the law, but now, instead of calling himself “The Champion Of The Damned,” he was now and forever “The Champion Of The Divorced.”

Their past and present troubles with the women in their lives was something Louis and Lee had in common, but there was an unspoken agreement between them that what Lee told him about his past experience would be kept off the record, a secret between men. There was still the matter at hand.

“Now listen to me. Even after you’ve grown to hate a woman, you can’t pick up your hat and go. You’ve got to do it like a gentleman. I don’t know why. You know, leaving a woman, Mr. Renault, is a long and desperate process. Like wrestling with a piece of fly-paper in a high wind.”

“The trouble is, I’m too nice.”

“Indeed, Mr. Renault. But fortunately for yourself, she’s never been in love with you. So she’s only seen your worst side. In love with another man, you are a monster to her.”

“You don’t expect me to believe that.”

“Believe it or not, it makes no difference to me. Either way, I certainly wouldn’t worry about the what ifs surrounding your soon to be ex-wife. She was no Little Bo Peep from what I gathered.”

“Mr. Gentry.”

“After all, from what you told me and this love letter, this John Stevenson fellow took Madeleine away from you, not dissimilar to how I took Carmen away from Eddie White.” He paused, as if thinking back to how that all turned out, then shrugged. “Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time. I’m sure your wife loves him just as much as she pretended she loved you. Your testimony combined with this love letter from your wife to another man should be substantial proof of your wife’s infidelity. It’ll take time, but it should be enough for the judge to grant you a divorce. The process may go even faster if there was evidence of infidelity on both parties. That’s what you should think about when you’re with other women. There are others, aren’t there?”

No. There weren’t others, as in plural. Yes. There was another woman. Just the one.

“That’s not a bad idea.”

After meeting with Mr. Gentry, Louis met you for lunch.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“My dear, what are friends for if you can't tell them your troubles? And we are friends, you know. We promised each other three months ago. That's one of the reasons I wanted to see you today. To celebrate the three month anniversary of our friendship.”

“Oh, Louis.”

“Do anniversaries make you sad?”

“No, but... I've got something to tell you.”

“I have something to tell you, too.”

“But I've got to say this now while I'm able to.”

“Yes, my dear?”

“I'm not going to see you anymore.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, it's not the reason you think. I mean, people talking about us. They are, you know. The other nurses on the ward, all my friends.”

“And I suppose the other nurses on the ward, all your friends, have taken it upon themselves to warn you of the evils of knowing a married man. A married Frenchman, at that.”

“Yes. You should hear them. But that's not the reason I'm not going to see you again. I don't care what people think. I'm only thinking of me.”

“You?”

“Well, you see, whatever people do think and say, all we are is good friends, and I can get along without you now. But things would get terribly complicated if I ever fell in love with you. So, before I do, I'm going to say goodbye.”

“All right. You've talked. Now it's my turn.”

“Louis, there really isn't anything more to say. My mind is made up.”

“Yeah, so is mine. Do you think I don't know that people are talking? I'm not a fool.”

“I told you, I don't care what people say.”

“Well, I do care, and I'm not going to expose you to it. And furthermore, I'm not going to let you go.”

“But, Louis...”

“I saw my lawyer this morning. I asked him to arrange for a divorce.”

“Louis. But your wife, isn't she going to be terribly unhappy?”

“No. Not so long as I leave her the house and everything in it. And even if I never saw you again, I'd still want the divorce. Until a few weeks ago I never really knew what love was supposed to be. If I can't have you, I don't want anyone. I love you, my dear. Will you marry me?”

“Oh, Louis. I-I really don’t know what to say. I’m not saying no. I don’t want to say no, but…might I have some time to think it over? I just can’t think about it all until the war is over. I can’t give your proposal adequate consideration until then. So, will you wait?”

“I’d wait forever.”

“I’m not asking for forever. Just another year or two.”

With Mr. Gentry’s advice in mind, Louis Renault, in keeping with the times, wanted to divorce his adulterous wife without bringing shame and embarrassment on her. Even after all she’d done to hurt and humiliate him, he wanted to spare her from that same hurt and humiliation. Ultimately, he orchestrated his own extramarital affair by going through the charade of checking into a hotel with an actress for the night so he could be blamed for the separation.

2 March 1916

…I just sweated blood thinking how on earth I’d ever find someone who could enact the farce with me. If I picked up a common tart, she'd immediately have been suspected when we arrived at a hotel and, worse still, she'd expect to be slept with. If I failed to oblige, she'd smell a rat. If I found someone I knew, who'd be prepared to stop a night at a hotel just out of a spirit of sportsmanship and friendship, she'd run a risk perhaps of being seen by someone she knew, and her fair name would’ve suffered. And anyhow I knew no one I could possibly have asked to oblige. What I wanted was a body who wouldn't mind being seen, who wouldn't expect me to sleep with her, and it was hard to think of who could do me this good turn, without even knowing me. So there was the problem.

[…] But then I remembered that my sister vaguely knew a girl from Paris who was in with all the stage folk, lived on her own, and had just divorced her husband. So when I saw her in town, I hoped to chat her up, take her out to dinner, and then tell her my problem. I hoped she'd be able to perhaps suggest someone who would do the deed with me. Well, I went round to her flat after ringing her up, and we had a drink or two. She said immediately she'd do it, and there we were. So she and I just spent two nights in a hotel about twenty miles out of the capital city, and just slept peacefully in our separate beds! I never even held her hand!

When I left, I tried to get her to accept a gift, as a token of gratitude, but she wouldn't. I gave her a bottle of French wine and ordered a whopping bunch of flowers to be sent to her, and that was that. I’m deeply grateful to her, and my faith in the essential decency and generosity of ordinary people has gone up by leaps and bounds, by a complete stranger who did it for no reward, but just to help a man who was in difficulties. She just went through the whole nonsense as if it was one huge joke. So that was the whole story of my incursion into the realms of organized legal vice! […] Goodnight my most dearest beloved. I love you very very very much.

Your Louis xxxxxxxxxxxx

And that was the story of how he first developed his reputation as a hedonist, a rake, and a womanizer among other, more scathing remarks and rumors.

16 March 1916

…At times I feel a bit weak-kneed at not getting down to work for this but once proceedings have started it will be so much easier to explain things. I'll just be able to say I'm being divorced and that will be that, and inquisitive people won't have the opportunity to speculate and wonder what's up! But, darling, don't worry - if we do find this is a good spot to work and live as usses, I know you'll love it, although I'm sure England or America sound like foreign lands to you. Any part of either country will be a happy part when it's inhabited by you, my own darling, and by me, who loves you so very, very much. And now I'll say good night so that I can catch the post. All my love, my own darling one. And it's a great big piece of love. It’s all the love I’ve got and it’s all for you.

Your Louis xxx

23 April 1916

I loved another bit of your letter when you said you were building some special undies for when our future comes. I'm sure they are lovely and I swear I'll handle you as gently as if you were a piece of Dresden china when you've got them on. And I promise we won't have a ripping time. Quite apart from looking the sweetest and loveliest girl in all the world, you have the dearest, tenderest and most lovable characteristics, a beautiful voice and a dirty mind. I'm madly in love with you and I haven't seen you for a long, long time, and every day that passes seems an eternity, but soon I'll be meeting you again. One day soon you’ll be made to change your name and, when that happens, there will be one man in this world who will just burst with happiness. He'll be the very proudest and luckiest man alive. […] All my love, my very dearest darling, and look after your very precious self.

Louis xxx

29 April 1916

That you should love me in spite of all the dreary snags I've got, just fills me with wonderment. Oh, darling dearest, I do just adore you. Isn't it amazing that a love like we’ve got can actually make one happy though we're apart? I miss you like hell all the time, but the very knowledge that there really is an usses makes me happy in a wonderful deep sure manner. I'm sure no one else has ever had an usses but with us it's a tangible thing. When I think of you, my darling, I don’t somehow think of you as a separate being. I think of you as a part of my conscious self and you and me and usses and it’s always so vivid. It’s all the things we’ve ever said and done, all the sweet things you said to me, all our funny lownesses and the way we look and the smell of you and the way we dance and all I think of you.

All that and heaps more is only just a fraction of what our usses is to me, my darling one. As you said in your letter, the time it takes us to get finally together is a waste, but it’s no longer frightening. Do you remember how afraid we were once that anything could change? Now I know it won't. I've never been so certain of anything in all my life as I am of my love for you, darling, and you will never escape me now. You just very well try, and see how I react! I will deal with you like the young girl who thought she was shrewder. I was shrewder. She thought it was rude to be viewed in the nude (pardon me). But I viewed her, pursued her, and... You will never guess what I did to her when I caught her. […] Good night my dearest, dearest, dearest darling – all my very best beloved. All my love always and always.

Louis xxx

5 May 1916

Darling, I think so much of the time when you return. As you once said, it won't matter a hoot what we do or where we go or what we go in, just as long as we can meet and be together for a little while. My sister is most terribly keen for you to come here and, at the moment, I can't quite visualize how risky that might be. There are all sorts of things that might occur and make the risk unjustifiable. I just couldn't bear for anything to happen to delay our final usses. If my wife got to hear of it, she might get vindictive but I've heard a lot since I returned and she had had a long affair with a man I once knew but hadn't seen for years. I don't blame her for this but she should perhaps have been more honest and said that her change of heart was due to this. Now I am glad it has happened because I think it was due to this that she was so willing to divorce me. Don't think I'm trying to revile her, my dear, or trying to put the blame for the failure of that on her shoulders. I'm not. I now know that neither of us ever had enough of the right kind of love or affection or respect for one another ever to make the thing a success. It would have ended up this way inevitably. The fact that I was overseas for two years merely delayed the final crash for about three-and-a-half years!

And another thing I thought of, darling. Just suppose people saw you and I together here and knew I was being divorced, they might be led to the conclusion that you were my co-respondent and I never want anything like that to attach to us, sweets. Do you remember how I said I never wanted any of usses to be furtive and surreptitious - well, I still feel the same. But there are dozens of ways we can meet openly, if it is not difficult for you. There’s a lovely spot in Switzerland that I know about. We could meet there. […] And that’s all for now, my darling one. All my love, darling, is yours, and there’s a tremendous amount of it this morning. Oh darling, I do love you so very much.

Louis xxxxxxx

13 May 1916

Darling dearest one, what I'm really trying to say is that from the point of view of my divorce and so on, it wouldn't matter at all how much we met, or how often we were seen together. The only risk would be that she might hear of it and turn vindictive, feeling that I had given her evidence on which she could divorce me because I wanted to marry someone else. As you and I know, that is only a small part of the truth. So don't feel, my dear, that you must stay overseas as long as possible to keep the way ahead clear and safe. Once you were in France, we'd soon think up ways and means of being together often and there would always be a wonderful feeling when we parted that we could meet again soon. And every time we met would be just a little nearer the time when we never have to part again. And if all goes normally from now, it shouldn't be so very long. If the decree nisi comes through in the autumn, the whole business maybe finished next March or April. […] I love you very much, my darling, so come home soon so that I can whisper it into your ear and tell you all the other things about you that I adore so much.

Louis xxxxx

20 May 1916

…Now that proceedings have started, it's wonderful how happy my sister and her husband are that there's you, darling. They were so certain that my life was going to be made so miserable and they are terribly pleased about the divorce, but much more pleased that there is a happy future to look to. All my love darling one, every bit of it.

Louis xxxxxxx

24 May 1916

Oh darling, I get so torn. Sometimes I feel like begging you to try and come home as soon as you can. Then I realize how selfish this perhaps is from your point of view. Because until I'm free, we'd have to be a wee bit careful in our meeting, and I never want any meeting of ours to be furtive and guilty. It was never that way with you and I, and never will be. From the point of view of my people, there is no need for any kind of secrecy because they know about us, and are so happy about it. As I said before, the only risk we'd ever run would be that anyone might see us and tell her, and I'd hate it ever to be thought that you were a co-respondent to me! But when you come home, darling dearest one, I know we'll manage. We were always a pretty resourceful pair, and we'll get around all the snags.

Darling, try and answer this one straight from your heart when the time comes and I'm free and you can tell your people about usses, would it be a frightful shock to them? Will they be so prejudiced about my having been divorced that they'll be afraid I wouldn't make you happy? When I sometimes worry about what a shock it may be to them, I just console myself with the knowledge that once they see us together, they are bound to realize that we were made especially for one another, but I often wonder if this aspect of it worries you, darling one. But all of these things will come right when that wonderful day arrives and we know I'm a free man. The relief felt by a liberated country will be nothing compared with the feeling of relief we'll get. There'll be just no holding us. Darling, I've just been looking again at those last snaps you sent me. I love the one of you sitting, smiling in your blinkers. I'd like to take them off to see les yeux but you look very sweet. Darling, your hands in that snap are lovely. I told you once how much I loved your hands. I love their shape and I love the way you do things with them. […] All my love, my darling.

Your very own Louis xxxxxx

25 May 1916

I've got no great news, but since I can't talk to you, I just can't stop myself writing. Darling, it's so marvelous that there is a you in the world for me to love. Until we met, so much of my future life seemed dreary and empty, and I thought I'd go through it all, and at the end l'd still be feeling that I had missed all the things I hoped would happen to me. Inside myself, I had a very clear picture of how it could feel really to love someone. I made the one big, dreary mistake and realized it so very soon as a mistake but, as long as I was overseas, it didn't seem to matter. I knew a future to be faced and I knew it didn't come up to anywhere near what I felt the future should, but it was all somehow so remote and unreal that I couldn't visualize it, and so I didn't worry about it. Then, after that awful leave, it suddenly became very real and very worrying and something that had to be faced, and it looked so absolutely blank and hopeless that I nearly lost heart, but I realized I could never be ever contented until I was clear of it.

Darling, I just don't know what would have happened if I hadn't met you. I'm sure it was a kindly fate that brought us together. The divorce would have occurred anyhow - but, darling, it would have been so infinitely more bleak if we hadn't found our usses in all my worst moments. Since coming home, I felt you all around me, comforting me with your wonderful, wonderful faith and, above all, loving you has made me realize how very much worth living this life is, and how everything - work and career and enjoyment of friends - depends on feeling happy. Darling, before I loved you, I never believed that continuous happiness was a real possibility. I've often been happy before, and most of the time contented, but all our time together and our time apart, I feel a positive glow of happiness. You are a wonderful person, my darling, that you can do this to a very ordinary but very loving old Louis. […] Good night my own darling. I love you very, very much.

Louis xxxxxxxx

30 May 1916

…I want to see you so much that some days I am so miserable that I don't know what to do with myself. But sweet one, I have promised myself that I will try and stick it out until September, by which time everything should be well on the way and everything so much safer. It's only another three months. Oh, but darling, I do so want to see you. I long to drop everything and just run straight home to you but I know for both our sakes and our future usses this is the unpleasant part that I must play and I must try and do it as well as you have done all yours.

Sweet one, you asked me to tell you honestly if it would be a shock to my people when they heard that I was going to marry someone who had been divorced. Well, I don't really know how they will take it. I think they will be all right once they realize that my mind is so completely made up and nothing they could possibly say or do will change it. I am pretty sure my sisters on the ward will be with us and I know that once they have seen us together and meet you outside of being a former patient, that they will be all for it. Actually, this never worries me at all because the one thing above all the matron admires is someone who can make up their own mind and stand on their own feet and I am sure once she sees how determined I am, she will agree and I am quite confident that once they have met you, all will be well. […] All my love my dearest darling for always and always.

Your sweetheart xx

18 June 1916

…Darling, do you remember, the evening before I left, when I just said goodbye to you by the door and we were walking down the stairs, you suddenly looked back up at me and said, "Darling, I do love you,"? I think it was then that I realized suddenly how big and great our love for one another was, and I don't think after that moment that I ever feared you would cease to care for me. And now that things have gone so well, my beloved, I will just never give you the chance of caring any less, because I mean to live with you beside me for ever more and if you try to resist, you won't stand a chance. And do you know what I'd do, my angel one, if you tried to get away? l'd just seduce you, firmly and deliberately, but very tenderly and lovingly, and l'd give you a baby and you'd have to marry me then, d'you see? Gosh I'm a dirty old devil, aren't I? Darling, I love it the way we can always be so low with each other, but we never seem to be smutty or dirty, like so many other people. I think it's because in spite of our lowness, we are rather a nice couple.

Darling, perhaps when the time comes that you can tell your people about us, it won't be such a terrible shock to them after all. It occurred to me that after a dear friend of mine had his divorce and everything, perhaps they won't think too badly of someone else who has been through it. Anyhow, it may help to soften the blow a bit and they may not feel I'm such a terrible fellow after all. My own darling, this 'ere brooch is the one I got in Bern. It isn't terribly nice and I wanted to try and find one with a much smaller badge on it, but they didn't seem to make them. But I never got you a present from a jewellers before and I felt I wanted to, just as a prelude to that wonderful day that will soon come when we can go together and find a ring to slip on that third finger of yours. Darling, I will just be incoherent with happiness when I'm doing that. […] Good night my very own very lovely darling and promise me you will never forget how much I love you.

Louis xxxxx

25 June 1916

…Oh my own lovely one, it's going to be such fun, doing everything with you and having you to talk to about everything and to help me to decide things. When we've got some money, darling, it will be such fun going perhaps to the Motor Show and deciding on what car we want. But the most fun of all will be our house. This part of the world has heaps of old antique shops among the small villages round about. When we are here to stay with my sister, we'll have great fun stooging off on our own in the car and snooping around them all, and we'll pick up bits and pieces and they'll gradually accumulate.

Darling, when my final decree comes through, how soon shall we get married? I'd like to marry you the day it all comes through, but then when I think of this, I think perhaps people would, or might, imagine you were my co-respondent! And I don't want anyone ever to think that. I don't mind any number of gossipy tongues wagging about me and my divorce - actually very, very few people know of it, but I don't want anyone to associate you, my darling, with anything that is sordid. Probably the best way will be for us to announce our engagement in the ordinary way in The Times and it will be so easy to say we'd met vaguely overseas, and that after I was free, we just happened to meet again in France and fell in love, and there we are.

Darling, won't it be wonderful when we actually see it in print, that you are engaged to be married to me? Darling, we're going to have a wonderful life together. When I'm with you, everything seems so clear and easy. My work seems to go smoothly and I enjoy it, and people I work with seem to be nicer and more interesting, and I don't get the urge to be curt and irritable with indifferent theatre sisters! At least, not as much. Do you remember that poor old girl I used to be so unkind to? But she really was the pits. […] Goodnight, my very own dearest lovely darling. Never stop loving me, because I love you with all my heart. In fact, I love you very much indeed.

Your very own Louis xxxxx

27 June 1916

…And all the legal paper work for this divorce business is now absolutely complete. Yesterday I received an enormous affidavit concerning my means, which I had to take into a solicitor's and have it sworn on oath. They do word these things in an archaic manner - it was full of, "I verily believe that etc., etc.," and I was supposed to be saying it! […] Good night my own most dearest adorable beloved darling.

Louis xxxxxxxxxx

7 July 1916

…Darling, did you think I looked too fat in the last snap?! I didn't send you all those snaps because I fancy myself as a pin-up boy but I want to keep you posted on my changes of contour that occur so that you won't think I've been blown up with a bicycle pump when we meet. But I won't get any fatter, my lovely one; that will be your job when we decide we want some little usses, all exactly like you. You'll be so sweet and tubby and I'll adore you and tease the life out of you and look after you so very carefully. […] Goodnight, my dearest dearest darling. And don’t ever forget how very much I love you, you adorable, lovely darling one.

Your Louis xxxxxxx

11 July 1916

…Lee Gentry was there and I got him away for a while from the crowd - ostensibly to show him something, but I wanted a bit more briefing on my problem and he really seemed to think it's quite likely that the hearing will be expedited. Of course, he had his lucky piece, an old Mexican peso. While he’s not one for superstition, others might say he would’ve lost the whole case without it. So I'm keeping my fingers crossed for us. I also asked him what it’s best to tell people and he said definitely to stall people off until it’s all over and then just tell them that I've had a divorce. If they get inquisitive and ask who did what and to whom and with what, the answer is for them to mind their own hemorrhagic business. He also said it's most unlikely that it'll feature in the headlines. The undefended suits go through at the rate of about a hundred a day and they don't make news. […] Darling, I’m so very, very proud that you should care for me and I love you so very much. All my love, my beloved sweet darling, for always and always.

Louis xxxxx

31 July 1916

This morning your sweet letter arrived with those marvelous snaps of you. Even if you haven't got a colossal opinion of yourself as a pin-up girl, I've got the most enormous one and no pin-up girl in all the world to me could be lovelier than you, my dearest. Darling, they are so good and I love them so much. Darling, you are so very pretty and you've got the dearest, sweetest, loveliest face that I have ever looked on. Did I ever remember to tell you what a lovely shape you are? Darling, I think that’s the sweetest picture of all of you and it's so like you that it's almost alive. Thank you, my darling dearest one, for sending them - they have made my morale soar to unprecedented heights. When I think that a person as wonderful as you, and who looks as wonderful as you do, can even care for me a tiny bit, I know I'm the luckiest man in all the world. As I'm writing this, I've got the snaps spread out all around me on the table and I feel you are very close to me. Darling, I do love you so much, so never stop liking me, will you? Darling, you've got such a sweet face - I could just eat these snaps. You look so fresh and young and lovely and I just can't believe that one day soon we'll both belong to each other for evermore. […] I love you darling with all my heart.

Your very own Louis xxxxxxxx

3 August 1916

…I’ve got all my favorite snaps of you inside my wallet and each day I can put a different one on the top and I can look at it through the transparent celluloid. It keeps you from getting scratched and dirty. It’s a tremendous luxury to have you so easily available all day. Whenever I feel I need you, darling one, I just pull you out of my pocket and I can look at you long and lovingly. Darling, I’m most terribly in love with you and you are so very easy to look at. […] Goodnight my very own darling. I love you very much.

Your Louis xxxxxxx

5 August 1916

…I'm so glad you like the snaps, darling, just as well you like me, my dearest one, because you are going to have to be with me and wake up every morning and see me for the rest of your life whether you like it or not. […] Darling, I seem to be rambling on so much tonight but I did so want to chitter to my love. But I must have a look at my patients, poor devils. I’ll write again tomorrow. All my love, my very dearest, dearest darling.

Your sweetheart xxxx

5 September 1916

…Darling one, I'm never going to let myself get so busy that it prevents us living the kind of life together that we want to and if you do try to keep me in our bed in the mornings, I'll just never be able to get up and won't I love it? Darling one, we always felt so very cuddleworthy early in the morning, so heaven help us when we find ourselves tucked up together in our warm bed. Darling, however small our house may be, we must have a ginormous bath with oodles of hot water and if you are feeling terribly lazy, I'm going to bathe you whether you like it or not. Darling, I ought to be horse-whipped for making such improper suggestions in a letter to the girl I love but, darling, you always gave me an urge to be terribly improper so you've only got yourself to blame for being so lovely and so very cuddleworthy. […] Good night, my darling dearest best beloved and very adorable one.

Your very own Louis xxxx

10 September 1916

…Darling, when we are married to one another you'll never have to sit in bed with a scarf around your shoulders to keep you warm because:

A. When we're usses there'll be very little time or necessity to sit up in bed and to write letters and

B. I'll take the place of your scarf and wrap myself so snuggly round you that your shoulders will be warm anyway and

C. You won't have to write me letters any more because we'll just lie close together in our warm usses bed with a soft pink cloud for a mattress and we'll love chitter to our hearts' content.

And now, my little honey lamb, back to our plans. Even if you feel like strangling me, darling one, for going over it again, here we go just the same, and I'd love you to try to strangle me because both your hands would be engaged in trying to throttle me which would leave me with both my hands free to get up to the most terrible mischief. […] I must go now, my very dearest darling one. Never forget how very much I love you.

Your own Louis xxxxxxxxxx

16 September 1916

…Perhaps I got it when I laid a gentle kiss on your last letter, my love! But I much prefer to take your colds off you by kissing you on your own darling soft lips and that is the technique I'll employ in the future - in the very, very near future. Whenever we caught a cold from one another it was such enormous fun, my darling. When we're usses together again, you'll find me an awful nuisance. I'll put you in a hot bath and then I'll put you to bed and make you inhale and drink hot whisky and aspirins and then, in case you feel cold and shivery, I'll hop into bed beside you, my darling. I'll curl myself tight round you and you'll just have to forget all about your cold. Darling one, I hope it's all settled by the time this reaches you.

D'you remember, my darling, when you had a temperature with a cold? And I made you stay in bed and you were so angry and I came to talk to you in your room - the room next to your real room - and darling one, you looked so sweet all tucked up in bed and I loved you very much. […] Look after yourself, my darling, and never forget how very much I love you, because I love you more than you’ll ever know.

Your own Louis xxxxx

Louis was elevated to the rank of Captain in 1917. He knew how worried you were for him while he was in the trenches or out on patrols for the Western Front, so he kept you up to date with everything that was happening, how he and the men in his regiment were faring, etc., while filling his letters with declarations of his love for you and the occasional racy passage. On 14 January 1918, he gained command from the General and received instructions for a reconnaissance mission into enemy territory. It was very clear that this particular assignment was an extremely dangerous, bordering on suicidal operation. He knew it was doomed to fail from the very beginning, a particular detail he hid from his subordinates. Captain Renault’s fellow officers noticed a change in his demeanor. They put aside their concerns, however, since such behavioral changes weren’t unheard of, given the stressful nature of their situation.

The relationship between French and British soldiers during World War I was complex and evolved over time. At the beginning of the war, there was a sense of camaraderie and solidarity between the two armies, as they were united in their fight against the common enemy. However, as the war dragged on and the death toll mounted, tensions between the two armies began to surface. One source of tension was the language barrier between French and British soldiers. Many British soldiers didn’t speak French, which made communication with their French allies difficult. In addition, the two armies had different tactics and strategies, which sometimes led to misunderstandings and disagreements.

Another source of tension was the perception that the British were not doing enough to support the French war effort. French soldiers still resented the fact that the British hadn’t fully committed their army to the Western Front until 1916, and they believed that the British were more interested in fighting in other theaters of war, such as the Middle East. Despite these tensions, the French and British soldiers did work together closely during the war, especially in major battles such as the Battle of the Somme and the Battle of Passchendaele.

Many soldiers on both sides formed close bonds with each other and exchanged gifts and souvenirs. Overall, while there were certainly challenges, the relationship between French and British soldiers during World War I was one of mutual respect and cooperation. Stevenson and Renault were coincidentally members of the same regiment and decided to play a friendly game against each other. Whatever game they played didn’t matter. All Renault remembered was that they gambled to determine which of them would go out on patrol that evening. Whether he cheated or not was up for debate but, either way, his opponent lost.

Not only was Stevenson of lower rank and serving under Renault’s direct command, he had known him for so many years that he considered him to be his best friend, their bond like that of brothers. Renault insisted that he needed a man that he could trust to carry out the task, so it didn’t take much convincing, regardless of whether Stevenson went willingly or if Renault persuaded him to go. Whatever the case, he eventually left the trenches on Captain Renault’s instructions. His assumptions about the mission were proven correct, and Stevenson failed to return from his patrol.

Renault didn’t know the time but dusk had fallen and still, of course, no word. When he asked any of his men, they shrugged, as if he was asking about when it might next rain. Those fools around him, laughing, drinking, arguing... Did they know what he’d done? Did they suspect it? Renault felt they must’ve all been guilty of something. And yet...they laughed, drank, argued... God knew what he’d done. He wondered if His judgment could be worse than his own.

Renault later found unsent letters in Stevenson’s tent, tucked between the pages of his journal. One was already in a sealed envelope, addressed to his unborn child with instructions printed in big, bold letters that it wasn’t to be opened until his son or daughter turned eighteen. Oh, God. Madeleine… Was she…? Louis didn’t want to disrespect John’s wishes, so he didn’t open the envelope. He put it in his breast pocket for safekeeping. The other letter was addressed to Madeleine, but was unfinished, only taking up half a page and abruptly cut off midway through a sentence near the end. John had to leave it incomplete. As his eyes darted across the words of the half-written letter, a terrible, black pit formed in Louis’ stomach and nearly made him sick. That terrible, black pit only grew bigger and bigger the further down he read. Madeleine. She was. She was! His throat became dry and tickled. He felt bile stirring up, threatening to expel itself from his body. He stopped himself just in time and held it in until his stomach settled. He didn’t feel any better.

Stevenson was writing to her. He was clearly pressed for time based on how uncharacteristically messy some of the letters looked, either smudged or too close together, but it was still legible. In just a few words John expressed that he wasn’t proud of their affair. His feelings for her were genuine, there was no mistaking that. Every word he wrote in his letters, every word he whispered in her ear while they shared a bed were of the utmost sincerity. But he didn’t like deceit and Louis didn’t deserve it. While he knew she and Louis had just recently divorced, he wanted to come clean sooner rather than later. He hoped Louis could forgive them and be happy for them eventually. He hoped they could part as friends or, at the very least, amicably. Regardless, he was excited for their upcoming baby.

14 January 1918

…My darling Madeleine, I have suddenly realized that I’ve never made a will or anything like one, which seems pretty feeble for a soldier who could die at any minute of any day, and you being pregnant makes it even more irresponsible. I’ll do it properly when I get back and tear this up before you ever see it but I’ll feel easier that I’ve recorded on paper everything that I wish to leave to you in the event of my death. I cannot know if our baby is a boy or a girl but I do know it will be a baby. I understand my family cannot know of our baby until we are safely married. But should anything happen to me, you must take charge. You must think of the child, protect them from the scrutiny of society. I don’t want my son or daughter to grow up a bastard, subjected to public shame and ridicule that—

John’s mention of a child being conceived from the affair made Louis feel even worse. He made love to his wife more times than he could count and, while he paid special attention to her reactions and made sure she was more than satisfied, she never became pregnant from any of their unions. In the back of his mind, he wondered if she had been secretly taking something or doing something to ensure she wouldn’t get pregnant from him, but he’d never voice these thoughts and accuse her of such an act.

Next to the journal and unfinished letter was a will, listing everything that John wanted to leave to his immediate family and everything he wanted to leave to Louis and his wife. He worried that if he left anything just to Madeleine, then his family would become suspicious and make inferences about the affair. By including Louis in his will, he deliberately made it appear as if he was being a very good friend who thought of the couple as an extension of his family. He thought ahead and put a safeguard in place in an effort to spare himself, his family, his lover, and her husband from becoming local pariahs. Both letters were written with the intention of being sent only in the event of his death. John hoped they’d never have to be sent, but he had no way of knowing what the future would hold for him. Louis couldn’t let anybody see the unfinished letter. He thought about burning it to ensure nobody would ever read it. But just as he was about to flick open his lighter, he thought of Madeleine and what she would want. If John was truly dead, she’d want to hold onto any surviving piece of him that she could. She’d want to read what could have potentially been his last words to her. So he folded it up and hid it in his breast pocket with the envelope. He left both the journal and will on the desk so that they could be found and sent to John’s family in case worse came to worst.

Whether or not he intentionally sent Stevenson out on patrol to his death, whether or not he was actually at fault, Renault became guilt-stricken and headed out into the battlefield to search for his friend himself, hoping against hope that he was alive somewhere. Following a brief shootout in which Renault stealthily killed three German riflemen with his revolver, he found Stevenson trapped, pinned down in a trench or crater of some sort. He made him drink some of the remaining water in his canteen to revive him. Whatever was pinning the wounded Stevenson down, adrenaline gave Renault the strength to push or pull it off of him and haul him over his back like a sack of potatoes. And then he was running, or at least trying to run, through the battlefield, attempting to get himself and Stevenson back to the barracks, back to safety. Despite trying to hide and duck under cover, both men were spotted by the Germans. An artillery shell landed outside a parapet and blew Renault against the wall, rendering him unconscious.

Captain L. Renault admitted to medical treatment following events of 14 January. Personal effects held in storage locker. Patient remains in weak vegetative state. Will respond to stimuli, but only for brief periods of time. When last roused, he reported no memory of recent events, had trouble recalling even his own name. Most likely due to severity of initial head trauma. Potential cause for concern is patient’s risk of slipping into a coma. Will continue to monitor. If status does not improve in a week's time, recommend transfer to St. Etienne for neurological tests.

Signed - Dr. Florbelle

Renault spent several days comatose in the recovery ward inside a hospital. When he woke up, his memory from the last few days was hazy due to the resulting head trauma, and he had no memory of his wife’s affair, his divorce, or how he even got to the hospital. He didn’t even know its name nor what country he was in. Was he back home in France? Did he get lost and accidentally cross the border? He was so out of it and all war hospitals looked the same to him, so he couldn’t be certain. For all he knew, he could’ve been anywhere in Europe. He’d been heavily sedated, or so it seemed. His mind and body felt heavy and lethargic.

Renault suffered a non-fatal head injury, which was officially diagnosed as a concussion of the brain. This resulted in retrograde amnesia and, while the hospital staff hoped it was only temporary, there was no way of really knowing. But Stevenson was fatally injured due to the damage to his lungs caused by the blast. The doctors determined that he didn’t have long to live. They thought it best that they didn’t tell Renault the truth about Stevenson right away, fearful that doing so would exacerbate his already volatile condition and send him into shock. Instead they told Renault that he ended up in hospital because Stevenson threw himself in front of him in order to save him from the enemy shell and couldn’t take any visitors because he was still recovering from emergency surgery.

A mortally wounded soldier was lying in a cot next to him. The dying man knew his fate was inevitable. There was nothing more to be done. All they could do for him now was numb his pain to the best of their ability with drugs and keep him in a state of sedated relaxation, ensuring he was comfortable as he died. His lungs were failing and beyond help, so he pulled out a fresh cigarette and lighter. He wanted to enjoy one last smoke before he succumbed, but he couldn’t light the damn thing himself due to the extent of his injuries. Renault, not recognizing the man, lit it for him. Once he finished his cigarette, he thanked Renault and asked him to deliver a mercy kill, wanting to be put out of his misery. He’d prefer to die a quick, clean death at the hands of a friend, rather than suffer the pain of a lingering death from an enemy’s shell blast.

Not wanting to be charged with murder, he obliged by smothering the man with a pillow. The man didn’t struggle and, within five minutes, he was dead. He looked peaceful, as if he died in his sleep. Just then, Nurse Haydon, Renault’s assigned nurse, entered the room. She announced the soldier’s time of death and had her fellow doctors and nurses on the ward take his body away. They immediately got started on making preparations to transport his body for his funeral and burial, and had a message sent to the War Department to inform his family.

He wasn’t sure why, but Nurse Haydon reminded him of someone else he met. As Haydon conducted the eye exam, he stared at her. There were so many things about her that felt familiar to him, as if he’d seen the same features or mannerisms on someone else. But when he thought hard about it, he knew it wasn’t his wife he was thinking about. But if it wasn’t her, then who was it? Though he couldn’t remember your name, he remembered your face. He told Haydon that he found it hard to read, so she asked him to just look straight at her as she examined his eyes. She grabbed a light and shined it in his eyes, telling him to let her know if it hurt at all. She asked him to look up for her, then look down and from side to side. She asked him questions along the way, some of which he didn’t know how to answer.

Did he have any pain in his eyes at all or any discomfort when he moved his eyes or if he read? When he said that he was having trouble reading, did he mean that it was uncomfortable to read? Did it cause him strain on his eyes and make his head pain appear worse? Did shining the candlelight cause him any pain? Or did the pain radiate into his head? He didn’t know. It was hard to tell because of his head wound from the shell blast. Did he wear glasses? No, he didn’t, but Nurse Haydon believed that if he was having some trouble reading, he might’ve needed glasses. But there was no way they could provide him with such things there. They just didn’t have the resources. But she told Renault that, once he got home after he was nice and recovered, she knew a good doctor who would be able to prescribe him with some. According to her, his eyes seemed to be working well and appeared to be in good healthy order, apart from his sight problems.

Although, who was the nurse responsible for putting this bandage on? It wasn’t up to standards whatsoever. She asked Renault if he remembered her name or maybe if he could describe her. When he hesitated, Nurse Haydon assured him that the other nurse wouldn’t get in any trouble, but she’d have to be reprimanded. Though the nurse’s name escaped him, he was able to give Nurse Haydon a detailed enough description of her that she knew exactly which nurse he was talking about. She explained to him that the reason she was so upset with the other nurse’s shoddy work is that the hospital had a very strict code of cleanliness on the ward. It was very important to make sure that all bandages and instruments were of the utmost cleanliness and that they were fit to use on the patients. He felt as if he’d had this kind of conversation before, but when? With whom?

Looking at it, she noticed that Renault’s blood was seeping through the bandage. She decided the best thing that she could do was to take it off completely, clean the wound thoroughly and then reapply a nice fresh clean bandage. But first, before she did any of those things, she took great care to wash her hands. She didn’t want to get any dirt or debris into the wound because that would cause further infection. She was gone again for just a few moments before she came back with some fresh bandages and some ointment. She tried to be as gentle as she could be while unwrapping the wound, but it seemed to be quite wrapped up and it was tricky to find where the bandage started and where it ended. Once she got it, she told Renault to tell her if he needed her to stop at any point and if he had any pain or discomfort in any way.

Whenever he hissed or seethed through his teeth, she apologized and stopped, patiently waiting for him to tell her when she could keep going. He was doing very well and was very brave while she disposed of his old, bloody bandages and took a look at his wound unobscured. It seemed to be very sore and very red, so she just allowed the air to get to the wound so it could breathe for just a few moments to help it to dry out a little bit. Just to make it a little bit more comfortable before she put the new fresh, clean bandage on. It was quite the nasty head wound that he had. Even in the twilight the gushing blood glinted red under the lamps of the hospital.

She prepared the ointment and explained to Renault that the bottle she held in her hand was an astringent which was going to help clean the wound and also to help prevent any infection. She poured some onto a clean cloth and, luckily, didn’t need an awful lot. But she warned him that it was going to sting and recommended that maybe he should close his eyes and count to three. No matter how high Captain Renault’s pain tolerance was, he still winced as she counted to three and applied the astringent to his wound. She didn’t want to put too much wrapping on his wound. She still wanted the air to get to it and to allow the wound to breathe. Once she finished rewrapping his head with a clean bandage, she asked him how it felt. Did it feel too tight or loose in any way? Did it feel comfortable? Good. Just before she came in, Nurse Haydon overheard someone talk about Renault’s hearing, so he told her that he was finding it difficult to hear in one ear because of the blast and he was afraid that he was losing his hearing permanently. She was able to assuage his fears, however.

“Don’t fear. I have known many soldiers to regain their sense of hearing once they were back at home. Yes, sometimes the damage can be permanent. But, other times, it’s not so permanent. So I’m going to test your hearing just very, very briefly to see to what extent you can hear. Can you obviously hear my voice now? You can? Every word of it? Most of it. All right. So I’m going to whisper a word in your ears and I want you to repeat that back to me.”

He struggled a little bit in one ear. He could hear her voice but not what she was saying. To him, It was all very muffled like he was underwater. In that case, Nurse Haydon believed his hearing loss could be temporary. She told him that once he went home, had some nice rest, and spent some time with his family, his hearing should return to normal. The last thing she needed to check was his heart and lungs. The hospital had some very complicated equipment, state of the art and only the best for the French and British armies. She explained to him everything she was doing so that he wouldn’t be alarmed. The instrument she used allowed her to hear inside his body and she could determine whether or not his body was working correctly and in the most functional way. He didn’t need to do anything. All he had to do was just sit there peacefully and calmly.

“You have a very strong heartbeat. Very strong. That’s good, yes. Now can you take some nice deep breaths in and out for me? Deep breath in and out, deep breath in and out, deep breath in and out. One more time. Have you been coughing in the night and have you been bringing up any mucus or fluid? Well, it sounds like there’s a little bit of congestion on the chest which isn’t a bad thing. It’s awfully chilly in here and, with your head wound, there may be a little bit of infection in your lungs there, which is nothing to worry about. We’ll just keep an eye on it.”

He asked her to read to him until he fell asleep, even if he didn’t use any words and only communicated by his eyes flickering over to a bookshelf. He had a stack of books next to his cot and not the strength to read one for more than a minute at a time. With the pain it was hard to focus and follow the plot, anyway. He remembered being in hospital once before. A woman would sometimes visit him in the evening and pick up his favorite novel to read to him until he fell asleep. Were you another nurse he knew? When he awoke you always left a note to say when you’d return, signed with love followed by your name. Your name. What was it?

“I suppose I have a little bit of time to do that. Seeing as you find it difficult to read at the moment, then I’ll be more than happy to read you a few pages from one of your books. Any book in particular?”

Louis later found a sealed envelope in his breast pocket of his uniform jacket, which had been kept in a storage locker. The envelope was blank except for the bold, black words that read, “To my child” and “DO NOT OPEN UNTIL 18TH BIRTHDAY.” He stared at the words and fiddled with the envelope between his fingers. Why did he have this? It wasn’t in his handwriting and he didn’t have any children. Who did this belong to? Why was he holding onto it? When he dug further into the pocket, he found a half-written letter. It was crumpled up a bit and the ink was smudged, but still legible. Unlike the other one, this letter didn’t have an envelope to protect it. As he read it, he began to remember. His memory was fragmented and came back to him in bits and pieces over time. It was difficult to make sense of the images that were flashing through his mind at first and he often suffered from severe headaches and migraines. Notes. You left him notes. Notes. Letters made brief. Letters. He wrote letters. To his wife? Yes. And to you, also. Where were they? He had every one that you wrote him kept in a drawer somewhere. At the barracks? In a locker? In a tent? Where were the ones he wrote you? Stuffed in your dresser drawer at home? In a make-up bag in a storage locker to make sure the cleaners didn't throw them out while you were doing your rounds in the hospital? The letters he held in his hands were from John. John who was dead. In one of his hands, Louis held an unfinished letter from a ghost to his lost love. In the other, Louis held a finished letter from a ghost to his unborn child. Louis’ ex-wife, Madeleine, was John’s lost love. And she was carrying his unborn child.

Upon being medically cleared and completing his service, Louis was given an honorable discharge and was awarded with the Legion of Honor, the highest French order of merit for military and civil merits, the 1914-1918 Inter-Allied Victory medal, for serving at least three months in the war zone, and the 1914-1918 Commemorative war medal, for his service in World War I. While you and Louis knew that nothing that happened between you was meaningless, after John’s untimely death, you both made the difficult decision to go your separate ways. Life was pulling you in two very different directions, but you promised that you’d find your way back to each other someday. Due to the circumstances that were beyond your control, goodbye was where your relationship had to remain, at least for the time being. It wasn’t farewell, it was only goodbye. Louis assured you that no matter what happened in your time apart, nothing could stop him from loving you. Until you could be together again, you’d still write to each other whenever you could. When Louis was demobbed and returned to France eight months before the war ended, you stayed on.

You sent Louis some pre-written letters so that he’d still have something from you to read while he was on the train and back home in France, until he could spare the time to sit down and write you again. During the war, you wrote to each other almost every day while you were apart, your missives often decorated with hand-drawn love hearts and always sealed with kisses. With the war nearing its end, it’d be an adjustment for the both of you to not correspond as often. Your constant endearments and promises of love were sprinkled with other, more risque declarations in your letters. Most of your letters revealed a young woman who was faithful to the man of her dreams, despite the attention of other servicemen posted far from home. You eagerly awaited Louis, counting down the days to when you could be together at long last. At one point you wrote that you were so glum and ill-tempered living without your love, adding mischievously,

“Darling one, it's just as well you aren't here as you would probably have to spank me hard - but what a heavenly spanking!”

However, you only show your daughter letters that are “clean” and don’t have such risqué remarks. She’s an adult, yes, but she doesn’t need to know everything her parents got up to when they were young. The very thought of your child reading about your and your husband’s sex life, no matter how “mild” it’s considered through a modern lens, while you and he are still alive, is so embarrassing. You’d rather not be around when she reads those letters. So the more “intimate” ones you’ll keep private for now, between just you and your husband until you both are gone. Nevertheless, the letters you do allow her to read offer an extraordinary window into life during the World Wars. After the end of World War I, men and women put their lives back together and strove to fulfill the dreams they had of a happy future. They did the same at the end of World War II.

#captain Louis renault x reader #Louis renault x reader #captain renault x reader #captain renault #louis renault #casablanca #crime of passion #the last outpost #crossover fic #crossover au #fic prompt #pls tag me if you’re inspired by this #I’d love to read it #some of the letters are taken from WWII letters shared between Katie Walker and Brian Thomas #they’re so romantic I just had to write something around them

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bluefirewrites · 3 years

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Juke We Bought A Zoo!AU Drabble

Based off that scene from ‘We Bought a Zoo’. I always thought it would be a fun AU. I could see Ray buy a zoo, struggling to raise his kids and take care of the animals after his wife died.

Luke would part of the small circle of ‘zoo kids’, whose family who live on the grounds and tend to the animals. Julie would be along for the ride, whether she likes it or not...

‘WE PLAY PRETEND... IF YOU WANT TO STOP... LET ME KNOW'

Julie freezes in place, staring at the sign, her bike stuck in the mud now forgotten.

It was from him. It has to be. That was from when they wrote that song together, huddled behind the lion enclosure- their spot.

"We're going back to Los Feliz?" she had remembered saying, after Luke told her the last time they were there, about the rumors swirling around the compound, that her dad's finances had been bled dry and he'd have to put up the zoo for sale.

She remembers letting out a sigh of relief, thrilled by the news. She was ready to go back to her old life, her old school, hang out with Flynn again.

Maybe she and her dad wouldn't be at each other's throats with the stress of running this old zoo not weighing down on him anymore...

She remembers Luke leaving just as soon as he arrived, not bothering to stay and write, with some gruff excuse to go help Reggie with the koalas.

They haven't spoken since.

It's not until now, with her standing outside in the pouring rain, reading his words, that she realizes.

She missed him. She misses Luke.

Hell, she's gonna miss him if her and her family ever do leave the compound.

He was the first friendly face here, stoked to have another person his age here besides Alex and Reggie. He was the one to make stupid and corny jokes to get her to smile (and with how miserable she had been about the move, since mom died, it had been quite a feat). He got her to sing again, he listens to her-

She doesn't want to say goodbye. She never wants to say goodbye without...

Shit.

'20 seconds of courage', her dad had told her.

Dropping the bike, she sprints to the Pattersons', her boots splattering the mud, her eyes nearly blinded by the intense wind and rain-

She finds him. In his room. Could see him through the window- he's listening to music with his headphones on.

Frantically, she trudges over and bangs on his window.

"Luke! Luke!"

It takes a couple of rounds to get his attention. He looks up and spot her, confused.

He opens the window, but before he could get a word in-

"Maybe I miss you," Julie blurts out, panting still from the run, "Like crazy. Like I miss you like crazy."

Luke leans towards the window, "Julie-"

"I don't even know what 'deep dish' means either,"

The boy's eyes widen, not expecting that. Not from the girl currently weathering this hellstorm to talk to him.

Thrown off, he snorts, chuckling slightly. And Julie smiles at the sight.

"I put it in the song 'cuz I thought it was cool..."

He shakes his head, amused,"Jules, I don't- I don't care. But you're gonna catch a cold. You need to get inside."

Julie doesn't budge. Instead she goes on, before the 20 seconds are up, before she loses the nerve to say what she needs to say.

"I miss talking to you... because you get me. You're- You're just a bundle of energy, somehow happy at the crack of dawn to clean up elephant poop or whatever-"

Luke laughs, and she's proven right, when the sunshine of his smile is present even in the rain.

"I love how passionate you are. I love that you're loyal to your friends, to your family, to the animals. I love your smile. Luke, I love you!"

His laughs cut short, a more serious expression gracing his face. Hazel eyes bore into hers, searching.

She nods. She means it. She really does.

That's all it takes.

And suddenly Luke's surging forward, sticking his head out of the window capturing Julie's lips with his.

She sighs into it, feeling his hand cradling the back of her hood, tugging her closer, and she grabs the front of the shirt, deepening the kiss.

The rain doesn't let up, pelting the both of them in its stormy wake, but neither of them minded.

Not until Luke pulls away, shivering.

He smiles at her, "Now... will you please come inside?"

She returns it, accepting his hand, ready to climb through his window. "So we're... not pretending anymore... right?"

"Do friends have epic kisses in the rain?" Luke teases.

"I guess not,"

"Let's get warmed up, okay?" he says gently, helping her inside.

She sheds her coat and they sit on his floor, listening to his music, wrapped up in each other, and Julie wonders why she ever wanted to leave in the first place.

She angles her head to look at Luke, who's been silently admiring her in the low lamplight of his room.

Yeah, she thinks, the zoo's for sure growing on her...

Tagging: @thedeathdeelers @story-courty @fanfics-she-wrote @ourstarscollided @kybee1497 @theobligatedklutz @serendipitee @echocharm17618 @blush-and-books @lydias–stiles @pink-flame @smolfangirl @missjoolee

#juke #jatp #julie and the phantoms #palina #juke-box #julie x luke #luke x julie #zookeeper's son!Luke #zoo owner's daugther!julie #THEY SO WOULD HAVE KISSED IN THE MOVIE #drabble

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oasis-for3v3r · 3 years

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Cloud 9 <3

Prompt-reader is a famous singer and performs her first live performance with David Bowie, doing a duet of Under Pressure on Live Aid

David Bowie x Reader Platonic Pairing @laneofpennies @a-none-bee @angelofhell323

Warnings: none unless you count descriptions of nervousness. And a lengthy fic

Okay, let’s do it.

Was the first thing you said to yourself. At eight am. On a Saturday. In the middle of July. You usually be sleeping until 2pm on weekends since you were usually so busy on the weekdays. Being Englands new up- and- coming musician is all.

“Ow!” you said as your foot slipped on something and stubbed your toe on the edge of the dresser. You bit back a mirad of curses as you picked up the foul weapon.

Oh.

Sky Heavens- Head in the Clouds. Your first album. Of course. You were lucky enough to get one from the store. Nearly all of the record shops were sold out. You should be happy, I mean sales were doing great, and as for the royalties-

Oh my gosh how has it ben 25 minutes already?!.

It was a very important day for you.. you were preforming for your first crowd ever. So of course you were excited. but more nervous because, it was your first time. And you had terrible stage fright. And you were doing a duet with David Bowie. Oh you almost forgot.

Your first performance was gonna be Live Aid.

As you tucked in your fancy bell-sleeved bloused you asked yourself a string of questions. For example:

How in the hell did you get into live aid?

What song were you gonna sing with David, er Mr.Bowie?

Were there gonna be high notes? Could you even hit them?

Am i dressing too casual?

Oh my gosh, were going after Queen.

Your final though was punctuated with a hailing of a cab. You felt dizzy after you entered the car so you focused on the horizon, which made your eyes get heavier and heavier until...

“Ma’am this is a cab not a daycare” the driver grunted.

Your head snapped up, wiping the drool off off your chin. You have got to stop making this a habit. You scolded to yourself.

Every time your legs hit the ground of Wembely Stadium, you could feel the muscles in your leg turn into jelly. Your heartbeat is playing the percussion. And your pretty sure that your haven’t taken a breath since coming out of the cab.

You finally taken a breather when you hear commotion coming from the nearest hallway. You saw so many stars you could’ve swore you were in space. You saw Elton John, Freddie Mercury, Roger Taylor, Brian May, (you couldn’t find John Deacon) Adam Ant was sitting on a couch reading a magazine. Next to him was Elvis Costello sticking straws down his hair, you were about to laugh when-

“Boo!”

“Jesus!”

“No this is David.” joked a lanky man with blond hair, and a pastel blue suit, matching your all white outfit (with a pale blue headband) making you too look like the color of the sky.

“Mr.Bow- David, hi!” you exclaimed, trying to sound as cheery as possible.

He hesitated for a moment looking in your eyes as if searching for something only for a moment. “Come into my trailer, i need to talk to you.” he says softly.

You followed him into what looked like a portal to the personification of serenity. There were books piled on top of a small table. A kettle burning on low. With not surprisingly, a pile of teacups littered on top of the counter. You also noticed (on nosier inspection) small annotations scribbled in the corners.

“Y/N!!”

“YES” you exclaimed, jumping slightly. You have got to start paying more attention to your surroundings.

“Tell me whats on your mind, and be honest” his voice was filled with concern, but somehow still comforting.

You took a breath- seventh one today. And started:

“ I feel like everyone will be disappointed, when they see me. All I ever wanted to do was make music that someone will relate to and find comfort in. And now that I have that, which I am very grateful for, I have to handle the price of fame as well. People put celebrities on pedestals and if they make one mistake in the public eye the pedestal crumbles. And don’t even get me started on the media. And today one of the biggest days in history, and if I do bad, then i will not only disappoint myself but the families in Africa who are relying on me to succeed. And-”

“Y/N” David said sternly “Calm down, you will be fine.” He took a breather and said.” You remind me of myself when I was younger, a shy little Capricorn boy, I just wanted to make music, and the fame tagged along. Its what happens eventually. I just used theatrics to cover up the stage fright.” “Now I just focus on the crowd as if they were one person and give them ll the light I have.”

“As for you when singing Under Pressure with me- while singing Freddie’s part- I want you to take all of the audience’s energy, make it into light and give it towards the sky.” “Give everybody hope.”

Just then you heard.a knock at the trailer. it was time for you to get ready.

You watched as Queen rocked the show. This was gonna be hard for you to follow up. You felt like this performance was gonna be talked about for decades. You felt pity for the future generations that wont get to see this.

You watched with butterflies in your stomach, as you saw David perform TVC 15 which bleed into Rebel Rebel. You smiled with fondness, as the corners of your mouth twitched,(which happened often when you’re nervous). When you were turned around.

Moustace, Freddie Mercury.

“Hello, Darling. You’re going up next with Under Pressure, right?”

“Y-Yes ” you were shaking

“ Well don’t fuck it up darling. And make everyone proud.” He said with a smile (that was also in his eyes)

You nodded, and he turned you back around. Just in time for you to be handed a microphone and introduced by David.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome to the stage-for the first time ever- Sky Heavens!!!”

You heard more applause than you expected. But then again it was your very first time ;)

You heard the beginning of the song, and you knew you had no time to be nervous as you started:

Mmm num ba de Dum bum ba be Doo buh dum ba beh beh

Then together-

Pressure pushing down on me Pressing down on you, no man ask for Under pressure that burns a building down Splits a family in two Puts people on streets

Um ba ba be Um ba ba be De day da Ee day da- that's okay

So far you have just been looking at the horizon, seeing the sun begin its descent, little by little.

It's the terror of knowing what this world is about Watching some good friends screaming, "Let me out!" Pray tomorrow gets me higher Pressure on people, people on streets

This is for peace and hope in Africa.

Chipping around, kick my brains around the floor These are the days it never rains but it pours Ee do ba be Ee da ba ba ba Um bo bo People on streets Ee da de da de People on streets

This is for anyone who has felt stress for being themselves

It's the terror of knowing what this world is about Watching some good friends screaming, 'Let me out' Pray tomorrow gets me higher, high Pressure on people, people on streets

The sun was setting now, making the crowd look like angels and your outfit dipped in the sun. David was looking at you with the biggest grin on his face as if seeing his child gain confidence. The high note was coming, and you were ready.

Take all the Audiences Energy

Turned away from it all like a blind man

Make it into light

Sat on a fence but it don't work

Give it towards the sky

Keep coming up with love but it's so slashed and torn

Give everybody hope

Why, why, whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!

That was the highest note you had ever hit. The energy that the crowd was giving you was electric. You felt unstoppable.

Insanity laughs under pressure we're breaking

David was practically yelling into the mic, as he felt unstoppable with you too.

Can't we give ourselves one more chance? Why can't we give love that one more chance? Why can't we give love, give love, give love, give love Give love, give love, give love, give love, give love?

Because love's such an old-fashioned word And love dares you to care for The people on the (People on streets) edge of the night And love (People on streets) dares you to change our way of Caring about ourselves This is our last dance This is our last dance This is ourselves under pressure Under pressure Under pressure Pressure

On the final word you hugged David, he shouted in your ear so you hear him over the roaring crowd. “YOU DID IT LOVE!!! IM SO PROUD OF YOU111″

You look over his shoulder to see Freddie Mercury.

Clapping.

For You.

You felt as if there was the sun poured inside of you. As if you were weightless. You found your new home; on Cloud 9.

#david bowie #freddie mercury #liveaid #live aid #80s music #icon #first look #fanfic #writerscommunity #proof #oc #david bowie x reader #freddie mercury x reader #queen #love #under pressure #vanilla ice

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

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For the meet ugly prompts, 02 indruck?

Here you go! I went SFW on this one and interpreted the prompt kind of broadly. It's set in the same world as this Sternclay prompt

Fun fact: there is a fire lookout in the Monogahela, but the structure I describe is based on more elaborate ones elsewhere

02. I bought a house three months ago but I’m finally moving in and discover you’ve been squatting because you’re homeless

Only in Duck’s life would “dream job” and “months alone in the woods” be equivalent.

The Bickle Nob Fire Lookout is a coveted position, and Duck is pretty fucking flattered they chose him as the ranger for July and August. He took the high clearance off-roader to get here, he’s got his bags full of everything he needs not to die of boredom (or anything else) and his schedule of supply drops. He’s as ready as can be and so fucking excited when he opens the door of the wide-windowed cabin.

Then he jumps back, startled to find a skinny, silver-haired man asleep on the floor.

“Uh, sir? This site is off-limits to visitors.”

The man wakes up in a series of catastrophic movements; he bangs into the wall, tangles in his blanket, and nearly stumbles out the window when he manages to stand.

“I, I’m sorry, I didn’t foresee anyone coming here.”

“Department spent all of June arguin’ about whether it was worth allocatin funds for this, so that’s why the place was empty. Fire up North two weeks ago scared ‘em enough to send me up here.” Duck explains with a casual smile; after all, even if he’s way off the trail, there’s no reason to assume this guy is out to cause trouble, “if you got lost hikin, I’m happy to radio down and ask for someone to come get you and take you back to your camp.”

“Nono, I, ah, I’m not lost. One needs to have a destination to be lost.”

“O-kay. Uh, well, whatever you’re lookin for, I’m afraid this ain’t it. This buildin is for the fire lookout only.”

“I promise I’ll be very unobtrusive. I even have my own supplies, you won’t have to worry about me in the slightest.” The man smiles,opening one of his two bags to show it crammed with shiny packets of food.

Duck shakes his head, “Can’t do it, sorry. I’m serious though, if you need a ride into town I can get a hold of someone who can help. Maybe, uh, you could find whatever you’re lookin for there?”

“No” the man sags, but begins zipping up his bags, “I do not think I will find it there. I am sorry for intruding.” He steps out the door, turning towards the deeper woods on the western slope.

“You need a map?” Duck calls. The man doesn’t so much as look over his shoulder.

Duck unpacks as much as he can, checks the weather station and notes the readings suggest those thunderheads on the far horizon are coming his way. By dinnertime, they’re right on top of him, rain pattering on the roof and thunder rattling the windows. He’s scanning the trees when he spots a metallic flash, not of lightning but of silver hair. His mystery visitor is huddled under a tree, wind forcing the hood of his raincoat back over and over again.

The rules and regulations in the forest are there to keep the environment and visitors safe. If something doesn’t violate those basic requirements, Duck sees no reason not to bend them.

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

“I really cannot stress how grateful I am that you allowed me back in.” The visitor, who introduced himself as Indrid, finishes packing their scant trash into the can, “I promise that as soon as the storm passes I’ll leave you be.”

“Yeah, about that.” Duck scratches the back of his neck, “you really don’t got anywhere to call home, do you?”

Indrid opens his mouth. Duck stares, pointedly, at the holes in his white shirt and the worn shoes sticking out from frayed jeans.

“....No, I do not.”

“In that case, you stay here the next two months, on two conditions: one, you don’t get in the way of me doin what I’m here to do. Two, you don’t tell anyone I let you do this. Deal?”

“Yes, yes absolutely” Indrid shakes his hand, bouncing up and down a bit, “thank you so much. You will barely know I’m here.”

This turns out to be completely true and utterly false.

Indrid does keep to himself most of the day; he draws, reads, lays in the sun outside the cabin and generally stays out of Ducks way while he’s working. But he’s also the person who sits and jokes with him during meals, who eagerly follows Duck’s hand when he points out interesting birds or plants, and watches intently when Duck reads his instruments.

He never thought he could live in a fifteen by fifteen foot space with another person and not have a full head of grey by the end of it. Indrid Cold is the exception that proves the rule, Duck certain he’ll never be able to be cooped up with anyone but Indrid ever again.

It helps that he still gets his quiet time; Indrid will got out for walks, even watches for smoke so Duck can do the same. They use the wild foraging guide and Duck’s knowledge of local plants to bring back extra food. Indrid was particularly pleased when he located some wild blackberries. When Duck reminded him to watch out for bears near the berry patch, Indrid simply smirked and said there was only one bear on the mountain who could get him.

Duck’s daydreaming of what Indrid might do if caught on his way back from a dusk walk. And, more urgently, how he can convince Indrid that he wants to sleep outside tomorrow night. So it takes two tries of the front door before he notices it’s locked.

“Indrid?” he knocks, “you in there?” Stepping back, he finds the windows hastily covered by his bedsheets and blankets. He knocks harder, “that’s real fuckin dangerous, if there’s a fire we won’t see it. ‘Drid! Open the damn door!”

He continues banging, unanswered, as the moon--two days from full--rises above.

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

Indrid covers his ears to block out Duck’s increasingly worried shouts from outside. This is the right choice, the best of a bad bunch; it will keep Duck and anyone else nearby safe. The ranger will probably turn him away come morning, rightly furious at his irrationality. Indrid resolves not to argue with him; he’ll slink back into the trees, just like he did the last time someone threw him out for his transgressions.

It starts in his chest, his heartbeat climbing to marathon speeds in spite of him holding still. Then his skin prickles, silver hair sprouting from every follicle, followed by his back bowing in pain and his jaw elongating with a crack. From there the adrenaline kicks in, flooding his body so the transformation doesn’t render him unconscious (and therefore helpless) with pain. When next he raises his head, a werewolf with glowing, red eyes looks back at him from the darkened windows.

Beyond the covered windows, someone howls. Then he scents it, another of his kind coming dangerously close. He has to go out, he can’t leave Duck out there with something that will rip him apart, surely he likes the human enough for his mind to see him as a friend, not prey-

CRACK

The door splinters off its hinges; he growls, ready to defend his home. A deeper growl answers him as a larger wolf, black-furred and yellow eyed, stalks across the threshold.

“What. the. Fuck?” the newcomer snaps, “I told you, you can only stay if you don’t fuck up my work and locking me out comes real fuckin close to that!”

He cocks his head “Duck?”

“No, I’m the fuckin president of the united states.”

“I, I’m so sorry.” Indrid drops to all fours, then flattens to his belly just to be safe, “I didn’t know, I just wanted to be sure I wouldn’t hurt you.”

Duck points to the broken door, “you coulda just done that from the opposite side and I woulda been dinner.”

“No I, I know that if I confine myself I tend to be...calmer. I don’t get overstimulated and then agitated.”

“You coulda just told me. Lockin me out is real rude.”

Indrid whines, crawls close enough to nose at him.

“You don’t gotta do that; I ain't assertin dominance or some shit, I’m just a little annoyed.”

He whines again, “please don’t make me leave.”

“I won’t.” Duck’s voice turns softer.

“And you will not get angry at me for not being appropriately grateful for your leniency?”

Duck frowns, “Aw jesus, did you come from one of those old-school packs?

“Yes” Indrid grumbles, hating himself for how easily he fell into manners he loathes, how deep the teachings of his home run.

Duck eases him up so they’re both sitting, then noses the side of his face, “We don't do that around here. Least, I don't. I don’t spend a ton of time with most of the other Weres when they’re wolfed-out, but they ain’t big on tradition and hierarchy the rest of the time.”

“Ah. That’s, that’s good.”

The other Were stretches, stands and pads about the room, removing the make-shift curtains, “You gotta teach me how you’re so fuckin accurate on when the moon is full enough to make us shift whether or not we want to; I thought I had a day left. I, uh, I was gonna ask you to sleep in here while I ‘slept under the stars’ so you wouldn’t know.”

“You’re not afraid of hurting someone?”

“Nah, especially not this far out. Sometimes I hunt deer, but whatever strain of this I got doesn’t go feral unless some shit goes majorly wrong.” He drops the blankets on the floor, “don’t know about you, but I don’t feel like huntin tonight. Or stargazin. I’m beat from work.”

“Agreed. Transforming against my will always makes me tired.”

Duck lays down on the floor,yawns, “In that case: sleep tight ‘Drid.”

Indrid tries to do just that. But every time he catches Duck’s scent he wishes he could move closer to him, then remembers that would be rude, and continues in that back and forth until he’s wide awake. It doesn’t help that his Were form runs cold; he’s shivering in spite of it still being close to eighty degrees.

His ears flick at Duck’s footfalls. Then a warm, bulky frame curls around his freezing, lanky one.

“This okay?” Duck carefully drapes an arm over him.

Indrid sighs, feeling safer than he has in a year, “better than.”

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

“I’m a seer.”

Duck looks up from his breakfast, mouth full but question clear.

“Last night, you asked me how I knew we’d transform. Seeing the future makes it rather easy.”

“Damn, that does sound handy.”

“In many ways it is. Though it carries some, ah, some downsides.” Indrid steers his thoughts towards safer paths, “If you’d like, I could use it to help you with the fire lookout.”

The ranger grins, the expression twice as warm as his fur the night before, “That’d be fuckin great.”

Indrid smiles back, keeps his eyes on the windows so as not to look longingly back at the rumpled sheets. They awoke this morning in a heap, Duck’s modesty preserved only by a blanket and Indrid’s hair stuck in all directions. He’d been ready to apologize for not moving away before dawn, but Duck simply reached out, stroked his hair down, and asked if he wanted coffee.

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

“You’re right, you can see more animals this way.” They’re perched, fully transformed, on the rocks outside the cabin. Indrid knows how to use his night vision for hunting, but Duck is teaching him how to use it for more peaceful matters.

“Yeah, long as you stay put most animals get up the nerve to nose around some.”

They’d transformed side by side, Duck banging his head in the process. Indrid licked near the bruise and made soothing, sympathetic sounds when Duck whined and cursed his luck. Back home, being demonstrative was frowned upon; here, Duck seems to always be casually bumping their bodies together.

When they go to bed several hours after moonrise, they curl up side by side without hesitation. It’s so very easy to tune out his visions when Duck is near and Indrid falls asleep while the ranger is still whispering about the birds they can hear.

He wakes up an hour later in a panic, disasters of visions past tearing through his mind.

“‘Drid? What’s wrong?” Duck noses the base of his neck.

“Nothing. Just a bad dream.” He closes his eyes, tries to focus on Duck’s scent, his breath, the wind in the trees, but still the ghosts of his memories lurk in the corners of his vision.

“Can I try somethin?” Duck murmurs. Indrid thought he’d gone back to sleep.

“Of course.”

Teeth tenderly and ever so carefully clamp the fur and skin of his neck. He goes limp in one breath. He was high status enough that no one ever did this to him, but goodness does he wish they had

The ranger let’s go, “Do I need to do it again?”

“Please.”

Duck obliges and Indrid whimpers, melting shamelessly in his arms.

“Thank you. I think I can sleep now.”

“Any time, ‘Drid. Uh, before you, uh, go to sleep there’s somethin I wanna ask you. Since you need a place to stay, do you, uh, wanna stay with me? In Kepler.”

“You’d really like that? You, if this is out of pity-”

“It ain’t.”

There were no futures where it was. Indrid wanted to hear the words all the same.

“Besides” Duck nuzzles him, “we already know we make damn good roommates.”

Indrid can’t help it; he howls, brief and joyful, safe in the knowledge that Duck will be ready with a laugh and a kiss in reply.

#indruck #indrid cold/ duck newton #meet ugly #taz amnesty #werewolf au

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cupsofsuga · 4 years

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𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 ━ 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 *:·。.

{ ⚠️} WARNING - This is a yandere au, meaning the following may be triggering to some viewers. I am not trying to discriminate the boys in any way, this is for entertainment purposes. Viewer discretion is advised!!!

{ 💐} REQUEST - ❝ Can I have the boys reactions to an s/o who show her possessiveness by wearing their clothes ? She's all happy and proud to go to the university or whatever wearing their shirt because " That way everyone will know that I'm yours and you're mine , plus it smells like you 🥺 " ❞

{ ☕️} NOTE - thank you so so much for requesting, dollface!

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐊𝐉𝐈𝐍

━━━ November’s essence kisses the air of your living room, it’s fierce caress trailing across your skin. You, ever so intelligently, stated with pride that you could handle the cold, regretting the choice as the embers of moonlight trace their fingertips across naked goosebumps. Strolling through the halls of your home, shivering from the sharp wind, you find your bedroom with intentions of retrieving some form of warmth. You discover a grey hoodie, lethargically tossed over a chair. The owner’s identity is quickly exposed, as the sweatshirt descends down your form due to your lover’s broad shoulders. You have now found solace, drowned in the scent of cologne.

Oh, and the blush that blooms beat-red across Jin’s cheeks is a sight you’ll never forget.

Following that occurrence (and the rest of the night spent smothered in your boyfriend’s lily-pure affection), you’ve taken notice of Jin’s not-so-subtle efforts to usher you into wearing his clothes again. At first, it began with leaving articles of clothing in numerous places, but that plan backfired as you silently scolded him under your breath for not tidying up after himself. This strategy escalated into Jin planting his clothes in your drawer’s, then claiming it was an “accident” or "a way to save space.” The red hues painting his ears and the way he avoids eye-contact jeopardizes his weak filter, though. At least you find his everlasting, spring-scented infatuation beneath the facade of damp rain and rotten trees. Be careful, though. If you venture too deep into the depths of Kim Seokjin and you’ll find sights of crimson-stained sins.

❝ God, you have way too much power over me, y’know? I’m always so soft for you, ‘fucking moron. ❞

𝐌𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈

━━━ The evening mist glides through the brume of your boudoir, where you are embraced by the neglected clothes of your boyfriend like snow sleeping on a pine tree. After a particularly cold night strikes your studio apartment, the empty sheets and abandoned blankets failed to bring the solace of the sweltering summer-warmth your lover possesses. You yearned for Yoongi and the moonlight, the coffee stains, and stormy nights that kiss his form. The rhythmic melody of his gentle voice; the crow’s caress that wanders his skin. And despite his overbearing worry and protectiveness that you’ve brushed off as “concern for your health,” you crave those December eyes and that feeble heart. Fortunately for you, your knight in shining armor didn’t venture too far away. And finding you nestled under numerous covers causes worry to immediately swell within his heart.

His concern is distinctly evident, as his shrill voice of distress invades the midnight breeze. You swear you feel him shiver with dread when he feels how frigid you are when he shakily takes your hand into his. And before you express your refusal to his care, Yoongi vanishes from the bedroom to draw you a bath. If you think he’s exaggerating your discomfort due to the November weather, think again. Your name is then sung into the air, blossoming into the twilight’s brume as you escape the warmth of your bed and stroll to your lover. Before you, you’ll find the hot water adorned in bubbles and flower petals, candles littered around the room (far from the tub, for your safety), melodies of violin and piano reverberating through the area, and the sugary caresses from your Yoongi as the cherry on top. Whilst adorned in the blissful harmony of peace, you can't help but let your mind wander. His worry has always been grand, so grand that you fear his heart may actually stop beating if your safety was ever at stake.

Oh, well, at least he cares. Maybe a little too much.

❝ My Y/N, if you ever, ever need anything, I will always be right here… Always… ❞

𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐊

━━━ Finding your boyfriend nestled under a canopy of your clothing was never a shock, as your scent of cheap whiskey and jasmines beneath the August sun lulled his soul to ease. The sultry high he’s given when inhaling another article of clothing is euphoric, infinite. To breathe in your musk is to find an eternal night beneath the purple rain; to drown in the depths of you is to savor the stars as they breathe out the dust of twilight. There’s a garden that thrives around the simple presence of your fragrance and Hoseok can’t imagine a greater bliss that is your essence. That is until he finds you draped in one of the many sweaters he owns, the red threading like Autumn against your form.

He was always swift to recognize his infatuation, but to know the emotions he immerses himself into are mutual emits a variety of nymphs to tangle themselves with his heartbeat. He feels the rhythms of sunlight as they batter against his ribcage and nothing, nothing is as ecstatic as this.

Twilight has occurred, the moonlight bleeds through the glass panes and hits your eyes ever so elegantly. It reflects a soft radiance as if the moon was swimming in your irises. You are beautiful, lying on the couch with his sweater on like a stray cat who will soon vanish into the arms of the night. It was no secret that Hoseok adored seeing you in his clothes, as his boisterous admiration morphed into suffocating infatuation. There was even a time where you reached into the pocket of his sweater during class and find a folded piece of paper containing a sweet note (that was just a tad bit creepy) along with doodles of hearts, flowers, cats, and dogs. Hoseok's love may cut deep with its shattered-lily touch, but it is entirely pure. Despite the obsession seeping through his affections, he loves you more than you could ever possibly know.

❝ Hey, isn’t it crazy how after all this time, you still manage to give me so many butterflies? I… I think I’m gonna love you forever… ❞

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐉𝐎𝐎𝐍

━━━ You anticipate for your lover to return to your home, stumbling around the adobe in utter boredom. Although this lifeless night is all too dull, you notice how the penthouse you wander around resembles a palace. With its crystalline chandeliers and marble tiles, its paradisiac view of the city that never sleeps and melodies of chefs and maids rustling around the residence. Through the lavish estate, you find the bedroom, embellished in opulent riches of all kinds. Then, there’s the closet, decked out to the brim in treasures of Gucci, Chanel, and Prada. There’s jewelry, bags, shoes, nearly every single article of clothing an item you couldn’t dream of affording in your past, mundane life. Your eyes settle on a blazer, exquisitely threaded with the finest of silks nestled deep within the closet.

The coat is a tad bit too large for your form, but you believe it fits you like a glove. And despite there being a faint stain of spilled champagne on the sleeve, coming home to his summer sunset wearing his attire like its armor, Namjoon has never tasted bliss as divine as this.

The skies once painted baby blue morph into the dark hues of twilight. Night has come, euphoria has been found within the tendrils of your hair on his chest and the littering of bubblegum-pink kisses across your skin. For reasons Namjoon can’t define, seeing you in his clothes causes his heart to tremble and plummet. There’s this sudden veil of exhilaration, like a July night spent with your record collection and red wine. It’s an enchantment that aches deep within his chest, where the desire to submerge you in his affections burns within his heart. He gazes at your now sleeping form, naming off every detail of you that he loves so much like he’s counting dollar bills in his hands. His moonlight’s essence, his lavender’s breath, his garden full of violets. You have taught him how to live without rain and he can’t gift you enough gratitude for this blessing. But, just don’t be surprised when you find your closet covered in dust. You’re only allowed to wear his clothes from now on.

❝ Damn, blue is an outstanding color on you. Maybe that should be the color for our wedding… Wait- shit! I-I-I didn’t say anything! ❞

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍

━━━ Upon the surface of your bed, the voice of rain trembles against the thin roof above you. Tree branches sway with the heavy wind, lightning lashes like a whip against the evening floor. You feel the nightly embrace of bitter inclemency, as the earthly musk swims around the bedroom. Despite finally having a night alone, you notice yourself longing for the tumultuous warmth of your lover. A single night spent in isolation, Jimin didn’t take it lightly. After all, what is life without the iridescence of a Summer’s kiss? How can he breathe without immersing himself within the depths of his angel’s orchestra? You can assume what thoughts of hunger are rumbling through the boy’s mind, but you are oblivious to the saturated sound of Jimin weeping into his cold flesh.

You retrieve one of his sweaters in the meantime, inhaling his fragile scent of honey and moonflowers. He must be adorned in several layers of just your clothes, you joke to yourself. The enchantment of the rain’s melody and the fragrance of your boyfriend then lulls you into slumber, to where you then awake the following morning to dawn painting the optimistic face of Jimin.

Finding you in his sweater, knowing you had missed him, he had blushed like a tomato ready to harvest, that confident and broad facade melting like ice cream, to where he became a sugary puddle of flowering feelings and summer velvet. He looked like a young schoolboy who had received a love letter in his locker, as the blood of Aphrodite paints his cheeks rosy and utter bewitchment has him smiling like a lovestruck idiot. As you then regain consciousness, you are then smothered in Jimin’s affections. He kisses you everywhere wild as if leaving a single inch of skin unloved would kill him. He’ll even go as far as to order a shirt that reads “JIMIN + Y/N 5EVER” or just straight-up purchasing a conjoined sweater, so you’ll never be separated ever again. It is insane how infatuated he is, yes, but there is not a single soul within our universe that could cherish you as utterly as he does. And Jimin will walk with that fact to the grave.

❝ Ngh! No, don’t leave! Stay in bed, just for a couple more minutes! Maybe even a couple more hours, please…? A couple days…? ❞

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐓𝐀𝐄𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐆

━━━ October has bloomed, the saturated leaves are painted damp as rain kisses the earth below. You have lost track of the months settled within the isolated cottage, but enough time has been spent for your new boyfriend to grant you the privilege of taking a hike (with his presence alongside yours, of course). To stay warm within the frigid weather, you encounter one of Taehyung’s sweaters, arm sleeve hung over the side of the hamper. As the clothing sits on your form, you immerse yourself in the expensive musk of your lover. He smells like a century spent in the clouds with peaches and fairies; he smells like Autumn as pumpkin pie and Halloween nights essence dances with the ghosts in the attic. It is ethereal the way summer’s affection seems to litter the fragrance he dresses with.

Upon seeing you standing beneath the rickety door frame, adorned in his moss-colored sweater, Taehyung had blushed with utter joy and bewilderment. He had nearly dropped the midnight-black umbrella in his hands, stunned upon witnessing you in attire as mere as his coat.

After a stroll through the empty fields beneath the rainfall (and hearing the shutter of a camera for the umpteenth time), you retreat to your humble adobe. The following night is spent in blissful harmony, where you’ll sleep beneath the canopy of stars, locked within his daisy-chain embrace. You are his scarlet kingdom, his summer’s honey, his garden adorned in fineries such as nymphs and emeralds and birdsong. As dawn blossoms in the sky, you awake alone within silken sheets, the revelation peculiar. As you regain consciousness and study the sunlit bedroom, you find Taehyung’s clothes folded neatly on the end of the bed, drenched heavily in cologne. You nearly cough from the intensity, studying the note rested on top, where your partner exclaims he needed to run for groceries in calligraphy. Besides this note, however, is a necklace with a vial swung upon the string. With closer inspection, you come to the horrifying conclusion that the crimson fluid within the glass was his blood. You now shall never be apart again, not with Taehyung right beside your beating heart.

❝ Oh, Y/N, to spent everyday with you like this, it’s like everything I’ve lost has returned home to me. You truly are a blessing, my love… ❞

𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐊𝐎𝐎𝐊

━━━ It is a muggy Wednesday morning, where fog coats the floor of dawn, and the dense breeze embraces the earth’s redolence. Today is frigid, as the embers of the piercing winds kiss your honeyed skin. You can’t help but long for Summer to return home, where the sky turns pink in its sugary excellence and where you’ll find youthful infatuation on the curb of Cherry Street, like two poodles whose leashes have entangled beneath the Eiffel Tower. With philosophies of sweltering fantasies, you clutch a leather jacket, oblivious to its owner. Into the grey forest of high school, you’ll find every fragment of boredom known to mankind. But, throughout the dull conditions, at least you have your Jungkook.

Catching sight of you in his jacket causes a heavenly glow to inflate his heart, the essence of clouds and angel’s tears scattering his soul. It feeds into his possessiveness as if he was marking you with his scent, claiming you like a wolf would with his mate.

From thereon, you take notice of Jungkook’s subtle efforts to indulge you within his scent. His affections morphed from shy, rosy-pink compliments to physical touches, as if clasping onto you would drown out the musk of all those heathens you call “friends.” Your scent of moonlit harmonies and dusk in California had since dissolved into his scent of melting chocolate and cigarette smoke. His possessive tendencies may be extreme (like that time he snuck into your closet at 4 in the morning and perfumed every article of clothing with his cologne), but his intentions are ever so pure. You are his siren song, his sunset gaze, his purple rain. You are everything to this boy, with galaxies burning within your chest and distant realities snaking their way through your soul. Within the heart of Jeon Jungkook, you live inside Eden's garden, crafted just for you. And there’s only so much time before he scoops you into his embrace and never let's go.

❝ … You smell different… Who is it? Who have you been talking to? What is that blonde I always see you with? I swear, I’ll gouge out his eyeballs with a plastic spoon and force him to eat them!! ❞

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amarimaryllis · 3 years

Text

I Liked You So Much, We Lost It (Iwaizumi x Reader)

Pairing: Iwaizumi/Reader

Prompt/Summary: You and Iwaizumi are so in love with each other that the only way the universe can separate you both is to put 8,577 kilometers worth of land and sea between the two of you (spoiler: the universe actually does put 8,577 kilometers worth of land and sea between the two of you).

Tags: Fluff, Angst

Note: I used she/her pronouns for the reader, Lots of timeskips, Inspired by Ysabelle’s “I Liked You So Much, We Lost It”, Sequel to “I Like You So Much, You’ll Know It” but can be read as a standalone fic

Warnings: Angst, Very Slight Manga Spoilers, Slight Canon Divergence (you won’t even notice it if you don’t read into it so let’s shhhh, I mean this entire fanfic is a canon divergence but let’s not 😌)

Almost everyone in Aoba Johsai knew that you and Iwaizumi were together. So many people had invested themselves in the friends to lovers situation that you guys had that it was impossible for them to not find out that you guys were finally together. Nearly three years of you guys just tip-toeing around each other and it finally paid off.

You guys were practically inseparable since the day that Iwaizumi brought you to the convenience store to shelter yourselves from the rain. If one was to see either of you, it was sure that the other would come around eventually. You guys were so deeply in love with each other that nothing could separate you. However, months had passed, and in a few weeks, it would be time for you all to graduate. You never really knew what Iwaizumi’s plans were after Seijoh. You just trusted that everything would fall into place as it always did.

“Hajime, why are you avoiding my gaze?” You pout from the floor of his bedroom, sitting with your legs crossed as you basked in the warmth that his hoodie brought.

Iwaizumi looks up from his work to give you a small smile. “You look too cute in my jacket.”

“And?” You blush slightly, but you don’t let him fully change the topic.

“It’s distracting, and I have this final project to finish.” Iwaizumi turns to look back at the paper.

“Project? Didn’t we finish them all last week?” You raise a brow, trying to take a look at the paper before Iwaizumi hastily pulls it away from your view. “Hey, Hajime… What is that?”

“It’s nothing.” Iwaizumi’s body is tense, avoiding your gaze as he fiddles with the pen.

“Okay.” You can feel your heart beating quicker. Worry filled your veins, but you try to tell yourself that you’re probably just overreacting. “I trust you.”

Iwaizumi sighs before he stands up and goes to your side. He plops behind you, pulling you in between his legs before he wraps his arms around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder. “I’m gonna miss this.”

You smile at his touch, closing your eyes to bask in the warmth that he emits before his words sink. “You’re talking as if I’m gonna be leaving.”

You giggle lightly before you turn around and wrap your arms around Iwaizumi’s neck, pressing your forehead onto his. “I’m not going anywhere, don’t worry.”

Iwaizumi looks conflicted as he stares into your eyes, his grip on your waist getting tighter with each passing second. You can see his eyes swirl with a million different things, and it scares you. What was it that had him acting like this?

“Hajime—“

Iwaizumi cuts you off with a kiss.

It’s desperate. The way his lips move against yours, searching for something, longing for something. His lips were soft against yours, but the emotions you could feel swirling inside him made his movements hasty and thoughtless. It was like he was trying to forget something, erasing whatever it was that ate him up on the inside as he deepened the kiss.

He pulls away, giving you a chance to breathe before he’s hoisting you up and dropping you on his bed, hovering on top of you as he gazes into your eyes.

His eyes were teary, and this prompts you to speak. “Hajime what’s wrong?”

Iwaizumi drops to your side on the bed before he pulls you on top of him as he wraps his arms around you. “Promise me.”

“Promise you what?” The serious tone laced in Iwaizumi’s words makes your heart beat quicker, the fear of something—you didn’t know what exactly made you feel afraid at that moment—settling itself deep into your chest. “Hajime, what’s going on?”

“Promise me you’ll stay with me.” Iwaizumi whispers, his arms wrapping tighter around you as if he was afraid that you were going to disappear. “Please.”

“I promise.” You grab Iwaizumi’s cheeks with your hand before you press a quick peck on his lips. “Now tell me what��s going on. You seem so stressed lately, and it’s kind of making me worried.”

“I’m…” Iwaizumi’s voice is strained as if the words stuck in his throat were laced with thorns that wound him as he struggles to let it out. “I’m gonna study Sports Sciences.”

You giggle lightly. “Why are you worried? You’re gonna do great—“

“In California.” Iwaizumi whispers, but you hear it nonetheless.

It doesn’t sink in. You don’t want it to. As the anchors of that statement plunge deeper into the ocean of your system, the currents that try to keep you alive raise themselves to fight against the weight of the anchors. It’s futile, the waves of emotions, thoughts rage until they’re slowly drowning you in the uncertainty of your future. “Are you breaking up with me?”

“What?” Iwaizumi sits up, which in turn makes you sit up as well. “No. I’m just… I don’t want to lose you just because I’m leaving.”

“Then why are you so stressed?” You could feel your eyes well up with relief, but no matter how much you look on the bright side, there’s still that gnawing feeling in your stomach. “You’re not losing me unless you break up with me, idiot.”

“Hey, don’t cry.” Iwaizumi pouts lightly at you, making you laugh at the way he looked. He smiles, his heart swelling as he sees you laugh. “Are you sure you’re okay with it? I’m gonna be all the way in California. The timezones won’t match. I’ll be busy on some days. I won’t be here to hug you or kiss you. Which is pretty damn unfortunate cause I really like kissing you—“

“Iwaizumi Hajime.” Iwaizumi stops when he hears you call his name while grabbing his cheeks.

“Yes, love?” Iwaizumi responds immediately. It was as if months of being with you had trained him to do so when you called out his full name.

“I love you, and kilometers of land and sea isn’t gonna change that.” You smile before pressing a kiss on his lips. “Stop worrying.”

“Do that again.” Iwaizumi says as he eyes your lips.

“Do what?” You decide to tease him, acting as if you didn’t know that he wanted another kiss.

“Y/N.” He groans as he glares at you playfully. “You know what I mean.”

“But I don’t.” You have a shit-eating grin on your face.

“Fine, be like that.” Iwaizumi huffs before he pulls you for another kiss.

You can feel him smile against your lips as you wrap your arms around his neck.

That was 10 months ago. Iwaizumi left in July, making it a total of six months that you haven’t seen him in person. The first month went off without a hitch. Video chats every day, messages shared regardless of the other’s time zone, and other methods of communication were used just so you guys felt like you were still there with each other in person. Unfortunately, it didn’t go that well.

If you were to describe what happened, you would say that you could compare it to a candle. It burns brightly at first before it slowly melts the way and the candle comes crashing down, snuffing out its flame with its own wax. Each month that passed was a step closer to the end that you both desperately tried to ignore.

You laid in your bed, snuggled into your blankets as you tried to seek warmth. The jacket that Iwaizumi gave you that you wore provided no warmth. It may have eased the cold that the rain brought, but it did nothing to ease the winter that stormed within your chest. Despite the bitter cold, you held on. After all, every winter has to end, right?

You frowned as you looked at one of the pictures that Iwaizumi was tagged in. A blonde girl with her arm around his shoulder, and Iwaizumi with a bright smile. The kind of smile he used to wear in pictures with you.

You could feel anger in your veins, jealousy mingling with it as it brought your blood to a light simmer. You were being unreasonable, you knew that, but six months without Iwaizumi was getting to you, and seeing some other girl doing what you desperately wanted to, but not being able to, made an envious feeling grow in your chest. It didn’t help that she wore the jacket you knew all too well: A jacket you gave Iwaizumi before he left for California. Your eyes teared up at the fact.

You shut your phone and your eyes, ready to turn in for the night before the familiar ringtone fills your ears. You wait. You don’t answer immediately. You let the phone ring a bit more. Your irrational side coming out to play as you hoped that maybe Iwaizumi would feel just as cold as you if you answered him later than you usually did.

You pick up.

“Good morning, love.” Iwaizumi’s face pops up on your skin, a bright smile on his face as the beginnings of the morning sun kiss his skin. The background was moving, and the camera was unstable, which meant that Iwaizumi was probably walking to his class somewhere, “I’m sorry for calling at this time. It’s probably late there but I missed— Wait, are you okay? You look like you just cried.”

You saw that Iwaizumi had stopped walking, the background behind him as stagnant as the words stuck in your throat.

“Hey, baby, what’s wrong?” Iwaizumi furrows his brows. “Talk to me.”

You begin to speak. “I don’t think—“

The lightning strikes outside, and a bright flash fills your room. You laughed bitterly in your head, perhaps it was a warning from the universe.

You change your approach. “In the hundred different futures you imagined… In the Dateko game…”

You struggle to find your words.

Iwaizumi smiles, but it looks quite forced to you. “The hundred different futures I imagined with you when you cheered for me in the Dateko game?”

“Yeah.” You almost feel guilty as you finalize the words you’re about to say in your head.

“What about those?” Iwaizumi asks, ever the patient and understanding boyfriend he was, but you could see it. The glint in his eyes that he had whenever he wanted to finish something. The look he had in his eyes whenever he just wanted to get things over with like they were some sort of… Inconvenience.

“Did you...” You shift in your bed, second-guessing your words as you sit up and fiddle with the hem of Iwaizumi’s jacket. “Was there a future that went like this?”

“Like this?” Iwaizumi looks confused. “Where I call you in the middle of a street? Not really? That’s too specific, honestly.” He chuckles and your heart sinks.

“No, not that.” You say solemnly. “A future where we don’t work.”

“What?” Iwaizumi looks stunned, and for a second, your heart races at the sight of him looking as he did before… Before he went to California. “What do you mean? Y/N?”

“I just—“

“HAJIME!” You could hear a woman’s voice on the other side. Years of learning English made sure that you understood what she said without a problem “Ready to go?”

Iwaizumi looks away from you as he turns to the source, a smile painting his face. “Of course, just give me a second.”

Your heart sinks in realization.

That’s how he smiled at you in the past.

“I’m gonna go.” You choke out as tears flow down your cheeks. “Have a good day, Iwaizumi-san.”

You shut the phone.

You cry. You didn’t need to hear it fall from Iwaizumi’s lips. You didn’t need to have it confirmed. You knew him like the back of your hand, and you knew that he had feelings for that girl, whoever the hell she was. You knew that he probably only kept you because he didn’t want to hurt you. It wasn’t like he didn’t love you anymore. He probably did, it’s just that he found someone who was… There. Someone who wasn’t in a different place. Someone he could hug anytime he wanted to. It’s unfortunate that it wasn’t you, but maybe you should’ve seen it coming.

So you let go, and it was timely. What started underneath the rain, ended under it. The warmth of the first confession was washed away by the droplets, leaving nothing but the cold to soak deep into your system as you sobbed into your bed, hastily pulling the jacket off of your frame.

You make sure that Iwaizumi never gets to contact you. You had left him a message: a cruel “I’m breaking up with you, I’m sorry,” and nothing more. Maybe that would hurt him enough to make him feel less guilty about making moves on the other girl. You knew it was stupid to just leave him like that, but you just wanted it to stop. You hated the feeling of uncertainty. You hated the feeling of not being able to do anything. If you had to hurt yourself in the process of finding your peace of mind, then so be it.

Years pass and you’ve graduated. You’ve moved on. It wasn’t an easy process, but you pulled through. There were moments you just so wanted to desperately call Iwaizumi and crawl back into his arms, apologizing and all, but you stop yourself each time. You cut off all contact with him, you weren’t going to waste that. However, you knew that no matter how moved on you are, some part of you will always love him… And that’s okay. You’re okay. That’s the only thing that mattered.

Currently, you were in a convenience store, grabbing a quick snack before you went to the stadium to watch the volleyball match with Oikawa, who arrived from Argentina a few days back and wanted to meet up. The setter was probably looking for milkbread in one of the aisles, so you took your sweet time in picking a drink and snack because the setter would probably be shocked by the new variety of milkbread choices that popped up while he was still in Argentina.

Your phone buzzes.

Flatass: I’m at the table near the back, slowpoke. Get your ass here.

You roll your eyes with a grin before you text back.

You: You’re just jealous I have more ass than you.

You don’t get a reply. You shrug and pay for your items before you walk to the back of the store to eat with Oikawa.

“Oikawa—“ You stop at the sight.

Instead of Oikawa on the chair, it was Iwaizumi, still as handsome as he was years ago.

“Hey.” Iwaizumi smiles. “Do you mind if I watch with you guys? Oikawa had an extra ticket and who was I to decline—“

“I don’t mind.” You smile, nothing but happiness filling your chest as you reunite with an old friend.

A/N: I like to pretend that this part of the storyline doesn’t exist 💖. Also, this was written before Iwaizumi Hajime (27) Athletic Trainer was a thing so please excuse the ending.

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #genre.angstfluff #cont.spoilers #tw angst

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aimee-maroux · 4 years

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Plato-nic Love (Part I)

I sadly didn’t finish the whole story in time but this is part one of Seren and Plato’s epic love story for the ages XD

Illustrations were done by the wonderful @sigeel 😍😍😍

So this submission is by the two of us!

Plato-nic Love

Seren poured a libation of wine and started working on the grapevine that had been growing in the family garden for a while. At first, her mother had tried to get rid of it but it had proven the essence of indestructable life and so they had accepted its presence much like Seren had come to accept the presence of its patron god. She was about to cut off a branch to use for making a crown later on when she heard a familiar voice. "How is my favourite bacchae?" She sighed. It had been about a year since she had agreed to become his faithful follower and needless to say she was still the only one. "Do you know what day it is?" Seren started frantically going through all the calendars she had studied, from the reconstructed Attic calendar to the Roman calendar before and after the Julian reform -what moon phase were they in again? "You always think we don't care about these things but I have a sursprise for you." Dionysos flashed her a bright smile. "What?" she said flatly. A surprise from a god couldn't possibly mean anything good.

"I SAID: I have a SURPRISE for you!" Confetti and flower petals started raining down on them and from above sounded a rustic melody played on pan pipes. Seren looked up to see Hermes sitting on a treebranch, grinning as he played the instrument his son invented. "Ha ha, very funny, Hermes." Dionysos took Seren by the shoulders. "He was supposed to play the Time Warp. Because it's exactly ONE YEAR TODAY that you became my bacchae and do I have a surprise for you!" "Yeah, you said so. But maybe it would be better if-" "Nonsense! As your patron god I am exceedingly generous. You see, I have noticed your infatuation with Plato." "You don't say." "Yes. Anyway, Hermes was so nice to pay grandfather Kronos a visit and relieve him of a little artef- well, details, it doesn't matter! What is important is that you will get to meet Plato!" "Really?!" There was a nagging voice in Seren's head that told her to be careful but Dionysos had just told her she'd get to meet Plato! "Really. All you have to do is take my hand. But I have another gift for you. Hermes, come down here!" The messenger god swung himself lazily from the tree and floated down until his winged sandals touched the ground. "My brother pointed out that you might have difficulties speaking ancient Greek fluently so he will grant you the ability to speak it like a native for as long as you give up your native English." Seren gaped. "That... is surprisingly thoughtful of you." "Hermes, do it! And no nonsense like giving her a lisp or a foreign accent!" "Of course not. Why would I do that?" Hermes grinned at Seren. "I'd not even be there to see it." "What? Now? Wait!" Seren cried out as divine magic rearranged the synapses in her speech centre. "I did not agree-" "She'll speak fluently once you arrive in Greece," Hermes said, "Once you return, the magic wears off." Dionysos gave his brother a suspicious look. Then he beamed. "Perfect!" Dionysos clapped enthusiastically. "Hold on tight!" He pulled her into his embrace and Seren instinctively hugged him. The world around them began to blur and the heavens seemed to turn back as they sped through time and space. There was a sudden jolt and the world was clear once again. Only, it looked strange. But not strange enough for Seren not to recognise her patron god had spoken the truth. This was ancient Athens! She felt a nasty queasiness but she was much too excited to care about that just now. She had known about polychromy but the sheer explosion of colours in the city made her heart sing. The reconstructions were mere shadows of the vibrant paint on the statues, buildings, and clothes. And the Akropolis! It looked majestic even now but the ruins were nothing compared to the magnificence of colour and architecture. Seren stood in awe, even though they were miles away down in a sidestreet. Potters had laid out their painted vases and other works as they created new ones. Seren couldn't decide what to see first, jumping this way and that until the unsavoury sound of regurgitation briefly diverted her attention. Dionysos leaned against the mudbrick wall of a house and puked his guts out. "How can you be so chipper?" Dionysos groaned, wiping his mouth. "You're mortal!" We travelled both time AND space. You should be barfing like a youth at his first symposion." But Seren just ignored him in her euphoria. "It's Athens!" she cried. "ANCIENT Athens!" "That fleet-foorted son of a-" "What? What is it?!" "Nothing, nothing. Everything is fine. I just..." Dionysos leaned against the mudbrick house. "Hermes could have said something about the inconvenience of travelling." Seren shrugged. Who cared, they were already there. "I want to see EVERYTHING!!! The sculptures! The pottery! The architecture! The clothes..." "Speaking of which..." Dionysos grinned. "We should get you something less 2020. If you want to meet Plato, we need a certain disguise. And you want to look your best for him, right?" Seren screwed up her face. "Plato isn't about looks. He's about the beauty of the soul." "Well, if you want to go dressed in that tasteless pink sweater and leggings combination. But let me tell you, nothing looks better on a woman than a finely woven chiton." "Yeah, you're not at all biased." "It's one of the few things even Apollo and I agree on, so it must be true." Seren would have been happy just roaming the streets of ancient Athens for a couple of days. Or for however long this time thingy would allow. The prospect of meeting Plato both exhilarated and terrified her.

Dionysos bought her an elegant chiton in the extremely crowded agora. Seren hardly suppressed a squeal when he paid with real ancient drachmae. Only they didn't look ancient at all. "Why is nobody staring?" she asked, as another group of people walked past them without paying them any mind. "Did you put glamour over my modern clothes?" Dionysos laughed. "No need, honeybee. This is Athens. At a time like this they get tourists from all over the world. One strange, foreign costume is not going to turn any heads." He pulled her away from the merchants and splendour of the agora into the entrance of a seemingly abandoned house. "Put it on," he said, handing her the chiton. "Don't peek!" she reminded him before she changed into her new garment. It felt cool and pleasant on her skin and the quality of the linen was indeed fantastic. Despite the loose fit the fabric was so delicate it hugged her figure in an almost revealing way, making her feel exposed. "Is this really acceptable dress?" she asked. "Only with this worn over it." Dionysos came up behind her, closing another layer of cloth over her shoulders with simple dress pins. "You look great, honeybee," he said sincerely. "Plato can consider himself lucky. You got the brains, you got the looks, and even that austere, joyless personality to match." "I get the impression you don't like Plato much." Dionysos slung the belt around her waist and fastened it. "What gave it away? My graffiti, my groaning everytime you bring him up, or the charming way I speak about him?" "The graffiti was a pretty obvious hint." "I hope you appreciate my gift all the more, honeybee." "I do." She smiled. "But I don't think I could appreciate it any more than I already do. This is a dream come true. The most exciting day of my life. More exciting even than Delphi." "Be careful not to tell Apollo," Dionysos warned but he looked pleased. "Sure. If I ever run into him I'll remember it." As they stepped outside, the streets were empty. "Where is everybody?" "Oh, it must be time to crown the victors." "Victors? Of what? It's too cold to be July, isn't it?" "Not the Panathenaic Games." Dionysos smiled broadly. "It's not an athletic contest. Today..." He made a dramatic pause. "Is the last day of the Great Dionysia!" "Oh." Seren was disappointed. "So we can't go and watch any of the plays?" "I'm afraid it is too late for that. But I can show you my theatre and the temple with my cult image if you want."

Seren politely admired the simple wooden log that was supposed to be a representation of Dionysos and genuinely marvelled at the masks that had been dedicated below it. She patiently listened to Dionysos as he recounted the story of the very first Dionysia in Athens and how he used to mingle among the crowd every year to watch what the people of Athens had put on the stage in his honour. Once they arrived at the theatre it was already empty but it was a stunning sight all the same. Seeing everything intact and in its full glory filled Seren with unknown joy. The decorations, both permanent and temporary, were as colourful and flamboyant as the god they honoured. When they made it back to the streets of Athens, there were already groups of shouty drunk people roaming about. "Victory parties," Dionysos explained when he saw Seren's face. "In fact, we are about to attend one too. But first..." A purple mist shrouded the god's body and when it dispelled, his simple chiton had given way to a slutty ankle-length skirt that hung low enough to expose part of his bum cheeks, his arms, wrists, and ankles adorned with golden jewellery. "I know you practiced with the aulos. You're gonna be a flute girl." Seren startled. "What? No! I'm not nearly good enough!" Dionysos shrugged, making his golden bracelets clink. "I don't think I need to tell you that other kinds of women are not allowed at symposia. Unless you want to play the role of a hetaira..." "F-Flute girl is fine."

They arrived at a house that obviously belonged to someone well-to-do. "A group of revellers is about to show up here any minute. We'll join them to enter the symposion. Trust me, they're too drunk to realise we don't belong." Seren nodded nervously. "Now would be the time to ditch that respectable dress." Reluctantly, Seren freed herself of the protective extra layer of clothing and received the aulos flutes Dionysos handed her. The revellers did indeed show up. Loud and obnoxious, it was impossible not to notice them. A man in his late 20s or early 30s led the group. Half-naked and well into his cups, crowned with a wreath of ivy and violets, he was all but carried by two sturdy lads who looked like they were half-naked professionally. "Come!" Dionysos tugged on her arm and they danced along, she awkwardly, he with a grace and confidence she envied. The leader of the group pounded against the door and yelled for "Agathon". Seren's heart skipped a beat. "Is that... Alkibiades?!" she whispered to Dionysos. "The very same." "We are at THAT Symposium?!!" "We most certainly are." Seren gaped at the man who would eventually be the ruin of Athens by defecting to Sparta and then to Persia. He rattled the door, shouting "Agathon!" and dropped his single piece of clothing in the process, quickly picked up by his lads. Seren shrieked when the man suddenly leaned heavily on her, his arms reeling for support. Dionysos was quick to jump to his other side, taking most of the load off his bacchae. "AGATHON!" Alkibiades yelled once more, in the manner drunks yelled on their way home from the pub after closing hours. He kept demanding to see Agathon with a heavy tongue until a servant boy finally opened up and led them to the andron. Alkibiades managed to stand on his own, stumbling towards the host of the party while announcing how completely and utterly wasted he was. "Let's bring the bacchic spirit to this lame party!" Dionysos cheered. Seren gazed around with stars in her eyes. The room was bright with torches and the klinai were populated by men both young and old but all shirtless and all with crowns of ivy on their heads. She looked more closely at the guests while Alkibiades spoke to Agathon, probably congratulating him for his victory. But none of the symposiasts looked like any of the artworks she had seen of Plato. They were most likely created after his death anyway. "Soooo..." She leaned on Dionysos' shoulder. "Where is Plato?" Dionysos gestured at the kline at the very end of the room, occupied by two young men. "The dark-haired one."

"THAT is Plato?! I thought he'd be at least in his 30s!" Dionysos grinned a smug grin. "He wrote the Symposion in his late 30s. But this, honeybee, is the year the titular symposion actually took place. The first year of the 91st Olympiad. Or, as you would say, 416 BCE." Seren gaped at the young man seated on a couch with a blond youth. He had long, curly hair crowned with a wreath of ivy like all the symposiasts, young and old. A strong, Greek nose gave his face a distinct personality. Who would have thought the man Seren knew only from his words and artwork showing him as an old man could be so... hot. The blonde guy leaned over, whispering something to him. Maybe they were flirting. It wasn't anything unusual back in the day, Seren knew that. But they seemed to be about the same age. Shouldn't- "Play, flute girl," Dionysos nudged her with his elbow, "I'll clear the kline for you."

Seren watched him shimmy over to the pair and tried to remember how to play the aulos. She had practiced so much but right now it felt as if she knew nothing at all. Her idol, Plato, might be listening! Her cheeks burned as she blew into the wooden instrument, the tune an embarrassing version of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star". Despite playing the role of a dancer, Dionysos sat down with the two no doubt aristocratic young men in his usual impudent manner. The blond youth's face turned sour. "What is the meaning of this?" "I came for the entertainment." "We are very well entertained by each other's company, thank you." Dionysos gave the blonde guy a cheeky grin. "Does your company agree?" He crawled on the kline until he basically sat on Plato's lap, prompting the young philosopher to blush. How cute! "Some people can be such a dull affair, talking about nothing but themselves all the time." The angry blond yanked Dionysos off Plato. "This was a philosophical symposion before you arrived!" "Yes. And to shame! You are celebrating a victory at the Dionysia. Where is the revelry?" "There are countless symposia all over Athens. Why did you have to come and ruin this one?" "You know exactly that I didn't ruin anything. But please, if you have any grievances take it up with my master. Alkibiades." "You know what? I will!" The blond aristocrat got up from the kline and grabbed Dionysos by the wrist, effectively pulling him off the kline. He dragged the god behind him as he made for the door, leaving Plato all alone on his bed of colourful cushions. Dionysos winked at her as they passed and it was at that moment that Seren noticed that his "friend" was the only one wearing laurel instead of ivy. Did they just... cock-block Apollon? But not all is lost, she reasoned, if Plato likes Apollon, he likes blondes, right? Right?

Shyly, Seren sat down next to the man whose teachings she still hadn't figured out. And maybe neither did he. He was so young and handsome. She was close enough to smell his heavy perfume and either oil or sweat or both made his chest gleam in the firelight. It really was quite hot in here. He didn't fit the stereotype of the philosopher at all, being so young and handsome and quite brawny. But no matter how hot he was, his physical appearance was dwarfed by the beauty of his brain and thoughts. His intelligence was that much hotter. That being said, Seren liked to think she would be less flustered if the man were old enough to be her father. But he was not. He must be about her own age. "We got rid of the other flute girl." "Wa-What?" "You must know there were already celebrations with heavy drinking last night. Surely you played at Alkibiades' place or some other house?" Seren nodded timidly. "So Pausanias suggested we refrain from drinking tonight and we ended up sending away the flute girl as well. A shame, because before you came in, it was all boring speeches of the old men assembled here. I enjoy the delightful harmony of music much, much more." "You don't like philosophy?" "Of course I do, but not at a drinking party celebrating the Dionysia. You're not from here, are you?" "Ahm, no?" "I don't think I've met a Spartan flute girl. Most of them come from Peiraieús." Seren laughed nervously. What the fuck, Hermes?! "I hope it's not a problem?" she mumbled. "No, no. I'm just surprised. Do you have a name, dear?" "I... I am Seren." "Seiren? What a fitting nickname! My name is-" "I know who you are!" Seren gushed, "I-I-I admire you greatly, Plato!" "Oh?" To Seren's great relief he smiled. "So you have seen me compete?" "Uh, yes, of course!" Seren would be thrilled to see him at any competition, really. "It's just a silly name my wrestling coach gave me. To intimidate my rivals, he says." "I like it!" "You like my broad shoulders, Seiren?" Seren blushed. "No, that's not what I, uh..." "It's all right. Lots of women admire them." "Ahahaha." Was he flirting with her? Or just bragging? "You may be an outstanding athlete," she said, "But I admire your words even more." "My poetry?" Now it was his time to blush. "Did you play it?" "Not yet." Seren decided to be bold, "People want to hear the same songs, Sappho, Pindar and the like. But... But maybe you can teach me how to play yours?" "No I... I burned them all." "Why would you do that?" "I wanted to focus better on my studies. Maybe I made the wrong call. Mousaios, the guy who just left? He said music is like medicine and can create harmony between opposites, that a musical education is helpful in the study of philosophy. Ah, I don't know. I don't want to bore you, flute girl." "You're not boring me, Plato. Please, tell me your thoughts!" And then, all of a sudden, a large drunken group walked into the room and joined the party, Dionysos among them. There was noise everywhere, and Plato leaned in very close and asked: "What do you say, Seiren. Shall we make our excuses and leave?"

to be continued...

#Quarantined Bacchae #The Last Bacchae #fanfiction #The Last Bacchae fanfiction #Linda Sejic #fanart #The Last Bacchae fanart #Seren Calvert #Dionysos #Hermes #Platon #Plato #Apollon #Apollo #Seren x Plato epic love story for the ages?#Plato x Apollo missed romance #I hope you have a good laugh #written with love

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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The Parent Trap, Chapter 9 (Biadore) - Henny

A/N: Thank you for the comments, Hennies! Y’all are making me feel like Ariel in the beginning of Little Mermaid 2 :> I missed all of you too! Sorry if there was a problem with the formatting of the previous chapter; completely my fault!

OH, and if you’re confused with the timeline, I’ll simplify it for you:

RPDR Season 6 (filming) ended around Mid-July of 2013 (assuming it takes about a year or so before it is released). January 2014; Roy and Danny started dating. 6 months after that, June 2014, a month after Bianca wins, they get married. A year later, the couple gets baby fever, so they start looking for the perfect surrogate and egg donor. This is where I deflect a bit from the prologue, it takes them until May 2016 to conceive.

TLDR; the fic takes place July 2026, and RPDR is currently airing S19 with THE AS:BoTW filming the very same year . If I had said anything contrary to those stated above, disregard it. This is the new timeline I’m going to follow going forward.

All the love, Hennies!

XOXO, Henny

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

“Well, would you be interested in joining the first All-Stars: Battle of the Winners in place of Bianca?”

The way Adore gaped at her phone was almost comedic, mouth opening and closing like a fish. In some way, she’s almost flattered at the fact that Ru called personally instead of a producer. It’s almost very considerate, since the man knew what had gone between Danny and Roy.

“Well, last time I checked, you didn’t crown me, Mama…” Adore adds a teasing tone to her voice, and tries to ignore the nerves that seemed to resurface at the idea of returning back to the competition. It’s been many years since Season 6, and Adore has genuinely forgotten how it feels to be on a platform like that again. Focusing on her music as both Adore and Danny has shifted the focus of her career as a drag queen and performer; and with many seasons passed, she knew her charm has run dry with Drag Race fans.

Ru laughs, the iconic shrill making Adore spiral back into the werkroom. “I didn’t, didn’t I?” He laughs again, and Adore can only imagine him wiping a fake tear. “But, I am planning to release the footage of you and Bianca winning to prove that my decision to invite you has some bearing, at the least.”

Adore inwardly groans again, remembering the night of the finale wherein they filmed the ending of her and Bianca winning together. She feels the ghost of Bianca’s hands squeezing her own as they waved and the sparkly confetti rains and glitters of lights from cameras blinded their eyes; applause and cheers roaring in their ears.

“What will the other queens say? The winners, I mean. It’s not like they’ll consider me a winner, especially the newer queens.” Ever the anxious person that she is, she finds a brush to fiddle with to lessen her anxiety.

“My competition, my rules. Whatever I say goes, Baby. They can say whatever they want, but if they’re smart enough, they’ll pipe up. And, besides…” Ru trails off excitedly, like they were sharing a secret. “Since this is only a Netflix special, I’m only doing the first decade season winners. I’m sure they’ll be nicer to you than recent ones.“

“All of them said yes?”

“All, but one, you already know…”

“Yeah, yeah…”

“So, what do you say?”

“I- I don’t know, Ru. I’ll think about it…”

“Of course, let the producers know soon, alright? Filming starts October! Toodles!”

The call ends, and it takes everything in Adore’s willpower not to throw it to the wall. She looks at her phone’s lock screen and sees the beaming face of Portia, and she manages to calm down. She stands up, grabs a pre-rolled joint in her makeup kit, and heads out of the building after shouting to the manager to inform him about her whereabouts. She normally didn’t do this anymore; smoking, hard liquor, and even hooking up with trades that come her way. Portia had completely turned her life around, and so did Roy and Nerissa. “Fuck,” Tears fill her eyes again at the thought of her daughter who she no longer knew, she sniffles as she takes a long drag of her joint and breathing out harshly.

A tall figure looms over her, and with a tap on her shoulder, she nearly doubled over in fear. “What the fuckkk…” She groans, clutching her heart.

“Oh, sorry… Didn’t mean to scare you.” Adore looks up to meet the steel eyes of a blonde stud with a smug smile on his face.

“Shit, I know you…” Adore murmurs in thought, before she remembers “You’re Brooke, right?”

“Brooke Lynn Hytes, yeah.” He flashes her a beautiful, gorgeous smile, pearly whites and all. “…But right now, uhh,” He looks down to his jeans and plain gray shirt, “You can call me, Brock.”

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

“Okay, give me another one.” Portia looks at her cards, one five of hearts and the other six of spades. It was really late and they just finished washing the dishes of the entire camp after dinner. Not tired from their post-cry-emotional nap earlier, they had decided to play a game of Blackjack. Nerissa deals her another card, and picks one for herself. Portia peaks at the new card, and sees her nine of spades. She joins the cards together, and places them down in triumph.

“20, let’s see yours, Haylock.”

Nerissa drops her cards, a jack of diamonds, two of clubs, and nine of clubs. “Blackjack, bitchh…” She taunts, laughing at Portia’s dismayed face.

“That’s not fucking fair…” Portia drawls, “That’s your 9th time winning, I think you’re cheating…”

“Oh, please. You just play your cards wrong, and sometimes, I’m just really lucky…” Nerissa beams as she watches Portia fix the cards and put it back in their case, murmuring “I don’t want to play anymore.”

“It’s getting pretty late, too. I think we should go to bed.” Nerissa yawns as she grabs her blanket and tries to settle herself in. Portia agrees before standing up to lock their door; to make sure the windows are tightly shut; and to turn off the light. The moon shines at its brightest, a cool silver light shimmers through their window.

“I know it’s late, but I’m not even remotely sleepy.” Portia comments despite the yawn the escapes her.

“Same here,” Nerissa says with droopy eyes.

“Tell me, what’s Bianca like? No… noo…What’s dad like?” Portia asks, adjusting herself so she faces her sister. The mere idea of having a sister and having Roy Haylock AKA Bianca Del Rio, THE Bianca Del Rio is possibly 50% her dad makes her more giddy than anything in the world.

“Dad is probably the most workaholic person you’ll ever meet. He’ll make time for you, yes. But, you can tell that 75% of his mind is just…” Nerissa sighs, “exhausted, if not thinking about work… He really tries though, he hasn’t missed any of my ballet recitals yet nor any PTAs. He’s as active as a busy parent can be.”

“That’s good, I guess…” A hum of agreement, another yawn.

“And not to mention, the free dresses.” She giggles, “How ‘bout our other dad?” Nerissa turns to lie on her back, thinking about her dad who she hasn’t updated in awhile, even though she promised to do so everyday. A sudden urge to hug her dad courses through her body, and subtle pout forms at her lips at the thought of Roy. She missed her dad, she’s still upset about the whole not-telling-her-she-was-a-twin-thing, but she missed him nonetheless.

“He’s pretty chill. I can do anything I want,”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, my dad’s pretty cool. We have the kind of relationship where I can tell him things and… he can tell me things. He’s my best friend, so we just have fun most of the time.” Portia says with mere awe. “But, it wasn’t always like that. There was a time though where he was pretty down in the dumps; he didn’t really have the best mental health back then and his coping mechanism–”

“Hey, this seems kinda personal. You don’t have to tell me this, okay? Only if you’re comfortable doing so.” Nerissa says, her arm crossing its way to pat Portia’s tummy to stop her thought.

“No, no… You’re my sister, and I trust you enough.”

“Okay, if you’re sure… So you were saying?

“Yeah, so, he didn’t have the best coping mechanism. Alcohol is tricky when it gets out of hand. I didn’t mind at first, because I didn’t think it was that bad. I didn’t notice the signs because I was so young. It was only one incident, really, when I understood the gravity of it all. Around June, he nearly drank himself to death. I don’t know why he drank severely that night, but I just found him passed out on his own–” Portia chokes as tears start up with the memory of seeing her dad then. “I was only four then, Riz. I didn’t know what death was, but the minute I saw him– It just rationalized so quickly in my head. I called 911 as fast as I could. I didn’t know what I was saying half the time ‘cuz I was just crying.”

Nerissa places a comforting hand on Portia’s arm as the girl tries to fight the sniffles. When Portia manages to barely win against the tears, she continues, “When we were in the hospital, I was with my Grandma and there was another man, I– I don’t know who, from what I can remember– we didn’t know if my dad was gonna make it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Porsche.”

“No, no… It’s fine. Just sucks to remember it. But, he managed to pull through, obviously. He hasn’t drank alcohol in years. So, I’m really proud of him, especially in his line of work, it must be so hard.”

“Yeah, as his 50%-chance daughter and for what it’s worth, I’m proud of him, too. “

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

When Courtney heard the rumors going around backstage that night, she had about ten shots of tequila before coming to the conclusion that she wouldn’t tell Roy. But, funny how alcohol works out.

“Yanxxxxx” Courtney drawls out on her phone that she’s struggling to hold up to her ear. But the effort was there. She has absolutely no idea where she is as she presses her warm cheek to the cold faux leather seat of a couch.

“Bitch, did you really just– What?” Roy rolls his eyes as he looks at his phone that hosts Courtney’s current call and the said-blonde on his couch, drooling and staring off into space.

“I gotta–” hiccup “tell you a ssssecret.” Courtney angles her phone to her mouth, so she’s directly speaking to the phone’s microphone. Roy walks over to the drunk girl, grabs her phone and throws it in her purse. He ends the call on his phone before slipping to the kitchen, grabbing a towel and soaking it with cold water. He gives it a good squeeze to remove the excess water before going back to Courtney and placing the towel on her forehead.

“You’re so lucky Riz isn’t here or I would’ve left your drunk ass in the club.” He mutters in annoyance, even though everyone knew he wouldn’t really do that. He could never let anything happen to any of his loved ones, and god knows Riz has seen Courtney or Shane pissed drunk since she was a toddler.

“No,” Courtney says abruptly, hand swatting away Roy’s hand. “Nooooo…” She continues to drawl. “The secret is Ado…” She leans in close, way too close. Roy gets a harsh flashback and hastily pushes Courtney away. With the push, Courtney plops on her back and passes out entirely. Roy sighs, both in frustration and exhaustion. He wouldn’t bother removing Courtney’s makeup, but he did give her the courtesy of removing her wig and cap, as well as unlacing her corset. It all feels familiar to him, taking care of someone and helping them de-drag, except of course, back then he had to strip Bianca off himself and help Danny remove his clothes which then would lead to…

Roy shakes his mind, trying to get rid of the idea before it escalated. He leaves the guest bedroom and makes his way to the kitchen for a glass of wine. He’s just going to pretend he doesn’t know that Courtney was about to say something about Adore as he starts up a design for Rupaul on the granite kitchen counter.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

“I can’t believe Biadore was ACTUALLY a thing.”

“How can you not? The tension was so obvious, especially during that one part where Adore said she didn’t want to work with Bianca? The sexual tension was just–” Nerissa fans herself before she receives a slight smack and push on her shoulder.

“Dude, you’re so fucking weird. I don’t wanna think about my dad’s sex life OR YOURS!!”

“I’m just telling the truth! The stare was intense.” Nerissa breaks into a fit of giggles at Portia’s face of slight disgust at the idea. “And speaking of, did your dad date anyone again?” Nerissa asks.

“Never anyone serious enough to introduce to me, no. He’d go on dates, sometimes Adore would go on dates. But, yeah. He never really seemed interested in dating anymore, so he put all his attention to me or his and Adore’s music.”

“Do you call Adore “mom”?”

“No, that’s weird!” Portia snorts, “My dad is, well, my dad. He has his own quirks and personality. And, Adore, to me, is just a whole different person. I can’t explain it. Like, I know he’s Adore Delano through and through. But, my mind just sees Adore like a whole different person.” Portia rolls again to her back, so she’s facing the ceiling like her sister. “How about your dad? Did he date anyone?”

“You know what’s weird? I don’t think he ever did, not even dating or flirting with anyone else. He’s always been so closed off to anyone who showed any particular interest.” Nerissa twiddles with her thumb, before scrunching her nose in distaste. “I mean, in some way, I get it. He’s scared to love again. Uncle Shane always said so. I wish I knew why though.”

Portia hums, thoughtfully. Another pregnant pause looms over their conversation. It has gone on for so long that for a moment Nerissa thought Portia was asleep, until…

“I AM SUCH A FUCKING GENIUS!”

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS:

#rpdr fanfiction #biadore #bianca del rio #adore delano #courtney act #parent trap au #parenting au #canon compliant #the parent trap #henny #tw mentions of alcoholism

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dreampeople · 3 years

Text

In The Everything of August - a drabble

words: 1.2k

synopsis: mina and nemy enjoy the final bits of their summer together

read under the cut:

July had come and gone just as swiftly as the afternoon showers it welcomed, and its successor seemed determined to beat it, not only in its quickness but in its insufferable attributes, like some vengeful child that no matter how much they despised the expectations given to them and their giver still made it their life’s goal to exceed them. The heat had indeed been so far insufferable, but that day in particular, as Mina and Nemy rounded the block despite the threats of looming thunder, they weren’t bothered. In all a season that normally left both girls violent, writhing and inconsolable had actually been the dream they’d desperately hoped for year after year, and even as it neared its close the dread that would bring that violence and inconsolability to its peak in their solitude seemed to almost have no power. Skin sticky with sweat and hair dampened and swirled by mini tornadoes, the girls were nearly content, adhered to the low and heavy air and to this very moment.

Mina watched as lightning flew across the sky, mingling with the sun’s white rays and thick clouds made of all assortments of grey, the sun still thrusting through them nonetheless. Another roll of thunder followed, sullied by the rustling of the plastic bag Nemy began digging through as they walked. She pulled out a bar of dark chocolate and broke off a section into her mouth. Mina eyed her for a second before returning her attention back to the storm preparing to rage in spite of the unrelenting daylight.

“I used to hate dark chocolate,” Nemy broke unprompted. Mina laughed a little at her suddenness, still turning to face her again, earnest and listening as always. She realized in her laughter that she had already been holding a slight smile.

In the short time they’d known each other Mina had picked up on what were now countless little things Nemy did, almost all of them endearing to her. She did this a lot—sharing sometimes completely unrelated anecdotes from her past as if she were recalling them in real time. Nemy herself had also noticed that most of these memories would front whenever she was with Mina.

“When I was little. But whenever my mom would get it I would always ask for some anyway.” She popped another section off and in.

“Why?” Mina giggled again. She laughed often with her.

“‘Cause I wanted to be like her, probably,”

“Y’know, all cool and adult and eating cool adult things like dark chocolate. I thought it tasted so bad though. Like it was already expired or something. I remember asking her that too and she’d get mad,”

Mina laughed some more, a little louder, more liberally, bearing teeth, and Nemy’s insides lit up, like a match catching flame on the first strike. They littered the next two blocks with pointless banter. They’d reached the final block and turned the corner, the three o’clock sun falling behind them and shifting their shadows in front of them. Heading the street was a cloud that looked as if it weighed a million pounds, like a floating piece of tourmaline, greeting them with a roar. The already damp pavement glistened under them.

“All, well why did you ask for it?” She dramaticized, bucking her head and scrunching up her nose, hoping for more teeth and getting them. The match had been thrown into a tundra, her own smile now wider than Mina’s, in part because of the memory, but mostly because of her. In fact, it felt more like something within her had already been searing since summer began. Mina’s teeth were surprisingly white, almost shining. Her stare fled to the ground.

“And ‘cause it was supposed to be good for your heart or whatever—or is, still.”

“Of course that’s why” Mina wanted to say, but knowing that with her clumsy mouth her endearment would get lost in translation she let the thought slip. She wanted to ask for a piece too but most of the bar was nearly gone.

Nemy’s heart. A fine, polished, shining metal was the first image to materialize in Mina’s head, or something pearly. Invaluable, like an antique, growing in beauty with each decade it lived through though Nemy had barely known two. She thought of steam, pressure. She could imagine grazing her heart’s surface, it either singeing her fingertips or bursting with the force of a pipe bomb at the slight touch. This confused Mina even with it being her own notion. It was also one she thought of often. The more she’d come to know Nemy the more she’d become enamored by her shine and her beauty, and the more suspicious she became of her. She would disregard almost subconsciously the loaded and long-off gaze Nemy would sometimes have, just as long as she was looking at her. She too often would trace the smooth, peachy lining of her lips with her eyes, and notice their slight purse, as if she were trying to keep something from coming up. Irradiance filled the close distances between them even now as they walked, it at times soft and comforting, and at others daunting. Mina could feel it—whatever it was that was inside Nemy, and even with the threat of incineration she wanted to get closer, get further in, just to see if she could.

More clouds scurried across the sun’s path, providing brief moments of cool each time they passed and more thunder gently followed.

“Oh yeah,” Nemy started, politely sucking the melted remnants of her chocolate bar off her index finger.

“Were you gonna take any classes this semester? I registered the other day,”

Mina’s mind was full of peaches, her response a little delayed.

“Um… I don’t know,” she stammered. This was the second time Nemy had asked.

“Why not?” Mina buckled, not expecting her directness. Another maybe clearly wouldn’t be enough this time.

“Well, I mean, I just don’t wanna be doing all that alone,” Now completely folded, Mina finally gave her an answer, not only an answer but the truth. The sky above them began to break apart and pitter down bits of gold; a sunshower.

“I know it’s just community college, but still. And I know Ravi isn’t gonna wanna help me,”

Nemy came to a stop. Whatever Mina was explaining now was nothing but noise, hushed by the rain’s increasing patter and her heart pounding in her chest. Mina’s sincerity, though nothing rare by any means, for some reason filled Nemy to the brim. Whatever Mina was explaining now was swallowed by Nemy as she rushed her lips against hers in a flurry. By the time Mina recognized what had happened the rain’s pitter had turned into a pour. She reveled in dark chocolate’s bittersweetness after they broke.

“That’s not really an excuse,”

With the sun on their backs, like something of a blessing, both Mina and Nemy felt emboldened. In this moment, in the face of downpour and its thuds overhead, amidst the air’s weighty pushes and pulls, and under the heat’s panging, they both knew no fear. With a clash the sky poured some more, the girls screaming hand in hand, braving the final stretch home directly into the brunt of the storm.

#writeblr #my writing #writing #drabble #black writers on tumblr #lgbtq writing #fiction #oc writing #my ocs #mina #nemy

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seasami · 4 years

Text

Larry Fic Rec -- June/July

hii!! so I’ve got some fics that I read in June and July (until now). If you see a ✰ next to a title it means I really liked it and it’s one of my favs from the ones I listed. If there’s a 🔒 next to title it means you have to be logged in to read.

[Click on the title for link]

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Latitude by nikogda (44k)

Summary: Harry’s a hybrid on a boat about to be hit by a storm and Louis is the human who comes to his rescue. That storm is all the time they have to fall in love before going their separate ways. That is, until almost a year later…

Ever Since I Tried Your Way by Anonymous ✰ (25k)

Summary: Harry had been kissed before, but never like this.He’d shared sweet, curious kisses behind bleachers and in soda shop booths, one or two more daring ones in cars parked on dark suburban streets, but the girls he’d kissed had never filled him with the desperation that erupted from Louis’ touch. He parted his lips and pulled him closer, as though he could breathe Louis straight into his lungs, as if he could swallow him. He wanted to consume Louis the way he consumed the body and blood of Christ. He wanted to place Louis on his tongue and feel him dissolve into a frothy mess of starch and saliva. He wanted to gulp him down until his teeth were stained purple and he was drunk on him. He wanted him in some violent holy way that made his hands shake where they were twisted in Louis’ shirt.

In 1949 Harry left his bride at the altar, running away from the only life he'd known. When a kindhearted farmer offers him a ride in his truck and a place to sleep the two find themselves inexplicably drawn together. Isolated on Louis' farm with nobody but a field of dairy cows to intrude, the men are finally able to explore the parts of themselves they've spent their lives hiding away.

No Candle No Light (No Friendzone To My Love) by Anonymous (11k)

Summary: Louis glanced at his friend, glaring daggers and Niall chuckled. He looked like his idea could end world hunger and Louis was horrified. [...]“Come on, Niall! Tell me!” Harry insisted, excited.“You can threaten him other than with violence. You said you want a little revenge, right? What if an ex-boyfriend came to reconquer you? You know, the jealous and aggressive kind.”Harry sighed loudly, closing his eyes. Louis frowned, just like Liam and Zayn. What was he talking about? And why was he still looking at Louis that way?“Niall, this could’ve been a nice idea if I had an ex-boyfriend, but-”“Let me explain!” Niall barged in. “ You don’t have an ex-boyfriend but you can pretend you have one! I’m sure Louis would love to help you with that.”Liam almost choked on his wine and Zayn bit so hard on his lip to contain his laughter that it might have bled. Niall looked satisfied as hell, of course he was the little shit, and Louis just had time to flip him the finger before Harry turned to him. He was fucking delighted.

Or the one where helping Harry getting rid of his boyfriend may be the only way to his heart

Sugar by lettersfromvenus (15k) ✰

Summary:

“I hope our paths will ‘croissant’ again.”

There’s a little smiley face drawn next to the words, and it’s ridiculous, Louis knows, but he can’t help the swell of butterflies that he feels as he reads over the words once more. An odd fellow indeed, he thinks.A moment later he shakes his head and collects himself, because he really does need to get home; he’s sure that Harry is probably watching him from behind the counter, all sweet, smug smiles and pink cheeks. And if he’s being honest, he’s not entirely sure he won’t toss his groceries into the trash and walk straight back into the bakery if he doesn’t leave now, so… he really does need to get going.

Before he goes on his way, though, he plucks the note from the top of the container and carefully tucks it inside of his wallet to protect it from the rain.

That’s how it begins.

Only Been Here One Time by alienharry (10k)

Summary:

“Good morning, Liam. Harry.” Louis nods at them both and then cocks his head. “Are you aware you have four nipples, Harry?”

Harry looks down at his chest, suddenly worried. He doesn’t know how many nipples humans have, but four must not be a usual amount. “Should I have six?”

“Not unless you’ve a litter of kittens to feed.”

Soft Hands, Fast Feet, Can’t Lose by dolce_piccante (112k) ✰

I KNOW ITS ICONIC BUT I READ IT A MONTH AGO SO I THOUGHT I’D INCLUDE IT HERE.

Summary: American Uni AU. Harry Styles is a frat boy football star from the wealthy Styles Family athletic dynasty. A celebrity among football fans, he knows how to play, he knows how to party, and he knows how to fuck (all of which is well known among his legion of admirers).

Louis Tomlinson is a student and an athlete, but his similarities to Harry end there. Intelligent, focused, independent, and completely uninterested in Harry’s charms, Louis is an anomaly in a world ruled by football.

A bet about the pair, who might be more similar than they originally thought, brings them together. Shakespeare, ballet, Disney, football, library chats, running, accidental spooning, Daredevil and Domino’s Pizza all blend into one big friendship Frappucino, but who will win in the end?

It’s All Brand New by midnightwhistleberries (10k)

Summary: “Harry,” Louis intones emphatically, “literally everyone in the U.K. has known that I’m openly bisexual since 2011.”

“’Cept you, I guess,” supplies Niall.

In which Harry studies engineering, loves Madonna, and can't tell if Louis likes him or just keeps coming back to the record store because he's some sort of musical hoarder. Louis is famous, Harry has no idea, communication issues are rampant and fluffy pining ensues.

Fool For You by flowercrownfemme, lesbianferrissbueller (46k) ✰

Summary: “It’s not a game.” Harry scoffed, trying to push past him once more but Louis held his ground. “And I’ve never once told you a lie.” “All you do is lie," Harry argued. "Jests and tricks and made up stories, that’s your trade. I’d never trust a word from your mouth.” “I tell stories,” Louis conceded, “but a good one must be based on truth. And my stories tend to get a bit more truthful when I’m around you, Princess.”

In which Harry is a brooding prince who's scarcely smiled since the death of his mother and Louis is the dashing jester hired to change that.

streetwise hercules by bottomlinsons (7k) 🔒

Summary: I said,” Louis’ voice is venomous, “who the fuck is this?”Right. This is Harry’s part.

(Uni AU, where Louis pretends to be Harry's boyfriend to scare away his one night stands.)

Close Enough To Touch by stinky28 (7k)

Summary: “You are killing it!” The stranger shouts in his ear, to which Louis raises a brow, setting up the next transition and song, bobbing a bit in place before glancing over to the stranger and Oh. Red.

He’s staring right at a very large, oddly tied red bow tie. It takes up the whole stranger’s chest and..it’s bloody brilliant. He fucking loves it. He feels himself break into a giant grin, looking up at Mr. Red Bowtie’s face and Oh. Fuck.

OR an au where louis is the dj for the met gala after party and harry can’t leave his side.

Hate Me To The Moon by harrystylesandstuff (83k)

Summary: The last thing Harry wanted was to spend his entire summer stuck with his dad's new fiancée and her kids. He wants no more when he learns she's a very religious dictator, raising a sixteen year old nun and a clean cut potential priest ass kisser.

Everything takes a slightly different turn, however, when Harry finds out his future step-brother is actually the rude stranger he caught sucking off a guy in a pub, far from the reserved Christian his mom thinks he is...

AU where Harry is a sexy nerd, Louis is a great actor, and they both pretend to hate each other's guts to convince themselves they're not feeling things future step-brothers shouldn't feel...

hush. by Wankerville (41k)

Summary: “I don't like you like that, Harry.”

“See,” Harry starts, Louis can hear the smile in his voice, “that's where I think you're lying.”

or an au where small towns suck, louis is losing it, and harry’s just too perfect.

The Unsuccessful Promise by trysomecats (11k)

Summary: At the end of the previous school year, Louis swore to everyone that he would return in the fall as an alpha. He made this promise especially to his arch-nemesis Harry Styles, who has already presented as an alpha himself. Unfortunately over summer break, the worst thing possible happens: Louis presents as an omega. Now school is back in session and he has to return and face the consequences of pre-determining his status.

Featuring Liam and Zayn as Louis' doting and exasperated parents.

Autumn At My Window by TheCellarDoor (20k)

Summary: A canon-compliant AU, in which Harry and Louis are both in the band and have been sharing flats and hotel rooms for nearly five years, but never made the leap past 'friends who are too close for comfort'.

Featuring a lot of pining, Louis' addiction to Harry's scent, and a whole lot of sexual tension that might just snap loose when they decide to spend some time together all on their own.

OKAY! That’s it for now cause I don’t want this post to be too long (oof i’ve read a lot actually). I have Fic Rec June/July Part Two in drafts and im also gonna collect fics that I’ve read on my kindle (its usually above 50k and make a fic rec with them). Stay tuned and follow my blog so you don’t miss it idk <33.

PLEASE GIVE ME YOUR FEEDBACK ON THIS: I can make: Iconic Fics, My Fav Fics or try and do some themed fic rec. LET ME KNOW IF YOU’D WANT THAT!

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masonscig · 3 years

Text

first line tag game

thank you for the tag @crackerdumortain !!!!! yours were so much fun to read omg !!!!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag some of your favourite authors!

[disclaimer: i write for the choices fandom and some for litg so you’ll see a mix of those fandoms on this list LMAO]

1. stay [twc – mason x sofía]

The first time was casual. She had a knack for musing her thoughts aloud, tossing her harmless opinions out for anyone who’d catch them.

She was good at starting conversations in that way – while he’d never been one for talking.

She never did it with heavy topics, though.

2. thieves in the shadows [choices – blades au – mal x zilyana]

bullets pelted the crates they were crouched behind, wood splintering in every direction. bodies were strewn across the warehouse, the unmistakable pools of blood streaking across the stone.

“raine! to your left!” immy yelled her way, barely sparing her a glance before unloading her clip, shell casings clinking against the ground.

the gun trembled in yana’s hands. she’d shot one before – practice at the gun range, glass bottles in a back alley – but never a live target.

3. if we meet again [choices – open heart au – bryce x spencer] 18+

year one

The ride from the airport to her parents’ home was long and grueling, the slushy ice pelting the windshield barely passing for snow.

It was practically sub-zero outside, a stark difference between the mid seventies weather she’d just left.

4. clandestine [twc – mason x sofía] 18+

“hey. hey wake up –”

she stirred at the greeting, but jumped when he kicked the desk. her face contorted into a grimace, the imprint of her tweed jacket on her cheek outlined in pink. “hmm?”

“you fell asleep again,” he said, plopping a bag in front of her.

5. undying [choices – blades – mal x zilyana]

Zilyana stirred, resituating herself against Mal’s bare chest, feeling his arm instinctively tighten around her shoulders. When she realized she was missing the sound of his deep breathing, accompanied with an occasional soft snore, she cracked an eye open to see his chin tipped upwards, his gaze trained on the ceiling.

6. talent show [choices – platinum – shane x dom]

There wasn’t a day that went by where she didn’t cross his mind. Even since they were kids.

He admired so much about her – her fiery spirit, her drive, her unwavering tenacity.

And he’d been in love with Dom for as long as he could remember.

7. redeemed [choices – platinum – raleigh x dom]

As soon as he stepped off stage, he was shuffled to his tour bus, Fiona on his heels. She looked like the human embodiment of rage in a grey blazer, a look in her eye that made him thankful he wasn’t the one it was directed at – or at least he hoped he wasn’t the reason she was two seconds away from a murderous rampage.

8. hidden [choices – foreign affairs – blaine x carina] 18+

Her cheek slipped out of the palm of her hand, forehead smacking the desk, nearly jumping out of her skin at the abrupt awakening.

“Ow.”

She prodded the tender spot on her face, thankful her foundation was thick.

A soft snore caught her attention – next to her, Blaine was passed out. Leaning back in his chair, his head was thrown back, arms crossed against his chest, the textbook on its face in his lap.

9. is this fate? [litg au – bobby x mc] 18+

The peroxide was cold when it hit her skin, the liquid bubbling on her knee, relentlessly stinging. She sucked in a breath through gritted teeth.

“Sorry… should be over soon,” he murmured, wiping up the stray liquid that streamed down her leg with a small rag.

The heaviness of the atmosphere between them was almost too much to bear – they’d barely spoken since he helped her onto the counter in his small office, leg propped up between his own, where he sat in his desk chair.

10. asvista cove [litg college au – bobby x elena]

Bobby’s thumb flicked the lighter repeatedly until he got a consistent flame, moving slowly from left to right over the edge of the blunt. His cheeks hollowed out as he sucked in, the tip of it an auburn ember. He pulled it out of his mouth and sucked in an even deeper breath, holding it.

When he blew out the thick cloud of smoke, he passed it to her, coughing under his breath. “Whew. Your turn.”

She followed suit, the thick smoke coating the inside of her lungs, bitter and heavy. She exhaled, the shroud smoke enveloping her view of the sealine.

11. reticent [twc – mason x sofía] 18+

She was bare.

Bare in the way that one is when they’ve been stripped down and torn apart with a trained gaze just calculating enough for them to feel seen – parts of her she didn’t know she’d hidden splayed out like withered pages of a book, dog-eared and marked up like a frequently reread novel.

One he’d reread because it was familiar, because it had fallen into his lap (he hadn’t searched for it), not so much because it was his favorite.

12. more [twc – mason x sofía] 18+

He laced his fingers through her thick hair, reveling in the way his skin looked contrasted against the midnight of her hair.

[the way i can’t post more than this bc it’s....... very nsfw right out the bat LMFAO]

13. calm before the storm [choices – open heart – bryce x spencer]

Since the moment his hands trembled amidst one of the most important surgeries of his life, Bryce was holding on by a thread.

With each half-assed joke he cracked, each wavering smile, each time he tried convincing others – including himself – that he was coping, he fell apart more and more.

The first night he went home after Spencer was quarantined, he trudged through the halls of Edenbrook, like he was dragging his legs through wet concrete. He was nearly magnetized to her bedside, not wanting to leave, but he needed to rest – he’d been awake for nearly a day and a half by the time he clocked out.

14. envy | part two of the attached series [twc – mason x sofía x felix]

He strode down the hallway, hands in his pockets to give the illusion that he didn’t give a shit, when he was most definitely on edge. His fingers flicked his lighter open and closed against the twill lining of his pockets, trying to focus on the soft clicking noise it made instead of the swarm of thoughts clouding his conscience.

He still couldn’t figure out why he cared so much.

15. comfort | part one of the attached series [twc – mason x sofía x felix]

He noticed it before she did.

Her pulse didn’t jump the same way it did the first dozen times he walked into the room. The blood didn’t rush to her cheeks, or creep up her neck, the crimson flush absent even when he tried his hardest to fluster her. And it normally took next to nothing to get her to turn into a bumbling mess.

16. out of time [choices – open heart – sienna x danny]

She sprinted down the hallway, pager still beeping erratically on her hip, the weight of the numbers enough to make her feel like she was slugging through wet concrete.

No, no, not him, please, not him, she chanted to herself, vision blurring with tears before she had the chance to let the negative possibilities set in.

17. unrequited part three [choices – open heart – bryce x spencer]

She slumped into the seat in the deserted waiting room, her joints popping as she stretched, her deep sigh echoing off of the tile. She was exhausted.

She could usually push through the worst of her shifts, but fatigue settled into her bones, a lethargy she’d never experienced entrapping her like a net, and she couldn’t fight her way out of it this time.

18. signs [choices – ride or die – logan x raquel]

“A final in sign language? Couldn’t you just have a conversation with the teacher or some shit?” Logan sat across from her on the couch, watching as her fingers bent and flexed, transfixed.

She stopped abruptly, screwing her mouth to the side in concentration. She repeated the same few moves, getting more and more frustrated with each sequence.

19. mementos [choices – ride or die – logan x raquel]

The sound of his boots slapping against the damp pavement reverberated off of the brick of the alleyways, his gasping breaths adding to the symphony that was his escape.

20. warmth [twc – mason x sofía]

“You’re going the wrong way,” Mason grunted, looking particularly stiff in her passenger seat.

“I thought we could take the scenic route,” she shrugged, flicking her high beams on as she turned off of the main road leading downtown, easing on the brakes when the tires hit the gravel.

okay so....... i didn’t really realize just HOW MUCH i’ve written since the summer? i’ve fallen into a pattern where i think i’m a failure bc of how slow i am to write because i have so many series i’ve started and dropped off and wips i’ve abandoned but.... i’ve managed to write for most appreciation weeks i’ve both hosted/participated in and i’ve written for THREE fandoms.... i don’t normally gas myself up but? i’m really? proud of myself? KSJDJKSD if you read this far thank you and you’re prob watching me have a breakdown over how much i’ve managed to write oh my GOD ok i need to lie down KLSDFKASFJD i didn’t even think i could hit 20 but i did???? alright i’m officially gonna treat myself at some point bc i did all this in less than a year.... these are from the end of july 2020 to now..... wow ok im done i promise SKDFJKSDF

tagging: @raleighcarrera and @pixeljazzy !!! <3

#tag games #my fic #long post

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spaceclefairy · 3 years

Text

Bringing Home the Rain, Ch. 10

Pairing: Joel/Original Female Character; Tommy/Maria

Summary: Joel doesn't talk about his feelings, and Lucy's just as bad. Tommy's about as frustrated as a brother can get. But Tommy knows one thing: if Joel's not gonna chase what's right in front of him, Tommy's just going to have to lead him to it.

Maybe a five-hundred mile trudge through the ice and snow surrounded by wild animals and clickers will help with that.

Author’s Note: Clap your hands if Knife Dad deserves a little happiness.

It’s on Ao3! Drop a comment/kudos if you feel so inclined.

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9

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

July 2036 - The Wyoming Museum of Science and History

With the end of summer drawing near and another fall looming, both Joel and Lucy had been nearly overwhelmed by the amount of work there was to be done. As such, there hadn’t been a lot of time to enjoy each other’s company.

Lucy had been at the power plant day and night for the past week without reprieve. She’d been working with Mike and Mark on a full assessment of plant to hopefully circumvent the need for another run to the dam that fall, and the assessment was looking promising. Everything appeared to be in full working order for once, and there hadn’t been a power outage since she and Joel had returned from Cheyenne last winter. Still, the constant stress of work had them both dragging their feet, grumpy and exhausted every waking moment.

Between Joel being sent out on multi-day patrols and Lucy getting stuck down at the power plant for days on end, they’d hardly seen each other for more than a couple of days in the past three weeks. Not to mention, on those couple of days when they’d seen each other, it had only been for part of the evening and they’d both gone straight to sleep after dinner. All in all, they hadn’t had much time to enjoy each other’s company, in the quality time sense or the Biblical sense, which was frankly draining.

In an effort to give them both a break from the constant pressure, Tommy had assigned them to patrol the long southern route for the weekend. Lucy assumed this was Tommy’s way of telling them to take the weekend for themselves while still being productive, and she planned on taking full advantage of the relative peace and quiet. Work could wait.

She and Joel left that morning with the intention of spending the evening at the far watchpost on the southern route. That particular watchpost was an old house hidden back away from the main path in an overgrown little clearing. Despite its age and the encroaching progression of decay, it had been maintained through the years by Jackson’s patrolmen and was well taken care of all things considered, complete with serviceable amenities and a solid fence to keep anything without a working frontal cranial lobe of the brain out. All in all, the watchpost was quaint and quiet - not a bad place to relax for a night, which they were both itching to do.

But, for the time being, they were still on duty. They’d walked the southern route without taking a break for most of the day, clearing the path with borrowed machetes and keeping an eye out for anything fishy. It was quiet, with the exception of a host of angry squirrels and a couple curious deer, so they made quick work.

They’d walked to the route’s halfway point when Joel stopped them. He waved his hand, gesturing for her to follow him off the main path. “Come on, I want to show you what Tommy and I found.”

Lucy trailed along behind him, hacking vegetation out of the path. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I don’t trust surprises,” Lucy teased and winked. “But I guess I’ll make an exception for you.

Joel rolled his eyes but returned her grin. “Come on, you’ll like it.”

He led them to a small creek hidden by overgrown vegetation. Without hesitating and without warning, he jumped into the creek and breached the surface with a gasp, shaking off the shock of cold water. Once he caught his breath, he called for her to follow after him.

Lucy jumped in, the freezing water knocking the breath out of her. She surfaced with a gasp, spitting water, her hair dripping in rivers down her face.

She coughed. “You get to help me wash my hair when we get back!”

Joel laughed. “I was already planning on doing that.”

As if Lucy needed more of a reason to get back to the watchpost quickly. A hot shower and Joel’s fingers in her hair? Heaven could scarcely compete.

Lucy swam along behind him, eyes trained on his back. She wasn’t a strong swimmer, but she could follow along well enough. He was like a fuckin’ fish out here in the water but at least stayed mindful that she wasn’t quite as strong of a swimmer.

Joel led them up to the creek bed and held out his hand, pulling her up to her feet as she crawled out onto the sand.

“I’ve had enough exercise for today, thank you,” Lucy hassled, keeping hold of Joel’s hand.

Joel led them down another overgrown path, hacking at vegetation as he went. Just past a particularly voluminous outcropping of shrubs and vegetation was a cluster of buildings surrounding an enormous fake dinosaur.

The dinosaur rose up above the trees like a beacon. A very strange, funny beacon, but a beacon, nonetheless. The plastic form glistened in the sun from the accumulated humidity, yellowed from years of neglect. Still, it was spectacular – an anomaly all the way out here in the middle of the forest.

“Is this a museum?"

He nodded. "Yep. The natural sciences museum."

The building itself was huge and decrepit, but still oddly majestic even in the state of disrepair. Much like every other building, it was well on its way to returning to nature, but the encroaching vegetation and disrepair only served to make it that much more beautiful. It was the natural sciences museum, after all. Seemed only fitting.

"This is so cool, Joel!"

Joel couldn’t quite keep the conspiratorial smugness out of his voice. What a dad. "I think I'll bring Ellie out here for her birthday in a couple of weeks."

"She'll love it."

Joel led her into the clearing past the dinosaur. “It gets better.”

They walked up the stone steps to the front door. It had been opened and resealed by a rusted old crowbar shoved through the door handles, likely by Tommy and Joel the last time they were there. Joel motioned for Lucy to help him pry the door open, and after a lot of strained curses, they managed to pry the doors open again.

Being that there was no electricity, the inside of the museum was dark – still untouched by the sun in this part of the building. They both grabbed their flashlights and crossed the threshold, careful to watch for anything out of the ordinary.

Joel padded quietly down the hallway, pointing his flashlight in every corner. “We cleared it when we found it, but better safe than sorry.”

“I’m more afraid of the dinosaur bones.”

The dinosaur exhibit remained untouched by the years. The exhibits had been well-preserved, the bones yellowed with age. They walked through the full enclosure, stopping every now and then to read the plaques.

Joel stooped to read one of the plaques. The little marble etching stated that it was a velociraptor. “I thought I’d bring her through here first before the planetarium.”

“She’s gonna lose her mind, Joel,” Lucy grinned. "She's been even nerdier lately since the night guard found all those old science books."

Joel hummed in agreement. “I have no idea what she’s talking about most of the time.”

“Me either.”

He snorted. “You’re an engineer.”

Lucy shrugged. “Hey, I just fix stuff. Doesn’t mean I know what a comet is made of.”

"If you say so," Joel smirked. “Wanna check out the planetary exhibit?”

“I’m following you.”

They kept on creeping through the hallways, guns drawn, but saw no sign of anything sinister. Clearly, Joel and Tommy had done a good job of clearing the place out.

Similar to the dinosaur exhibit, the planetary exhibit was right in Ellie’s wheelhouse; she’d been searching for anything and everything space-related for weeks. Even the comic books she managed to get her hands on had shifted from overt violence (she’d had a ninja phase) to everything interstellar.

Joel led Lucy through the planetary exhibit and into one of the back rooms. It was huge expanse, circular and tiered like a coliseum. The domed roof overhead was studded with lights, and in the middle of the ceiling hung a dusty old projector.

Lucy peered upward, shining her flashlight at the ceiling. The blown bulbs glittered uselessly. “I guess this was supposed to be the planetarium.”

“I was kind of hoping Tommy and I could get the lights on, but we didn’t have any luck with that.” Joel scanned the room for anything moving. “We found a generator in the back, but it was dead.”

“I could take a look at it?” Lucy offered. Even if she couldn’t fix it herself (no tools), she could at least figure out what was wrong with it so Joel could fix it when he brought Ellie.

“I didn’t bring you out here to fix a generator.”

“I know.” Lucy stretched up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Where’s it at, darlin’?”

He shook his head, knowing that it would be futile to fight her on it. “Come on. Through the back.”

Lucy followed him into the backroom. It was little more than an office supply closet, but there was enough room for both of them to squeeze in. She sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the generator, searching for an access panel. When she found it and wiggled it free, she peered into the structure with her flashlight. Above her, Joel shined his light down to give her a better view.

Upon initial inspection, Lucy didn’t see anything immediately wrong with it. There was even a thin layer of gas in the tank. Likely, the contraption was just too old to function. Maybe someone had lived in here and used it until it finally gave out.

“I’d need some tools or equipment to get a better look around,” Lucy said, shoving wires out of the way so she could clear out enough space to get a good view. “Do you see anything in here I could use?”

“There’s nothing. We checked last time.”

“Shit.” She bit her lip, thinking. “We could take it back with us?”

“The only way back is through the creek.”

Lucy studied the parts she could actually reach. “This really bothers me.”

Joel’s reply was gentle. “It’s the thought that counts.”

“I know… Just…” And there, she saw it – a jumble of wires near the back, almost completely out of sight among the mass of parts, that looked like they’d been chewed through. “Wait, aim the flashlight down here.”

Joel did as she asked, kneeling down to get a better angle. Lucy gently separated the wires and pulled them free. With a practiced hand, she peeled back the rubber coating with her nails (age had weakened the rubbed to almost powder) and twisted the copper wires back together in the proper order before replacing the whole part back into the generator.

She slid the panel back into place and stood up. “Try starting it now.”

Joel yanked on the starting lever, and after a few tries, the generator roared to life, fueled by the barest whispers of gas that remained in the tank. He switched it back off just as quickly, mindful of the limited resources.

The grin on his face was visible even in the spare lighting. “You’re a genius.”

Lucy laughed. “Anything is fixable if you’ve got enough time.”

“The projector shouldn’t be too hard to figure out,” Joel observed. He shut the supply closet door behind them and blocked it by a chair just in case some wild animal (or person) decided to wander through. “Maybe it has a program or something.”

“We can test it out if you want?”

Joel shook his head. “No, we should head back. It’s getting late, and I can’t promise I could get us back to the main path in the dark.”

“Yeah, and after that jump in the creek, I’m in the mood for a hot shower.” The damp bun on her head had been a constant reminder for the past couple of hours of exploration. “We can always come back tomorrow.”

--- --- ---

August 2036 – Jackson, Wyoming

The late-August morning was absolutely sweltering even though the sun had barely peaked over the horizon. Ordinarily, on a morning so hot, Lucy would have shown up to the front gate in shorts to combat the absolute misery. But it was Sunday, which meant that she had morning patrol. Therefore, she wore the usual uniform of long pants and long sleeves to keep the environment at bay and wished for any breeze at all to blow through.

Most Sundays, she and Joel would relieve the night guard and enjoy their short early morning patrol. Today, though, she and Maria would head out for patrol after she saw Joel and Ellie off on their camping trip.

Lucy met Joel at the gate that morning after leaving directly from the power plant. His hair was still damp from his morning shower (ugh, a hot shower after days down at the power plant would be awesome – that would be Lucy’s first order of business after patrol), and he was clearly working hard to keep the grin off of his face. If anything, he was probably more excited to take Ellie camping than the girl would be to actually see the museum.

It would be a while before Maria met Lucy at the gate, so she dropped her backpack and leaned her rifle against the enclosure. She stood up on her tiptoes to hug Joel good morning.

Joel lingered in the hug just a little too long. It had taken a while for him to get used to being casually affectionate – particularly in public – but he’d eased into it after a month or so. Now, nearly ten months after he’d kissed her at the music store, he’d finally re-learned how to be comfortable in this routine.

Her voice was muffled against the crook of his neck. “Be careful, okay?”

It had been a few days since he’d seen her, so while Joel let go, he still didn’t step away. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us? We can wait?”

“No, this is your gift to her. You two go have fun.” Ellie would turn sixteen on Saturday, and with both of them off camping, Lucy could use the next few days to plan for the party. Hopefully, Ellie would like the museum. “I’ll keep planning the surprise party.”

He nodded. “Alright.”

Joel bent to kiss her goodbye. It was soft and quick, just a bare brush of his lips, but it was almost enough to incite Lucy to go with them. And, of course, it was interrupted just as quickly.

“Gross.”

Lucy jerked back as Ellie appeared behind them. “Where did you come from?”

Ellie made a face and poked out her tongue. “You’ll scare the horses if you do that in public.”

Lucy rolled her eyes and grabbed her. “Come here.”

She pulled Ellie to her and kissed the top of her head, holding her still even though she fought to get out of her grip.

“No, quit!”

Lucy still didn’t release her, but Ellie quit struggling and went limp. Lucy could have just dropped her, but instead, she hugged her. “Be safe and act like you’ve got some sense, please.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, I bet you don’t,” Lucy grumbled, finally releasing the girl from her grip. “After that shit you pulled when I supervised your patrol last week, you better be glad he’s taking you camping at all.”

“I said I’d be more careful,” Ellie whined, reminding everyone present that even in the face of the apocalypse, teenagers are still teenagers. “This could be our last conversation, and you’re yelling.”

Where had Lucy heard that before? Not only had Ellie picked up Joel’s bad habits, it looked like she’d picked up a few of Lucy’s, too.

Joel snorted. “I’ll keep her in check.”

“Oh, whatever,” Ellie puffed.

Lucy gave her a quick last hug. “Be good, twerp.”

Lucy hugged Joel again, very much aware that he was trying hard not to laugh.

He dipped down to kiss her cheek and leaned in close to her ear. “I thought I was strict.”

“You are. I’m a pushover.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he teased. “It would take at least a stiff breeze.”

“Ha-ha,” Lucy said, pursing her lips. “If you’re not back by Saturday, I’m coming to find you.”

“We’ll stay on the path.”

Lucy bid them goodbye and watched their retreating backs disappear down the southern path while she waited for Maria to arrive. They’d been in Jackson for two years now (this would mark year six for Lucy, which was downright unbelievable), and in that time, they’d both managed to settle in as though they’d always belonged there.

For Lucy, watching them both settle in had been an adventure. Joel had taken longer to settle in than Ellie had, but the change in both of them was a stark contrast to the pair of near-feral humans who’d shown up at the gates after whatever had happened on their journey. Joel was still working on un-learning twenty-plus years of hardened survivor’s instincts, but he’d relaxed into Jackson’s environment for the most part. Ellie was slowly becoming a normal, irresponsible – if uncommonly self-sufficient – teenager.

And Lucy was just glad she’d gotten to watch it happen.

After about half an hour, the night guard returned from patrol, and Maria arrived not long after them.

Maria’s face was gaunt and the circles under her eyes were deep, but she appeared to be in good spirits. She didn’t usually take patrol duty – only on special occasions. Since her dad passed the year before, she’d been confined to guard duty or her office. But Tommy – Lucy’s usual patrol partner when Joel couldn’t take a patrol shift – was under the weather, so Maria had elected to take his spot.

“Tommy feelin’ better yet?” Lucy asked, motioning for Maria to follow her.

“Seems to be. He didn’t throw up last night,” Maria replied. “Thanks for the soup, by the way. He finally finished the rest of it at dinner yesterday.”

“Chicken soup heals all.”

“Even food poisoning, apparently.”

"No kidding. That shit’s pretty gnarly," Lucy observed. "I hope you bothered Sam about it."

"He got a good earful, I'll say that."

They stopped at the supply station to grab breakfast and munitions before heading out on the short path. The night guard – two seasoned patrolmen whose main jobs were night patrol – had set themselves up with a tidy breakfast while they returned their equipment. They had nothing of note to report and gave Maria and Lucy the all-clear on the path.

The first half patrol was predictably quiet. It was so early that, although the heat was already unbearable, the sun was barely breaking through the trees. A whippoorwill squawked its name over and over in the distance, and the answering call of a flock of crows ripped through the trees, but otherwise all was calm.

Lucy spent the first half of patrol briefing Maria on the state of the power plant. With no power outages that year (thanks to the parts she and Joel recovered from the Cheyenne dam), they wouldn’t need to go out scavenging for parts.

They hit the halfway mark on the route without incident. No infected, no humans, not even an animal other than the squawking birds anywhere to be found. Perfectly peaceful.

That is, until the screaming started.

The sound quelled, reverberating though the trees from an unknown direction. They both started and hit the ground, scrambling behind the nearest tree so they could catch their bearings.

Lucy peered around the edge of the tree, the butt of her rifle shoved up against her shoulder. “Can you tell where that’s coming from?”

Maria concentrated in the direction they’d come from, but the screaming didn’t appear to be coming from behind them. “Sounds like it’s down the hill. Might be infected.”

“The night guard didn’t report anything.”

“Maybe they just missed it.”

Lucy flicked the safety off her rifle. “Well, whatever it is, let’s go take care of it.”

They crept up to the edge of the hill, Maria stalking forward though the thicket of trees while Lucy kept watch on the path behind them.

They couched down out of sight once they located a safe place to observe. What they found was… brutal.

“We’re too late,” Maria said, pulling Lucy forward on her knees. “Look.”

At the bottom of the steep mountain hill was a group of infected – stalkers, judging by their slight builds. At their feet (and in their mouths) were the remains of what looked to be a group of hunters, if their ragged utilitarian clothing was any indication. They hunters had been torn to shreds in the wake of the ambush, made into a meal by the most predatory of infected.

Maria shook her head. “I don’t think the poor bastards even saw them coming.”

“Where did they come from? I thought we cleared this area,” Lucy asked.

“They look like stalkers.”

“It doesn’t make sense – stalkers don’t walk out into broad daylight.”

Maria shrugged. “Well, they must have been hiding in a basement somewhere around here. Those hunters must have stirred them up.”

“Well, I’ll keep watch behind us while you pick them off,” Lucy said. “If stalkers are changing their hunting patterns, we can’t let them get behind us. We don’t want to end up like those hunters.”

“No surprises.”

Maria rested the rifle on her shoulder and lined up her shots. There were five stalkers in all, all of them single-mindedly munching on their prey. They would remain focused on their meal, giving her plenty of opportunity to pick them off. She took a deep breath and fired.

The stalkers dropped one by one, screeching out wet, final breaths as they expired. When they were all left twitching involuntarily on the ground, the two women crouched and made their way quietly down the path.

Maria tiptoed through the carnage, nudging the bodies as she went. Lucy did the same and recoiled when one of the hunters groaned in a thin, pained sigh.

“This one’s still breathing, ‘Ree,” Lucy said, crouching down next to the hunter. All along his arms and down one of his legs, bite oozed dark blood. “He’s got bites, though.”

The hunter drew a ragged breath and struggled to prop up on his elbows. He held up his hand - a hand that was missing the trigger finger. “Remember me?”

Cutting off someone’s fingers is hard to forget. “You’re one of those Fireflies we caught last year.”

“And you’re the one we were looking for,” the hunter replied, glaring up at her. “I knew who you were when you cut my fucking finger off.”

“I should’ve cut your whole fucking hand off.” Lucy nudged his chewed-up arm with the tip of her boot. “I guess you told your commander where I am.”

The hunter rested back into the dirt, winded from his movements. “Yeah.”

“Thanks, asshole.”

He sighed, thick and wet. By the sound of it, the infection was already growing in his lungs. “He’s coming for you."

“Figures.”

The hunter nodded at the remains strewn around them. "We were the advance scouts.”

“How far away is he?”

“Hasn’t left Olympia yet. When we don’t report back, he’ll send someone after us and come for you.”

“He’ll never find your bodies.”

“Doesn’t matter - he’s coming,” the hunter labored. “To know what you know and not use it... You’re a traitor.”

“You don’t even know what I know, and neither does your commander.” Lucy nodded down at all the bites. “But I wouldn’t worry too much about that anymore if I were you.”

“You gonna put me out of my misery?”

“If I were a little meaner, I’d let you turn,” Lucy said, standing up. She hefted her rifle and aimed down at the hunter’s head. “But I don’t want to clean up another mess.”

Lucy squeezed the trigger and stepped away from the hunter’s body.

Maria peered down at the deceased hunter. “So, the Fireflies are back?”

“Looks like it.”

“We can’t ignore it this time, Lou.”

“No, we can’t,” Lucy agreed. “We’re gonna have to put up a fight this time.”

“What I can’t figure out is, why now? If half their faction was murdered over two years ago and the other half got infected, why is he just now coming to find you?”

“Gideon took everyone with him when he ran from the CDC except for me,” Lucy said, shrugging. “I guess I’m the last one left.”

“But you can’t research a vaccine without resources, and those resources don’t exist anymore.”

“I wonder if they may have found someone who’s immune…” Lucy posited, more to herself than Maria. “Or maybe he finally figured out the Fireflies never actually had the resources for it and found them somewhere else.”

“Unfortunately, I think we’re going to find out.”

“I think you’re right.”

Maria crossed her arms. “We’ll debrief Tommy when we get back and double the guard until we decide what to do.”

“Should we send someone after Joel and Ellie?”

“No, they’re on the southern route – they should be far enough away. And Joel can handle himself.” Maria turned and motioned for Lucy to follow her back up the hill to the path. “Speaking of which, does Joel know about…?”

Lucy cut her off. “I think he has an idea, but I haven’t told him.”

“He needs to know, Lou,” Maria said softly. “No more secrets.”

Lucy agreed. “No more secrets. Not if it’s gonna put everyone in danger.”

They cut it short, staying mindful of their surroundings. If there were any more stalkers wandering around in the trees, they’d have a hell of a time seeing them in time if they attacked.

“If Gideon’s faction shows up at the gate-”

Maria already knew where Lucy was going. “Don’t start. You’re not going anywhere with him.”

“He’ll kill everyone here if I don’t,” Lucy replied. “He lost whatever shred of humanity he had left a long time before FEDRA started bombing Atlanta.”

“We’ll have a plan in place by the time his people show up,” Maria assured, though it seemed to be more of an assurance for herself than Lucy. “I won’t lose you again.”

Lucy glanced up at Maria, though she didn’t notice. In the past six years, that was the closest Maria had ever gotten to admitting she’d made a mistake. Even sitting on Lucy’s hospital bed after she’d shown up at the gate six years ago near death and downright unrecognizable, that was as close as Maria had come to acknowledging the guilt she clearly still felt.

“If it’s between me and everyone else here, you can’t stop me,” Lucy stated. “Sometimes we have to make sacrifices, ‘Ree. You know that.”

“Doesn’t mean I’ll give you up without a fight.”

Upon reaching the gate, Maria beckoned Lucy to follow her back to her office. They had plans to make.

--- --- ---

Atlanta QZ, Georgia – CDC Building – June 2029

“Why won’t you leave with me?”

Maria stood in the doorway to Lucy’s office, bags in hand, dressed and ready to go. She’d begged Lucy for days - come with me, I’ve got a convoy waiting for us, they’ll have us out of here by the end of the day. She’d received the same solid no every single time.

Lucy, dressed in scrubs and a lab coat, orange hair pulled up into its usual functional bun, shook her head. “I can’t. We’re so close-”

“No, you’re not! You’ve been saying the same shit for fourteen years!”

“Maria…”

Maria dropped her bags on the tile floor. She pointed out the office window at the smoke flooding the sky hardly two blocks away. “The whole fucking city is rigged to blow! You saw that explosion this morning.”

“FEDRA said it was a gas leak at one of the downtown offices.”

“It was a controlled detonation because the building was overrun with clickers,” Maria snapped. If anyone would know, it would be her – she was in charge of city planning and security. “They’ll start dropping bombs this time next year, just you wait. And this building will be ground-fucking-zero.”

“I can’t give up on this, ‘Ree. I figured it out - it’ll work this time.”

Maria shook her head, incredulous. “That’s what you said last time, too. And the time before that, and the time before that.”

Lucy wouldn’t back down, and they both knew it. “I’ve worked on this for too long-”

Maria didn’t stay to listen.

“I’m not gonna wait around and watch you die when the bombs drop,” Maria snapped, scooping her bags up off the floor. She turned on her heel and snatched the office door open. “I’m going to Jackson to find my dad, and I’m leaving tonight. You can meet me there when you come to your fucking senses.”

“Maria-”

The door slammed shut, but Lucy didn’t run after her.

#joel #Joel Miller #joel x reader #tlou joel #joel x oc #the last of us #tlou #tlou imagines #tlou headcanons

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kn1feinthec0ffee · 4 years

Text

in too deep (epilogue) - jules

jules x reader

warnings: a nearly imperceptible amount of angst which is completely overshadowed by the CAVITY INDUCING FLUFF (but also a teeny bit of sexual content bc my fingers slipped hehe)

word count: 1,766

notes: I COULDN’T POSSIBLY END THIS WITH A SEMI-FLUFFY ENDING WHEN THERE IS A WAY I CAN MAKE IT EVEN FLUFFIER DO YOU KNOW ME AT ALL???

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

you kept running.

you ran and you ran and you ran until your legs wouldn’t carry you anymore. but they always seemed to be two steps ahead of you. each time you thought you got farther and farther away, they were right in front of you with a new weapon to torture you with.

you rounded the corner of the seemingly endless corridor, there he was, a cleaver in hand. you fled down a flight of steps only to be met face to face with her wielding a fireman’s ax.

you heard loud, booming gunshots from every direction except for the one you were headed, so you continued on. you spotted sweetiepie at the end of the hallway, quietly sobbing to herself.

“hey, are you okay?” you approached the girl slowly. she went eerily silent as she looked up to you and began chanting.

“help me, help me, help me!” she cried out, reaching her arms out to you. you lunged forth to grab her, only to be yanked to the floor by a chain around your ankle. sweetiepie let out a piercing scream, looking at you in betrayal.

“you said you’d help,” she sniffled. “you promised.” suddenly she fell through the floor, disappearing into total darkness.

heaving sobs wracked through your body. you curled up into a ball on the cold floor, wrapping your arms around yourself as you shook. “why couldn’t i help her? it was m-my fault, it was a-all my fault, all my f-fault,” you whimpered.

“hey!” jules exclaimed, giggling when you jolted awake. “sorry, you were tossing and turning a bunch. have any good dreams?”

you sat up and pulled her into a kiss without any hesitation. her hands threaded into your hair, the ring on her finger glistening as sunlight streamed through the windows.

“only you, my love,” you grinned, telling a small white lie as to not ruin the mood. you moved to kiss her neck, but you were interrupted by sara bursting through the bedroom door. “well, well, well, look who it is!”

the two of you could’ve kept the name sweetiepie, but you all collectively decided to distance yourself from anything that had to do with the psychotic couple who had taken you hostage. instead, you chose sara, a name that invoked strength and positivity.

she smiled and climbed up onto the bed, forcing her way between you and jules so she could lay comfortably in your arms. jules gasped in mock offense. “hey! you trying to steal my wife?”

“nope, i’m trying to steal my mom!” sara’s laughs turned into giggles as jules’ fingers dug into her sides.

“not on my watch!” jules growled playfully, scooping her daughter up and off of the mattress. “come on, mama, let’s make some breakfast,”

you followed her into the kitchen where she was already instructing sara how to crack an egg. “now be careful, you don’t wanna get any of that shell in there, or else it’s gonna be pointy,” you watched on in admiration as she cracked it into the bowl flawlessly.

“there you go, sweetheart!” you gave her a high five. “you’ll be out-cooking us in no time.”

the three of you finished cooking the bacon and eggs, sitting outside on the porch to eat. you realized just how much you loved where you lived as you gazed out into the vast expanse of the ocean.

jules noticed you staring and scooted her chair closer so she could wrap an arm around you. “how ‘bout a beach day today, huh girls?”

“yaaay!” sara squealed. “i’m gonna go get my swimsuit and toys!” she ran over to the door, skidding to a stop and running back to grab her dishes before heading inside.

jules chuckled at her excitement before turning to you. “what’s goin’ on up there, girly?” she prompted softly.

you sighed, deep in thought before you responded. “i don’t know, its just - don’t get me wrong, i’m happy and all, but i just don’t feel i deserve all this. part of me died in that house and i guess i just wonder why i moved on,” you bit your tongue, trying to hold the tears back. “why do i deserve a family life when i’ve done so little? i’m not worthy of you, i’m not worthy of any o-”

she cut you off with her lips. “i don’t wanna hear any of that. you’re worthy of the world, sweetheart, and i want you to realize that. you know they say you get back what you’ve put out into the world, and what i see is a beautiful woman who’d risk life and limb to protect her family.” she threaded her fingers through yours. “and i know that’s true because that’s the woman i married.”

“i want you to tell me whenever you feel like this, just so i can tell the demon that lives in your head how wrong they are.” she reached over and wiped the tears that had fallen down your cheeks. “no more crying, alright, babe? it’s beach day! no tears on beach day!”

her contagious happiness caused a smile to bloom on your face. you laughed through a cry, standing up from your seat to pull her into a hug. “i love you. so much.”

“i love you more, baby.” she grinned.

———————————————

you busied yourself unfolding a few chairs and and finding a good spot to dig the umbrella into the sand while jules rubbed sunscreen onto sara.

“remember sweetheart, no swimming without your mommies, okay?” jules reminded her. sara nodded, running down to the edge of the beach to make a sandcastle for her horse doll.

you reached every spot on your body until it came to your back. “julie, can you get my back?” you felt her presence behind you, the slick sound of sunscreen between her hands filling your ears.

you felt her warm palms smooth the substance across your skin, kneading in between your shoulder blades as she moved along. you relaxed against her chest as her hands migrated to the cups of your swimsuit, massaging your breasts through the thin material.

“you know, there’s no one else nearby,” she murmured, sucking on the patch of skin underneath your ear which caused you to go even more pliant in her hands. “what do you say we turn this into a nude beach?”

“more,” you moaned, keening into her grasp. she grinned wolfishly, but her plans were quickly thwarted when -

“mommy!” sara shouted, quickly sobering the both of you up. a look of confusion crossed her face as she watched the two of you pull apart.

“what’s up, hon?” jules swiftly answered, pulling her sunglasses down to her nose.

“can you come swim with me, please?” she asked politely. the two of you nodded, getting up from the lounge chair.

you turned towards her, placing a chaste kiss on her lips. “can i get a rain check on that?” you giggled.

“oh absolutely, baby.” you gasped as she picked you up, running down to the shoreline with you in her arms. “mom’s really eager to join you, sweetheart!”

she waded in about ankle deep before tossing you into the waves. you resurfaced with a deep breath, gaping while your girls laughed at you. “holy sh-shit, it’s freezing in here!”

“here, i’ll warm you up!” jules giggled as she tackled you into shallow water. you shrieked and laughed as the two of you splashed around in the water.

the three of you stayed on the beach until the sun began to set. sara had moved onto the sand, searching through the grains to find pretty shells. just as you and jules had begun to pack up your belongings, a golf cart slowed to a stop behind you.

a tall man exited the vehicle, clad in red swim trunks, sunglasses on top of his head, and a t-shirt that said ‘lifeguard’ on it. “excuse me, ladies, it’s starting to get dark out, d’you need a ride home?”

you were apprehensive to trust another man for fear of evil intentions, but jules seemed to see a certain kindness in his eyes. “sure, we’re just about finished packing up.”

“oh, i can help with that,” he offered, helping to dismantle the beach umbrella. sara had put away all her toys and we were helping the man load all of our things into the back of the cart.

“thank you...” you trailed off, hoping to learn his name as you extended your hand out to him.

“mickey.” he smiled as he shook your hand. “and it’s nothing, i help folks out like this all the time, it’s kind of in the job description.”

you sat in the back of the cart with sara while jules sat in the passenger seat, making small talk with mickey. from what you gathered, he seemed really sweet, and he lived in a small apartment in the seaside town with his doberman, max.

the ride was brief, but the swimming had apparently tired sara out enough for her to fall asleep on your shoulder. when you pulled up to your house, you pulled sara into your arms to carry her inside.

“it was nice to meet you, mickey. i hope we see you again sometime.” jules smiled at the man. mickey gasped, pulling out a pen and a notepad from his pocket.

“here, i’ll give you guys my number so it’s not left up to chance,” he mumbled with the cap in his mouth as he scribbled out his phone number.

you said your goodbyes to the lifeguard as he hopped back into the golf cart to return it to the beach. you headed inside, showering of the salt and sand of the day before heading to bed.

you curled up next to your wife, inhaling the scent of her body wash. she soothingly ran her fingers through your drying strands of hair. “do you remember what i said earlier about getting back what you put into the world?” you nodded. “well, look at what you got today. you spent the day with your wife and daughter and nothing went wrong. that’s because you’ve only put positivity out into the world, so that’s what you get in return.”

she shifted so she could look at you. “in my professional opinion, you deserve the world, and you have nothing to be worried about, alright, love?”

tears of joy threatened to spill down your cheeks, but you held them back. she pulled you in for a kiss and you melted against her embrace. “i love you, julie.”

“i know.”

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

YAAAYY HAPPY ENDING!!

also you know i had to write mickey into this story somehow you KNOW i had to do it and i just so happened to be presented with the perfect opportunity for lifeguard!mickey and there was no WAY i could pass that up

but this is the true end to this story and i had so much fun writing it 🥺

tags: @emmyrosee @bill-skarsgard-owns-my-ass @phantomnae @flowers-in-your-hayr

#i loved this so much #jules #jules x reader #jules imagine #jules oneshot #jules fic #jules fanfic #jules fanfiction #jules fluff #jules smut #jules villains #villains #villains 2019 #my writing

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nightingiall · 4 years

Text

head in the clouds: part ii

{story page}

It’s an absolutely scorching July day. Rory is miserable.

She’s also very hungover.

The night was spent hanging out with Harry, Leslie, and Gigi in Harry’s room. The three of them passed around contraband alcohol and a joint that Gigi managed to snag from the Shack boy she may or may not be hooking up with. Rory indulged until her limbs were somehow loose and heavy at the same time. Indulged until the world was a blur around her. Indulged until she could fall into her thick pillows on her bed, fall into a blissful, easy sleep where there would be no dreams of brown eyes and high cheekbones and that Shack boy uniform of jeans and a denim jacket.

No visions of heartbreak in drunken dreamland for her.

She hears him before she sees him. “Hiya, Rory!” Niall’s not wearing his sunnies when he pops his face in front of her line of sight, his eyes a shock of bright blue. They catch the sun and—did they just sparkle? Rory wonders if she’s still drunk. Her face must have shown her thought process because he laughs that annoying, loud, buoyant laugh of his and she’s starkly reminded of how bad her head is pounding. “You alright?” he asks, grinning stupidly, and she just knows that he knows what they got up to last night. He and Harry and Leslie have somehow become friends and he must’ve gotten a recap of events from them.

She rolls her eyes, even though she knows he can’t see from behind her sunglasses. “Not in the mood, Horan.” She grunts, sliding off the lifeguard chair, ignoring his hand of help once again and grumpily making her way to her next post.

It’s barely pushing noon so the pool isn’t as full as it usually gets. The unbearable heat of today, though, makes her envy the children splashing around in there. Oh, what she would do for a dip in that cool, refreshing water.

Niall blows the whistle for adult swim and the kids begrudgingly get out, flocking towards the stands for ice cream and various other sweet treats. There are only three lifeguards on duty now so they’ve got only half the pool open. Rory doesn’t mind this because it’s not busy and she can usually spare a few moments during adult swim to work on some sketches, her fingers leading her pencil mindlessly across the page, as though they had a mind of their own.

She glances up occasionally. There are only three adults in the pool but she knows the importance of being alert. Accidents can happen in a split second and it’s her job to be careful. As her eyes scan the pool, they land briefly on Niall, perched on his lifeguard chair, whistle hanging loosely on his lips. It’s not long now until adult swim is over, so she goes back to sketching. But then, she finds herself looking up again, eyes drawn to this boy she swears she finds endlessly annoying.

He’s shucked his shirt off, broad shoulders and taut abdomen on full display, and for some reason unbeknownst to Rory, her eyes decide to zero in on the bead of sweat glistening on his collarbone, visible even from their distance. The sight makes her acutely aware of the perspiration dripping down her back, her swimsuit sticking to her skin, and suddenly she feels heat wash over her entire body, seeping into her skin and flushing into her bloodstream until she feels like a fireball.

She looks down at her sketchbook again but it’s as though her eyes lose focus. It’s absolutely scorching, despite her being under an umbrella, and all she wants to do is jump into the pool.

And then it happens.

It starts with one drop. Then two. Then it’s pouring and Niall’s blowing his whistle ordering everyone out of the pool and the spell is broken and Rory feels like she can breathe again. She steps off her chair, shoving her sketchbook into her waterproof bag and standing under the opened up sky, rain cascading down her face, cooling her skin. Her mind had been so preoccupied that she hadn’t even noticed when the clouds rolled in.

“Rory!” a voice calls out to her, and when she looks over, it’s Niall. He’s got his shirt back on and the pool area has completely emptied out. The rain creates a din of noise around them, encompassing them, showers hitting the pavement in loud simultaneous splashes. It feels like they’re in a snowglobe, the world trapped in a bubble around them. “Let’s get out of this rain, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she nearly shouts back because it’s so loud, unsure if he even hears her. She can hardly see him and he’s only standing a few feet away.

But then suddenly, just as the storm approached with no warning, he’s in front of her, hands on her arms, pushing her back towards her lifeguard chair so they’re somewhat sheltered. She wipes the water from her eyes, and when she opens them again, there are his blue ones looking at her expectantly. “You alright?” It’s the second time he’s asked her that today.

Is she alright?

You totally have a crush on him, taunts Gigi’s voice in her head, and Rory quickly snaps out of it, clearing her throat. “Yeah, um,” she manages to get out, feeling as though she’s in a dream. She distantly realizes Niall’s still got his hands on her arms, warmth blooming under his touch when the rest of her skin is cool from the rain. “I’m gonna grab my stuff at the lockers then head back to my place. Doesn’t look like the storm is going to let up soon.”

“Okay.” His hands aren’t on her anymore and she’s acutely aware of how her skin feels freezing at the absence of them. “Get back safe then.” He’s grinning at her as he backs away, then he’s turning around and hurrying away from the storm, leaving Rory there to wonder what on earth just happened.

She finds her way to the employee lockers in a daze, pulling out a towel and drying her skin enough so she could pull her rain jacket on without it sticking miserably to her arms. After inspecting the contents of her waterproof bag and affirming its abilities—her beloved sketchbook seems to be unharmed from the downpour—she shuts the locker and heads out, pausing a bit under the awning to gather the strength to brave this storm back to her quarters before trudging along.

It’s a typical summer shower for this area, storm clouds racing in quickly and often unnoticeably, unleashing bouts of torrential rain so thick that it becomes impossible to see two feet in front of you. Rory nearly laments her lack of an umbrella before consoling herself with the fact that it probably wouldn’t have helped anyway. Storms like these often pass as quickly as they arrive, but something about this one makes her think that it won’t be stopping anytime soon.

The raindrops hit her jacket like pellets they’re falling so hard, her feet slipping in her flip flops, and she looks up from her speedwalking only to realize mournfully that she’s only near the Shacks. Her quarters are still a good ten minute walk away.

She’s about to continue soldiering on when something catches her eye. Movement of some sort, off near the hedges. And then she notices bright red lifeguard trunks just behind it. Niall Horan. Of course.

“Niall?” Her feet, as though having a mind of their own—which, honestly, seems like a running theme for her body today—carries her towards him. He didn’t hear her, too busy poking his head around the hedge as though searching for something. “Horan!” she calls out louder, and he flinches, spinning around quickly to face her. His eyes are wide, shoulders tense, but when he realizes it’s her his features soften, posture deflating as though in relief. “What are you doing?”

Those stupid blue eyes glint with something that looks like panic, and Rory finds herself frowning at him. He was fine when they parted ways at the pool. What could have happened in such a short span of time?

None of the possibilities that run through her mind come close to what actually comes out of Niall’s mouth. “I lost Spike,” he says, sounding absolutely forlorn despite his voice being drowned out by the storm. “I opened my door and he somehow got out, I don’t know how—”

“Hold on.” She shakes her head, trying to put a face to the name he just gave but coming up short. “Who the hell is Spike?”

He huffs, running his fingers through his hair and looking incredibly stressed. Rory doesn't think the look suits him. “The cat!” he says exasperatedly, already turning around to look in the hedges again. “You have to help me find him, Rory, he could get sick out here if we don’t hurry.”

She feels her blood pressure rising in her veins. “You lost the cat?!” she shrieks before receiving a glare and a hiss to quiet down from him. She doesn’t think that look suits him either, but she doesn’t have time to dwell on it, helping him search for his stupid stolen cat. “You sure it ran in here?” she asks, poking around the hedge but seeing no familiar feline frown.

“I don’t know. I think so?” Rory looks at him to glare but falls short at the sight of him looking all frazzled. “I didn’t really see...he ran out so fast—”

“Okay, okay, calm down.” She tries to sound consoling but the din from the rain drowns her voice out so she’s really just shouting at him. His blue eyes are wide and worried when they meet hers, and she steps closer to him. “Just think for a second, alright? If you were a cat and it was pissing rain outside, where would you go?”

Niall sighs like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, brushing his hair from his forehead absentmindedly. “I don’t know?” He looks around the grounds, searching for an idea, huffing exasperatedly when one doesn’t come to him. “Somewhere warm?” he tries.

“Right.” Rory starts to look around too. “Somewhere that’ll shelter you from the rain.” And as soon as the words leave her mouth, she knows. She runs off, gesturing for Niall to follow her, feet taking her to a place she once spent all curled up with a boy all summer last year.

There’s a garden near here. It’s sort of hidden away behind the hedge, separating the Residences, where she stays, from the Shacks. The garden is the kind of place she’d want to get lost in; it was always so peaceful. Otherworldly. Especially on a clear night, the stars twinkling in the sky, the flowers swaying in the light breeze, their aroma floating up into the air.

Her heart twists at the memory.

Now, when she hurries in, the ground is wet and muddy, flowers wilting from the harsh rain, but she doesn’t have time to dwell on it. She heads to the tree with a hole at the base, creating a sort of cavern-like opening perfect for small animals. Or a very large cat.

“Spike!” Niall calls out from behind her as she crouches down and reaches for the creature. She frowns at the cat and he frowns right back, but he crawls towards her open arms nonetheless, purring quietly.

“Shit!” she grunts as she rises with the cat in her arms, knees nearly buckling under the weight of him. “He’s heavy!”

Niall, for his part, simply laughs, slotting his arms under hers to support some of the weight so she wouldn’t drop Spike. “You scared me, boy,” he murmurs at the cat, which purrs right back at him, and Rory can’t help but roll her eyes.

“Alright, alright. Let’s get him out of the rain and you can continue your little love fest.” Niall grins that stupid grin of his as he leads them towards his place, the walk proving to be slightly complicated with both of them carrying the cat. The rain has slowed to a slight drizzle now, droplets hitting her skin much softer than they were ten minutes ago. Her hood slipped off her head ages ago and she’s completely drenched, as is Niall, but somehow, Spike’s fur seems only slightly damp. Cats are truly the strangest creatures.

Thankfully, they make it without being spotted, Spike leaping out of their arms once Niall manages to open the door. “Thanks, Rory,” he breathes, smiling sweetly at her, and she tries to ignore the way her heart stutters at the way his accent threads smoothly through those few syllables. “I know you said you wanted nothing to do with this but you’re a godsend.”

“Yeah, well,” she shrugs, shoving her hands into the pockets of her rain jacket, which is, unsurprisingly, full of water because she’d forgotten to zip it shut. “Contrary to what you might’ve heard, I’m not actually a bitch or anything.” His smile falters at that, but before he can say anything, she says, “I should go,” gesturing behind her, already backing out of his doorway.

Just her luck, though, the sky flashes with a spark of lightning, thunder crashing loudly from the clouds, and the drizzle turns into an absolute downpour once more. When she looks at Niall again, he’s watching her a bit sympathetically. “You’re gonna walk through that? Isn’t your place a good ten minutes from here?”

Rory frowns, groaning internally at the thought of schlepping through this weather. “I’m already soaking wet anyway,” she says, trying to brush it off, fighting through the shiver that threatens to work through her at the breeze that gusts across her wet skin. “I’ll be fine.”

She turns around again to head out before a hand is wrapping around her wrist. The touch is gentle and warm, so stark from how cold she’s feeling, that she flinches from it. “Hey.” Niall’s voice is soft, and when she shifts to face him, he smiles at her, retreating slightly at her reaction to his touch as though realizing he’s crossed some invisible boundary line. “Why don’t you just stay here? Just until the storm lets up.” She mulls it over for a moment. It doesn’t seem like a bad idea. And she really doesn’t want to walk home in this rain. Mournfully, she looks down at her swim trunks dripping water down onto the mat at Niall’s doorway. He seems to read her mind because he says, “I can lend you something to change into? You can dry off in here and have some tea?”

And...Rory may very much dislike Niall Horan, but she’s never one to turn down a steaming hot cup of tea in the middle of a rain storm.

An hour later, she’s dried off and dressed in some spare undergarments and leggings she always keeps in her waterproof bag and a t-shirt from Niall. It’s still pouring outside, but at least she’s not drenched and cold, her second cup of tea a comforting bit of warmth in her hands. Beside her, Spike the large cat is a bundle of fur, curled up into her thigh as he naps peacefully after his rain time adventures.

“Wow, he really likes you,” remarks Niall, the bane of her existence and yet also the guy who’s saving her life right now. He’s making himself comfortable in an armchair beside the couch, his own freshly brewed cuppa, as he calls it, clutched in his hands. He grins at her in amusement. “He never cuddles with me like that.”

Maybe it’s because she’s exhausted, or maybe it’s because she’s currently wearing a shirt that smells like the guy she swears she doesn’t like, but she grins back at him, shrugging her shoulders playfully as she brings the cup to her mouth for a sip. “Maybe it’s because I’m better than you.”

Niall seems taken aback by her banter for a moment, but the shock is quickly replaced with that loud cackle of his, eyes closing as he throws his head back. “You’re probably not wrong about that,” he gets out, only to be interrupted by Spike making a sound as he stirs from sleep, tail twitching against the couch. Niall laughs again. “Now he’s gonna hate me more for waking him.” He’s proven to be wrong though. Because Spike jumps clumsily from the couch and waddles over to Niall, purring at his ankles until Niall picks him up, smiling sweetly.

They spend the rest of the afternoon like that, sitting in silence as Niall switches through the channels before settling for something on Netflix that they can both enjoy, Spike alternating between cuddling against the both of them, and by the time Rory realizes the rain has stopped, the sun is just starting to sink in the sky, darkness quickly chasing after it.

Niall gives her a bag for her still wet clothes and some cookies for the road, winking at her as he returns her questioning look with “For your hangover,” and then she’s on her way. “Hey, Rory!” he’s calling out to her as she starts walking down the path for the main road that will lead her to the Residences. When she turns around, she can see the way his cheeks fill with a soft pink, even from her distance, even though the last of sunlight is quickly slipping away, colors of dusk already swirling over the horizon. “For whatever it’s worth...no one’s ever said anything bad about you.”

Spike crawls over to plop down next to Niall’s feet in the doorway, tail slinking around behind him, perpetual frown intact. Niall adjusts the door a bit to prevent him from running out again before leaning against the door frame. And something about that image, Niall with his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweats, blue eyes twinkling at her, Spike at his feet, makes something swoop in her stomach. Something almost...fond.

“What do they say about me, then?” she asks, wrapping her arms around herself, suddenly feeling a bit insecure. She’s always thought people think she’s an asshole after what happened last summer, which is why she hasn’t been out to the various parties that happen on the grounds or spending as much time with her friends. But now, she thinks back to the way Niall’s smile fell after her comment earlier and wonders if that isn’t the case at all.

Niall sends her a small smile before looking down at his feet where Spike is nudging at him. “Just that...you were always the life of a party, always laughing, always dancing.” Rory’s skin flushes at his words, blush deepening when he makes eye contact with her again. “Then one summer everything changed and...now you’re not. And they miss you.”

Rory doesn’t know what to say. There’s much to unpack in his words and she doesn’t have the capability of starting to. She doesn’t know who told him all of that or why she was even the topic of conversation in the first place, but she feels better that she hasn’t been painted in a bad light after all. Gigi, Harry, and Leslie have always tried to convince her of this, but she never wants to talk about last summer much less interpret how things appeared from an outsider’s perspective.

She doesn’t know how long they just stand there, looking at each other. All Rory can think about is how strange today has been. “Good night, Horan,” is all she ends up saying, and Niall tells her to get back safe before watching her walk away.

Back to the Residences. Back to real life.

***

Rory does not like Niall Horan. Not in that way. She doesn’t know what today was all about and why it has her feeling different inside.

But there are still 52 days left of summer, and if she kisses another boy at a party one night to convince herself that she absolutely, positively, does not like Niall Horan, then that’s her business.

***

The sky is overcast today.

Rory wonders if it will rain again. There was a bit of a downpour last night but the forecast predicted clear skies for the rest of the day, except it was anything but clear above her at the moment.

It’s early morning and she’s busy fishing branches and other debris that found its way into the pool after the storm last night. Luckily Zafar, another lifeguard, is on pool vacuum duty, as they like to call it, because the pool’s quite large and it would take eons to clean with just a net. She’s just a bit early for her shift, though, so she decides to get a head start on this particular mindless task. Besides, as long as there’s nothing completely disgusting in there—she’s found many dead frogs (and other critters) floating around after a storm in her time—then the task is actually a bit therapeutic.

“Well you’re just a sight for sore eyes, aren’t ya,” comes a familiar brogue from behind her, and she’s rolling her eyes before she’s even turning around to face those dumb sparkling blue eyes.

Niall went from being behind her in the rotation for weeks on end to being placed in a completely different shift altogether last week—whoever is doing the scheduling clearly needs to get it together—so it has been six blissful days without having to listen to his loud cackle or avoid his hand of help when she stepped off her lifeguard chair. “Horan,” she greets simply, nodding at him.

He grabs a net from the pile and a bucket, heading over to the side adjacent to her to help skim leaves from the surface of the water. “Never seem to catch you at the parties but heard you’ve been quite busy at them.” There’s a laugh hidden in his tone and Rory wonders what he’s getting at this time.

She busies herself with her task. “Why, what have you heard?”

When she looks up, he’s shrugging, but his posture seems to have stiffened a bit. He’s still got that annoying grin on his face though so she doesn’t know what to think. “You and Torres, eh?” He sends her a wink before focusing his attention on reaching a branch that’s a bit out of range for the net.

Her brain short circuits to a fuzzy memory of her making out with Johnny Torres, who she’s known forever, at someone’s party at the Shacks. “Oh, uh.” She’s not sure what to say to that. She and Johnny often find each other at those sorts of things if they’re ever feeling lonely but it’s never a big deal so she doesn’t know why anyone would have been talking about it. Even Gigi doesn’t care for stories of Rory and Johnny. It’s just not gossip material. “That was nothing. I was drunk.”

Maybe it’s because he’s new so he’s not privy to how uninteresting that tidbit of information is. But either way, she’s not sure why she’s explaining herself to him. It’s not like she cares about his opinion of her.

Right?

“How did you know about that anyway,” she finds herself asking regardless, unable to get past it. She props a hand on her waist, the other one on the net, which she holds upright, not feeling like fishing leaves out of the water anymore. “Am I a hot topic at parties or something?”

Niall’s eyes widen at her. “No! I just uh…” He’s shrugging again, that signature grin looking a bit lopsided. “I was just asking around if anyone had seen you, is all, and it came up in passing.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “Why were you asking about me?”

He seems to have realized he’s said too much because a bright red blush blooms across his cheeks, eyes looking everywhere but at hers. “Erm...I, uh…” Rory can’t help the way her lips itch to turn up into a smile at the sight of him. Niall Horan was nothing but obnoxiously bubbly and confident all the time, so for him to be standing there all flustered is admittedly a welcome departure from his usual persona. “I just wanted to find you and tell you that Spike misses you?”

A grin threatens to break through her features. She doesn’t know why she’s so amused by this. “That a question?”

The blush spreads to his ears now. “No! He does miss you. He always waits at the door after I’ve closed it as though he’s expecting someone else to walk in too.” And. Okay. Rory can’t deny how cute that is. The cat. Not Niall. She doesn’t care about Niall. She doesn’t. He goes back to prodding his net around the water. “You should come by to see him.”

Rory is not sure how to reply to that, but if she had something to say, she wouldn’t have gotten to share it anyway, because Zafar is strolling in with the vacuum to clean out the bits of debris that’s fallen to the floor of the pool. She leaves Niall and Zafar to that particular task as that is one thing she’s never enjoyed; people would be surprised at the gunk that comes out of that vacuum after it’s cleaned the pool.

It’s about half an hour until the pool opens when she has to get to the lifeguard chairs so she makes the short walk over to the employee canteen to fill her reusable water bottle. When she gets there, she finds Gigi sitting at a table near the window so she heads over for a chat since they missed each other this morning.

“Hey, you,” she greets, plopping down in a seat across from her roommate and best friend. “What are you doing here so early?”

Gigi shrugs, a dark ringlet bouncing in front of her forehead from where it’s slipped from the scarf wrapped around the crown of her head as a makeshift headband. “We ran out of coffee at home and I desperately need some to deal with working in the kitchen today.”

Rory grimaces sympathetically at her, snagging a strawberry from her bowl of fruit. “Big event today?”

The few people who are in the canteen turn around to glance at them when Gigi sighs, that’s how loud it is. “The worst kind. Packed conference room full of old white business men.”

“Eughh,” is the sound that comes out of Rory’s mouth. “That is gross.”

They haven’t been able to touch base for longer than twenty minutes at a time lately despite sharing a suite, too busy to meet during the day and too tired to do anything else but sleep at night, so when they laugh now, it feels like a welcome change, feels like a turning point in the summer. It’s not long until July days start melting into lazy August ones, so it feels especially important now to savor these moments. Especially because after this summer, Hightstown will no longer be a tradition for many of them, now old enough and holding degrees that leave them having to find real jobs.

So they sit there and share work stories of crabby old men who ask for too much and annoying children who drop ice cream into the pool.

Worries begone.

***

Rory has always worked hard. She may not especially like lifeguarding sometimes, but she does her job and does it well.

But if she and Gigi get too caught up and are late to their morning shifts, well then there’s 46 days left of summer to make up for it.

tell me what you think! :)

#head in the clouds #niall horan fanfiction #writings

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